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kingkaisen · 1 month ago

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DOCTOR, DOCTOR!

♡ — 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: Being a surgeon is hard enough, but dealing with attractive men who can’t seem to get enough of their pretty doctor? Well . . .

♡ — 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓: 18+ ONLY || MINORS DNI — multi! jjk x surgeon! reader (separate) ft. sukuna, choso, gojo, nanami, toji, & geto, very tiny amounts of smut, mainly just suggestive, fluff, some angst, modern au, mentions of injuries and blood.

♡ — 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑’𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: I don’t know much about the medical field, so there will be some inaccuracies!

⚕️ — 𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

“There is no reason whatsoever as to why my surgical patients have to suffer due to your incompetence. They’re post-op. Post-op. These people have been freshly cut open, and they need enough medicine to manage their pain.” You strode down the brightly-lid hospital hallway. The two nurses at the receiving end of your anger struggled to keep up with your quick pace. “After I visit with Mr. Sukuna, I’ll be stopping by Mrs. Mura’s room, and that poor woman better not be in tears again from a lack of quality care when I get there.”

“Y-Yes, doctor.” The nurses nodded. They scurried off as you stopped outside an oak-colored wooden door.

You knocked twice before opening it, entering Sukuna’s hospital room with a fake smile to disguise your anger.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Sukuna.” Approaching the man propped up in his bed, you folded your arms across your chest, and he smirked up at you.

Briefly, you turned to face the slumped-over inmate guard dozing off in a recliner chair in the corner of the room.

“Sir? Would you mind stepping out for a moment?”

The guard snapped awake at the sound of your voice, nodded, and yawned, rising to his feet as he dragged himself out of Sukuna’s hospital room. After all, the prisoner was chained to his hospital bed, so it would be perfectly fine for him to waste some spare change visiting a few vending machines for a couple of snacks, right?

“How are you feeling?” You asked Sukuna once you both found yourselves alone.

“Drop the act,” Sukuna paused. He grabbed his white remote and muted the television displaying old reruns of boring game shows. “Tell me what’s got you upset.”

“Something that is much too inappropriate for me to discuss with a patient.” You let your face fall into a frown.

“Even your favorite one?”

“My favorite?” You raised your eyebrows, smiling softly as you pressed a button on the side rails of Sukuna’s bed, lowering him just a bit. “You and your ego.”

“I’m just sayin’, if you’ve got a problem with someone, y’know I’ll take care of it for you.”

You leaned over Sukuna, shining your pen light into one of his eyes. “See? Comments like that are exactly why your left wrist is handcuffed to your bed.”

“Relax, I’m just messin’ around,” he gave you a sly smile.

You pulled away from him briefly. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right, I’m not,” Sukuna’s eyes slowly trailed over your body, taking in the sight of you from head to toe. “Just say the word, pretty girl.”

“First of all,” you paused, your voice stern, though you could hardly fight off the strong urge to smile. “Drop the nicknames already. Second of all, how are you supposed to take care of my problems while you’re cuffed, under constant supervision, and healing from an arm fracture? A complicated and complex one at that. I was operating on you for quite some time. I’m guessing your violent behavior led to it.”

Hunger lingered in Sukuna’s gaze. He had no appetite for the bland, half-eaten hospital food getting old and stale on a discarded tray on the other side of his bed.

No.

He was starving for the gorgeous surgeon in front of him right now. And after having all the time in the world to lie around and think, think, think, it dawned on him that, perhaps, his growing affection wasn’t one-sided.

“A complicated surgery your excuse for not discharging me already? I think someone likes having me around.” The tip of Sukuna’s tongue darted out briefly as he licked his bottom lip. You turned your head away from his piercing stare, suddenly overcome with shyness.

“Don’t get all embarrassed now,” Sukuna teased.

It was rather odd. Lying to patients — or, as you preferred to think of it, temporarily withholding the truth for their own benefit — was a skill all doctors had to learn. By now, you had considered yourself a master at doing so.

