#which was gradually dropping off anyway

[thebreakfastgenie]

another note on the supposed idyllic prosperity of the 1950s — white men did well. other people not so much.

Yeppppp. I think some people who fantasize about the idyllic prosperity of the 1950s From The Left are convinced they can create a utopia that's the 1950s but diverse, but that's failing to account for white men being able to do well in the 1950s in part because other people were not. The entire idyllic 1950s way of life depends on a huge amount of unpaid labor from women, most of whom by the way also had jobs. The popular image of a family being able to afford a house a car and college tuition on a single income was true for only a small part of the population. And even then, houses, cars, and college were all different in the 50s than they are now. Housing and college costs have risen beyond what's reasonable even accounting for improved quality in my opinion and I support policies designed to address that, but we don't have to rely on a false image of the past to prove that.

Even looking at the category of white men... there were still lingering traces of ethnic discrimination in the 1950s. Racial epithets for Polish people, Italian people, etc. were tossed around all the time. Anti-Catholic sentiment was still a thing! When John F. Kennedy was elected in 1960 it was a huge deal and some people were very concerned about it. It was just a very intolerant society and having the wrong ethnic heritage or denomination of Christianity could be a barrier to the professional advancement necessary to afford that idyllic prosperity. There was tons of antisemitism too, a lot of "restricted" (read: segregated) neighborhoods and associations did not allow Jews. And even if you were a good white man, if you were too openly left-leaning you might find yourself blacklisted. That's not even getting into what it was like to be gay or disabled.

That idyllic prosperity, to the extent that it existed at all, was available to only a very small part of the population. This matters because the popular perception is that it was like that for everyone. It's not just about acknowledging how discriminatory that period was, it's also about addressing whether it's even possible to achieve that kind of idyllic prosperity for everyone. People believe it used to be that way, but it never was, it was only ever enjoyed by a select few. It's the fallacy of the American Dream all over again, but wrapped in a enough layers that people don't notice.

We just... don't need to be indulging in nostalgia for the 1950s. It's a fundamentally conservative national myth. I think the high taxes and union membership memes started as a gotcha at conservatives, I remember seeing them in that context on Facebook in the 2010s, but over time they've evolved into a genuine nostalgia for an imagined version of the 1950s.

[welcometoteyvat]

. windblume

[fauchart]

S?? E?? - 'When Snakey Met Annie...'

An early season Bob-centric episode in which Ann finds Snake again after he's robbed her diner and, charmed and stupid, she tries to get him to date her - he's entirely uninterested until she mentions living across the penitentiary. The wheels start to turn and all of a sudden, he welcomes the idea... Meanwhile, Bob had been reading self-improvement books (anger management, how to let go of grudges, revenge isn't the answer etc) and was on his very best behaviour, planning on waiting out his sentence and come back to society a changed man, ready for a fresh start... But when the opportunity to escape is presented as readily as it is here, he shrugs off all of his good decisions, throws his book above his shoulder and switches back to crazed maniac in an instant - and back to hunting Bart he goes! Though the focus of the episode will be Bob and Bart, several times throughout the episode there will be appearances of Snake trying to drop the charade with Ann now that he got what he wanted - but each time he'll have to keep up the farce for one reason or another;

(Listen, Snake growing a conscience and suddenly refusing to violate carpool lane rules for a one-off joke is hilarious to me. Don't look at me like that)

While their B-Plot is going on and intermittently shows them fleeing the law by car in gradually stupider situations - Bob has managed to corner Bart against the big window pane of the Mall. As he lifts his knife, about to strike... Snake's car suddenly crashes through that window and flies out of the mall above Bart, before ramming straight into Bob and splattering him on the pavement. The end of a sequence parodying the Mall Car Chase scene from the Blues Brothers.

"Dude, that was not a shortcut." Cut to both Bob and Snake getting handcuffed. Snake looks a little more sincere when he says "I'll call you!" to Ann-Doreen as the cops make him sit in the car. Mirroring that, Bob says "I'll get you!" to Bart as the ambulance takes him away. Roll credits.

WELL THAT WAS A LONG ONE. LOL. I worked hard on this one, so for once I'll say; please reblog and give me your thoughts! I hope you liked it!!

BONUS INFOS:

This would be the second episode with Ann-Doreen (outside of like, crowd shots and other non-speaking appearances in the background) and the one to properly set up the relationship she has with Snake. Lots of fun for that poor bugger!

I've made all the panels rectangular because I wanted to try and work in a format that's similar to actually watching the show - it's not 16:9 (nor square like it should technically be for early seasons) but I think we get the feeling anyway :]

That one other guy in the prison is just this random unnamed prisoner from 12x10 'Pokey Mom'. His first appearance would thus be in that ep I made, since it predates season 12!

Also here's me knowing in advance I'm putting way too much effort into this post:

[hivemuthur]

Hey I just read your post about disability in fiction and I was wondering if I could make a request in which viktor needing a breather , which ends up with him and reader falling asleep and forgetting about the deed ?

Absolutely all good if you don't wanna write this,just thought I might pop it In your asks anyway

Btw I love your writing!!! 😊

Hey Anon! So, as I mentioned before, an exact opposite of this situation happens in the last chapter of The Game of Teaching Body. And here we explore what would happen if the deed was forgotten.

Mendings, Minor and Major

viktorxgn!reader mature! with a splash of angst and fluff

word count: 1,4K

—

You swallow a drop of sweat, rolling from Viktor’s nose onto your lips, every bit of moisture welcome as your body gradually gets dehydrated under his. You hear a faint groan, his arms flex around you as he quickly hides his face in the crook of your neck, his rhythm uneven, stuttering, and you soon begin to recognise the groans as ones of pain, instead of pleasure.

You prop his head up, your eyes questioning, but he refuses to look at you. “Viktor? Do you need to stop?” Your grip slips past his cheeks, both your hands and his face wet, as he drops his forehead to your chest and rasps, “No.” His fingers close around your wrists to stop you from touching him this way.

Silence, for a moment, then he adds, “No, I just need… a moment.” He resumes, and a minuscule change in his angle makes you moan and press your thigh against his hip, squeezing a startled hiss out of him. Another pause occurs.

“Viktor—” you breathe, cradling his shoulders and running your hand down his spine. He shudders, and you can feel him shaking his head in the crook of your neck. “No, it’s fine. I am fine. Just… wait for a moment,” he pleads, and you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Viktor, it’s okay,” you try to soothe him, running your fingers through his hair. “Please, let’s stop?” This time, it’s you making a plea, and you can feel Viktor’s face contorting against your skin. He lets out a quiet snarl and disconnects from you, a sad squelching sound echoing between your breaths. You can feel him already softening, but before you can see, he rolls off you and turns with his back to you, curling up.

“Hey,” you say quietly, placing tentative palms on his shoulders, but he winces away and shifts further toward the edge of the bed, as if your touch somehow burned. Your first instinct is to turn around yourself and just let it go, swallowing down the tears welling in the corners of your eyes. You gulp for breath and get up instead.

Footsteps quiet and careful, as you circle the bed to crouch by his side. Viktor’s eyes are squeezed shut, his face annoyed when you place another tentative touch on his shoulder.

“Please, just go to sleep,” he says weakly, plucking your hand off him. Hearing no movement, his eyes open and fix on the space between you and the mattress. “I am fine. Let’s just go to sleep,” he repeats with less impatience this time.

You shake your head while saying quietly, “No. Not like this.” Your own insecurity creeping in as you weigh the options in your head. Have you done the right thing?

“Please, not like this,” you plead again, cupping his cheek, and his face immediately looks pained.

“What do you want?” he sighs, exasperated. Regrets it in an instant as you give him an involuntary wounded look. He moves backward to let you into his side of the bed, and you crawl in wordlessly.

You don’t have to ask where it hurts. Your body clings to him, your hand beckoning his leg to hook over your hip, and when he hesitates, you beg, “Please, lean on me.” He’s already cooled down, his arms limp as you try to drape them around you. “Am I so awful that you don’t even want to cuddle me?”

“No, I just… I don’t need the pity,” he says quietly, looking down, somewhere between your collarbones. He winces at this admission and feels your stare burning into him.

“Viktor, I do not pity you,” you state firmly. “In fact, I’m a bit cross with you.” Very carefully, you sneak in the quiet truth that has been stirring somewhere in your thoughts.

He sucks in a breath, his brows furrowing, before his expression softens. “And why, pray tell, are you a bit cross with me?” he asks, his tone less hostile. A window is opening. Cracking, only ajar, but you sneak your fingers in, against better judgment.

“You still pretend with me. No matter how long we are at this, there comes a point at which you slip back into pretending,” you mutter into his neck, quietly, as if not backing your own words up. Your fingers twitch on his chest, and he shifts, clearing his throat.

“Are you calling me an impostor?” he probes, the edge in his voice faint. Analytical brain overrides his lizard one, and Viktor holds his breath, waiting for your elaboration.

“No, I am calling you reckless. And for no higher reason, since you don’t have to be—not with me,” you huff, not realising what you are being pulled into.

“Here, I would argue, as it was being reckless that brought me to you,” he says quietly, his fingers curling into your hair. His words tumble in your head, and you frown.

“And what do you mean now?” You can feel your heart fluttering dangerously in your chest, as your voice rises into a hiccup.

“Falling in love is reckless, at least in my condition. It leads to... injuries,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with a quiet sorrow.

“Viktor, falling in love is always reckless and potentially always leads to injuries, no matter the condition,” you counter softly, brushing your thumb over his collarbone.

“Yes, but certain injuries are possible to mend, whilst mine are not,” he says, his voice strained. “If anything, they will get more severe with time, causing you injuries of your own in the process. And every time this—” he pauses, gesturing vaguely toward his leg, “happens, I get reminded of it.”

You take a steadying breath, your hand moving to his chest. “And they will be mendable. And you will help me mend them. As for yours,” you say carefully, pressing your palm over his heart, “we will mend as much as possible. A lot of minor mendings.”

Viktor chews on the inside of his cheek, searching for anything to say. He blinks a couple of times and doesn’t move, just stares at you blankly. Then, he allows his body to do the talking—his leg nestles deeper into the dip of your waist, and his arms pull you closer as he releases a breath and rests his forehead against yours. “Alright,” he surrenders, leaving the revelation of what you have just mended to himself.

The window now open enough to squeeze your head in, and you take it, nuzzling your nose against his. You hum, as your lips ghost over his and just stay there, touching. You can feel his eyelashes tickling your cheek and his breath mingling with yours.

His body relaxes into your touch, and he can feel his breath traveling from his chest down to his belly. It rises against yours when yours retreats into exhales. Your hand kneads at his hip gently, and he hums, pressing his face further into your cheek.

He kisses you slowly, his tongue lazily dragging on the inside of your mouth, a quiet sigh slipping from between his lips. Each movement unhurried, gentle, as it carries no expectation, only acceptance.

You thread your fingers through his hair, your nails grazing lightly against his scalp, earning another soft hum from him. His better leg shifts, tangling further with yours, until you can’t tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

The kiss grows lazier still, breaths blending together as his lips linger on yours, moving so little, almost unmoving. His hand trails down your back, coming to rest at the small of it, anchoring his imperfections between yours. Warm and welcoming, you keep him close, palms sagging as you trace his features, eventually falling tangled on his chest.

You murmur against his lips, half a word, half a sigh, as your eyes flutter closed. Viktor lets out a low chuckle, muffled by your mouth, and then his lips still against yours, though neither of you pulls away. Slowly, the space between waking and dreaming blurs, your bodies softening into each other. His arm still drapes over you, his head dipping forward just enough that your noses brush. Your lips remain touching, warm and gentle, as sleep finally overtakes you both, leaving you tangled together, mouths faintly pressed, in the quiet comfort of something small being mended.

[incorrectbatfam]

Do the batfamily members ever get too into their undercover work? (Undercover in an office and theyre worried about spreadsheets, working in a warehouse and coming home complaining about missing parts)

Bruce: Status updates on your undercover missions. Dick, you first. What have you got down at the docks?

Dick: I haven't confirmed the Killer Croc sightings yet, but more importantly, our catch hasn't been measuring up to last year's. Tuna we're doing okay on, but the salmon population seems to be on the low end. I've contacted the Department of Wildlife and Fisheries but it'll be another 3-5 business days before they can come down and check it out.

Bruce: At least you're doing something to help. Jason?

Jason: Class was okay. I think the kids are warming up to me as their substitute while Mrs. Maloney is out on maternity leave. The average on the last vocabulary quiz was 83.53% so either I'm doing my job right or they need to be challenged. I'm worried about Tristan Lancy, though. He's normally a good student but his grades have been dropping recently and his parents don't seem like safe people to tell. I'll talk to him tomorrow and try to pair him up with a peer tutor if he needs it.

Bruce: Also see if he has any alternate contacts besides his parents. Tim, any updates at the chemical plant?

Tim: If by updates you mean OSHA violations, I could go on all week. We got a batch of new recruits today and they were just thrown into the work—no PPE, no safety training, nothing. This is what happens when you place production over employee well-being. I'm gonna file a complaint after this meeting. Also, I think the union will have something to say about the manager cutting people's lunch breaks short.

Bruce: I see. Damian? Please tell me you found something volunteering at the zoo.

Damian: Depends on how you define "found." While I have not obtained evidence of a mutant larvae black market, I did help some of the animals at the sanctuary make progress with their recovery. Bobo the monkey is healing from his broken arms and we're gradually getting him re-acclimated to climbing higher surfaces. Suzie the black bear was born a little prematurely but seems to be catching up to her peers in terms of growth. Lastly, we got a grant for additional wildcat research and enrichment. As an aside, we are having an educational seminar on European mountain goats this Friday at 3:30 and I expect all of you to be there.

Bruce: I'll put that on our calendars. Steph?

Steph: It's not really undercover work for me, just work. Anyway, yes the newest Batburger location is being used for money laundering. But I really need to vent about the customers for a sec. We don't open until 10 and at 9:30 this morning some moron was banging on our door demanding Jokerized cheese fries. Then right in the middle of the lunch rush, Janie got sick so I had to fill in as the cashier and it was hell. After that, I had to step in between a fight at the drive-thru because the customer claimed we only gave him nine pieces of his ten-piece Robin nuggets and tried to beat up the kid who took his order. And to top it all off, an entire high school hockey team came in five minutes before closing.

Bruce: Cass?

Cass, blowing balloons: Can't talk. Arranging bat mitzvah.

Bruce: Duke, you're my last hope.

Duke: Margie's bringing a peanut butter chocolate cake to the bake sale. I swiped her recipe and we can easily beat her. Her ganache is way too watery and just runs off the top of the cake, which isn't even leveled. She's also trying to do something with a raspberry filling that isn't working at all. It's like she couldn't decide on what to bring. The bake sale committee also asked if we can bring some apple pies because the original baker has to go out of town for a family emergency. I think we'll win if we bring them with some ice cream and a touch of caramel, even though this isn't a contest.

Bruce: Thank you. At least our most critical case has been taken care of.

Barbara: ...I'll save my book launch for later.

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 22 || The Anime References

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, smut, & a teeny-weeny drop of angst.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.9k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——GOJO SATORU WAS ALMOST TOO stunned to speak. He knows he just gave you his consent to do whatever you want but he was not mentally prepared for you to request such a thing.

Since when were you into that kinda stuff? Have you always been? Why do you even want to tie him up? So many questions run through his mind after your words hit his ears.

Nonetheless, his answer is a quick, "Sure." Then, he swallows down a deep sum of air to collect himself, "But uh... can I ask why you want to tie me up?"

You smile and lean away from his face, moving your hands over his arms and slowly pulling them off your body, "Cause' I know how much you like touching me." You explain.

Gojo smirks slightly, "So then, is this your form of punishment or somethin'?"

His arms are drawn off of you completely before you move them over his head again, crossing his wrists over one another and holding them there. "Yeah," You whisper, kissing him on the cheek, "After all, you said I could use you."

Gojo chuckles, "R-Right..."

With a smile, you lift yourself from sitting on him and carefully get off the bed. You didn't have the whole thing planned out or anything and you were just going to go with the flow based on how you felt. Gojo stayed put, arms up over his head, watching you walk around your dim room in search of something.

After a couple of minutes, you find a strip of abandoned ribbon that'd come off of one of your dresses some time ago. It was long enough to wrap around his wrists and you already knew he wasn't going to try breaking out of it so it's not like you needed something extremely strong.

The silky fabric of the ribbon was bright baby blue, the color ironically matching Gojo. You chuckle at the irony as you head back over to him and move to straddle his body once more.

Gojo watches with wide eyes as you hold yourself up and tie his wrists together above his head. You decide to knot the ribbon into a pretty little bow, smiling at the cuteness of it despite what you plan on doing.

"Pretty color," Gojo comments quietly.

"It's not too tight, is it?" You question just in case.

He tries to part his wrists from one another and then shakes his head, "Nope, it's perfect." He then looks up into your eyes, "But y'know... we should establish a safe word just in case."

You blink, almost embarrassed that you didn't think of that after being the one to suggest this entire thing. "Right uhm... well, you're the one tied up so..."

Gojo glances off to the side to think, taking only a few seconds before he shrugs, "Red."

You gradually ease yourself down from standing on your knees to sit on his lap again, "Red?"

"Mhm..." Gojo hums.

"So if I get too rough or..." Your voice softens, "If you grow uncomfortable..."

"I'll say red."

A sigh is let out from you as you shut your eyes and begin to worry, "Are you sure you're okay with this-"

"Sweetheart, what part of my body is nothing more than a tool for you, did you not understand?" Gojo cuts off, the look in his eyes serious.

You understood it perfectly well but, you were hesitant since using someone isn't exactly something you're fond of-- after all, you're not him. With a sigh, you give him a nod and ease yourself back into your mindset.

A little more small talk occurs as you make sure he's not uncomfortable, having never done this kind of thing before and wanting to be safe. It's only his wrists tied up but you can't help but feel anxious anyways.

Gojo assures you with gentle whispers, telling you over and over that you can use him as you see fit and he tries his best to talk you through all of your worried questions.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

When you finally grow comfortable with the situation again, your lips are right back on his.

It's a heated kiss this time and Gojo quickly regrets allowing you to tie him up. There was so much precum leaking from his cock that he could feel the slight mess he was of himself within his boxers. He didn't expect to get this turned on by being restricted but he was.

Each time you pulled away from his lips to breathe, Gojo would chase after you desperately, never wanting the kiss to end. He's so clearly not used to being the one with no control so it takes him some time to get used to it.

It's cute how he pushes himself forward to meet your lips once more, how he lets out quiet whines every time you kiss him passionately or aggressively, and so very sexy how he'll groan into your mouth every time you roll your hips and grind against his cock.

His head tilts in the opposite direction of yours, teeth moving to tug on your lower lip in an attempt of keeping you close to him. You end up prying away from his mouth anyway, another messy string of saliva keeping the two of you connected.

Your hands slide down the man's body while the two of you pant for lost air and you soon grab ahold of the bottom of his t-shirt, quickly working the item up and over his head. It's discarded before you start touching his abs and feeling him tense up beneath you.

Your lips make contact with his neck and Gojo groans again, "Fuck," He breathes.

You begin to suck on the area just under his jaw and watch the way he squirms beneath you, his movement making you grin.

"S-Shit." Gojo chokes out, "Not there-, agh..."

You pull away slightly, "Hm? Why?"

He's glad you aren't looking at his face right now because it's bright red, embarrassment overwhelming him before he utters out the words, "T-That's..." Gojo's voice gets smaller, "Where I'm weak-"

You cut him off by sucking on the area he's referring to, hearing the way he moans softly and feeling how his cock twitches beneath you.

"G-God-," Gojo choked, tipping his head further back and allowing you more space to kiss him, despite being overly sensitive.

Your mouth works to leave a dark mark on the male's pale skin, sliding down to kiss and nibble on other parts of his neck before you consider yourself satisfied.

When your head pulls away from his neck, you move to take the sweater he gave you off. Gojo's eyes widen as he sees your body for the first time after so long, quickly noticing faint love marks and bitemarks in various places.

Choso had quite literally left his mark on you after the multiple times you slept with him, hickeys decorating different parts of your torso. Hell, there's even a bite mark on your shoulder that Gojo notices.

Clearly, you'd slept with Choso more times than you told Gojo you did. That fact quickly makes the man beneath you so very jealous. He doesn't even care if he shouldn't feel that way-- seeing visual evidence of you with someone else makes his heart hurt.

As if he wasn't the one who forced you to do so anyway...

You grin at how Gojo's eyes go from one mark to another, happy to show evidence of you receiving pleasure from someone who isn't him. And what makes it better is that he knows it's Choso who left these marks on you, having been aware that you never let anyone else leave anything on you.

Even so, the marks on your body are in the act of fading away since it's been some time since you've been with Choso.

"Gojo," You whisper, earning a glance from the male.

"H-Hm?" He hums. His face was so flushed and his entire body felt like it was on fire, "Yes ma'am?" He utters in response.

Even his voice was affected by all the kissing and taunting, now having a raspy little pitch to it.

"You said you missed me, right?" You ask as you move your hands behind your back and unclip your bra.

Gojo doesn't miss the way you sensually take the item off, allowing your breasts to spill out in front of him. The sight only makes his dick throb violently beneath you.

"Mhm," Gojo ends up humming in response to you.

You tilt your head before lifting yourself up a little, your hand moving down to his sweats, "Tell me what you missed about me."

His eyes widen and he opens his mouth to do so, words falling off his tongue immediately when your hand touches his bulge. "Hah... A-Alright," Gojo breathes out.

Your eyes are on him while you soon work his bottoms off. Gojo struggles to begin when your hand goes into his boxers and you work his cock out, length slapping against his abdomen. You can't help but smile at the sight of his wet member, eyeing the precum oozing out of his tip and slipping down along his shaft.