Until it came to Ryomen Sukuna.

Oh, he could see right through you . . . could destroy your detached, professional, tough attitude that one needs to have to survive the medical field and reduce you into nothing more than a shy girl with a crush. A crush on her own damn patient.

“You know what? After I finish examining you, I’m gonna work on getting you discharged first thing tomorrow,” you said, leaning over him yet again. Your penlight shined into his other eye.

Sukuna’s gentle breath patted against your face as he mumbled, “constantly examining my eyes even though my arm was the problem. You’re looking for any reason to get close to me, doc.”

The bright light seized with the click of your thumb. Though your eye exam was done, you hadn’t yet pulled away from him.

“I’m just doing my job. You’re making it more complicated than it needs to be, which is why I can’t support the decision to discharge you just yet,” you said.

“You think I believe that? Let me show you how well my arm’s healing up.” Sukuna’s injured arm was in a cast, but he wouldn’t let that hold him back. One second, you were leaning over Sukuna, and the next, he was grabbing your leg and pulling you over his lap, making you straddle him.

“I can toss you around just fine. But I’ll let you keep up with your little act,” Sukuna gripped the collar of your white coat. “After my eyes, you always examine my mouth, right? Tell me what you think, doc.”

With the hunger of a starving man, he connected your lips. A little gasp of surprise escaped from you. Sukuna was quick to use that opportunity to deepen the kiss, slipping his tongue into your mouth and swirling it around yours. Your breath was minty — he could taste it. If he wasn’t currently swallowing your soft moans while moving his mouth against yours, he would have teased you over freshening your breath before coming to visit him.

You broke the kiss a while later due to a lack of air. Damn your lungs. They felt as if they were on fire by the time Sukuna leaned back, a sly smirk on his face.

“Examination go well?” His voice was barely above a whisper.

“It’s . . . um, just as I thought.” You stammered, pausing to breathe. “You’re displaying certain symptoms that have me concerned. We might need to keep you here for an extra day or two.”

Sukuna smirked yet again. Shaking his head in disbelief, he said, “If you wanna keep me here, you better take those scrubs off right now.”

“But we could get caught-”

“Just shut up and come sit on my face.”

⚕️ — 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 𝐊𝐀𝐌𝐎

On what was a late Wednesday afternoon, you tossed your empty cup of coffee into a nearby garbage can. The next surgery on your chaotic schedule was meant to be a simple procedure done on a young man’s knee, and according to his pre-op lab work, his vitals were just fine. Ideal blood pressure. Quite healthy. No behavioral issues.

So far, so good . . .

Until you walked into his hospital room.

It is rather expected for surgeons to introduce themselves to their patients before an operation, which is why you entered Choso’s dark room to begin with and flipped on the lights.

But, when the unfamiliar man’s dark brown eyes landed on you, they widened. His cheeks and ears darkened to a pinkish shade of red, and he began to cough. The ice water he was sipping on nearly spewed from between his lips.

You rushed over worriedly, yet calmly.

“Keep coughing, don’t hold the water in or you’ll continue to choke.” With one hand, you grabbed the plastic cup on his overbed table, holding it to his mouth. With the other, you eased him forward, ready to give his back a couple of blows if necessary, but rubbing it soothingly in the meantime.

Eventually, his light choking session came to an end after he spat the water out, and no drastic measures were needed.

However, his skin hadn’t returned to its previous pale shade. His cheeks and ears were much too red for your liking.

After a brief introduction and overview of the operation — all talking on your part, not a word from him — you gave him a serious glance.

“Would it be alright for me to check your vitals myself? I know your nurse already did so, but you still seem a little flushed. I’m sure it’s from the little choking mishap, but I would still like to double-check.”

He nodded, avoiding your gaze and staring only at the white blanket draped over him. You removed the stethoscope from around your neck.

A quiet or shy patient was nothing usual. Beyond that, he was probably embarrassed about what happened, along with the general anxiety that builds up within most people at the idea of having surgery.