Saliva builds up in your mouth as you stare, pulse after pulse felt from in between your legs.

"I-I uhm..." Gojo inhales sharply, "Fuck, where do I even start?" He chuckles wearily.

Your eyes are glued down to his dick, bottom lip getting caught in between your teeth as you move only your index finger to roll around his tip. "Wherever you want," You reply.

Gojo tries lifting his hips into your touch, "Shit, okay... I missed your face," He begins, swallowing down any sounds of his that threaten to pour out. "Y-Your voice... Hah, I really missed your voice..." He emphasizes.

"Awwh... go on..." You taunt, moving to toy with his erection by giving him only one gentle stroke.

"Mmgh... U-Uh, your-" You suddenly spit down onto his tip, causing Gojo to straight up whine. "A-Ah... your mouth, fucking hell..." He groaned throughout his little noise.

Your body is seated slightly on his thighs as you begin to torture him by slowly jerking him off. "My mouth?" You echo.

"Mhm," He whines again, "M-Missed feelin' you too."

"Yeah?" You say cooingly.

Gojo feels the way your hand squeezes his tip and he can't help the moan that leaves him, "O-Oh fuuuck." He shuts his eyes and tries lifting his hips into your hold.

You smirk, "You're weak here too, huh?" Your words were said to mock his earlier statement, clearly making him worse beneath you.

"Only when you touch me t-there..." Gojo almost whimpers, "I'm only w-weak for you..."

You rotate your palm around his tip while stroking his length, feeling yourself soak at the state you've reduced this man to. "Really? What's so special about me?" You whisper.

"E-Everything," Gojo choked, his jaw dropping in reaction to your hand movements, "Fuckin' everything, I swear..."

"Mmh..." You hum lightly.

Your hand gives him one last pull before you remove it from his cock, causing Gojo to tip his head back and pant. You move to simply pull your panties to the side, now feeling so needy for friction.

The man beneath you almost cums when you simply hover over him, maneuvering his cock to rub in between your wet folds.

"F-Fuck," Gojo curses, "P-Put it in... Please, fuck I c-can't take this..." He begs desperately.

You smile and ignore him, just barely pressing yourself down and not even allowing his tip to enter you. Instead, you drag him against your sex over and over, the sensation dizzying you with arousal as his needy tip slips over your clit.

"Hah... What?" You ask as if you didn't hear him the first time.

"Please put it in," Gojo whined, "Needa' be inside you s'fucking b-bad..." He slurs out, his eyes watering.

His expression is so desperate for you, the sight only adding to how wet you are. You continue your teasing anyway, rolling your hips in a circle around his tip, "Beg a little more and maybe I'll put in."

"Ha-ah... S'that what you want?" Gojo scoffs heavily, "W-Want me to fuckin' beg?"

Technically, he already was begging but you thrived off hearing him like this.

"C'mon... a-at least the tip?" Gojo pleads, "Please?"

You clench around nothing due to the sound of his voice. "One more time f'me." You utter.

"P-Please." Gojo moans, "Pleease, fuck..." His eyes are so teary and he's simply hazed with lust and desperation, "Please-, a-ahh... please let me be inside y-you." He whimpers.

You quickly folded under the sound of his begging. Gojo has never been so whiny and needy like this for you before so you found yourself a complete mess in between your legs, liquids from your arousal dripping down onto his cock.

"You're not gonna cum inside me as soon as I put it in, are you?" You ask him, tilting your head.

He knows he wants to and it'll be difficult not to do such a thing when he's already leaking like crazy. "M-Mhm..." He hums.

You start to lower yourself, allowing his tip to just barely push into you, "Words." You order.

He smiles, just barely, "...N-No promises," Gojo sighs, "Aagh... feels l-like I'm gonna cum right now..."

You frown, "C'mon now, don't disappoint me..."

"I'll h-hold it..." He breathes, "Just... please, just fuck me."

Your eyes skim over his flushed expression, seeing how his chest rises and falls rapidly due to his heavy breathing. His teary blue eyes are stuck on your face, refusing to look down at your actions.

"You're so cute like this, y'know..." You sigh, trying not to moan while you finally sink a mere inch down onto him.

"Mmmh... A-Am I?" He hums.

You nod, your gaze diving back down to your actions as you see how much of his cock you have left to sit yourself down on. You'd forgotten how lengthy the male is, swallowing nervously while you look at the sight below.

You're worried you may not be able to keep up this dominant act of yours. You continue anyway, sliding down inch by inch until you get about halfway. Gojo's eyes flicker and his lips remain parted.

You look him dead in the eyes and purposefully clench around his length, watching the way he literally chokes on air.

"Oh c-c'monn... y-you can't expect me not to cum when you..." His jaw drops and a heavy breath leaves his throat, "f-fuckin' squeeze around me like that..."

An innocent smile graces your face, "If you cum without my permission, I'm only gonna make things worse for you."

"I w-won't." Gojo says, "You're jus' makin' it hard for me not to."

You chuckle slightly at him in response before adjusting yourself. Leaning back, you move both of your hands behind you to hold your body up and then sit yourself all the way down on his dick. Gojo moans all too loudly in relief, the sound filling the air of your room.

One of your hands flies back in front of you as you place your hand over his mouth. "You're so noisy," You point out, your voice coming out softer than you would've liked. "Be quieter f'me..."

Gojo shakes his head, knowing won't be able to. "Can't," He just barely mumbles out beneath your skin.

You feel him whine against your hand, his breath warm against you. "Yes you cannn." You whisper encouragingly, "C'mon Gojo..."

He shakes his head for a second time and closes his eyes, pressing his lips into your hand and kissing you. "C-Can you call me Satoru? P-Please," He begs desperately.

You sigh, "Promise not to be too loud 'nd maybe I will."

Gojo suddenly licks your hand and just barely opens his eyes, his pretty eyelashes moist with the way he was on the verge of pleasureful tears. "I promise," He breathes out, his lips moving against your palm, "P-Promise not to be loud..."

You retreat your hand from his mouth, "Alright then..."

Your arm moves behind you once more, leaning yourself back before you roll your hips forward and feel the way his cock twitches inside you. This is the type of sex you expected to have last night-- the type of sex you needed.

You pick up a steady rhythm of grinding over Gojo with the tip of his dick nice and snug up against your cervix without him having to do much. The male grits his teeth and his eyes flicker as you begin to ride him slowly. He tries to keep his gaze on your face, watching the way your lips part and you moan ever so slightly.

Your bottom lip is pulled into your mouth as you struggle a little to keep your noises in. Feeling his cockhead knock around your insides, sliding against your walls in all the right ways is only dizzying you with pleasure.

Gojo was able to keep himself from looking at the entire lewd sight in front of him up until he saw your arm move in his peripherals. His eyes mistakenly drop down to the movement and he watches as you move two fingers over your clit, his breath hitching at the sight.

He wishes he could've done that for you instead but given the restraints, all he can do is watch you satisfy yourself and feel the way your wam cunt clenches around his girth. "Fuck," He curses under his breath.

Your hips suddenly lift a little and then ease back down, giving both of you more pleasure than expected. You moan a bit more than you expected yourself to and Gojo... he almost blew his load.

His head rests against the headboard and his eyes roll back, "W-Warn me next time b-before you-," His words are cut off as you ignore him and simply repeat your action, lifting yourself up and easing right back down. Gojo whimpers again, as quietly as he possibly can, "M'gonna c-cum..."

You lean forward and pull yourself almost all the way up, only his tip left inside you, and then drop yourself right back down. "N-Not yet," You stammer out to him.

Nothing you prepare him for the struggle he begins to face as you start bouncing on his cock. Every time he feels your soaked walls slide back down on his cock, he swears he's another second close to spilling his seed inside you. And of course, you make it worse by moving to messily kiss his exposed neck.

Gojo's arms twitch within the restraints, wanting nothing more than to move you away from his neck for just a second. "Fu-uck... p-please..." He begs, not even knowing what exactly what he's begging for.

You continue your movements, using your muscles to ride his cock and please yourself. Your breath is warm against his neck as you eagerly rub two fingers over your clit, "Mmgh... f-fuck... please what, Satoru?" You moan softly.

The aggressive twitching of his cock is felt as you question him. Gojo lets out another whine, the sound going straight to your core. "L-Let me c-cum..." He moans, sudden tears rolling down his cheeks.

No one has ever made him feel like this before. He's not sure if it was the restraints, the way you kisses, nibbled, and sucked on his neck, the way you rode his dick or the way you said his name but, Gojo was losing his mind trying not to release.

You move to that sensitive spot right under his jaw and suck at his skin before speaking against it, "...Lemme hear you b-beg again," You stammer slightly. It was difficult for you to speak one hundred percent properly with how deep inside you his cock reached.

"H-Hhnngh.... P-Please..." Gojo croaks out, "Please let me cum... c-can't hold it anymore... please... I-I'll do anything, fuuuuck... please."

You moan against his neck as his words go straight to your pussy, causing you to only clench around him even more. "A-Anything?" You smile slightly.

Gojo sucks in a deep breath, the sound close to a sniffle, "Yes. Any-, ngh... t-thing..." He sighs.

You move to his ear, "Delete the video of me."

He shakes his head, "I already d-did..." Gojo finally tells you.

That information makes your cunt throb for some reason as if the sound of freedom from that stupid list turned you on. "L-Liar," You huff out, not yet fully believing him.

"M'not lying..." Gojo suddenly sniffles, tears of struggling pleasure rolling down his cheeks, "D-Deleted it a long-, ah... t-time ago...."

You lean away from his ear and slow your pace a little, staring into his teary eyes. "Mmgh... really?"

He nods, "Mhm..."

Your arms wrap around his neck and you near his lips while humping him slowly, the pleasure making your eyes flicker. He wasn't the only one who was close. "So... hah, are you finally l-letting me go?" You whisper.

One of your hands slides up into his hair, feeling his white strands in between your fingers. Gojo shakes his head, "C-Could never let you go, sweetheart." He claims, not exactly referring to the list anymore.

You swallow and furrow your brows, your gaze traveling between his left and right eyes in search of an explanation, "Fuck... What do you mean?"

He pants, letting the desperation for his release and his emotions get the absolute best of him. Gojo unintentionally peers up into your eyes longingly, choking out something all too emotional, "I love you too much to do that..." He cries out, the look in his eyes completely serious and vulnerable.

Your jaw drops and your hips stutter in movement, "W-What?"

"I love you," Gojo repeats, swallowing afterward, "L-Love you s'much..."

"Satoru..." You flash him a confused look, "Y-You don't mean th-that..."

He nods his head, his eyes struggling to remain on yours, "I do. I s-swear, m'so in love with you-, fuck..."

You breathe out a heavy pant, trying to wrap your head around his sudden confession. There is absolutely no way your blackmailer is in love with you. Surely he's just saying this because he... maybe he's confused? He can't love you, it doesn't make sense.

Gojo leans forward and kisses you, breaking you away from your panicked thoughts, "C-Can I... ha-ah, nngh... Can I..." He trails off, struggling to voice his request.

You know what he wants anyway so you simply nod, permitting him to finally release. Gojo's eyes roll all the way back as he finally cums inside you with an unintentionally loud groan.

You're still stunned by his confession, a mixture of confusion and arousal fighting within your mind. Part of you is too into the moment to really process what he said but the other part of you was just left in disbelief.

Something inside you feels all mushy and you unconsciously voice out a soft, "Can you say it again?"

You can still feel him releasing into you, painting your insides white with his seed while you continue. "I-I love you," Gojo stammers, his eyes slowly going back into place.

"Mmgh... Y-Yeah?" You smile for some reason and reach your orgasm unexpectedly.

There's a mess where the two of you are connected but you don't care. Not only is Gojo still hard after his release, but you have no desire to move away from him.

After one last look of longing, the two of your lips connect. You both moan into each other's mouth as you press your body flush against his. The rapid beating of both your hearts can be felt against your chest and his.

Soft smacks, mixed with moans and whines slip into the sex-induced air. Gojo's arms continue to twitch as you make out with him, feining for the feeling of your skin against his fingertips. He wants to run his hands along your waist, your hips, hell, he even longs to roll his thumb over your clit.

So badly does Gojo want to please you even more.

You drag your lips away from his, leaving only a little bit of space between you and him, "S-Satoru," You call out, your gaze hazy, "T-Tell me you didn't mean that."

He smirks tiredly, "I can't."

You shake your head in disapproval, "You can't love me."

"Why not?" He sighs. "Hm?"

You peck his lips again, "Cause' I hate you..."

He chuckles against you while you part your lips over his. Your tongue enters his mouth and he accepts it happily, his cum-covered cock nestling inside your warmth.

"No..." He speaks between kisses, "You don't."

You groan into his mouth and he tries not to smile against you, "I do."

"Liar," He argues.

Your lips disconnect and you frown, "You know I do."

"Then," Gojo swallows, "Why do you kiss me like that?"

"You're a good kisser." You reply.

He raises a brow, "Why'd you fuck me like that?"

"You make me feel good, sometimes."

"Alright," He scoffs, "Last one; why... why are you looking at me like that?"

"Satoru, you literally just told me you love me. How the hell am I supposed to look at you?" You utter in disbelief.

He shakes his head, "Definitely not like that."

"And what is that, exactly?"

He grins, "Like you feel the same-"

"In your dreams." You cut off.

"Sweetheart... it's okay to love me too y'know."

"Fuck you." You fire at him.

"You jus' did."

You release a groan, annoyed by his claims now that he's returning to his normal state. "And I'm gonna do it again if you don't shut up." You threaten.

"Oh, I'm definitely not shutting up now." He flashes a charming yet fucked out smile, "Fuck me again please."

Your cunt squeezes around him, "...No."

"Mmgh... Or you can keep doin' that." He shrugs, "I like the way you keep my dick warm."

"You talk too much y'know."

"Shut me up then," Gojo challenges.

With a roll of your eyes, you move a hand to the side of his face, your thumb sliding to his lip, "Open," You order.

Almost like a well-trained dog, Gojo obediently parts his lips for you. With a smile, you slide your thumb into his mouth, "Now," You lean closer to him, "Be a good boy and keep quiet, okay?"

Gojo chokes around your finger and he blinks, his cock twitching within you.

The feeling makes you smile, "You're into that too? Shit... how many kinks do you have...?"

He sucks on your thumb eagerly, his eyes low but directly on yours. The man shrugs as if to answer you and you chuckle.

Slowly, you pull your finger out of his mouth and switch to replace it with your middle and ring finer. Gojo raises his brows, wondering what you have planned inside that head of yours.

After a few gentle thrusts of your fingers into his mouth and slips along his tongue, you draw them out with a loud pop leaving him.

Your torso then leans back again and Gojo gets a full view of your body, watching as you take your fingers that are covered in his saliva, and slip them down to rub slow circles around your clit. He lets out a deep hum while watching.

"That's so sexy. Fuuck..." Gojo voices out.

You smile before rolling your head back and moaning softly, "Aah.. is it?"

The male bites his lip and suddenly grinds his hips up into you, catching you by surprise as his cock presses against your insides. "So fuckin' sexy." He utters.

He then looks down at how he looks inside you, wanting to press against the bulge his dick creates against your skin so badly. A whine leaves those pretty lips of yours and Gojo smiles.

"Look who's being loud now?" He taunts.

"Shut up." You reply.

He chuckles, "Whyy? Teasing you is funnn."

"I'm s-supposed to be the one teasing you." You stammer suddenly as he works up a little pace below you, trying to match his slight thrusts to the movement of your fingers.

"You still can... But c'mon, you gotta let me tease you at least a little bit." He says, flashing a cheeky little smile.

"No, I don't."

His expression sinks into a pout, "But you like when I tease you."

"I do not..." You deny.

"Yeahh you do."

"You're so annoying."

"Am I?" Gojo tilts his head and narrows his eyes, his sights set on the way your folds spread around his member, "Even when my cock is stuffed inside you, I'm still annoying?"

Your breathing stutters, "G-God, shut up..."

"Nah, I don't think I will." Gojo hums, softly rutting his hips up into your sopping hole. "You should see the way you creamed around me."

"That was you... n-not me."

"No, sweetheart." He smiles, "That's you."

"It's not-"

"Listen to it." Gojo interrupts.

You blink, "W-What?"

Gojo's hips continue to steadily fuck up into your cunt, the sloppy wet sounds hitting your ears. "Hear that?" He taunts, grunting slightly, "Hear how messy you are f'me?"

You bite down on your bottom lip hard, "Shut up-," The tip of his cock rams into this dizzying spot inside you, making you choke, "F-Fuck..."

"Y'know if you untie me... I'd be able to fuck you properly." Gojo suggests.

"No..." You tell him.

He groans frustratedly, deciding to just quietly watch you work to get yourself off for a second time. His hips continue the steady push upward, constantly giving you friction and making you feel good, even if only a little bit.

After a few seconds, your head rolls back into place and you notice the way his rose-tinted lips are parted and his eyes are downward. With a swallow, you try to go back to what he said earlier, "Satoru..." You call softly.

"Hm?" He hums, his eyes remaining down.

"Did you mean i-it?"

"Mean what?" He sighs.

You rub over your clit a bit faster and he tries to match your pace as best as he can, "...Are you really... mgh, in love with me?"

He tips his head back and smiles, "Terribly so, yes."

"Hah... and, I don't have to finish the list right?" You ask.

He freezes. Gojo almost forgot that he told you he deleted the video of you, quickly regretting admitting that to you. "U-Uhm..."

You frown at his hesitance, "Satoru, please?" You whine.

He grits his teeth and looks away from you, "I... You still have t-to finish it..."

You're not sure what you expected and you don't even want to ask why-- already having an idea of what his next form of blackmail would be. After all, you did fuck a professor and for a man who wasn't scared to go to jail, you're sure he's not scared to expose that information.

So, you simply shake your head in disbelief before lifting yourself. For a second, Gojo thought you were about to hop off him but you catch him off guard by plopping all your weight back down.

"H-Holy-," His eyes go wide, "F-Fuck, sweetheart... m'sensative-," He whines.

Your hand suddenly moves to his face and you force him to look at you as you ride him aggressively, "Good." You breathe out to him.

Gojo quickly falls back into that whiney state from earlier. "P-Please, wa-ait..." He chokes out.

You continue anyways, your eyes tear due to the pleasure and the situation, "I r-really fucking hate you, y'know that?"

He moans, "Th-Then... why're you still, aagh... fucking me?"

You scoff, "Cause' that's all you're good for." You utter meanly.

He sighs and the sound of your skin meeting his every time you sink down on him fills the room. The noises are wet and sloppy due to how hard the male came inside you and the entire thing is creamy where you're connected.

"Nnngh," Gojo moans, "I'm s-sorry..."

"You don't mean it," You fire back, trying your hardest not to moan along with him, "You.. mmh.. Y-You never do."

He let something slip abruptly, "W-Wish I c-could tell you everything, sweets..."

Your brows furrow at that.

Are you missing something here?

What else is there for him to tell you? He's blackmailing you into sleeping with people he owes favors to. What more is there to that story?

Too caught up in the act of pleasing yourself, you brush his comment off for now, deciding to come back to it when his cock isn't stuffed inside you.

With that, Gojo continues, "...I-I promise I'll..." He hesitates to finish. "I'll help y-you get with-, agh... I'll h-help you get with Choso." He suddenly promises to you.

Your movement stutters at the mere mention of your crush, a moan pouring from your lips. "Mmgh, really?" It's not the best promise in the world and you'd much rather he just drop the list but-- you suppose it makes up for something.

He nods his head, "Yes... I swear..." Gojo says urgently, "I-I'll make sure he never finds out about the list and..." Your cunt tightens around him suddenly, "Oh f-fuck... I'll uh... m-make sure you guys get t-together." He finally gets out.

Your eyes narrow and your orgasm grows near, "You swear?"

"S-Swear it on my love for you-," Gojo claims. If only you knew how deep that affection really went, "Swear on my life." He whispers.

You grit your teeth and sigh out a heavy, "Okay."

It's not perfect but, for now, you suppose that's a decent enough promise to encourage you to finish the list. Though, you were never truly worried about Choso finding out about the list so it was kind of odd that Gojo mentioned it in the first place.

That, and once you finish the list, you already know Choso's going to accept you into his arms-- you wouldn't need help with that. But, something about Gojo's promise felt needed. It felt like something you had to accept or else things would get worse.

You are unsure of what this underlying emotion it was that you were feeling but there was just something about his promise. It felt different than his last one, it felt more severe.

This severity that you felt was something that you'd figure out much later but as of now; you wrapped your arms around Gojo's neck and continued your acts until both of you came undone for a second time.

Whatever it was you felt about that promise of his; it was important.

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

[knight-a3]

Just some pre-triple changer Blitzwing and his best buddy Astrotrain.

Some ideas for what happened to the other triple changers(aka every successful experiment has a few failures preceding it)

I ramble on under the cut

SO! I know the S4 plans had it outlined that Black Arachnia was the one who did the triple changer procedure on Blitzwing, but it doesn't totally make sense for her to do it imo. None of the S4 plans were ever set in stone anyway, so it's not actually canon. I just don't see much precedent for her to do that. Where did this medical skill set come from?

Historically, iterations of Shockwave have been the resident unethical scientists. In TFA, he was shown to be capable enough to restore Arcee's memory, so I think there's grounds to believe he can still play that role.

Whoever it was, Blitzwing couldn't be the first test subject. What other triple changers do we know of that could potentially meet a tragic fate? 🤔

So my idea was that the Decepticons captured three autobots and decided to use them as test subjects for this revolutionary new triple changer idea. Two alt forms? Truly a game changer!