Therefore, you spoke as softly as you could, pressing the cool, circular end of the stethoscope against his chest.

“Take a deep breath for me,” you said.

You checked a few different areas before pulling away from him, hanging your stethoscope underneath the collar of your white coat.

“You have a rapid heartbeat. Is this a regular occurrence?”

“No.”

His heart rate should have calmed down by now had it been related to the water incident, you thought.

“Well, I’d like to check it again in a couple of minutes. We might have to consider scheduling you for an ECG if nothing changes. Have you experienced any palpitations, dizziness, or shortness of breath?”

Choso looked off to the side at nothing in particular.

“Only . . . right now,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I see,” you smiled gently, though he couldn’t see it. You were certain he’d stare directly into the sun just to avoid looking you in the eye. “Nervous around doctors, I understand.”

“I’m not usually nervous around doctors,” Choso fiddled with his folded fingers resting in his lap. He scratched one thumb with the other, breathing unsteadily.

You hid your confusion and concern behind an expressionless face, one as blank as a new canvas.

Tightening the blood pressure cuff around his muscular arm was your next move, one made in a thick awkward silence. The fact that he was in seemingly great shape only worsened your worry.

After all, those who exercised regularly were known to have a resting heart rate lower than the average person. Not higher.

You weren’t a fool.

From the very moment you took your first pre-med undergraduate course, you were taught time and time again that even those who took exceptional care of themselves could become victims of several illnesses. You’ve witnessed it yourself. Seen or performed tumor removals, cracked open chests, or sliced into the stomachs of countless amount of people who seemed healthy. Or tried their hardest to be that way.

Was that the case now? Was this seemingly healthy guy unknowingly suffering from some sort of heart condition?

Those were the questions running through your mind when the screen monitoring his blood pressure blinked red. The cuff released a puff of air as it stopped squeezing his bicep.

“Elevated blood pressure,” you said.

Removing the cuff, you darted your eyes down to his face.

“You shouldn’t be concerned. I’m fine,” he scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t need any tests. I’m just nervous. Not because of the surgery or because you’re a doctor, but you’re . . . pretty.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Reaching down, you gave his fidgeting hand a reassuring squeeze.

Being that his vitals appeared normal when being checked by someone else, then perhaps, he was telling the truth.

“Thank you,” you pulled your hand away. “Just to be safe and test your theory, I’ll have you sit here for a few minutes, and I’ll send a nurse back in to recheck everything one last time. If it all looks good, no ECG. How does that sound?”

For the first time since your arrival, Choso’s chocolate brown eyes met yours.

“That won’t work,” he mumbled. “Even if you bring in someone who isn’t you, I will still be thinking of you in a few minutes, so my heart rate and blood pressure will still be high. I’m sorry.”

⚕️ — 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

Seeing Satoru Gojo among your scheduled appointments for the day was a certainty, just as the sun would rise in the morning and the moon would shine at night.

His operation was quite a while ago. It was a smooth surgery, and yet, here he was, sitting in the waiting room of the tall, fancy building with your name on the outside — you had established your very own private practice.

Despite being a surgeon on the younger side, you had accomplished what most surgeons wouldn’t dare to dream of accomplishing until their late 40s, if they could accomplish your level of success at all.

You had a wall full of framed degrees. Certificates. Awards. And it certainly wasn’t easy, from the accelerated programs and sleepless nights to being disrespected by your older male colleagues. You couldn’t count the number of times someone had mistook you for a nurse, even as you wore your white coat. There were even patients who refused your care in preference for your less-accomplished, less-skilled, male fellow doctors.

Despite the trials and tribulations, your hard work paid off, thank goodness.

That was why you groaned with annoyance upon discovering that Satoru Gojo was among your list of patients, and you tried to ignore the way your heart skipped a beat.

Because, damn it all, you wouldn’t ruin your remarkable career and reputation by falling for a patient . . . especially because he refused to stop being your patient.