Broadside was a former con(due to his jet alt form) turned autobot. He was a total failure. Never made it off the operating table.

Sandstorm lasted a little longer. But his body soon rejected the modifications, and he went offline.

Springer lasted long enough to be rescued/escape. But his mental stability gradually declined until the mods failed and he also died.

After these three experiments failed, they turned to some of their own troops.

Octane was not a particularly well respected Decepticon, which is why he ended up being a test subject. He survived, but suffered severe mental damage and was deemed useless. Probably tossed out like trash and left to rust. If not outright killed.

Astrotrain: Considered the first success. The mental damages were minimized and he was initially fairly stable, but his transformation abilities became more sluggish over time. And he suffered increasingly severe mental lapses. He'd either stare vacantly or suddenly drop into recharge mode. They were worse if he didn't get enough energon, gradually requiring more and more to keep him going. Weapons capabilities were lost to conserve energy. He was on a transport mission when a lapse got him killed and Blitzwing injured(which made him the next triple changer test subject).

(Also, I don't like drastic mass shifting, so Astrotrain is bigger than the others. And I think I'm gonna treat him more like he's a portable space bridge, rather than big enough to carry multiple Decepticons. He can bridge others from the decepticon base to himself, or to base from himself (it's still a strategic disadvantage compared to the autobots' large network of space bridges). This requires Astrotrain to still physically travel places in order to transport others. And losing weapon capabilities requires an escort to travel with him. The other option is a pocket dimension like Swindle's)

Blitzwing: His personality was fractured, leading to erratic behavior. Turns out the fracture eased the processing load caused by the triple changing modification. But otherwise in working order physically and mentally. He's lasted longer than the others, and his condition hasn't deteriorated since.

ANYWAY, this has been my attempt to reconcile some headcanons with canon. While also maybe tweaking canon a little to fit

[teencopandthesourwolf]

FUCK IT FRIDAY

i was tagged by the lovely @demonicfaerie (thanks, fae!) to share a current WIP so here's some of a mild blood kink slash beta shift derek slash frotting in the forest PWP kind of fic. it has the terribly imaginative working title of 'BLOODY MONSTER FUCKER STILES FULL MOON FIC' lmao.

this excerpt is SFW.

.

It's a balmy Tuesday evening in April when Derek realises he wants to taste Stiles's blood.

The notion comes to him not as some strange intrusive thought, or a guilty dream, or Anne Rice-induced moment of madness, but at the first scent and sight of it trickling down pale wrist bone and two large knuckles, to then drip from the tips of the boy's spider leg fingers.

Having neutralised the threat of what they thought might be a Vigilantes Oscuros but actually turned out to be a rogue Nagual, and once Derek satisfies himself by checking over and scenting the rest of the pack who are thankfully all mostly unscathed, he stalks over to where Stiles is standing, his chest heaving with the aftermath of their victory.

“Hey, big guy, d'you wanna—”

He trails off when Derek takes the bleeding arm in both of his hands. He lifts Stiles's shirt sleeve and—sighing with relief at the injury being merely a flesh wound—begins to syphon off most of Stiles's pain, to which Stiles answers by seemingly sighing his own breath of relief.

Derek hesitates for one thrilling moment—before he's opening his mouth, only to close it again when he clamps it gently around the sticky mess of Stiles's skin, Alpha-gaze never leaving big brown Bambi eyes that are shining with the godly reflection of the full moon.

As he does it, Stiles's own mouth forms an ‘O’ shape. Surprisingly, the only other thing he has to offer Derek is an uncharacteristically quiet and breathy “Oh,” which Derek boldly takes as permission to start sucking at Stiles's skin, delighting at the gooey texture and unique flavour of the blood that overwhelms his tongue and taste buds and feelings.

It's all at once that he hears Isaac’s wolf-whistle and Scott's, “Ew!” and Allison's, “Um?” and Lydia's, “Told you,” that she aims at Jackson who just scoffs, and Derek doesn't need to be looking at Boyd to know that Boyd is looking at Erica to try and convince her not to smugly say, “You owe me twenty dollars, babe,” which she obviously says anyway.

Derek growls, then, loud enough to feel Stiles's trembling in his teeth, and for the rest of the gossipy pack to shuffle off through the trees before Derek can threaten to make them shuffle off this mortal coil if they don't.

Stiles's ever-sharp eyes—which had been darting about faster than the dragonflies that buzz down by the lake, his gaze landing on one figure and then the next as Derek's irritating pack let their irritating thoughts on the situation be irritatingly known—now gradually find their way back to Derek's.

Derek is watching Stiles, carefully. He's transfixed, actually, has been for the entirety of the ongoing exchange. He honestly doesn't believe he could look away if he tried.

Bronze eyes blown wide, Stiles now licks at unbearably pink lips, slowly, his cheeks doing their best to match the hue.

Taking the action for what he hopes it is, Derek starts to suck at the boy's skin some more, sampling his prize—before he's having to pause to swallow the pool of tangy red that's gathered underneath his tongue.

Then he knows, deliciously, that Stiles's treacly blood tastes like sodium and iron, but also like fresh earth and dew drops and mine.

When the kid's heart picks up the pace to a speed even more Springbok than usual, Derek releases the vacuum of his claret-tinged lips with a resonating pop. The sound echoes defiantly around the small glade in the northern part of the preserve they're standing in, and Derek's wolf prances and preens.

The moon is singing to him as he waits impatiently, preparing to be challenged on what the human probably thinks of as shockingly beastly behaviour.

Only Stiles doesn't challenge it. He doesn't say anything at all, weirdly, opting instead to brutally gnaw on that unbearably plump bottom lip of his, shiny eyes misting over as his chemo-signals spike and morph into something smoky-sweet that reminds Derek of incense and trailing mandevilla and sex.

Derek's vision shudders for a beat as his synapses start firing ten to the dozen—causing his eyes to flash impossibly redder than red, the glare from them illuminating Stiles's features in the gloom.

It looks, and feels, like magick.

With his mouth watering and gums tingling, Derek perceives Stiles's inaction to mean he's maybe allowed to do the thing he really fucking wants to. So, he decides to try his luck.

Derek starts to lick, cleaning up the scarlet streaks staining Stiles's milky skin.

When the boy's mouth falls open for a breathy sound to punch its way out of what Derek is suddenly considering an incredibly biteable throat, he starts lapping away in earnest at the trails of spilt blood in long and deliberate strokes, flattened tongue running up and down, up and down, washing clean lean muscle and dark hair and those pretty peppered moles, warming the cold pebbles of Stiles's gooseflesh as he goes.

Stiles keeps swallowing the saliva that Derek can hear is flooding his mouth, his breath hitching and hiccuping.

Derek's mouth doesn't form an ‘O’ but his mind does flicker into action with alluring and morish images as his wolf tries to will him to flop bonelessly into the scrub and roll around in the dirt and howl, howl, howl, all wild and feral and fierce. It's urging him for more; pleading with him to try; begging him to cry out with his wants and desires to lead Stiles into the deep, dark indigo of the creeping night where Derek is most at home—and he's really not sure why, but for once in his woefully shitty life Derek just allows himself to think fuck it and do exactly that.

So he howls and breaks the bones of dusk as he selfishly and gleefully drags the sheriff's son down onto the damp, ash-laden ground of his dead family's land.

And Stiles—for all of his usual brashness and caustic pride—lets him.

.

(tags beneath the cut, play or nay. anybody else who wants to do the thing, pls just consider yourself tagged and have at it!)

@shealynn88 @novemberhush @greyhavenisback @raisesomehale @princecharmingwinks @ohhalefire @blue-eyedbeta @angela-feelstoomuch @evanesdust @jmeelee @thebigoblin @hedwig221b @isthatbloodonhisshirt

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Miguel’s Reaction to You Taking Him to Watch The Barbie Movie

Warnings: Mainly Just Miguel Being Defensive, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Miguel Secretly Being a Barbie Girl, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel loves you. So, so much. And he would move Heaven and Earth to ensure even an ounce of your happiness.

However, he is 100% convinced that this excursion, this ‘girls’ day out’, will be anything more than a mind-numbing jaunt to the cinema.

At first.

He can’t deny that his heart sank and all enthusiasm he held for your date drained from his body the second you said the words ‘Barbie’ and ‘Movie’ in the same sentence.

But alas, he swallowed his dismay and took you out, plastering on a thin smile while he thought of a million and one things you could both be doing besides watching this masterclass in colour theory.

Sat beside you, packed in on either side by yourself and the many other attendees, waiting for the film to begin, Miguel can feel his patience trying to escape, trying to convince him to run, to get out while you still can!

Because of his heightened senses, he can hear every single word passing between the crowd. And with every mention of “Pink”, “Ryan Gosling,” and “Margot Robbie!” he can feel his mind numb.

The film starts. And for you, sending a watery smile your way, while your eyes sparkle with nostalgic wonder, he endures.

Five minutes in, Miguel is assaulted by pink. The very essence of the colour and all its vibrancy sends hot pink pain through his skull, his senses raw.

Quietly, he slips his sunglasses on.

This is going to be a long movie.

And, for the first quarter of the film, Miguel held that notion. Near and dear as if it were the antidote to the current situation.

Then, halfway in, the story started to intrigue him.

The colour scheme is…tolerable now. Even pleasing to the eye in some scenes.

And, dare he say, Miguel found the music to be catchy.

Two thirds in and he’s sat forward in his seat, hands clasped and his lips resting atop them. Not that you can see, but his eyes are blown wide, his mind arace with possible outcomes.

By the end of the film, Miguel’s holding your hand, forehead pressed to your shoulder, a single, silent tear illustrating his cheek.

“Miggy?” you say, leaning over to try and see his face. You recognised the singular jutting of his shoulders immediately. And, with a smile teetering on the edges of your lips, you try to console him.

“Mig–”

“S’nothing. M’fine,” His cut-off is blunt and non-negotiable. You drop the subject and escort him from the screening by his arm, the music bright as the credits roll. The dimness of the room gives way to light, gradually, slowly. The streak of Miguel’s tear glistens.

Miguel’s visceral reaction to Barbie’s movie doesn’t stop when you get home, by the way.

It actually gets worse.

If you’re lucky, you can catch Miguel reading articles on his phone, an unmistakably pink banner and the title of ‘Top 10 Things You Missed in The Barbie Movie!’ leaving little to the imagination.

Confronting him about it will lead you nowhere. Miguel will sooner shove his phone up his ass and pretend it never existed than admit that he is indeed curious as to what happened to that one background character who fell off a cliff in that one scene. Is she okay? Does anybody know where she is? Does her family know?

The fact that you find his curiosity (empathy) endearing, ‘Aww’ing at him and pinching his cheeks, makes him ever the more secretive.

Just about secretive enough to keep his volume to a minimum when he’s singing; tunes which you know are from the soundtrack.

“I’m a Barbie girl, in a Barbie world~”

“Babe, what was th–”

“Nothing.” He’s blunt, but there is haste to his tone. Shame, even.

Occasionally, you’ll see him eyeing up Barbie-themed merch when you’re out shopping. But he never makes a move to purchase any. Not for himself, anyway.

He’ll buy you said merch – anything that catches your eye, your fancy. Even if it is a shirt ten sizes too big.

“Babe,” you say, pinching the shirt up at your shoulders, the fabric in enough excess to cause the neck to expose most of your chest. “I may be wrong here, but I’m fairly certain only you would be able to fit in this shirt.”

“Oh, well, guess I’ll just have to take it off your hands, then,” he says, his elation barely concealed behind his faux-disappointment. As if him doing so is a chore – that he’s doing you the favour by taking the garment whose shoulders could only fit his insane proportions.

Please just buy him the merch. Any shame he may feel upon initially receiving it will fade when he realises – when you reinforce – how his liking of Barbie is “Adorable, yes. But uplifting; it’s so relieving to see that you’ve found something you actually like that isn’t to do with the Spiderverse!”

“It’s actually called the–”

“Yeah, I don’t care, Babe.”

His favourite present you ever got him was a brightly-coloured exercise suit Barbie and Ken wore in the movie. He had to turn away, the fabric neon in his periphery, tears filling his eyes and balling in his throat when he saw that you’d bought a matching one.

“So we can fight crime in style!”

Miguel’s watery smile twitched, faltered. His Brow furrowed.

“Wait, what’s that supposed to mean?” he said. “You don’t think my suit’s fashionable?”

The way your face drained was enough to spark laughter in Miguel’s chest. His only line of defence against the tears that pricked his throat, played him like an instrument, with you as the orchestra’s master.

While he can’t wear the suit out on superhero duty, he does keep the headband on beneath the suit.

A reminder of you when he’s throwing himself at every threat, every monster, every evil, the band a halo hugged to his skin; a slim substitute for your warm touch, your scent, but a reminder all the same.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[gothamgf]

bleachers — s.es + l.cy

tags sports!riize basketball!eunseok fencer!eunseok fencer!reader anton!swimmer, college au, fluff, angst, slight nsfw, hurt/comfort

wc 14k

summary when twenty-five twenty-one meets challengers.

author's note each 🤺 is a time jump!

(apple music playlist)

(spotify playlist)

You afforded the front-row.

Yet, sat right under the nose bleeds. 

A coat of velvety darkness covered the Grand Palais, raising the public, and everyone involved’s pulses to its climax. 

The hall tensed in its fullness, gradually silencing itself. 

Each and everyone’s mouths watering for victory in the name of their country, loved ones, or themselves. 

Light beams shot out of nowhere, putting on a grand show for the beginning of the awaited event. 

The Men Fencing Finals at the Paris 2024 Olympics. 

🤺

BEEP

13-0

Coach Lee manifested every single muscle of hers to stop herself from letting out a loud sigh of disappointment. She knew she’d let it out in a few minutes anyway. The only thing comforting her sorrow in witnessing her own student fail so miserably, was you, her little « protégée ». 

It was your opponent’s fifth time of trying to quit the game ever since you’ve started playing. 

It was, in consequence, one of those days where you knew the real training would only come after hours, once you would beg your coach to play a real match against you. 

Only, one of you would always ask for a rematch, and a match point to determine who turned out to be the winner of whatever day it was. 

So, in the meantime, you’d become the distracted teenager you rarely allowed yourself to be. 

« Please coach, I’ll never be as fast as her, just let me train on the mannequin… » whined Aeri’s to the unimpressed olympian champion, fully knowing her request will be met with a stern negative response. Useless negotiations started, followed with a series of beginner-level advices. Well, not beginner-level, but certainly nothing a competitor for the national team should be listening to at the moment. 

You took their bickering as an opportunity to cool off, dropping your suffocating mask on the floor. You then opened your water bottle with quick dexterity, without ever letting your sword out of your grasp. You were seen without it so rarely, word spread that you slept and showered with it. The truth wasn’t that far. 

The voices of everyone in the gym were muffled as the second bell of the afternoon ringed, and chatter bloomed out of the school’s walls. Normally, you’d be on your way to close the windows, so that nothing could disturb the hours left of training. But your skin sprinkled in sweat, and the ongoing match required no real focus on either part whatsoever. 

So you stayed there, and kept on drinking, sun-kissed. 

When the breeze would stop blowing on your face, you’d immediately pray for more, and for 2023 to come faster. It would be your very first Asia Games, if you’d manage to qualify for it, and before that, if you’d manage to qualify for the Korean women’s fencing team.  

You knew you would. 

The mere thought of it made your stomach tie itself in impossibly tight knots. 

In the clouds, floated the white of your suit, tattooed of your name in the colors of your country. The wind whispered chants celebrating it, as well as your scores going high, point by point, pushing you towards victory. And in the blinding reflections of the high school building’s windows, millions of medals shined. Your mind already displayed them in your room, in which you left an empty wall since you were 7. 

Your bones shook with impatience. Two dozens of months, and you’d be there.

Palpable greatness. 

Life have never tasted any better than on a random Thursday afternoon of a long high school day. And your heart never felt any lighter than when you were full of youth, hope, and thirsty for victory. 

Arms crossed and wrapped on the windowsill, your body slouched on it, you quickly checked if the interrupting conversation was near to be over. You caught the coach fiercely teaching Aeri how to make convincing feints, as if she was teaching her a choreography. Aeri offered you a desperate smile, as you mouthed her encouraging words to lighten up her mood. She couldn’t do anything but sigh. You giggled and let your eyes wander back into the outside world. Your back straightened itself the second you saw the building you were secretly eyeing this whole time open up its doors. 

The basketball building.

At this hour, they were going to run a few rounds on the track field before going back to training in their gymnasium. 

It’s not that you memorized it on purpose, you just knew. 

At least, that’s what you told yourself. 

The school’s team was so prestigious some of the students already had fan clubs within the school, and in other’s as well. It mainly consisted of little stickers of their favorite member’s number on the juniors’ lockers. Or, blocking entire days before their games to craft posters, decorations, and even merchandising. They swore it was to motivate them, but the « Marry Me Sungchan » cardboards told otherwise.

You thought it was all very silly, yet quite thrilling to have some of the « Riizing Boys » in your promotion. What a lie it would be to say none of them have tickled their way into your heart, but it would also take actual torture for you to admit it in front of your teammates. 

Your nose fully peeked out of the window when you watched the first tall guys step out. 

And there he was, Lee Anton, with his silver jersey and long tousled hair.

Your stomach tied itself in knots again as he looked back to the team, flashing them a million dollar smile, slowly jogging towards the track field, and warming-up his twisted body. Droplets already formed on his forehead as the unforgiving sun coated the giggling players.

Their happiness affected you. And perhaps, watching hot boys made life a little more worth living, or so your 18-year-old self thought. You also thought you were looking (oogling) at the team in its entirety, when a chestnut haired boy rushed to take place next to them on the starting line, their coach closing the door after him. He just wore a white t-shirt, and was definitely unfamiliar to you. 

He was new. 

And new is exciting. 

You kept watching him, comparing his physique with the other members, trying to figure out the sound of his voice and most importantly, what his face looked like. All of their broad backs and shoulders were turned to you, lowered to the ground, as they prepared themselves for the jog. You thought to yourself that they’d run fast enough for you to catch a glimpse of the new guy when they’d get closer to your window. 

But the whistle of their coach synchronized with yours, ripping you out of your reverie.

« Come on, let’s play again. » Coach Lee calmly ordered. « And remember Aeri, her muscles. Look at the way her muscles move, and anticipate your strike alright? »

Aeri nodded unconvincingly, knowing that it will be over in a few points anyway. She put on her helmet in a swift motion, seeming slightly more boosted than minutes ago. You, on the contrary, put a little more time to get ready. 

Your body might’ve been En Garde, but your mind was still on the track field, among the « Riizing Boys » and the faceless newbie. 

« Prêts? » Coach Lee exclaimed, her arms open on each side of her body.

The growing sound of the basketball teams’s step tangled with the sound of your own heartbeat. 

« Which club trains here? » A voice from outside the window asked.

You instinctively turned your head. 

« Allez! »

The new guy was looking at you.

And you were looking at him. 

BEEP 

13-1

🤺

The seat to your left was empty, whereas the one to your right was occupied by a pre-teen girl wearing both France and South Korea’s colors. You figured you’d find out who her hearts belongs to once the match would begin. 

« Now welcoming, France’s athlete : Yannick Borel ! » An automatic voice announced through the speakers.

The girl screamed as loudly as she possibly could.

You didn’t need to wait after all. 

The fencer’s walk was determined, slow and strong. The volume of the cheers made you slightly worry about the glass ceiling. You applauded still, feeling quite sorry in advance for the next athlete, knowing he won’t get half as much cheers as his opponent. 

You rapidly came to the realization that you might’ve under-estimated his popularity. The second his name was announced, you nearly jumped in surprise, hearing the girl next to you let out a inhumane screech. 

A sting that could not be stopped by any means attacked your heart as his name echoed through the Palace Hall. Huge screen glowed, his face and name plastered all over them, cheered in a country at the end of the world. Envy and pride fought within your overwhelmed soul, tied to him in ways that justified your presence here, as much as it made it questionable. 

« Now welcoming, South Korea’s athlete : Song Eunseok ! »

🤺

« Good session girls! » Coach Lee started cheering on to conclude the day. « Aeri, Manon and Y/N, it’s your turn to clean the room, I want to see my reflection on the floor tomorrow morning hm? Good night everyone, drink water and sleep for at the very least 9 hours, understood? »

You all agreed and greeted the coach back, as she left the gymnasium to her usual mantra. The doors were still clapping the wind when you rushed towards one of your juniors, begging her to trade your place this one time. 

This one time, and last week’s time. 

Promising her another autograph from Seunghan wasn’t enough, so the bid went up and your offer was now his signature on her sword. At this very moment, you finally understood what authors meant by « Her eyes glowed ». You took her struggle to say thank you as a « yes », and bowed to her appreciatively before rushing to the lockers. As you peeled your fencing suit out of your body and changed to your uniform, the note you received this morning fell on the floor. 

You got it during your French lessons with Mr. Vidal, half asleep and half drooling on the back of your hand. Your table mate gently tapped on your forehead, jolting you awake. Your beauty sleep, interrupted only for you to receive a crumpled piece of notebook that has been passed around from the very back of the amphitheater, where you felt a gaze burning through your nape. 

« Meet me at the bleachers. 

-seok »

And there you were, walking towards the blue bleachers as the Korean sun painted them orange. 

Again.

You saw his silhouette shaking two tiny strawberry yakults, the straws already planted on both of them. Your pearly eyes glowed from miles away. 

Excitement from meeting up with his new friend energized him, as if the previous 8 hours of intensive training vanished right there and then.

« No fancy fencing outfit today? » He playfully asked, carefully watching you climb up the stairs, two by two. 

« And hopefully you have your own jersey now? » You cheekily replied as you remember teasing him for always training in what seemed to be the same white t-shirt.