— ⚕️—

“You again?” You stepped into the examination room, eyeing the white-haired man.

“Did you miss me?” Satoru grinned.

“You’re never gone long enough for me to miss you,” shutting the door behind you, trying your hardest to conceal your emotions, you asked, “What seems to be the problem now, Mr. Gojo?”

“Ya know,” Satoru paused. He slumped back in his seat. “I never understood why I have to tell the nurse all of my issues just to have to repeat it all again when you come in.”

“Considering how much you enjoy talking, I didn’t think you’d have a problem with that.”

“I’d rather just talk to you.” His goofy smile widened. “Anyway, I’ve been dealing with some stomach pain, and my incisions feel all sore.”

“You mean the incisions that healed up very nicely several months ago?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “And regarding your stomach pain . . . you booked an appointment with me instead of the gastroenterologist I referred you to because?”

“‘Cause you were the one who performed my surgery, unless I’m crazy and remembering stuff wrong.”

Satoru rose from his seat, heading for the examination table without you having to tell him. He knew every move you were going to make. After all — after many pointless visits because, apparently, these appointments were the closest he could get to going on a date with you — he knew the routine like the back of his hand.

You approached him. It was difficult to find the courage to look him in the eye — god, that lovesick gaze of his always made your heart skip a beat — but you stared at him sternly regardless, hoping he would take your words seriously . . . though, truly, you didn’t want him to.

“Satoru, this many follow-up appointments almost a year later aren’t-”

“What are the rules against a doctor dating a patient?”

Your eyes widened.

Your heart didn’t skip a beat. It skipped several.

You were certain it was going to give out, that you would go from being a doctor to being a patient.

He was being serious. There was no hint of playfulness behind his tone. Satoru’s love-filled gaze darted from your eyes, down to your lips, and back up to your eyes again.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that just now,” you cleared your throat, taking a step back, breaking eye contact with him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” He asked with false innocence.

His long finger was suddenly hooked around the belt loop of your pants. He pulled you closer, closing the distance between you both. His soft, gentle breath patted against the skin of your cheek.

“Aw, you can’t even look me in the eye, how cute,” he teased, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh my goodness, just lay down already,” you mumbled. “Let me take a look at your stomach.”

“Yes ma’am,” Satoru grinned widely. He earned yet another eye roll from you.

You had hoped that officially starting his physical exam would, perhaps, break the building tension between you both. But no.

Your skillful hands were inspecting the faint and tiny incisions along his fit body, tracing over his lower abdomen.

“Like what you see?” Satoru said. “Don’t be shy, now. You can go lower than that if you want.”

“Once again, I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.” You pulled your hands away, and Satoru sat up. “Your incisions look fine, of course. But I will, for the thousandth time, be referring you to a gastroenterologist to run some tests regarding your . . .” you paused, giving him a look of disbelief, “. . . stomach pain.”

“Fineee, I’ll stop coming here,” Satoru said.

“Really?” You raised your eyebrows, but not in excitement. You were skilled in speaking without revealing your true emotions through your tone — years of telling sad families about an unfortunate diagnosis or death or a loved one required that form of expertise — but right now, you couldn’t hide your sadness as you spoke.

“You almost sound disappointed, sweetheart.” Satoru smiled, pushing himself off of the examination table. He started walking towards you, and you didn’t have the courage or desire to step away. “Anyway, I pieced it together just now. If doctors can’t date their patients, then I just can’t be your patient anymore. Is that what it’ll take for me to finally be able to snatch this coat off of you?”

“Mr. Gojo-”

“Or, I could do it right now.” This time, Satoru hooked his fingers around your chin, raising your head until you had no choice but to look him in the eye as he spoke. “What’s wrong? There aren’t any cameras in here out of respect for patient privacy, right?”

“Let me tell you something,” you frowned. “I’m a very hardworking woman who follows the rules. It took a lot of blood, sweat, and tears for me to get where I am now, and I won’t . . . I can’t ruin it by . . .”