« I still can’t decide on a number… » He replied, lying through his teeth, both of you knowing the truth. He was still on a trial period.

« Well, what’s your birthday? » You plopped next to him, downing the strawberry milk as if you haven’t drank in years. 

« 19 and 03 are taken… » He dramatically sighed, taking a sip out of his. 

« Well… Speaking of 03… » Your interest spiking as soon as you heard Anton’s jersey number. Your back straightening itself on its own. 

Eunseok contained a smile, throwing his sport bag onto his lap. You stopped breathing as soon as you took a glimpse at the silver fabric shining inside. He paused, and lifted the jersey to your face. 

« AAAH! » You loudly gasped. 

« SHH! » He hushed you, trying so hard not to laugh at you. « They’re still inside the gymnasium, oh my God… you’re insufferable… » 

Fan-girling sounds escaped out of your bouncing body. The peak of excitement and joy plastered all over your face, as rarely as you expressed it. 

The truth was that, selling your youth to your sport built walls around you, which made building meaningful, yet carefree friendships close to impossible. Your teammates seemed to be your friend group, from the outside. But the giddying, feet kicking and giggling teenager you knew you were, only ever existed within the four walls of your bedroom. You’ve journaled about how lonely it was to have no girl sitting cross-legged at the end of your bed, ranting, from sunset to sunrise. 

Such is the cost of being so excellent in your discipline. 

No one seeks friendship in a playground foe. 

Good thing Eunseok had no wishes to challenge you. Or at least, without a sports career, or a scholarship at stake. 

Turned out 18 days of makeshift apprenticeship were enough for you to build the type of connexion you’ve longed for, since forever. It broke through the walls of youthful insecurity and shyness the day he caught you cleaning up the fencing studio on your own. 

You were on the third part of your sold out concert, the imaginary crowd going wild as you crossed the stage doing tricks with your broom turned microphone, turned guitar. Closed windows muffled the sound of your favorite band blasting through the stereo, as it has countless times before. There were no blinds, however, that could hide the silhouette of your body following severals choreographies for half an hour. 

Especially, from the late jogger on the tracking field. 

You remember feeling as if you’ve jumped to the roof when he knocked on the glass, teeth showing through his wide smile, framed by glistening cheekbones. The highest level of shame took over your whole being, immediately assuming he was about to make you the joke of his entire time here. Or worse, he would act as if you’ve never existed. 

In reality, he just mouthed for you to open up. You did, reluctantly so, fully aware of how cruel boys could be.

« There’s a duo part coming after, right? » He asked, nodding his head to the rythm, waiting for the said part. He sang it, as passionately as he could, not a single note of his, on key. He tilted his head waiting for you to hop on the duet. 

Not once did he offer you mockery coated side-eyes. 

No. He was all friendship, dimples, and love for One Direction.

Finding comfort in each other so rapidly, bloomed doubts on what truly lied within your heart. 

It was no difficult thing to admit that you have never wondered if there wasn’t a bit of attraction between the two of you. Though, the mere reminder of Lee Anton’s existence, made every single man that you have ever known disappear from the surface of Earth. 

So yes, when Eunseok held his promise of getting you one of his jersey’s in exchange of clandestine fencing lessons, your heart pounded its way out of your ribs. 

« Thank you, Thank you, Thank you !! » You beamed at him, diving into a hug. 

« You know » He started in a slightly strained voice, his hands ghosting over your back « Don’t freak out but, » He paused. « I told him it was for you. »

The summer breeze suddenly chilled your nape, down to the bottom of your back. Waves of embarrassment as strong as this could break down cruising ships in seconds. 

Your bodies automatically distanced themselves, as your expression died. 

« What. » You barely muttered. 

« Yeah… he’s a bit over his jerseys going to high schoolers and juniors he doesn’t know and stuff. I had to tell him but… » 

You cut him right there. « You couldn’t lie? You couldn’t say it was for your little sister or like, anyone else but me? »

You stared at a piece of void in horror. It creeped. The slow realization that all of the chances, as small as they were, with your first college crush definitely turned into dust creeped on you. You were just a fan now, to him. You asked yourself why you would ever trust a man to be your wingman when you let your face rest on your palms. 

Eunseok’s smirk haven’t left his face, though. « Can you let me finish? »

You didn’t respond. 

He sighed at how dramatic you were acting, in his opinion. « When I told him it was for you… » 

He paused. « He actually looked… quite happy about it. »

🤺

2-2

No weapons were allowed in the arena, but if anyone had a knife, they could easily cut through the tension that vibrated in the air. Waves from chatter to silence formed in between points, helping out the fencers to filter out their thoughts. Song Eunseok’s were now racing with heavy, borderline abusive motivations to create a gap of points between him and Yannick Borel. 

There were few things he hated more than equalizing point with his opponent. The idea of utter loss, a silver medal, caused by a single point could make him go feral. 

But now was no time to go feral. 

Now was the time to place his feet apart from each other. To flex his knees, bend his sword and agitate it out of habit. To then giggle his arms, one last time, and wait for the referee’s voice to echo through his mic. 

He took in a deep breath, closed his eyes for a second and felt the tingle of his opponent’s last strike on him. 

The fourth right rib. He would try to hit here again. And he knew just how to keep him from doing that.

« En Garde. »

You were sitting at the edge of your seat, his hate for equal scores coming from you. You, who couldn’t help but hope for your late night lessons from 4 years ago to still be tattooed in his mind. 

« Prêts ? »

All the sweat you poured until the school’s track fields’ lights went out, and your only way back home was from his passenger seat. Those trainings he paid with inviting you to his court, only so you could flirt with his curly-haired teammate. 

BEEP 

Your youth together.

You hoped he didn’t forget your youth together. 

2-3

It was like watching the two of you dance again. 

🤺

« There’s no way I can jump that high » You stated in defeat, breaking your neck from looking at the hoop. 

« Are you kidding? I saw you correct the cheerleaders’ choreo the other day… »

You shushed him, partly amused and partly annoyed from shooting only three scores since you’ve started training with him. It has been 2 weeks. 

Nothing was at stake there, no career, no scholarship, or not even a trophy. But the frustration of doing so many so mistakes when you were more than used to being excellent, couldn’t be helped. Especially since Eunseok has proven himself to be quite a fast learner from your not so amateur fencing sessions. 

« Let’s do it together one more time, hm? » He offered, clearly sensing your growing frustration. 

You nodded, eyes closed, gathering every ounce of focus that was left in your body. 

Why where you there when Anton was nowhere to be seen anyway?

When you felt ready, you looked to your side, ready to mimic Eunseok’s movements as you have done countless times before. 

But you’ve turned your head to nothing. 

A breath ghosted over your neck. 

Fingertips on your left wrist, and a palm on your hip. 

« Bend your knees. » He softly spoke. 

The phrase ran twice, or thrice in your head before you actually registered and executed it. Your body temperature shifted, hoping it went unnoticed. And before you could form any other thought, his whole body stretched yours out towards the hoop. You automatically jumped, but he stayed on the ground, his hands now both pushing on your under arms. He boosted your jump, practically lifting you like you weighed nothing. You nearly screamed out of fright from the sudden gain of height. 

« Shoot ! » He shouted, shattering the blossoming tension. 

You did, and you scored, and you laughed, and he laughed. And coming down from the height, only made your excitement and adrenaline jump through the roof. Once you calmed down to your senses, you teasingly hit him with the ball instead of celebrating.

« Amazing shot, champ, how did you that? » He sarcastically chuckled, resting his hands on his knees. 

You couldn’t help but think he was probably wiping off your arm-pit sweat from his palms.

« It’s called talent. » You breathlessly replied, plopping down on the floor with your legs splayed out. 

« That’s a real basketball player answer there, you might get qualified for the team before me."

« I’m no real basketball player, though. » You stated, cutting out whatever game you were both playing at. « I literally have to be your puppet to score. »

« Were you having fun? » He asked, « Being my puppet? »

« Well, even though I didn’t ask to be… » You looked up at him, the spotlights making his traits manlier than you were used to see. « Yeah. » 

He collected the ball from the floor, dribbling it for a few seconds before effortlessly scoring, looking right into your eyes. « Then you’re a real basketball player. » 

« So fucking cheesy… » You sighed, smiling to the ground.

Half an hour later, Eunseok was mopping the squeaky court as he waited for your « just got home » text. He would usually enjoy some music while cleaning, just like you did. But that day was for racing thoughts, and the squelch of his soapy mop on the wooden floor was just what he needed as a background sound. The way he touched you earlier haven’t quite left his mind. Before that, he had never tried to initiate anything physical with you. But you always did. Pressing on his abs and back muscles to help him have good fencer posture. Or wrapping your fingers around his to teach him how to have a solid, yet, swift hold on her backup sword. Like any good coach would.

Eunseok kept rummaging his thoughts about how he held you today, if you perhaps thought it was too much, or if you thought nothing of it. He saw the goosebumps rise from under your skin, though. And he felt it heat up. 

« Someone’s in love… », Sohee said from the swinging doors. 

Eunseok’s heart jolted, his body remained unmoved. He eyed his smirking teammate from the reflection on the huge window in front of him. « The hell are you even doing here? »

« Not flirting with Y/N L/N, what about you? » He sarcastically replied, crossing his arms. 

Despite the slipperiness of the floor, Eunseok raced towards him, screaming incoherent things to his youngest. Their improvised game of tag, giggling from the sights of each other’s bouncing hair, made the previous teasing dust up in the records of history. 

« Just admit it, you have a thing for Anton’s girl. » Sohee exclaimed with a loud smile on his freckled face. 

Hearing that incorrect way of describing you made him icky, for a reason he was only admitting to himself, for now. Eunseok ran faster, shouting a childish « Hey! », Sohee finally within his reach, when his phone vibrated against his clothed thigh. He automatically stopped in his tracks, right after jumping over the benches. His friend’s eyes sparkled with thirst for drama, the sight of Eunseok’s lighted up smile ready to be spread in future gossip sessions. 

But Eunseok, as blissful as he could be, kept blushing at your awaited notification. 

It was followed by a messy, half asleep goodnight text. To which he replied : 

⌈ Sweet dreams, Y/N. ⌋

His finger hovered over the send button. Was it Sohee’s defying look over his phone that made him send this all or nothing second text? Or was it because he came to the realization that he didn’t like the fact that « Anton’s girl » could soon be a very correct way of describing you ? 

It was up to your interpretation anyway. Perhaps, it would mean nothing to you. 

So he sent :

⌈ ❤️ ⌋

Like any good friend would. 

🤺

It has only been 6 minutes since the match has started. Six terribly long minutes of observing your college’s best friend compete in the most important match of his life, with only yourself to debate or cheer with.

The time on your phone was rarely left unchecked, as for your watch, it would be the next second, as if time went by faster on the latter. There was a fencing olympic finale entertaining you, and a chanting crowd to follow along to. Nevertheless, pure loneliness bubbled right inside of you, perched with thousands of sports fans.

It was never lonely down there, you reminisced. 

A goal in mind, a weapon in hand, and a person to dance with was all you ever needed to feel fulfilled. To feel happy. 

You’d search for your partner’s sweet spot until they’d succeed to your teasing touches. 

Growing tensions, magnifying attractions, and the electronic sounds of the scores accumulating turning into music. There would be a moment in which both of you would understand each other completely, the map of each your souls clearly traced in the lines of your body. 

Synchronization. 

Harmony. 

The common folk mostly thought of fencing only as competition and infliction of pain. A deadly duel, resulting into a victor and a loser. But beneath the protective gear, and under the pulsing pearly skin of fencers, lied infinite pleasure. 

For both players.

And sometimes, even for the referee.  

Fencing was all about mutual connexion, understanding, and love.

And all of that came with patience, which left your body each an every minute there, sitting with a crowd that didn’t know Song Eunseok like you did. 

Nor the secret stake of the match.

That’s what, partly, justified your loneliness.

You hoped he didn’t feel any of that loneliness, as well. 

Because if he did, if he wasn’t having any fun, he would 100% lose. 

He took off his mask, strong breathes huffing out of his chest, as he waited for the referee’s verdict. He couldn’t help but twist the sweat off his pink glossy lips, lick them and bite them. 

The anticipation that grew within you, and your misplaced curiosity for his freshly licked lips, made you react a little later than you should have when you heard footsteps approaching you. 

There’s a hand on the crook of your neck. 

« So sorry my love, some fans wanted pictures. » Anton breathlessly whispered in your ear, before kissing it.

🤺

City lights shimmered all over the floor you slowly walked on. Your teammate’s complaints were muffled by the sound of your own troubles fogging your brain. There were no words to describe how much you loathed doing bad performances. 

And your coach pretending like it wasn’t the case. 

And the fact that the only thing keeping you away from being better, was your mental state. 

And your mental state, being the way it was because of a guy. 

Anton hadn’t talked to you today. 

You wore his jersey, today.

Embarrassment grew each and every time you felt a stare a second too long on the shining letters on your back. You’ve never wanted to hide under your epidermis more than when you walked by the team’s table at lunch, and received a glance, but no smile from him. 

It could have been just that, until the most irritating chuckles made their way into your ears, coming from their way.

If you could’ve died right there, it would have been a miracle. 

And if your sword could actually kill, Eunseok’s head would’ve been on a spike. 

Well, truth was that your mental state was that way, because of two guys.

It could also only be because of today’s treason, but it wasn’t.

Eunseok hasn’t left your mind a single day since you’ve met. 

It has been three months, now. 

Spring was ending, now. 

Your friendship grew out of the school’s walls with goodnight texts, stretching into nightly, hours long conversations. Your thumbs would get sore from all the texting, so it shifted to calls. And video calls. During the weekends, too. 

Eunseok then swore you needed to practice your shoots on your days off as well. He happened to have a park with a hoop, right at the end of the street in which he lived. So you met up there, every Saturdays, and practiced. 

He’d always drive you back home if those sessions, that eventually turned in gossip sessions, lasted until nighttime. 

Until one day, when his older brother went on a trip with his car.

There were no buses anymore, and your parents have had a little drink. 

Moments later, you left your shoes next to his by the entrance, ate with his parents and baby brother, saw Eunseok under his dining’s room light, and brushed your teeth next to him, laughing at the huge foam around his mouth.

His mother’s smell was all over your skin and hair when you got out of the shower. 

His own smell embraced you when you dived into his previous basketball team’s jersey. 

And being there, all up in his brother’s sheets, with his father snoring in the other room, scared you. It scared you because you felt like you could get used to this. 

Your lids grew heavier, as you silently wished to get used to it.

You opened them back up when your phone lit up by your face. 

« I have popcorn. » Eunseok had texted you. 

You didn’t need more to be tiptoeing to his bedroom.

« I’m out of here by 3 am, understood? » You warned him as you quietly closed the door behind you, knowing that it might cause trouble to be found here in the morning. He solemnly nodded, before breaking into a grin as he watched you get comfy by him, against his headboard.

Hours after demolishing the popcorn bag, you were still there, sharing life stories in the dark, from the funniest to the most unspeakable ones. You told him about how you puked on yourself after your first kiss, and he told you about all the nasty things he had seen in the showers of all the sports teams he had been in. He swore he hadn’t participated, but he gave away way too much details. 

It was way past the bedtime both of you knew you wouldn’t respect anyway, when he decided to put on one of your favorite animated movie on his laptop. Your reciting of the lines became more and more incoherent, and he spent more and more time watching you flutter your eyelashes shut.

You fell asleep to the feeling of Eunseok’s fingers waltzing on your temple, and woke up in his brother’s bedroom. 

« Do you speak French in your sleep because of fencing, or because of Ratatouille ? » He had asked you the next day, watching you wash your face through the bathroom mirror.

All of this shouldn’t have affected you the way it did, you thought. 

You were just happy to get closer to your friend, you thought. 

You were like brothers and sisters now, you thought.  

Replaying this in your head has made you oddly silent, as you kept on walking among your teammates. You were so silent, you started to recognize the now very familiar sound of a basketball rapidly bouncing, then clashing against the metal outdoor hoop.

« Oh, Guys, I forgot something at the gym. » You lied to the group of gasping girls. « You guys can go ahead. See you tomorrow! »

You rapidly pretended to walk back, immediately missing the shelter of Aeri’s umbrella as they cheerfully waved to you. Seeing their giggling backs under the rain made you wish to make more efforts to befriend them. An inexplicable rush of nostalgia washed over you, as raindrops coated your scalp. You were in your feels. And going to investigate towards the small court wasn’t going to help anything, no matter who was dramatically shooting hoops under the rain. 

It could’ve been one of the guys you were desperate to avoid tonight. 

Though, you couldn’t help but hope it was one of them.

You took a turn and quietly walked towards the huge white hoodie, cutting the mystery short.

« Think you’re Troy Bolton or something? » you teasingly asked. You knew better than to be mad at him off the start, even though you truly were. 

Eunseok turned around, missing the point he was about to miss anyway.

The fruit of his restless thoughts materialized before him. 

If you thought you were going mad over your sleepover at his’, it was solely because you knew nothing of how much it ran him, truly crazy. 

He introduced you to his parents, picked you up when you were sleeping, smelt your morning breath, and have spent, since then, hours to think about the next time he could have you that way again. Without acting like the worst, traitor, dipshit friend ever.

You were slowly tearing him into pieces, with no one but Sohee as a witness. 

The abandoned ball wasn’t bouncing off the floor nearly as fast as your pounding hearts. 

« If you consider yourself Gabriella, then it should be Anton’s role. » He stated, leaning down to pick it up. His tone ended up being colder than both of you expected it to be. 

« I’m not really sure he’d like to be my Troy anyway… » You scoffed, crossing your bare forearms. « But you all could be a little less cruel about it. » You then spat at him, slightly ashamed. 

He stopped in his motions, his back facing you. « What are you even talking about? »

You huffed a laugh, the frustration turning into a lump of sorrow in your throat. Have boys always been this oblivious to the fucked up things they do? « You know exactly what I’m talking about. » 

« No, I don’t actually. I don’t know, Y/N. » He turned to face you, jaw clenched. « And you really need to stop playing around, especially now. » He bitterly added. His tone was filled with despise, as if he was grounding some naughty spoiled kid. It vexed you.

« Is it not playing around when you let me hope that he likes me ? And proceed to then laugh at me, with him, behind my back? » You shouted, taking a few steps towards him, wondering where his common sense possibly went.

You didn’t mean for your voice to crack so easily. And you were pissed at his confused, twisted eyebrows under his wet strands of hair. 

« Lunch? Today? » You tried to refresh his memory. 

His expression shifted. A defeated smirk threatened to mark his face, as he slowly made the wet ball bounce from one of his hands to the other. 

« I can assure you, we weren’t laughing at you. » He calmly stated, now taking in your shivering form from under the flickering lamp post. 

You sighed out a big chunk of air, with closed eyes and your head held up high. Was it out of relief, annoyance or, as a way to relax your severely tensed muscles? You couldn’t tell, at all. 

But you knew what you felt. You felt sick of fighting the very person you’d go to when days were as shitty as today. 

So you decided to trust his words, though it felt too early to fully believe in them.

 « Whatever. He didn’t even talk to me today. » You muttered.

If this had happened a few weeks before, Eunseok would have confessed that the team was laughing at Anton’s reddening ears to the sight of you, proudly walking with his name on your back. 

However, whatever reason that was making him pull a dry sweater from his sports bag, was making him keep it all to himself. 

« You can’t afford to catch a cold, champ. » He softly spoke, as he stood up, closed the gap between you, and wrapped it around your shoulders. 

« So can’t you. » You replied, looking up to his face. He covered the top of yours with the hood of his sweater, slid his hands on your shoulders, and left them there. 

It wasn’t his first time taking the time to explore the map of your face. He retraced it all, meanwhile you felt like a first time explorer. The lamp-post lighting softly bounced of his high cheekbones, and made his earring shimmer. You couldn’t make up the sweat sliding down his forehead from the raindrops drenching him, in all places. From his ridiculously big eyes and lashes, to his puckered pouty lips, passing by his straight nose bridge, he was glowing. 

He was beautifully glowing. 

Your focus went back down his mouth. You blinked, a lot. You swore it was moving a second ago. But it wasn’t anymore. 

He had just finished talking and you haven’t heard a thing. 

« Sorry what did you say? » You asked, coughing your way out of awkwardness. 

He swallowed down a now flustered smirk and replied in all seriousness. « Our coach. He’s involved with a bribing case. » 

It took you a second too long to recover from your previous embarrassment, and register the dramatic information you have just gotten. « What? » You finally exclaimed.

« Yeah. » He looked down, your saddened expression pulling him back through the same deception he had faced earlier. «The headmasters were quick to announce that there would be no actually good replacement for the rest of the year though. Some are staying, some are switching sports, and others are switching… schools. » He sighed. He also remembered how hard he had gasped when Shohei, the one guy he was the most excited to train with, announced him that he’d fly out to Japan to have a chance at his dream basketball team. 

He paused, and half heartedly chuckled, « I wasn’t even selected so my choices are… Thin. That’s why I’m here. Stress-releasing. » He freed your shoulders of his tender grasp, burying his freezing hands in his hanging jogger’s pockets. 

You’ve let the rain wash over you for a moment, watching Eunseok’s gaze empty itself. You, quite selfishly, mentally placed yourself in his shoes. You knew you’d have gone bat-shit crazy if you were left with the choices of making a drastic change in your life in order to keep chasing after your dreams, or abandoning them completely. In your golden age. Just because of a man. 

Your heart broke for the promising athlete before you. 

It broke for your best friend. 

« God… » You gasped in horror. « I can’t even… begin to imagine how hard that must be for you.»

« For all of you. » You added, Anton coming to your mind, and his, to his own demise.