Satoru’s thumb stroked your cheek as he listened to your words. When you suddenly stopped speaking, he mumbled, “What’s the matter? I’m listening.”

Truth be told, your words trailed off into nothing because the beautiful man before you made a thousand different questions and concerns swirl around in your overworked mind.

There was no denying his sheer lust. It was written all over his face. But there was love within his gaze as well. And though you couldn’t see your own face right now, you knew you were staring back at him with the same amount of love.

“Stop coming here. If you stop being my patient, just as you said, then maybe, we can go on that date in a couple of months.”

Satoru smiled. “Deal. I’m pretty impatient, but I can wait years for you if that’ll make you more comfortable. You should know by now there’s no getting rid of me.”

“I won’t make you wait years. I can be impatient sometimes as well.” You couldn’t help but match his smile with one of your own. “Let’s give it six months.”

“Six months,” Satoru said in agreement.

“Well, if that’s everything,” you started to head towards the door, then suddenly, you halted your footsteps.

You turned around. Rising to the tips of your toes, you planted a soft, quick kiss on Satoru’s cheek. His cheeks and ears couldn’t help but become a deep shade of red as he blushed.

“Six months,” you mumbled.

Satoru’s movements were fast; his lips were on your cheek before you had a chance to turn away.

“God, you’re the cutest,” he said.

Though kissing each other on the cheek was risky — planning to date a former patient in half a year was as well — you couldn’t help but admire your quickened heart rate. There was something quite thrilling about breaking the rules every now and then.

⚕️ — 𝐊𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐈

“Wow, I never thought I’d see little Kenny in my hospital.”

A bright smile graced your face as you stepped into the lavish room — though it was a hospital room, it seemed more suitable to view it as a hotel room with additional medical equipment.

“Well, when I decided it was time to schedule my carpal tunnel surgery, I was searching for a surgeon, and I saw your name appear. After I got over my initial surprise, I thought, why not go with my former best friend? Even if she used to be pretty clumsy during our childhood.” He gave you a smile as bright as your own. It occurred to him then, as his cheeks grew sore, that he hadn’t grinned so widely in quite some time.

“C’mere,” you approached his bed, leaning down to hug him and press a gentle kiss upon his cheek. “I’m gonna take great care of you.”

“I know you will. You always have,” the blonde-haired man whispered.

Something small, yet soft was being squished in between you both. He thought it was part of a pillow that had gotten caught in your embrace, but when you pulled away, his eyes darted down to the stuffed, light-brown teddy bear in your arms. It had a red heart in its grasp with cursive white letters that read: Get Well Soon!

“This is only one of the many, many things I plan to buy you from the gift shop,” you handed the stuffed animal to him. He took it, flipping it around in his hands.

God, he hadn’t noticed it when you walked in, so occupied with memorizing every detail of your gorgeous face and how it had changed since he last laid his eyes upon it. Even now, he couldn’t snatch his eyes away from you. The subtle smile pulling at the corners of your soft lips . . . your glistening gaze . . . even your nose was precious to him.

“Someone’s still a little sweetheart I see. Thank you,” he put the stuffed animal down next to him. “I intend to return the favor. I have a lot of missed birthdays and holidays to make up for.”

Kento’s long legs shifted underneath the blanket as he moved them to the side, making enough room for you to sit down on his bed.

“You and me both,” you paused, sitting in the spot he made for you. “I guess I can’t call you little Kenny anymore, can I? My goodness, you’re much taller than me now. When did that happen?”

Your childhood friend let out an airy, brief laugh. His hand scooped up yours. His thumb graced your skin, and he said, “I outgrew you right before we lost contact. I don’t expect you to remember, though. We were already starting to drift apart by the time that happened. But, more importantly, I think I have a more pressing question. When did you decide to become a surgeon? I’m proud of you.”