He dropped his head and bitterly nodded to your statement. As you watched him stand there thoroughly defeated and fighting tears, you’ve found yourself powerless, and lacking of words strong enough to provide him any satisfying reassurance. So, you instinctively reached for his head and placed it on your shoulder, like he would do when you’d fail anything, from getting Anton’s attention, to exams. 

His arms immediately wrapped around your back and waist for warmth, comfort, anything, like a man starved. He had convinced himself that you were going to turn into sand if he didn’t hold you tightly enough, hence the grip he had on you, that, despite yourself, made your face flush warm against his wet, cold body. The sound of the raindrops hitting his nape made you shiver for him. You attempted at covering it with your hand, but was rather caressing the small parcel of skin. 

You weren’t deaf to the sound of his breathing losing its regularity, though. 

Added up to his chest, beating against yours, his heart was helplessly finding ways of digging its way down your ribcage.

You liked the feel of it, though. 

So you held him tighter, too. 

« You really need to stop playing around. » He whispered, right into your ear.

« What are you talking about? » You softly spoke, right back into his ear.

He took another deep breath before his palms found their way onto your hips. He unglued your body from his, watching you look up at him with a puzzled, yet dazed look. « You think the coach’s thing is the only stressing me out? »

The world consisted only of the raindrops sliding off your huffed out bodies, and the lamp-post illuminating you. An aura surrounded the man, through your blurry, rained on gaze. 

« I like you, Y/N. »

There was no time for another thought to be formed in your mind before he leaned in to kiss you.

Song Eunseok kissed you.

His lips on yours were gone as quickly as they’ve landed. Your next view were the droplets free falling from his eyelashes. Behind them, secretly lied a gaze you mentally ordered yourself to memorize forever. You weren’t sure if it was love, though. Because how could you be sure of feeling an emotion you’ve never encountered before? And where were the fireworks that the stories you’ve been fed with your entire life have promised you?

You didn’t hate it. 

Whatever you felt, you wanted to feel more of it. 

He watched you reach for the back of his head with one hand, and the side of his neck with the other. He watched you lift yourself on your tippy toes, and he couldn’t believe his eyes. 

You planted a new kiss on his wet lips. Only, you felt like you couldn’t get enough of of it. 

Eunseok swore he could taste victory better on your lips than on any of the trophies he had left a peck on. He anchored you to him when he felt your toes struggling to stand still. And he prayed, to all of the higher forces that could exist, to make the moment last as long as possible. 

Not a single ounce of lust seeped through the near-divine kiss you shared, even after your tongues have exchanged many caresses of their own. 

Both of you found your opponents there, kissing like you fenced, wondering if each of your physical encounters would end up feeling so familiar. 

Him, strategically attacking you with an unsettling force. 

You, brutally uncovering all of his weaknesses after studying his every moves. 

Everything that your unsatisfied, complexed selves have been craving for, you ended up founding in the warmth of each your own dearest friend’s.

Your phone lit up once in your back pocket, but you couldn’t care less about anything else that wasn’t Eunseok eating your mouth open. His large cold hands slid their way down there, with the pretext of protecting themselves in said pockets. Your phone vibrated once again, and he felt it too. 

« Duty calls? » He whispered against your lips, both of yours covered in spit and fucked out smiles.

You scoffed, punched his forearm as a punishment for his wandering hands, and dived back into the kiss you started missing the second you left it. 

His stupid smile couldn’t be forced out of his lipgloss smeared lips as he lazily kept on kissing you, too. 

He was on cloud nine. It was so grossly obvious. Yet, thinking about all the time he had spent fancying you, made you want to kiss him a little harder. 

If it weren’t for the third, infuriating vibration against your butt-cheek, you would have been glued to his lips until sunrise. 

You reached for your phone in your back pocket, while he made your head rest on his chest to shelter you. He covered your phone and the top of your head with his hand, too, as it lat up your chest. It lat up Anton’s jersey.

The mere sight of it made it harder for him to swallow remains of your saliva. 

He innocently thought the notifications were just from your dad cockblocking him. 

But it would be underestimating his friends’ power over you. 

Plus, you were staring at your phone’s notifications center for way too long.

⌈ Lovely outfit today. ⌋

⌈ Would you wear it again Friday night? ⌋

⌈ I want to take you out, Y/N. ⌋ 

The inevitable smile that creeped on the lips he had just kissed, made his heart bleed to fatality. 

🤺

Eunseok just lost a point. 

Anton’s hand was still glued to your shoulder, even after dozens of people crossed lengths of bleachers, hopping over strangers’ knees, just to have the privilege of sharing a picture with him. You were rarely invited in them though, or acknowledged at all. Knowing your spotlight-craving nature, you were surprisingly unbothered by your partner’s new surge of fame. 

In fact, it made you love him more. You once shamelessly admitted to your girl friends how one’s sportsmanship could determine your attraction, and feelings for them. 

The more medals someone would win, the more points they’d win to get you. 

Anton cracked the code when he first tasted your lips, right after he beat his personal record for the 200M Freestyle in the selections for the school’s swim team. You celebrated in the very same pool he had newly decided to offer his body to, arms wrapped around his soaked shoulders, sharing wet, languorous kisses and splashed giggles. 

He couldn’t get enough of the way your face would lit up after each and every prizes he would bring home over the years. 

So he kept swimming. 

And kept winning. 

Just to come back to you, forget it all and drown in your eyes again. 

Your eyes happened to be just enough for him to be here, in Paris, collecting gold medals like pebbles. The last three days all ended with your most cherished trophy coming running over to you, spinning you around, feeding on the laughter and cheers he swam to win all along. 

His addiction to the proud look plastered all over your face whenever you glanced at him could have got him banished from competitions.

He once pillow-talked to you about his theory of your past lives, being that he once was a greek athlete, a pioneer olympian, that only competed in worship of you. He kissed each of your knuckles afterwards, and later that day, came back with your initial added in one of the Olympic rings tattooed on his right bicep.

He sat down, finally free of his whispered meet and greet, kissed your shoulder, and turned his focus back on the match, almost forgetting the bitter taste of his presence there. He grounded himself by firmly holding your knee, as the bleachers suddenly felt too high for him. 

You, however, were almost annihilated by the game, wondering just how will Eunseok get his point back. You were almost starting to get upset by it. By everything mad that has ever happened to you, too. You thought it boiled down, the resurfacing anger from the day he decided to switch schools without telling you.

Was it really resurfacing anger, though, when it has been burning your guts every single day since 2017? 

Will it ever truly leave you, when the mere thought of fencing makes you feel 18 and abandoned again? 

Will you ever be at peace with the man you were cheering for, next to the man you shared keys with? 

🤺

You were sending undelivered texts to Eunseok with your right hand, and holding your new boyfriend’s arm with the left one. 

« You should eat, it’s going cold. » Anton told you, softly shimmying your cheek out of his shoulder. 

You absently nodded, not even bothering to straighten up and pretending to obey. Every single soul around the table could see your mind wandering elsewhere, but they had much more interesting topics to focus on. Like practice, competitions, and Asia Games. All of their non-athlete friends and lovers barely kept it together as they felt like their heads were going to explode from hearing too much sporty non-sense. Even though you have finally acquired your title of « Riizing Boys’ Girlfriend, » you weren’t quite included in the second bubble of conversation that formed over lunch. No, you preferred having one with the ghost of your true first kiss who has decided to vanish from the surface of earth four days ago. 

Your messages delivered, though, four days sooner.

Your concern for his absence seemed to torment no one else but you. Anytime you’d ask one of his ex-teammates, their reply would leave you even more lost and confused. You have stopped interrogating the team after the third player, Wonbin, « jokingly » replied he must’ve been sick of being around you every day. But also, to not raise any suspicion on the fogged up nature of your friendship. 

Anton had gained your attention once again, asking you to eat once again, but the very little appetite you had was definitely lost when you saw your text bubble switch to green, in the corner of your eye. 

There was no way.

You quietly excused yourself out of the table, as discreetly as you could. 

However, your discretion happened to not have gone unnoticed by Sohee, who followed your steps right after unwrapping his arm around his emo brunette girlfriend’s shoulders. 

Your lonesome session of deeply inhaling the fading spring’s breeze was cut short by him walking up to you, burying the worry that crushed him in his huge jean’s pockets.

« It kills me to see you like this. » He simply stated.

You were taken aback by it, as you weren’t that close to him. 

But Eunseok is, or was. 

You smiled, and assured him that you were fine through your knotted throat. 

« No you’re not. » He sighs, his gaze fixated on your unevenly concealed eye-bags. « Listen, I’m not supposed to tell you this but I will anyway. My girl keeps telling me how bad it is to keep that away from you, and fuck it, she’s right. » 

You braced yourself, arms crossed, and nodded. « What’s up? »

 « Anton doesn’t know either though… » He added, before looking around and leaning towards you. 

Seconds later, you are hit with the news that scooped the ground right off your feet.

Not by surprise, because you expected it. 

You saw it coming like a lunge.

And there was no way to avoid the deadly strike, and scar it left on your poor self. 

Eunseok left to study in Japan. 

And broke contact with you.

4 years later

March 2021

« Are you sure you’re okay? » Jimin asked, as you were losing a third point into your first practice game of the day. 

You nodded, out of breath, admitting to your years-long opponent that your entire body was particularly sore today. 

She snatched her mask off, revealing a smirk curving her glossy lips « Oh right, it was Anton’s birthday yesterday, I almost forgot. »

You teasingly attacked her with your sword, shushing her up from revealing a half-truth. All three of her strikes have hit marked spots from the night before, you kept having stomach butterflies-inducing flashbacks of. What has gotten into him, you wondered, reminiscing the way your hip bones knocked on the kitchen counter, bathroom sink, and shower wall, all in an impossibly short span.

The other source of your lack of focus was not so thrilling. It was quite the opposite, since it actually terrified you, since you’ve listened, in disbelief, to your college best friend’s whereabouts on the radio. Hearing about it against your will for the past couple of years have made your grieving journey harder than it should’ve been. Four years, in which you’ve entered your twenties, moved in with your college crush, integrated the National Fencing team, adopted a kitten, and buried gold fishes have passed. Four years of secretly scrolling through Japan’s national fencing team social media posts, under Anton’s spoon, lullabied by his soft snoring. 

You hated yourself for it, though. 

But no hate you could feel against someone could possibly surpass the one you felt for Eunseok. 

Which is why you nearly crashed yourself into a tree when you heard the reason your coach was about to gather your team in the conference room. 

Song Eunseok has come back home. 

Neither did the radio host’s or your coach’s voice have made it real enough for you to believe it.

It wasn’t until he walked in under camera flashes that you’ve felt it. 

Everything. 

You felt everything come back. 

The creaking sound of the bleachers under your youthful laughs. The strawberry milk flavored, moonlit practices. The soaked kiss. His brother’s sheets and his mother’s shower gel. 

And the pain, the agonizing, visceral pain of everything being ripped out of your life on a random Thursday. 

Once the white blocky flashing lights stopped concealing the face that was once your home, you were hit with the stupid realization that, that man was your first love. 

As he blinked the lingering blindness, he looked for your face in the seated crowd.

And when he did find you, he smiled. 

He smiled at you, offering you nothing but friendship and dimples. 

As if it was enough. 

As if stupid dimples were enough to forgive leaving you in the other side of the sea, for a stupid sport. For your stupid sport. 

You couldn’t stand any of the bullshit he was standing on. You were mad, mad enough to leave the room, not as discreetly as you once did.

How dared he come back bothering the peace you have worked so hard to build, after he had so easily destroyed it? How could he smile so prettily for the cameras, knowing the one person he should be apologizing to on his knees is standing right there, apology-less? How could he not learn from his errors, and warn you this time? 

The walls of what you called home more than the one you shared with your boyfriend, suffocated you for the very first time. So you left them, and drove. And you could’ve gone to the warmth of Anton’s arms, of your bed or of your bathtub. 

But your mind longed for stress-relief, instead of relaxation. 

Although, your tensed and sore body screamed for the latter.

« Practice starts in an hour, alright? » Sohee stated, leaning on the door’s frame, the same worried expression frowning his youthful face.

Maybe, it was your heart that made you stand in front of a hoop.

« I’ll let Anton know you’re here » he added to deaf ears before leaving you, as you already started to loudly dribble the heavy ball on the shining wooden ground of the Seoul’s Basketball Team’s practice room.

You thought you were strong enough to feed your mind with thirst for scoring points, without ever drifting to Eunseok’s lips pressed against your ear, teaching you how to win. 

As you failed yet another shot, you also thought of the fact that you have never gotten close to winning against him in his discipline, when you have once shared a 9-15 points combat. 

He had been lying, you were just now realizing, dribbling away your confusion, making sense of the late epiphany you were now having. 

He didn’t approach you to teach him fencing. 

He wasn’t a genius, nor a fast-learner as he repeated. 

He already knew how to play. 

There just wasn’t any male fencing team.

And he just wanted to spend time with you. 

You scored. 

You were his first love, too. 

You picked up the ball, and scored again. 

He loved you so much, he crossed the sea so he wouldn’t have to see his first love get with what he thought was yours.

You felt lighter all of the sudden. As if the soreness and bruises from last night’s have been washed down your body. You felt light enough to dunk without sitting on Eunseok’s shoulder, for once. 

You truly felt like it. 

So you jumped, higher than you ever have in your life, and dunked. 

Adrenaline rushed in your veins in such a delightful way, that you have forgotten that as an athlete, listening to your body was the only thing that mattered. It wasn’t scores, performances, peers, sponsors, or money. It was your body. But it was too late to remember it now. 

You were on the floor.

And you couldn’t believe the thud followed by a cracking sound, was the sound of your knee. 

It couldn’t be.

🤺

Anton’s hand still rested right there, squeezing it every time a player scored. 

Uncertainty resided within your heart in his attempt to reassure you. Each squeezes feeling like thousands of swords plunging in the wound left by your crushed lifelong dreams. 

He meant well, though. He meant them like kisses. 

So you covered his hand with your palm, grounding yourself too, on the touch of your partner of 7 years. 

You thought you’d feel more sick than that, watching your first fencing game ever since the incident. 

It was not a harmless sight, nonetheless.

You missed it all so bad, thinking of it for more than a minute would make you undeniably cry rivers, for your grief was still young and fresh. It has only been two years since the Asia games’ doors closed right in front of your hopeful soul. 

Since you have been amputated of the life you have been building since you were a child. 

Since you have died on a basketball court. 

Your forehead sweat would never uncomfortably trickle down your collarbones under the hot white suit again.

You never got to unpack a new one again, smelling the fresh new fabric for days, until it would absorb your own salty smell.   

Your sword would never accidentally hit someone on public transportation again. 

And no one else would ever say that you were glued to it, whenever someone would see you eat, with it laid next to your food. 

You would never train at the gym with your teammates turned friends, giggling on the stair master for minutes again. 

You would never turn teammates into friends again.

You would never plug, and unplug yourself to the score counting matching again. 

And you would never roar from your guts whenever you’d win again. 

You would never win again. 

You never played again. 

🤺

From Anton’s arms, carrying you princess-style as he screamed for help, to the sun-bathed rehab center, a million things you were unable to properly recollect, have happened. 

You have seen therapists that have tried to find you a new purpose in life in the span of 60 minutes weekly consultations, eaten countless of close to tasteless food, received an overwhelming amount of bouquets from all of the coaches, teammates and friends you ever had, and cried after each and every one of their visits. You have dried gallons of your parent’s, Anton’s and every of your loved one’s tears. You have also started knitting, as Sungchan’s bride-to-be have brought you a starting kit to keep up with a new distraction, other than the torturing one you had of keeping up with fencing news. Keeping up with the life you should be living. The life you spent your days and nights mourning, within the four walls of your hospital room. You have even witnessed the reformation of the « Riizing Boys » within those same walls. The six of them filled it with laughter, as they decided to come playing cards and performing karaoke to you every weekends. 

All of them, except for Eunseok. 

His absence haunted your convalescence. Every day for 6 weeks, you’d meet the depressing grey ceiling first, as his face would pop-up in your mind. And every night for 6 weeks, your eyelids would heavily close to the hope of him showing up, leaning against the huge doorframe one day. 

You’d toss and turn in your sleep, wondering whether shame, guilt or none of the above refrained him from coming to visit you. And Anton, as sweet as he was, would only slip his hand out of yours when he’d be sure of your arrival in Morphea’s embrace. As long as you had him, you’d think it would be easier to forget Eunseok’s existence altogether. But you were only a girl who missed her college best friend, and the body she used to live for. 

Complaints and whines once slipped out of your mouth in the safe company of a handful of your girl friends. 

« He ain’t shit anyway », have Sohee’s high school sweetheart spat. Every one of them thoroughly nodded, agreeing to the brown-eyed woman’s truthful statement. 

« If I were you, » Started Sungchan’s promised, « I’d ask for Anton to beat him up. »

You laughed, fully knowing, by looking at her piercing blue eyes, that she meant it in all seriousness. Watching all of them tear him apart with witty insults and embarrassing memories of him during your college years brought peace to your heart. You weren’t alone, grieving the Eunseok you once knew, who’d carry bandages in his cargo pants’ pockets every day, for every single one of your aches, as tiny as they could be. The girls would sneak in the dark chocolates you’d share with him, high up in the bleachers, whilst you lined your future in the early evening stars. They’d also just sit there, merging complains and praises of their respective partners, as you crocheted them tops for their up-coming events you should’ve attended alongside them. 

Your bones would hurt less and less, whilst your prayers for his return would make themselves rarer and rarer. As you took your first trembling, impossibly challenging steps in the hospitals corridors, the idea that the hollow place in your heart for fencing could only be filled with love for a kid with Anton, bloomed in your head. You couldn’t imagine loving anything else. 

And you were everything, but ready to love again.

Your third re-walking session of the week have just ended when the hospital’s garden have looked most promenade-worthy. Soon enough, you were half hopping, half limping with your crutches among slow troupes of retired people, and limb-less recovering adults. Despite the nice track your healing was on, you have not quite often found yourself inhaling the herbal scented air, the freshly produced oxygen out of the tall trees that traced a rounded path. Finding an empty bench was a dreadful task, since everyone seemed to have chosen to take a break at the same time as you. 

You eventually found one, by a duck and koi pond. Little ducklings following around their mama suddenly made you miss Anton, when you’ve heard way too healthy steps to be from a wounded stroller, like you, right behind you. The way the rocks were smashed beneath their feet, instead of seductively dragging on the ground, immediately eliminated your boyfriend from the guessing list. 

Fear and curiosity fought a tough battle within you, as you debated whether you should turn around, or limp out of here. 

It could just be a nurse, you thought to yourself. 

Though you were far from believing in yourself. 

You didn’t even flinch, when the silhouette of a chestnut haired man quietly sat besides you. 

The koi fishes kept on aimlessly turning round and round, deep in the emerald water, and the duck family jumped out of it, one by one, as if they were giving you space to talk it out. 

Or find something to talk about. 

Clapping leaves, summer scented crickets, random droplets and wheelchairs’ wheels rolling on the rocky path. 

You were hearing everything, but an apology. 

You felt like tearing up, like dying even, when he finally spoke up.

« Break up with him. » He started.

« Be my coach. » He pleated. 

Clapping leaves, summer scented crickets, random droplets, wheelchairs’ wheels rolling on the rocky path…

And a slap. 

« What the fuck is wrong with you? » You asked, the tingling sensation lingering on your palm.

« I’m still in love with you. » He truthfully replied, his cheek reddening. 

Your ribs felt like shattering under the extreme pounding of your heart. Heat, flushed the entirety of your numbed-down, heavily medicated body. The cracking of his voice in his followings words made you realize that the only cause of your overwhelmed state was what came out of his mouth. You weren’t even looking at him, yet. And the slap seemed to already belong to history. 

« I… don’t think there are enough words to express how sorry I am. I left you before I could even give us a chance. I am so fucking stupid, and so fucking sorry. And… I’ve read it, you know. The last text you ever sent me. And, I couldn’t forget our kiss, too. To this day, I still replay it, like I’m a fucking broken disc, trying to make sense of a single kiss we shared years ago… Because you haunt me. You always have. And I’m barely brave enough to face you. And you’re the bravest person I’ve ever met. » 

He paused. 

« If I could give you my career, my knee, my entire life, I would. In a heartbeat. »

He breathed out, letting his head down, accepting the fact that you, turning to look into his eyes, was not happening, no matter how much you were fighting every single one of your muscles to not succumb. 

« Fence through me, Y/N. Coach me, live everything I took from you through me. I miss you. I miss everything about you. I miss you so much that, » He practically collapses, kneeling on the humid grass before you, his nose grazing your broken bone. « I want to be anything for you, and I will do anything for you. Please. »

As if you were programmed to do so, your palm found his thick glowing hair, smoothly gliding beneath your hand. The thoughts that formed in your head made you tremble, as the truth of your following statement planted daggers through your heart and knee. 

« I’m not the girl you miss anymore. »

Your eyes went from the calming auras forming at the surface of the pond, to the stillness of his figure. 

« You’re not just a knee, Y/N. » He replied, looking up to you.

Was it the way the teary gaze you fell in love with dived into yours, or the fact that he was the one who just pronounced the very phrase you wished for your parents, doctors, therapists, and boyfriend to tell you, that made your entire self break into tears. 

The blood that pumped through your veins, rushed with ache for the unbearable, impossible love that has just crashed onto you, your life and story.

This was it, the fireworks they talked about in novels. 

And there he was sniffing on his knees, as your face melted in your soaked palms. Your imagination could have been playing you tricks, drunk on your own tears, but you swore you could hear a bunch of passing-by people gasping and congratulating your « proposal ». Eunseok took notice of your sobs growing in intensity from the irony of it all, and sat back next to you, his thigh now glued to yours. His entire body shielded you from your own violent shakes.  

The shushing, and sea-like sound of the weeping willow’s leaves soothed you to sheer sadness, instead of devastation. 

He protectively held you for a while.

A while long enough for his tear-stained shirt to dry, whilst your head was still laying on it. 

Against the strong, trembling surface of his chest, you thought of how silly it was of you to believe that you would remain unfazed, unmoved, grossed out even, by whatever he’d have to tell you at this stage of your rehabilitation. It was way too late to apologize, and the damage was way beyond repair by now. Or so you thought, before he’d crawl out of his guilt, begging to your feet for you, and everything you selfishly wished for. 

Nevertheless, your cries reflected no relief nor blissful satisfaction in being declared unconditional, almost over-the-top love to.  

You cried out of grief, again. 

You were now witnessing what could have been the start of the story you have silently, shamefully prayed for, and peeled out of your thoughts when you’d shampoo for a bit too long. The passionate declaration that would fast-forward to a happy, lively, and sporty marriage, that you would daydream about in every rides you’d take. The fireworks, the love that burns the blood and twists the bones, that you have looked for in every corners of the pools you’d have secret dates with your boyfriend. 

You loved Anton, though. 

Which is why your eyes would take days to completely dry. 

Eunseok walked you back into your room, softly pushing on a wheelchair, since love has weakened you all over. He tried to break a laugh out of you with slaloms motions, or teased you by having longer than necessary conversations with whoever passed by him. You’d try to roll away to get faster to your room, but he’d grip on your chair hard enough to refrain you from it. It made you giggle. There were few things that he did that didn’t have this effect on you. 

He never changed, only became a better fencer.

So, easier to love.

Thus, impossible to let go of. 

And you were doomed to do it. 

3 mere hours weren’t close to enough to catch up on 7 years apart, especially since it used to take you entire evenings to properly retell what happened over lunch, even though you sat at the ends of the same table. 

But there was no time to tell him about your pregnancy scare, the 6 months long fight you’ve had with Anton’s coach, the day you went skydiving, or the drama that happened over that one couple in your class you used to hate on back then. Because Anton would be there in less than half an hour. And because you cared about him, there was no way you’d have Eunseok like this again. 

Each and every seconds that passed before the inevitable felt all too cruel. 

Here you sat, under the ugly grey light of the room. It would be the last one you’d shine in as the best friend you once were to him, and vice versa.

Even under the ugly grey light, setting eyes on him only further confirmed the truth you were terrified to spend a lifetime coping with.

It was him. 

Your greatest love was him. 

After all, Anton never fenced with you. 

The conversation you were having on each of the boys’ career unwillingly died down now. Silence sat right between you, amplifying your fear of saying goodbye. It was palpable, the force that linked the two of you, now at breaking point.

The way your throat painfully knotted itself even made you doubt on the way you parted from fencing. Was it less, or as painful as choosing your boyfriend of seven years, the one guy you have fantasized about all your youth, over the one person who made the word « soulmate » make sense ?

Each of you exchanged sorry glances, carefully coated in humble gratefulness for the moment.

« Tell me there’s a way. » He ended up sighing, lacing his fingers together, wishing for his other hand to be yours.

You tilted your head in confusion, curiosity, and in all honesty, slight fear of what he was about to say. 

« Tell me there’s a way I can be yours. »

His last desperate word lingered in the air. The air that felt harder to breathe all of the sudden. 

He was right, there had to be a way. 

So you searched for inspiration on his face, lightly twisted in worry. And found it, on the tiny horizontal scar right above his left eyebrow. Seeing it up-close made you 18 again, watching your sword wiggling around in his hands as he yelled out matching sound effects. The memory of a single tear of blood slowly falling along his startled face made you chuckle on your growing tears. And here stood the adult version of the boy you were, and will always be, deeply fond of. 

You still couldn’t believe you were losing him.  

Sport was the most beautiful thing that have ever came into your life. Your baby teeth would fall into your helmet, and grow back during the youth you sacrificed to the épée. The only thing that made your parents buy four other shelves for your trophies was setting your mind to win. Your mind never lusted over anything else than winning, and seeing others putting their entire self into it. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that you lived for it. 

The thirst that turns your body in a unrecognizable anxiety-induced carnage, the adrenaline that endlessly floods from your brain to your toes, and the orgasmic, other-worldly sensation of having the victorious status placed upon you, shining like a crown. 

And if you wouldn’t be able to live through it all again, you deserved to watch it unravel. 

Your lips popped out of the cage of teeth you trapped them in. 

A tiny smirk stretched them, illuminating your desperate face. 

« Become an Olympic Champion next year. » 

🤺

14-13

Anton’s hand felt too heavy on your knee, your scar jolted awake in bolts of pains by his sweet, sweet thumb grazing it. This abnormal pressure was shared by every pieces of fabric that stuck on your sprinkling skin. The scores and whistles controlled your now manual breathing. Your stomach tied itself around nothing recent to digest. You barely blinked, your blown up irises hysterically dancing in between the two players, studying their every movements. You also turned your knuckles a worrying shade of white as you gripped your plastic seat. 

It was safe to say : you were losing your shit. 

Eunseok have carelessly lost points all over the second part, screaming his rage out every time he did so. Your tongue could be bleeding from all those times you have refrained yourself from joining him in his act, or downstairs. Glancing at the score, realizing that you might be a point away for your world to collapse, was making your skin burn in all sorts of places, an acidic taste slowly blooming in your mouth. If it weren’t for the delightful, gut-wrenching spectacle you were a lucky live witness of, you’d be cursing yourself to the hells for that stupid challenge you gave him. 

You actually thought he wouldn’t make it to the finale.

But now that he did, you found yourself praying for Yannick Borel’s immediate downfall. 

« En Garde… »

He just had to miss two times. 

« Prêts ? »

But he also just had to score, once. 

« Allez ! »

You stopped breathing. 

The players hopped in place, as did your indexes on the edge of your seat, as if they were little characters you controlled. The squeaky sound of their soles hitting the graphic floor echoed for a little while, until Eunseok decided to first break synchronization on their hops. 

He feinted attacks on Borel’s under defensed’s left arm. And another one, down his thigh.  

If Eunseok was a bolder fencer, he already would’ve had the point, you thought. 

But he was the surprising the type. 

The type you used to hate confronting. 

Constantly playing defense, until they see a breach open, an opportunity to seize when your guard is down, and run to you with big steps, like a recurrent nightmare catching you up in your needed sleep. 

Kissing you with death. 

Borel understood, and grew accustomed to his attacking style at least 5 points ago. 

Though, he still had a hard time defensing every parts of his body against it.

He defended his arm by wrapping it around his lower torso, crouched, now reaching for Eunseok’s thighs. 

His sword swooped the air. 

14-14

Eunseok landed from his jump, his point stinging Borel’s shoulder blades. 

As soon as he scooped the victory off Yannick’s back, you were on your feet, screaming your lungs out. Anton jolted, placing his hand on your hips as an attempt to hold you if you were to fall. He looked up at you, watching you roar a « Come on » from the depths of your guts, a sound he has never quite heard before. 

Under the Palais’ stadium lights, each and every strands of the crown of your hair, backlit to shades of blues and golds, made you look like an actual goddess. There he sat, in awe of the woman he was certain he could spend a lifetime worshipping. And there you stood, knowing you should be peeling your eyes away from Eunseok’s sweaty smile of relief plastered all over the screens, especially since Anton had a light grip on your shirt, but you thoroughly knew that you couldn’t. You couldn’t stop looking at him, the dark shiny hair strands that were glued to his forehead, the dimples that dug through his cheeks, and then, the switch in his eyes and furrowed eyebrows, when it was time to put the mask on, and lock back in. 

You were the last of your row to sit back down as the arena grew quieter. 

Waves of panic in it’s purest state crashed on your entire being, in forces that felt as if your soul would detach itself from your body. You were reaching stress-levels you thought unbeatable minutes ago. Anton quickly took notice of your trembling legs, and perfect manicure progressively getting ruined. His hands shielded yours from your shaking teeth, as he made you look at him for a second, thankfully, during time-out. 

The sight of his soft traits relaxed yours in a miraculous instant. 

His touch cooled you down. 

His thumb lovingly caressing the side of your fist slowed down your breathing. 

And as if your heart haven’t found enough peace in him, he reached for your hair, petting it, murmuring « Are you okay? » to the thresholds of your tortured soul. 

You nodded, gulping your huge lie down your chest, where you felt a big pressure. It finally came down to you, in a flash, the absolute stupidity of your challenge. 

You were possibly a point away from losing the one thing that made your life hold together.

The person who picked you up, pieces by pieces, from your shattered state on the court’s floor, to your first teary-eyed jogging session along the Han River. 

The one person you’ve granted access to each and every parts of your body. 

The one person who’d peel all of the pistachios, and gut out all the pomegranates for you. 

The one person who’d sneak a sample of your perfume in all of his coat’s pockets.

The one person you’d cook for his mother, father, siblings, and himself.

The one person you’ve made a home with, and made a home of.

In the end, Anton has proved himself to be your favorite person in the entire world. 

In the end, you were the one that always refused to teach him fencing, for your own selfish sake, when all he wanted was to know you, and each of the worlds you belonged to completely. 

There was a part of your soul that you’ve denied him access to, and instead of complaining, or forcing you, he just waited. 

You never ended your nod, your head still hanging low, out of shame, guilt, pain and everything else that has been crushing you for the entirety of the combat. Your partner peeked at your hidden face, and needed no more information than the muffled sound of you sniffing to bury your head in his chest. The last point was about to be gained, by a player or another, but you couldn’t peel yourself away from him. You couldn’t watch it. 

It was better this way.

Everything was better in Anton’s arms. 

Even losing him. 

The same squeaky sound of the fencer’s shoes on the platform echoed yet again through the hall. The church-like silence that dances with them, though, have never felt so heavy on everyone’s shoulders. It was okay, though, with Anton’s palms on yours, and the beating of his heart to focus on. It oddly felt comforting to imagine that he knew about what was at stake here. His tight hold on you, feeling like the last grasp of air a drowning person would do. His focused eyes, replacing yours, as if you sent him to battle to death with Eunseok for you.

The actual battle that occurred beneath you felt like a never-ending one. As calm and still as you could be, you tested your patience and almost meditated to the sound of Eunseok’s hops and grunts, tickling your burning ear. Even if you’ve mentally fought yourself a few times to just fuck it and turn around, Anton wouldn’t allow you. 

You were stuck to the bone, until the whistle would blow.

And it did. 

And the announcer’s voice from the speakers, unknowingly, cracked open your life into two, one part of which you will never know the outcome of.

A part you were doomed to mourn, again, forever. 

15-14

—

The sea of blue bleachers slowly cleared itself above you, as the Korean, French, and German flags lowered themselves to the ground. The rain of confettis slowly died down, also, pooling on people’s hair and shoulders. The crowd left in waves, the time in between the beautiful spectacle of sport they were all privileged enough to see, and the train of their lives about to restart, hanging in the air, lingering. Your eyes aimlessly swept around the Grand Palais, encountering as many celebrating and saddened faces as it could in a matter of seconds. 

Though, it left you thoughtless.

You felt like nothing but a bag of blood, bones and flesh, walking in your man’s steps, lighter and lighter as you walked, free of all the stress that previously crushed your heart. 

He guided you to an event you were certain of replaying throughout the rest of your life, but you numbly followed him still.

And you arrived to destination. Your first view being Eunseok’s shoes a meter away from yours. 

Losing your knee, your life, your entire career, and processing it all from the beginning each time you fell asleep, was a hundred times easier than simply looking up. 

Anton, your sweet Anton, slipped his hand out of your grasp to swiftly put it on your lower back, before he went reaching for Eunseok, who just like you, simply missed his college best friend. 

The devastating sight of their embrace cured you from your aches. You saw love pour out of them, for each other. So much, that you briefly caught yourself suspecting a secret connexion, as some of the lingering touches and glances they offered each other happened to be a second too long. An inch too loving. 

You didn’t have time, to investigate, though, as it was now your cue to get stabbed in the heart. You thought you’d explode out of love when you’d crash into Eunseok’s arms, and feel his heavy, dangling medal dig its way into your ribs. You thought you’d faint, or die, even. 

Even though they were close to happening, none of them occurred. 

He caged you in his sobbing body, matching yours, you melted, as did he. Your respective embraces crushed each of you, as much as it soothed you. You, by the salty smell of your firsts loves, fencing and Eunseok. And him, by the vanilla smell of the hair he’d lock in a singular braid before you’d go to battle, whether it was under the bleachers, or projectors. He had to stop himself from running his hand through it, for the sole public of this scene silently grew impatient, and jealous. 

You knew it. 

He knew it. 

And you stayed there, privately celebrating, inhaling and already missing each other.

Before he could peel himself off, you heard him whisper an apology by the crook of your neck, instantly raising the hairs on it, and making your fists tremble around his fresh suit. 

He patted the new growing sobs away on your back, and looked up to the glass ceiling, through which he caught the moon, looking down on your doomed, broken souls. 

You eventually parted, as the universe, and the referee decided.  

« Congratulations on your medal, Eunseok. » You managed to say, looking directly into his eyes. 

You haven’t known any heavier burden to carry other than the white silver rock on your ring finger, matching the shiny medal that covered the pieces you left his heart in. 

« Congratulations on your wedding, Y/N. » He replied, sincerely smiling. 

GOTHAMGF©

author's note : muahahaha.... this is my very first riize work and work in a long while. hope you enjoyed, I really liked writing this :)

[cosmerelists]

Cosmere Characters Try to Guess Which of Them Hoid is Imitating

As requested by anon. :)

It's like charades, only it's Hoid alone doing the acting, and also he's allowed to speak. He's gonna be imitating various Cosmere characters, and let's see if the other characters in that novel can guess who he is!

1. Stormlight Archive

Hoid: [face settles into a deep scowl] Hoid: [crosses his arms] Hoid: Bah! Shallan & Adolin (simultaneously): Kaladin!!! Hoid: Correct! Kaladin: H-HEY

2. Mistborn Era 1

Hoid: [smiles] Hoid: [smiles] [Smoke begins to rise up around him, as though everything is burning down. Faintly, in the distance, the sounds of screams] Hoid: [smiles] Vin (already crying): K-Kelsier! Hoid: [motions for her to hold on a second] Hoid: [punches himself square in the face] Vin: ... Hoid: Yup! That's Kelsier!

3. Tress of the Emerald Sea

Hoid: [crouches down, begins speaking to a member of the audience as though already in mid-conversation] ...and anyway, that's why I think we will make very good friends. Hoid: Wait! Hoid: Is that something dangerous I see? Hoid: I simply MUST make it my new hobby! Charlie, delighted: It's Tress!

4. Stormlight Archive

[Hoid, lying very still on the ground] [Hoid, lying very still on the ground] Adolin: Uh...Sadeas? Kaladin: Are you one of the bridges? Syl: You're a rock!! [Hoid, lying very still on the ground] [Gradually, the sound of ocean waves come from...somewhere. The temperature seems to drop. People's breath fog the air. Still, Hoid lies very motionless on the ground] Shallan: [sighs] Shallan: Stick. Hoid: Correct!

5. Elantris

Hoid: O-Oh? Am I not allowed to talk in charades? Hoid: I'm very sorry, Your Majesty! As a simple woman, all I know how to do is eat hot chip and lie. Iadon: Ugh, Sarene. Hoid: [fixes his hair using only the middle fingers on both hands] Hoid: So smart, Your Majesty!

6. Mistborn Era 2

Hoid: [Pulls his hand up from his hip with his fingers making a gun shape] Wax: Well, that could be literally anyone. Wayne: 'Cept me. Wax: Except you. Hoid [Pulls up his other hand from his hip with his fingers making a gun shape. Now he has two guns] Wax: Again, that could be anyone. Hoid: [Mimics putting both guns back. Reaches down as if to pull something from his belt, which he mimics swigging. Grabs the air in front of his forehead as if adjusting a hat] Wax: Okay, okay, we get it! It's me! Steris: No, no, I want him to keep going.

7. Warbreaker

[Hoid lies half reclined, one arm dangling, mimicking the lazy eating of grapes] Siri: Okay! We know it's one of the Returned! Lightsong: That could be literally any of us. [Hoid, slowly pulls up the hem of his skirt until his thighs are exposed. Winks] Blushweaver: Yes! It's ME! Siri: W-Why am *I* blushing??

8. Stormlight Archive

Hoid: [raising both arms to the heavens] SCIENCE! Navani: Raboniel! Raboniel: Navani! [They look at each other] Hoid: ... Hoid: Uh....SCIENCE and LOVING MY DAUGHTER! Navani: Raboniel!! Raboniel: Navani!! [They look at each other] Hoid: Hmmm...SCIENCE and LOVING MY DAUGHTER and KILLING GOD!!! Navani: ...You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?

[Bonus!]

9. ???

[Ulaam walks onto the stage. He waves. He's wearing bedazzled, tiny red shorts, a flowered shirt, and mismatched socks with sandals] Ulaam: [opens his mouth to speak] Hoid: [tackles him off the stage]

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐄

ㅤㅤdieter bravo x f!reader

genre: smut, pwp, minors dni, friends to lovers? kinda

word count: 1.4k

summary: you and dieter get high on gummies.

warnings: edibles (gummies), heavy petting, high talk, for the sake of this fic the gummy shows affect very quickly, oral (fem receiving), nipple play, dirty talk, dieter is a menace, lots of grinding, also when i say pwp I REALLY mean no plot, just friends making out essentially, everything is %100 consensual

Your eyes widen gradually as you witness Dieter lean closer, his smile boyish as he holds a red gummy between his teeth. 

"Come on," he says, brows curling upwards. "You take half, I take half." 

Your eyes move between the gummy and the gorgeous brown of his eyes. It hadn't been long since you and Dieter started hanging out, not a lot had been shared between you two, other than your love of movies and, surprisingly, tabletop games. 

Staring at his expectant gaze, you burst into a giggle when he wiggles his brows. Finally, with an exasperated exhale, you shake your head and lean closer. 

"Fine, you dork. I don't have work tomorrow anyway." 

"Perfect," he grazes the sugary surface of the gummy against your bottom lip. "Bon Appetit."

You feel the softness of his lips as you bite down into the flesh of the sugary delight. You expect him to move back, for him to immediately chew and swallow, but instead, he lingers, keeping his lips flush against yours as you take half the gummy into your mouth. The sugars dissolve, leaving a bare and imperfect surface. It tastes a bit like strawberry, but it is overwhelmed by the taste of cannabis. 

Wrinkling your nose, you pull away, he laughs. “You’re so dramatic.” 

“Says the Queen of Drama,” you snap back, sticking your tongue. “Also you can’t convince me that this tastes good.” 

“Hey I never said it tasted good, I said it’ll get us high as fuck.” 

“Those were your exact words,” you mutter, leaning back. “So what now? We just wait for the hit?” 

“Pretty much.” Your eyes follow him as he nestles closer, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. A shudder runs up your spine, an involuntary sound escapes your throat. He’s a charmer, that’s for sure. Easy on the eyes. 

He lays a palm over your tight, spreads his fingers. Another shudder. “You like it when I touch you?” 

It’s phrased as a question but, for some reason, you don’t feel like he needs an answer. His thumb begins to draw shallow lines, up and down, over and over. Slick gathers between your legs and without a second thought, you instinctively rub them together. You start to feel it then, the delightful buzz from mother nature. A giggle rises from your throat. 

“This feels really good,” you say, he gently presses his nails down, liquid heat drips from your spine. 

“Which one?” 

You think you don’t understand what he means, but you do. “Both. Both feel good.” 

“Good,” he mutters, his voice dropping. “Come’ere. Let me make you feel even better.” 

He tugs you along until you’re firmly seated on his lap, without a second thought you roll down your hips, feeling the hard line of his cock. Your breath hitches, a tiny moan escaping. Dieter grins as his hands dances along your arms, only stopping to pull you down against his clothed cock. You gasp, a buzzing sensation shooting up your spine. You feel his soft lips on your chin, he nips the skin softly before traveling further down to take a hearty bite from your neck. 

Your hips twitch, your eyes rolling back, “F–Fuck, Dieter—” 

“Feels really good huh?” he licks the salt of your skin, more slick gathers between your legs, your cunt pulsing with need and want. “You’re so sweet—tell me how good I’m making you feel.” 

The words are caught in your throat, your body a live wire as it becomes nothing but melted metal underneath Dieter’s touch, only for him to mold. 

His hands sneak underneath your shirt and with one swift motion, he pulls it off, leaving you in nothing but your bra. You expect him to rip the lace off with the same hunger but instead, he holds the cups and tugs them down, exposing your breasts. He dips down mouth open wide, he sucks a hard nipple into his mouth and moans, his hips sharply thrust up. 

Your eyes flutter closed, he feels too good, every patch of skin tingling. He sucks hard as he rolls his hips over and over, making you feel every inch that you don’t have inside of you. Some part of your heart feels rage for that. You want him. Every inch of him. His fingers begin to play with the other nipple. 

“Tell me what I want to hear baby, or else I’m stopping.” 

“You’re amazing,” you gasp. “I can’t get enough of this…this feeling. Fuck, Dieter—I—I need—” 

His mouth is flush against your ear, you shudder, “I can feel how soaked you are through your sweats, sweetheart. I know exactly what you need.” Momentarily you let out a breath of relief, he would give you what you want, what you need— “Too bad you’re not getting it until I make you come like this first.” 

It’s almost as if someone dropped an icy bucket of water over your head. It clashes with the agonizing warmth he’s making you feel, a cry ripping from your throat, he smiles. 

“W-What? What?” 

“I know this feeling, have experienced it myself,” Dieter grins. “Sit still and enjoy the ride, sweetheart.” 

You choke on a whimper, buckling down against him. Dieter continues his torturous movements, his lips now biting and nipping at your neck while his hands wander down to your soaked sweats. He pulls them down, exposing your throbbing clit to the cool air. Without hesitation, he tightens his fingers around it, his movements hard and fast. 

You can't contain the moans and gasps that escape your lips, your body trembling with pleasure. Dieter's lips move to yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth as his fingers work you into a frenzy. You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, the pleasure building up within you. 

Suddenly, he stops, leaving you panting and desperate for release. 

“Please.” 

“Please what?” 

“Let me come, please. Please Dieter.” 

Your begging is getting closer and closer to sounding like dying whispers, tiny dots are starting to appear. You’re on the verge of passing out, in ways you’ve never thought someone could pleasure you. Hypnotized by his eyes and his hand movements as he plugs away yet you can’t help but think about how you’re stuck on pause, yet he looks like he could keep on going. 

"Is that all it takes to get you going?" Dieter's voice is low, his lips red and plump from kissing every patch of skin. He looks at you with a sense of satisfaction, like he's accomplished something great. "I can make you come just from touching you like this."

You moan in frustration, unable to form words as you try to push your hips forward, seeking any sort of relief. Dieter laughs, a dark and hungry sound that reverberates through your body. "I told you, baby, you're not getting to the fun part until you come like this first."

"Dieter, please," you whimper, your voice laced with need. 

He simply grins and stands up, taking you with him. He leads you to the bedroom, pushing you down on the bed before crawling over you, his eyes dark with desire.

"I want to taste you," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. 

He lowers himself between your legs, his tongue flicking over your clit and causing you to writhe beneath him. His tongue moves expertly, teasing and flicking until you can't take it anymore. With a loud cry, you come undone, your body shaking with the intensity of your release. 

Dieter keeps lapping up your wetness, making sure to draw out every last drop of pleasure from you. When he finally pulls away, you're left breathless and sated.

As you lay there, panting and trying to catch your breath, Dieter cuddles up next to you, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. 

"Wow," you say finally, still trying to recover from the intense pleasure he just gave you. "That was...amazing."

"Remind me to get high with you more often," you laugh, finally able to form coherent words.

"Oh, I will definitely be reminding you," Dieter grins, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. "But for now, let's just enjoy this high and each other's company."

With a sly smile, you roll on top of him, ready for round two. Dieter's playful smirk mirrors your own as he wraps his arms around you, pulling you in for another kiss.

You can't help but think that this was just the beginning of a wild, passionate, and exciting journey with Dieter by your side. And you couldn't wait to see where it would take you next.

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen react to their s/o doubting themselves in their relationship

requested by anon: So this is a very specific request and you don't have to do it if you're uncomfortable or do not like it/are uninspired by it. But how would they handle it if you're in a relationship with them but start doubting whether you're good enough for them? It's a bit sad but I'm curious. Thank you <3

notes: the super soft fluff and the super sad angst are Both my strong points. i love them both so much.

masterlist

seungcheol, jeonghan, hansol 

he's noticed the way you've been hesitating around him lately, no longer throwing yourself on top of him for hugs and no longer responding as well to him nudging your heads together to ask for kisses. he's worried, and he's incredibly adamant that Communication is Key in relationships (and he's right) so he asks you during a lull in the evening one day why you're being so distant. it takes a while, but he's patient and he just wants to know you're okay, and eventually when you break and tell him everything he gets really sad and starts hugging you as you cry. begins to cry himself, bc he didn't realise you were thinking that way, and tells you over and over that he loves you and he's with you because you make him the happiest ever and there's no need to worry about something like that. he's going to be with you forever and ever, whether you like it or not. 

joshua, junhui, dokyeom

incredibly perceptive when it comes to these things. knew that you were upset and he's been constantly asking you if you're okay, but you just continue to brush it off until he walks into your room one day to find you silently sobbing to yourself in the middle of the room. immediately drops to his knees on the floor beside you, making those gentle shushing noises to try and calm you down, and when you push him away he makes that small wounded noise, worried that he's done something wrong. he's gentle with you, like you're a fragile creature, when you tell him that you've been worried that he's too good for you. tells you very sincerely that he doesn't think anyone will be able to put up with him as well as you have and that honestly, he's not sure if he'd like anyone else to. for him, there's only you. asks if he can touch you, scoops you up into a big and warm hug that lasts until one of you needs to pee (him) 

wonwoo, jihoon, minghao

the conversation was probably brought up through an almost-argument. you're tired and insecure, which makes you snappish, and he's tired too, leading to biting exchanges that gradually get worse until you finally grit out that you're afraid he's going to leave you because there are better people out there. that makes the anger leave his body instantly, eyes widening. he didn't know you felt like that in the slightest, and he slowly tries to go over and touch you, stepping back if you move away. he feels like it's partly his fault for maybe not being as affectionate in the relationship as you'd like, and promises to do better and make you feel more reassured in the relationship if that's what you need. even if you say it's okay, he'll promise it anyway, because he knows how awkwardness can make him distant sometimes, and he never wants you to think he's going to stop loving you someday

hoshi, mingyu, seungkwan, chan

i think he'll start overthinking your distant nature, taking it as a sign that you don't think he's good enough for you, and comes to you all wobbly-voiced to very genuinely ask if you're tired of him, because he knows that he's not the easiest person to handle at times and if there's something about him that's bothering you, he'll try to fix it for you. it takes you by surprise, because you were afraid that he was tired of you, and yet he's come to you and said this. you end up embarrassedly telling him the reason for your distance, and both of you are crying and laughing because it's a little ridiculous and you're both just in love with each other so much that it has managed to lead to complications like this. you end up pinky-promising each other that neither is undeserving of the other, and exchange sappy 'i love you's for about an hour straight

request guidelines

[cheonstapes]

😝 omg I absolutely loved the way u wrote spider barbie!!! Thanks again so much!! 💕✨

If it’s not too much of a bother, I would like to send in another request lol. 😅 (unless there’s a limit on how many requests can be sent, I completely understand 😊)

I would like to request Miguel O’Haraxfem!Jessica rabbit inspired reader. She’s the most beautiful & generous spider woman across the multiverse, which makes sense since she’s also the most desired among the spiders. Maybe one day she’s hanging out w/ her friends (Miles, Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, & Peter) at the spider society cafeteria when everyone in the group could be discussing their Valentine’s Day plans. Until they decide to ask her if she has a date or any upcoming plans (The spider gang not knowing she’s already married to Miguel 😂) When asked she just zones out and has flashbacks about all the multiple dates her and miguel went on throughout the multiverse, including the spicy times they shared together~ 😉

When asked again, she lets them know tht she’s already in an established relationship w/ Miguel; which makes the spider gang’s jaws drop bcuz even though miguel is a good looking guy they can’t understand how a ray of sunshine like her ended up with someone as serious and angry like Miguel 😂

The spider gang could ask: “What do u see in tht guy?!?!” 😱 Spider-reader: “He makes me laugh..😏”

Thanks again! 😊🙏🏻

miguel o'hara stars in... 'WAIT...YOU'RE ROGER RABBIT?' (°ロ°) !

a/n ~ i absolutely love jessica rabbit, girlboss, she's so hot. TYSM for this request my love!!!! there's never a limit ( ` ω ´ ) send as many as you want bby 💗 i went a little overboard but this was so fun to write!! ALSO ITS MIGUELS BIRTHDAY!!

summary; it's valentine's day at hq, and everyone can't help but wonder why you're still single.

pairing; miguel o'hara x reader

wc; 2.3k+

cw; FLUFF!! SMUT!!, secret relationship, pining, no one can believe you n miguel are together, loss of virginity, m!masturbation, pillow fuckin, fleshlights, miguel fucks an ai you, first time, established relationship, reader is very popular, day dreaming abt miguel (real), they're just in love, nawt proofread - crying over this

valentine’s day at hq was always fun - for you least.

every year since you joined the spider society it seemed like the gifts would multiply - what stared out as some cute cards and a couple boxes of chocolate eventually turned into bouquets of roses, teddies, gifts, and even declaration’s of love. it was all flattering, honestly. to know that so many people admired you was a great feeling, even if you can’t reciprocate - it’s the sentiment that counts. but unfortunately you were already spoken for - by none other than your own boss, your fiancé, miguel. 

having started with such a beloved reputation was one of the main reasons your husband-to-be actually avoided you at first. it was like you had your own personal fan club - spiders’ following you around where you go, people offering to by you lunch, begging miguel to put you on a mission with them, showering you with compliments. you were really irritating to him, another distraction he didn’t have the time to deal with - not that he wanted to anyway. well, that was until he did. 

gradually, he started to notice how your eyes would light up when you’d see something you like, how you’d wear that one perfume thats scent would linger a bit too long in the air, ages after you’ve already sped off down the hallway. he warmed up to you eventually, leading to you two spending a lot more time together. little dates in the different universes, him picking up a little souvenir for you on missions and you doing the same - eventually leading to you two moving in together, and then him proposing. keeping you two’s relationship a secret was a decision that you both had to make, considering how popular you were and that miguel’s your boss. so every valentine’s day, you both celebrate together privately in miguel’s nueva york condo - exchanging gifts and kisses, drinking till you fall asleep in each other’s arms. this year, however, was a little different. 

hiding a relationship isn’t the easiest thing in the word, especially at a time like this - when all you want to do is pounce on your fiancé every time you see him ’n kiss him till you’re both breathless. it was getting tiring. it’s the day of love and you can’t do the one thing the day is about, love someone. you’d both send lingering glances at each other throughout the day, sneaky touches when no one’s looking, maybe even a few quick make out sesh’s in miguel’s office. you both knew you wouldn’t make it through the rest of the day, eventually separating as you sat in the canteen with some of your spider-friends - ones miguel wasn’t very keen on eating lunch with, leading to him retreating back to his office alone. 

the table was buzzing as everyone mentioned their plans for the day - miles taking gwen to his universe on a little day out that he swears isn’t a date, pav and gayatri going to her new movie, peter and mj having someone babysit mayday so they can go on a long-overdue date, and hobie - well, he doesn’t believe in valentine’s, i guess. you so badly wanted to join in, silently chewing on your ’spider-man 2099’ themed burger. your fiancé was basically everywhere, how can you not miss him - even if he’s just a couple minutes walk from you. it was bittersweet, to say the least, to listen to your friends so passionately- 

“hey, y/n, any plans this year? please tell me you’re finally dating someone.” the sudden voice made you jump, eyes widening as you look at the culprit, a sly smile on her face. “uhhh, n-no not really.” that was a lie. the whole table groaned their complaints, all still in disbelief that you’re still not seeing anyone. “you serious? love, look at you - and look at them.” hobie gestures to the crowd forming behind the table, all of them holding some sort of gift for you - some more…extravagant than the rest. “there’s no way that you can’t find someone, babe.” i mean, technically, he was right - you could practically get anyone you wanted. but, you already got what you want, and that’s miguel. 

he’s your everything. despite the turbulent start you both had, it was all worth it in the end. miguel loves like you’re his last - which you are, and his first too - in all aspects. hearing your boss was a virgin was even more shocking then him admitting his feelings for you - cause, like, how? you tried so hard not to laugh, he couldn’t be serious. it turns out he was very, very, very serious. you felt so bad, running up to him and holding him tightly - reassuring him that is was ok, that there was nothing wrong with being a virgin no matter his age. you took it slow for the first few months, nothing more than heated kisses and a bit of groping but it never went further than that. to be honest, you were scared. miguel was nothing short of impatient to feel you, to finally sink his cock into you after centuries of you denying him of that. you knew, of course, how desperate he was - but it was a big deal to you. the thing was, you were a virgin too. it was too sudden to mention so you went with keeping it a secret, but damn was it getting harder to not give in. the thought of him leaving after fucking you was at the forefront of your mind, you obviously knew he wouldn’t - but men are still men, right?

when he did find out, it went a hell of a lot better than you expected it to. both of you deciding to take your time learning each other’s bodies, exploring new likes and dislikes, discovering new kinks, and overall - strengthening the love you both hold for each other. your first time was magical. it was exactly three years ago now, on valentines day, sprawled out on miguel’s plush, king sized bed.

“f-fhhuck, feels so good, baby. are…are you doing ok, sweetheart?”

he was so attentive, making sure you felt as comfortable as possible, constantly asking if you’re feeling alright. it couldn’t have been more perfect. miguel’s large frame engulfed you as you sat in his. lap, his body pressed against the headboard. holding you close, he guided your hips slowly against his slick cock, the stretch momentarily caused a sharp pain to run through your body - miguel soothing you with sweet, wet kisses down the side of your sweaty neck. his large hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, waist, gently kneading your ass. the room felt hot, sweat mixing together as your hips move in tandem with his own - it was a prime example of love making. breathless kisses were shared, lips slotting together sloppily as you rode him eagerly - you were such a sight on top of him, a goddess sent just for him. “mig- baby, you’re so- shit, you’re so perfect.” no, you were perfect. soft skin pressing against his solid body, tits rubbing on his - slick running down his length. your moans were like a chorus of angels singing down to him, his heart almost pounding out of his chest from the love he feels for you. 

sharing a moment like this together was a turning point in your relationship. giving each other your virginities, connecting in a way you will never experience with anyone else - you were made for each other. his hips sped up, slamming into your sore cunt as he wrapped his arms around your waist. digging his feet into the soft sheets and pulling your hot body into his, lips latching onto your jaw. you still couldn’t believe he was a virgin before he met you. the way he moved, the way his tip would hit that one spot deep by your cervix, the way his thick fingers would caress your aching nipples - he had to have had some sort of experience. but the truth was, miguel had little to no sex drive. not feeling compelled at all to even rub one off, he was too busy after all - trying to keep the multiverse in tact. that all changed when he met you. suddenly, in his 30 years of living, did he have his first wet dream - and it was about you. 

he felt like a teenager again, learning things for the first time. watching porn for the first time was something, spending hours looking for a woman who looks somewhat like you - much to the interest and concern of LYLA. this was very serious to him, knowing that he would eventually fuck you - he would spend all his free time learning how to please you properly. tutorials, articles, and just plain amateur porn were his best friends. he would practice with his pillow, even buying a fleshlight to stick between it to just make it a little bit more realistic. at one point, he felt like he completely lost it. spending months learning how to fuck you wasn’t making him feel any better, he didn’t feel like he really knew how to please you. so what did he do? he made a holographic version of you, of course!

programming it to be exactly like you, using your measurements from when he made your suit to get your body as accurate as possible. it wasn’t really you, but it was good enough. he still had to work out the kinks but he was getting there. he ditched the porn completely, using ai you to progress instead. fucking an ai isn’t as easy as you think, but it was enough to help him figure out what positions he wants you in, even what ones you’d like statistically. miguel never did end up telling you about it, keeping ai you locked away in a secret folder. he was no stranger in letting you know how obsessed he was with you, but this was just embarrassing to him - and knowing you, he would never live this down. but don’t worry, LYLA’s always here to remind him time and time again. 

miguel was never the same after he lost his virginity to you - he became insatiable. it was like a switch flipped in his brain and suddenly he was always horny for you, quickies in his office becoming daily occurrences. speaking of quickies, you could feel his cum from earlier pooling in your panties right now- 

“yn? YN! is she- is she ok?” oh…you were at lunch still. everyone at the table was staring at. you with raised brows, silently intimidating you into spilling what you were so engrossed in to the point where you missed the whole conversation. you obviously weren’t about to tell them you were just thinking of their boss fucking you into next week, like come on - think about the kids, guys. “i…i, uh- it was nothing really. sorry about that, just zoned out for a sec.” it was something, someone as a matter of fact. you might as well tell them, what’s the harm in it? you’re only gonna get absolutely bombarded by everyone and anyone in hq but that’s the least of your worries. the table had seemingly moved on, chatting about their plans again before you jumped in - “actually, i do have plans.” that certainly got their attention. all eyes were on you, even the crowd still lingering behind perked up at your comment, leaning closer to hear what you had to say. 

“me ’n miguel were just gonna stay ho-“ 

“MIGUEL?!”

gasps. that’s all you could hear. everyones jaws were dropped, blinking their eyes at you like a bunch of frogs. “what? am i not allowed to spend time with my fiancé-“

“FIANCÈ?!”

it’s like every time you spoke it got worse, the table erupting in shouts of disbelief - it was getting difficult to speak over them, the constant questions being thrown at you were overwhelming to say the least. you weren’t obligated to explain yourself, love is love - even if it’s between someone as lovely and sweet as you, and someone as moody and feral as miguel. you guys made it work and that’s all that matters! someone else had something to say on the matter though, the commotion prompting miguel to emerge out of his cave and head straight to you.

“as i was saying, he’s my fiancé, we always spend valentines together. miguel is a great guy. yeah, he’s an asshole - but you just gotta get to know him.” you’re not wrong, miguel certainly seems to agree. the table went silent, staring up at his figure looming over you. “i don’t appreciate you guys harassing my wife. now, if you have no further questions - we have plans tonight, that don’t involve people prying into our privacy.” you spun around in your seat, looking up at him sheepishly. his eyes seemed to warm up at bit, a large hand reaching out to you - one that you immediately take. he held you close to him, interlocking your fingers tightly as he addressed the table. “and…our wedding is next year. you’re all only invited ‘cause she wanted you guys there. do not disappoint her.” with that, he turns on his heels, dragging you along with him - he didn’t want to deal with them anymore, not when he had the rest of the day to spend loving you instead. 

“baby, y’sure you’re ok with everyone knowing about…us?” that was a stupid question. of course he was, you’re his - and he’s yours. “you’re about to be my wife cariño, todo el mundo necesita saber que estás fuera de los límites - ‘specially that fuckin’ fan club of yours.” he was such a big baby, pouting like that. “oh my god! you’re jealous of a bunch of kids who have a little crush on me, babe. ‘sides, i think it’s quite cute - i got so much chocolate this year-“

“throw them away, i’m getting you all that and more.”

-cariño, todo el mundo necesita saber que estás fuera de los límites - sweetheart, everyone needs to know you're off limits

-the miguel figure on my dresser says hi!

[featherandferns]

surfs up (fic)

jj maybank x fem!reader | part of the F.W.B universe, but can be read as a standalone too!

content warning: drug use; mentions/discussions of sex

word count: 4k.

blurb: you meet JJ's friends. whilst Kiara and Sarah grill you about your boyfriend, John B and Pope are still trying to wrap their heads around the fact that you've managed to tie JJ down.

The mirror could do with a clean. You look past the smudges and marks on the glass to focus on parting your hair with a comb. It’s freshly washed and wet, dripping down your bare back.

“Do you have to do that naked? It’s like torture,” JJ complains from the bed.

You don’t look away from your handy work as you reply. “You know, if we go to war, and you get captured, you’re in for a big shock.”

JJ hurls a pillow towards you and it hits you in the side before you have time to dodge, making you laugh.

“I don’t understand why you’re styling your hair anyway. We’re going surfing,” he says.

“I always style my hair.”

“I don’t get why. I mean, I never style mine."

Turning around to take him in, you reply, sarcastically, “you don’t say.”

JJ’s laid on his back on the bed, naked save from his boxers, eyes closed, his hair pointing in any which way. You know that for him, getting ready will consist of switching into some swim shorts, pulling on one of the many tee-shirts on the floor (that won’t stay tidy, no matter how hard you try), and shoving a cap over his unruly hair. You watch as his hand lazily searches for another pillow to toss, coming up short. A vape gets thrown instead, hitting your thigh.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

Looking back to the mirror, you thread the comb through some strands, encouraging them to fall the right side of your head.

“Your hair's just gonna get wet anyway. I don’t know why you’re bother-Oh.”

“What?” you grumble, not liking how his voice has suddenly dropped off. He doesn’t reply. Starts giggling to himself like a schoolgirl. You roll your eyes, looking to him again. “What?”

“You tryn’a look pretty for my friends?”

“Shut up.”

“You are! You wanna look pretty for when you meet them!”

“Shut up!” you repeat, louder. Your face is flushing hot with embarrassment. “I just wanna make a good first impression.”

“Babe, they're so chill, you could walk in half naked and it’d make a good impression. I mean, you basically already did with John B.”

“Please don’t remind me of that,” you whine.

The comb gets dumped on the dresser. JJ’s grinning at you from the bed – you can see his pearly whites reflecting in the mirror – and you somehow refrain from rolling your eyes again. Okay, sure, maybe you are spending a bit more time than usual on how you look and are overthinking how you’re going to dress for this chill-out-surf-day on the beach…But you want JJ’s friends to like you. Think good of you.

JJ hasn’t let up on teasing you. In silent retaliation, when you reach down to collect a tee shirt from the ground, you make a show to bend over forwards, the back of your legs facing him. JJ groans.

“That’s just mean.”

“What is?” you ask innocently, standing upright again, tee shirt in hand.

“You’re not playing fair,” JJ tells you.

Smirking, you open a dresser draw and shove in the tee. There’s no point wasting time folding it, as it’s only going to end up on the bedroom floor again by tomorrow. Opening the second drawer, you dig through your clothes that have gradually accumulated in JJ’s room at the chateau. Digging out a two-piece and a pair of shorts, you move to get dressed.

“Do you think we got time for a quickie?” JJ asks.

You bark out a laugh. “We really don’t.”

“Sure we do. Please.”

“Are you seriously begging me to have a quickie with you-” you glance to the bedside table’s clock, reading the time “-ten minutes after we said we’d meet your friends outside?”

JJ shrugs, sitting up. “I’m very fast.”

“That’s usually not the kind of thing guys brag about,” you remind him.

Your shorts are on now, and you reach around to tie the back of your bikini top.

“I’m serious. In and out, I swear. Two minutes tops.”

“And they say romance is dead.”

“Baby…”

“JJ,” you mimic. “No means no.”

He grunts and flops back on the bed, dramatic. You grab at another tee shirt on the floor (I mean, are these things multiplying?) and toss it at him. It lands on his face and he groans.

“Get dressed. I’m gonna brush my teeth.”

“Boo.”

You laugh to yourself as you walk out his bedroom, into the bathroom. As you brush, you inspect your face for any blemishes, and your hair for any stray strands which have fallen away. There’s a nervous thrum in your chest, over-layed with excitement; similar to the kind you get before a match.

You know JJ’s friends are far from snobbish. They’re perhaps the most easy-going people on earth. But earning their approval weirdly means a lot to you. Maybe it’s because JJ doesn’t seem very close with his family – at least, he never talks about them with you – so this feels akin to meeting the parents. You also have a sense that his friends inform a lot of his thoughts and decisions, and so if you were to slip up, maybe they’d somehow convince him to leave you. Whilst the pair of you have only been official for a couple of weeks, nearing to a month, you already feel how attached you’re becoming to him. How you save your dirtiest jokes for him and make a mental note of any anecdote at work that you know will have him in stiches. And the sex is better than it ever was before.

By the time you’re done in the bathroom, JJ’s pulling on his boots. He’s dressed in an old work muscle-tee and some swim shorts (just as you suspected) and there’s a cap waiting on his bed. The red one. You smile, sit down and pick it up.

“Think this is my favourite one,” you tell him. You inspect the front and read the branding.

JJ takes it from you and places it on your head, pushing down on the lip of the cap so it blocks your vision. Makes you laugh.

“Looks good on you too,” he says. “Not as good as I look on you…”

“We’re not having a quickie, JJ.”

“Damn it. Ah well, worth a shot.”

You take off the cap and hand it back to him, getting up. JJ’s kicking your trainers towards you and you slide them on rather easy, without having to untie the laces. Then the two of you are heading out the house and out the front door. The butterflies that had momentarily let up in the bedroom are back, beating their wings in full force at the sight of his friends gathered around the back of the house. Kiara is sat in the hammock, scrolling on her phone, and Sarah is half-laying at her feet. Pope is lent against the tree. He’s talking to John B, who’s sat on one of the low deckchairs, eyes closed and nodding along. JJ whistles as the two of you approach, catching their attention. When their heads turn to look at you, it makes you think of hawks fixating on prey.

“Yo. Good to go?”

“Only been waiting for ten minutes,” Pope says.

“Wasn’t it Newton who said time is relative?”

“No. That was Einstein, genius,” Pope corrects.

JJ rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We’re here now.”

Sarah’s on her feet, walking over to you, smiling with a hand outstretched. “Hi! I’m Sarah!”

“Hi,” you smile, shaking her hand, introducing yourself. Kiara follows second. Pope nods at you from the tree, introducing himself, and John B gives a small wave.

“We’ve technically already met,” he says, making you laugh through your embarrassment.

“Technically.”

“Come on!” Kiara’s calling, half-way to the twinkie. “We’re missing all the good waves!”

“Who’s got the cooler?”

“Already packed."

"Yeah, we had some time to kill...”

“Boards?”

“Attached to the roof.”

“I mean, can you seriously not see them? You do have eyes, right?”

“Shut it, Pope.”

You tag behind the gang, barely following their constant banter, chuckling at the antics. It seems they have a routine. John B and Sarah climb in the front, the former sitting behind the steering wheel. Kiara slides open the back door and her and Pope climb in first, taking the back seat. JJ offers you a hand as you step in. You take the spot nearest the steering wheel – a strange box-like podium that you imagine is hollow for storage – whilst JJ slides the door shut. He sits near your feet, leant against the wall of the front seats. The engine has spluttered to life and the radio begins to play Marley. The gang gives a few whoops of excitement as you set off towards the beach, away from the marsh.

By the time you pull up to the beach, Pope has explained the theory of the universe; JJ and John B have gotten into a brief, fleeting argument about whether Atlantis could be real; Sarah reminisced about the last time she went surfing; and Kiara has gone on a semi-heated tangent about litter on the beaches. Your cheeks ache from smiling and laughing. Whilst you haven’t fully stuck your neck out yet to join in, you’re content just listening to the gang bicker and beam.

As the engine shuts off, JJ reaches down to squeeze a hand on your shoulder. “Ready to ruin your hair?”

Mirthfully, you roll your eyes. “Can’t look any worse than yours.”

Pope ooo’s at the burn whilst Kiara whistles lowly, grinning.

Then everyone’s getting to their feet, hopping out the car, retrieving gear and supplies to lug down onto the sand. JJ carries his board and the cooler, and you lug the paddle board and a tote bag of snacks. John B and Sarah settle on a good spot, just shy of the dunes, far enough from the water that there’d be plenty of time before the tide comes in to pack up and leave. As everyone starts to dump the stuff, Kiara pulls out a blanket to lay out. A speaker beeps to life and Pope connects. Classics ranging from the sixties through to the noughts begin to play, encapsulating the feeling of summer. It’s hot under the sun but not uncomfortable. There’s a slight breeze that could catch someone out with thinking they’d avoid a sunburn.

“Who’s up for some waves?” JJ asks, pulling off his tee.

“Hell yeah,” John B grins.

“I’m in,” Pope agrees.

Sarah’s situated herself on the rag-tag blanket, pulling out a nail file. “I’m gonna wait a bit longer.”

Kiara is pulling out a joint and lounging back on the sand. It’s answer enough that she’s skipping out for now.

You decide to stay with the girls; wait for the waves to build some more. The guys begin to race towards the water, JJ cracking a joke to John B that earns him a shove. You shake your head as you watch the trio go. Searching around in one of the tote bags, you retrieve a packet of pretzels chips and pull it open.

“Thanks for letting me tag along today,” you say to the two girls.

“What’d you mean tag along?” Kiara frowns.

“We’ve been begging to meet you ever since JJ started hooking up with you,” Sarah tells you.

You chuckle, sceptical. “Wait? Really?”

“Yeah!” the girls chorus, making the three of you laugh.  

“God, that boy is so whipped, it’s gross,” Kiara snorts.

“It’s adorable!” Sarah corrects.

Offering around the bag to the two of them, you frown. “I don’t know about whipped…”

“Girl, you didn’t hear him,” Sarah says, amused. “After you two had been hooking up for like two weeks, he started talking about you all the time. It was hilarious.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, but he’d do it in a way that he didn’t realise he was. Like he’d just randomly have to add little bits and pieces about you into conversations,” Kiara continues.

“Thanks to him we know your favourite sandwich.”

“And your favourite colour.”

“Favourite TV show…”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” you laugh. Your face feels burning hot. Glancing out to the waves, spotting the three guys wading out on their boards, you smile to yourself. You never knew that. “That’s kinda sweet, actually.”

“So…he treating you well?” Kiara asks.

You look back to them and smile, nodding.

“It’s so weird for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this way about someone before. I mean, I’ve cared a lot for people, but only like my parents and stuff. And, for most people, you’re born with that sort of affection for them, you know? But with JJ…I just felt it sort of grow until I couldn’t imagine going a day without seeing him.”

The moment the words leave your mouth, you cringe. Laughing in spite of yourself, you add, “sorry. That was gross.”

“It was adorable!” Sarah is practically giddy. Kiara and you laugh. “We’ve been waiting for the right girl to get to him.”

“I knew he was a romantic at heart,” Kiara nods in agreement.

“Wait. Is he romantic?” Sarah asks, looking to you once more.

You grab another pretzel and eat it as you think.

“I guess. We’re not really the mushy-shit type couple. But he’s kind of thoughtful. Does these little things for me sometimes. Like, I told him that I used to have chocolate-covered strawberries with my nana on picnics when I was younger, and that they remind me of her. I don’t even know how it came up, really. But the next day he’d made me some as a surprise. It was kinda sweet.”

“No doy – his love language is acts of service,” Kiara shrugs. She flicks on her lighter.

“What’d you mean?”

“Like, he expresses his love and affection for people through actions,” she tells you. “I’m telling you, that’s what it is.”

“What are the other types of love language again?” Sarah wonders.

“Lemme think. There’s gift giving, words of affirmation…”

As Kiara continues to list them off, you look out to the water and mull it over. You catch sight of JJ surfing, dipping in and out of the waves, weightless like a feather, as if he were born and bred on the water. You’d played down the chocolate covered strawberries story. There was more to it then him just doing it out of the blue.

That night, the two of you had decided to watch a movie. An old classic came on – one of the Monroe films – and you went into this random spiel about how your nana used to be the biggest Monroe fan. That went into JJ asking about your family, and you nana, and you telling the chocolate strawberries story. You got a little tearful at the memory, knowing that you wouldn’t have a moment like that with her again, and JJ made a point to tell an embarrassing story from middle school gym to cheer you up. The night had gone on and you didn’t think much more of it. The next day, JJ texted you to meet him in the marsh. When you arrived, there was a blanket laid out and some snacks and drinks (mostly beer) laid out. He seemed somewhat embarrassed, as if worried it was too much. The two of you hadn’t really done an official date: mostly movie-nights and sometimes grabbing lunch purely out of hunger. But you’d never had someone do something like that for you. Then, bashful, he'd opened up a Tupperware and held it out to you, offering you a chocolate covered strawberry. Come to think, it might have been the most romantic thing anybody had ever done for you.

But telling the girls all of that felt like you might take something away from the memory. You knew JJ liked his reputation. You understood, having one of your own somewhat. The fact that he had done it without being prompted, out of the kindness of his heart and his feelings for you…It made you feel special and wanted. And what other feeling do humans crave from another, other than that? No. You’ll keep those details to yourself. They can just know about the strawberries.

“No, no, John B’s definitely a words of affirmation sort,” Sarah is saying pointedly.

Kiara’s shaking her head in disagreement. “Quality time, all the way.”

“Quality time’s Pope’s thing,” the blonde argues.

“He’s surprisingly really into words of affirmation, in his awkward Pope-ish way,” Kiara informs, taking a drag.

“Wait, I’m confused. Are you and Pope a thing?” you can’t help but ask Kiara.

She looks away from both you and Sarah as she takes another hit. The smell of weed is gradually building. “Not exactly.”

“That’s not a no,” Sarah grins, teasingly.

“And it’s not a yes,” she affirms, shooting a glare. It softens, as she struggles to find her words. “It’s a…”

“Complicated?” you offer.

She smiles at you, grateful. “Yeah. 'Complicated’.”

“I know complicated,” you chuckle. “Used to be the queen of complicated.”

“You mean like before you and JJ were official?” Sarah wonders.

You nod. Resting back on your bent arms, you sigh.

“It was so hard to tell where we stood sometimes. And whenever I’d try and start up a conversation about it, he’d get all weird and defensive and stuff.”

“Yep. That sounds like JJ,” Kiara chuckles, a little sadly.

“For the record,” Sarah chimes in. “I knew he liked you from the first time he got with you.”

“Oh?”

“Oh yeah. He just seemed lighter. Happier.”

“Sex does that to people,” you chuckle, brushing it off.

“No, I’m telling you. He was a goner from the start.”

“Did you forget the sandwich-colour-TV-show story?”

You laugh, waving them away. “I’m just pretty decent in bed, is all.”

“No kidding. You know what JJ says right?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t know!?”

“What? What don’t I know?” you worry, sitting up again.

Kiara and Sarah are making faces at each other, laughing. You confusion twists into anxiety that eases the moment Sarah looks at you again.

“Okay, okay, so we’re hanging out at the chateau one night, right?” she begins.

“And JJ’s drunk as a skunk, okay? Like really wasted.”

“And high.”

“Yeah, and high,” Kiara nods, chuckling at the memory. “So John B asks about who the girl he accidentally bumped into the hallway was, the other night.”

You throw your face into your hands with a groan. Are you ever going to live that down?

“Well, at first JJ tries to act all casual. Says you’re this side-chick he’s seeing,” Sarah continues.

“But for some reason, John B thinks that’s not the whole truth. So he starts pushing at him.”

“Eventually it all just kicks off until JJ lets slip that you’re the best sex he’s ever had,” Sarah finishes, smirking at you, almost like she’s proud.

You’re human. The indirect compliment goes straight to your head and makes it grow about ten times in size. Fighting and failing to hold off a grin, you check you heard them right.

“Really?”

The two girls nod enthusiastically.

“And, of course, we’ve never let him live it down,” Kiara smiles, sweet like a pageant queen.

Your teeth sink into your lower lip as you chuckle to yourself. This whole time, with his stupid little game of ‘best you’ve ever had?’ that he kicks up nearly every time the two of you hook-up, came from a part of him wondering if it was as good for you as it was for him. If he’s alone in feeling that way.

“I came up with the theory – which, proved to correct, might I add? – that the reason why the sex was so good is cause he had feelings for you,” Sarah proudly proclaims.

Kiara rolls her eyes as she says, “But you know JJ--”

The three of you chorus through a laugh: “deny, deny, deny.”

With that, all three of you are in hysterics. Your ribs begin to hurt from laughter. As you revel in the wonderful pain, you wonder if you’ve ever felt so at ease in your life before. It wasn’t that you didn’t have friends, but you didn’t have a group of them like this. Just people here and there who you could vent to and grab coffee with and such. But these girls liked you, and they found you funny, and they cared about what you had to say. Tied in with the added benefit of having JJ, everything felt like it was aligning just as it should.

Flopping back onto the towel, you smile at the afternoon sky. No clouds and no birds. Just endless, stretching blue.

“He’s the best sex I’ve ever had too,” you quietly confess.

The girls’ lingering giggles pause before kicking up, tenfold.

“Wait? Really?”

“Yeah,” you grin, nodding. He was. Easily. “But you tell him that, and I’ll deny it. I like that he doesn’t really know. Only has a hunch.”

“Oh yeah,” Kiara affirms. “We can’t ever give guys the satisfaction of thinking they’re actually good in bed.”

“It’s like the one thing we have,” Sarah winks.

The three of you collapse into giggles again.

~*~*~*~*~*

“What’d you think they’re talking about?” Pope asks, looking out to the shore at the girls.

The three guys are taking a moment to rest, sitting on their boards, legs dangling in the water. JJ can see you, lying on your back, basking in the sun. Sometimes your combined laughter is loud enough to travel out to the water. He feels like he can make out your distinct giggle easily.

“School maybe?” Pope continues to wonder.

“Dude, they’re one hundred percent talking about us,” JJ declares. “I bet my board on it.”

“You think so?”

“JJ’s right,” John B sighs, nodding. “I feel like Sarah and Kie have been dying to grill your girl for ages.”

JJ’s heart feels like it skips at beat at the phrase 'your girl. He never thought he’d hear someone say that to him. Never thought it would make him so happy to hear it. Huh.

“It’s weird seeing you in a relationship,” Pope says, as if reading his mind.

JJ frowns. “What? Like it’s hard to picture someone wanting to date me?”

“No, you moron. Hard to picture you settling for one girl. Honestly, I was worried you had nymphomania or something."

“Nympha-who-now?”

“It’s an addiction to sex,” Pope clarifies impatiently.

JJ grins, smug. “I mean, can’t say that I don’t have that.”

“JJ. Gross.”

“What? Like it’s a secret or something? You’re just jealous, Pope. Gotta get your dick wet,” JJ shrugs.

Now John B’s cringing. “Gross, JJ.”

“So conservative,” he jests, lying back on his board. Clasping his hands over his bare stomach that’s beginning to dry under the rays, he gazes up at the clear sky. “My girl treats me good. Not gonna apologise for bragging about it.”

“But you do you gotta do it in such a crude way?” Pope almost whines. JJ flips him off half-arsed.

“Never thought I’d see the day when JJ was pussy-whipped, but here I sit,” John B says. JJ flips him off too for good measure, then lets both arms flop back onto his stomach.

There’s your laugh again. Makes him smile.

“You guys like her though, right?” he can’t help but ask, after a moment of quiet. Nothing but the waves licking at the boards.  

“Yeah, man,” John B says.

“Course,” Pope seconds. “I think she’s a good match for you. And your out-of-control libido.”

“Pope, I swear to God, you say one more million-dollar-word and I’ll drown you.”

~*~*~*~*~*

As the afternoon turns to dusk, the beach day continues. The guys return to land and the girls take the boards out on the waves. You revive your chats from the beach out on the water, drifting into new topics outside of boys: like boxing and school and work and activism. By the time you’re walking back onto the shore, the boys have started up a fire. JJ offers you a sip of his beer as you ditch your board. You smile and accept, moving to sit between his legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you against him, and takes the bottle back to have another swig. Sarah settles with John B, and Kiara lounges back, her feet placed on Pope’s lap.

The music lulls out well-known hits (Come on Eileen, Build Me Up Buttercup, and the never-ending American Pie) and you bask in the warmth of the embers from the fire, drying off any speck of salt water. The bottle keeps getting handed back and forth between you and JJ, and eventually a joint joins the mix. The conversation turns easy, light-hearted jokes enhanced by the booze and weed, making everyone chuckle. Sighing, you lean your head back against JJ’s collarbones, looking up at him. He glances down at you, smiles, places a quick kiss on your lips. When his friends gently heckle the two of you, neither of you respond. As he pulls away, JJ rolls his eyes at their antics. Closing your eyes, quietly chuckling at something Pope says, you enjoy the wonderfulness of summer and your boyfriend, never wanting either thing to end.

[acupofinkedblood]

Medkit x nurse reader

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• As much as Medkit hates his job, he still gotta make a living somehow. You can’t really expect something more or less from a man who literally bathe in a bucket anyway. Overall, work is work, and even though when he hates it, he still has to be responsible for whatever thrown in his face. The workload was undeniably a lots for him to bare alone, so he did appreciate assistance, which in this case - you

• You, who decides to become a nurse in his clinic because barely anyone is there to compete for that spot with you. If you don’t have a license, who is he to judge? You gotta work for your bills somehow as well. But you still take things professional, that is what matters the most. Just don’t screw up an operation or anything

• Working with Medkit wasn’t that bright of the star really. The man was quiet. He kept most of everything to himself. Your usual conversation with him doesn’t last for approximately 5 minutes, and most of it was about work. But don’t worry, it wasn’t hellish

• It starts as a simple “Good morning” and “The patient requires some words with you.” It will take you a while to get this man to lower his guard around you. The friendship that blooms between the two of you is slow, since he isn’t the type to do small talks occasionally. You just have to give him time to learn how to appreciate your assistance, or your presence in general

• And it will be a very long time before he takes it easy around you

• When he finally warms up to you — or at least, trusts you enough — you will find yourself hear the doctor’s comments about pretty random stuff. One moment he is greeting you a good start at work then right away he starts telling you how dumb some patients can be sometimes. It can be pretty out of pocket, but hey, at least you know he has quite the vocabularies in his mind

• Let’s be honest here, even when it is your passion to lend a hand to other demons, being a medical helper in a place like Inpherno can really give you certain headaches. How many times have you patch up a demon who blew himself up accidentally? How many times you stare at some certain idiot that skates his way right into the wall? Honestly, you start to understand why Medkit has that resting bitch face all the time while he was at work now. And when you complain to him, he just gives you a knowing ‘About damn time you get me’ look

• Don’t be surprised when you two became the tired duo of the clinic. You two complain to each other a lots about work-related stuff. Even when you are still less insufferable than him, that tiredness of his gets to your look a bit

• And your relationship with him just grow gradually from that

• When Medkit realizes his feeling for you, he freaks out

• Commitment is scary to Medkit, especially when he literally has a target on his skull and the Cult’s eye following him in the dark. He will go through denial first, his mind will be a mess. And it doesn’t help the fact you two are literally colleagues - there is no way he can avoid you without making it awkward. He doesn’t want to put you in danger. Yet at the same time he still finds himself yearn for your company

• He tries to figure what to do, even throwing his dignity away to ask Sword about what should he do. When you see him confess, keep in mind that this man has literally stay up every nights and mentally rehearsing his line over again. And one time when you find him having a smoke break after a tired shift, the nicotine messes up with his exhaustion, and those words just slip off his tongue without him realizing at first. He can feel his heart drop, anxiously waiting for a rejection—

• But then you chuckle

• When you confess that you feel the same, he almost freezes on spot immediately before you have to call for his attention. The good thing about it is that he can finally stop being such a wimp about fearing rejection now

• As for the lovey-dobey stuff, he isn’t that fond of physical touch at first. Be patient with him, this man is a walking load of trauma already. The first approach he will engage in with is mostly act of service. When he finds himself having enough confidence to be vulnerable around you, be ready for gentle lingering touches

• If you smoke, then you two have cigarette breaks with each other occasionally as well. It is good for stress relieving, at least for Medkit

• He cares for you, but won’t admit it aloud though. One time when he is tired and passed out, you put a blanket over him before taking care of everything else. The next time when it is your turn to collapse while writing a patient’s report, you wake up with a blanket over your shoulders. He says it’s returning a favor

• Now for the fun random stuff

• You remember his coffee order by heart. One time you accidentally drink his cup instead of yours, you almost spit it out because goddamn it’s literally as dark as a black hole. And the thing that terrifies you most is the fact he is immune to the strong caffeine by now. He is dead serious when saying that stuff can’t even keep him awake at night. You make a mental note to stay away from this guy’s coffee. Just the scent alone keeps you awake at night

• If you match his sassiness, then congrats, you are in for a ride. It’s never dull in his clinic when Medkit is being sassy. Getting used to that new side of his has its benefits. You understand what each other is thinking about just with a glance, which usually be used when you two side-eyeing a patient, like a ‘This guy can’t be serious’ kind of glance

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Note: Don’t mind me I’m just a bored lad