With a little hum, your eyes darted off to the side. Fighting off the bittersweet memories of growing up with Kento Nanami was an impossible task. What started out as a friendship formed in kindergarten over splitting peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sharing toys so drastically became a forgotten bond by freshman year of high school, when your closeness amounted to nothing more than waving at each other in the hallway.

No more sleepovers. No more snack sharing. No more innocent hand-holding.

From best friends to acquaintances, just like that.

And when circumstances led to your family moving to a different town quite far away, you and Nanami lost contact completely.

From acquaintances to strangers, just like that.

“We have a lot of catching up to do, don’t we?” Your tone was laced with nostalgic sadness.

Cold air hit your hand when Kento released it — your skin craved his warmth. But the man did not release your hand without reason, as the hand that was formerly holding yours now rested against your soft cheek. He gave it a little stroke with his thumb, then moved your head back in his direction.

He hadn’t seen your eyes in years. He’ll be damned if they dare gaze at anything other than him right now.

“Well, catching up now is as good a time as any. I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. Talk to me.” Kento moved his hand away from your face. Cold air returned to your skin like an unwelcomed guest. “Are you married? Have any kids? How are your relatives?”

“No, no, I’m . . . I’m much too busy to start a family. Haven’t had much time to check up on anyone else either,” You replied. Your somber demeanor vanished. A heartwarming smile reappeared, and rather playfully, you poked Kento’s chest. “But what of you, sir? How are you these days? I must say I wasn’t very pleased to see such an advanced case of carpal tunnel. You’re too damn young.”

Kento caught the hand you were jabbing him with. His large hand wrapped around yours, and he held it. Warmth.

“Well, I’m a businessman. My job is so taxing, it’s no wonder I ended up with carpal tunnel. But I make good money from it. I’m in the same boat as you, though. Unmarried. No kids.”

“Considering how handsome you turned out to be, I’m assuming it’s voluntary?”

He nodded. “Much like you, I’m just too busy.”

You couldn’t help but glance down at your locked hands. Despite the years upon years that have passed since he last felt your skin, his touch wasn’t foreign. It was all too familiar, almost as if Kento Nanami never left your life to begin with.

“I always thought you would be the person I’d end up marrying.” Your words were soft, barely above a whisper.

“So did I. Our wedding was my favorite thing to daydream about during class.” Kento brought your hand to his lips. His kiss was a gentle one, and the previous warmth that came from his touch transformed into a burning heat running through your veins. If he kept this up, this gentle love, you were certain you’d combust into flames.

“I should leave now,” you mumbled, preparing to get off of his bed, though you hadn’t yet found the courage.

Kento couldn’t help but notice how your eyes wouldn’t meet his as if they found the mopped floor below oh so interesting.

“Look at me.”

It took a while. Much longer than he would have liked. But eventually, you gave in to his demand and your eyes found his, though your glistening gaze was, once again, filled with sadness.

“I know this is the first time we’ve seen each other in a long time and the circumstances aren’t ideal, but you don’t have to mourn our past, because I don’t intend on letting you get away from me again. Do you understand me?”

Your sad eyes widened. “You’re saying-”

“I’m saying I want you back in my life, if that’s okay with you.”

You knew the serious expression on Kento’s face well. He meant every word.

“I assumed we’d go our separate ways once again after this surgery . . . that I probably wouldn’t see you again until you needed a hip replacement in your late sixties,” you couldn’t help but let a single tear fall down your cheek.

A low, brief chuckle came from Kento. He leaned forward. Reaching out, he cupped your cheek, stroking the tear away with his thumb.

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. Come here.” With the hand that was resting on your cheek, Kento guided your head towards his chest as he leaned back against the hospital bed. Your upper body now rested on top of him. His thumb continued to stroke your wet cheek.

“Forgive me for saying so, but as soon as you walked through that door, I knew I wanted to start daydreaming about marrying you once again.”

“Good,” you smiled. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”

“I won’t get you in trouble for holding you like this, will I?” Kento asked, though he couldn’t think of anything worse than letting you go.

“Don’t stress about it. No matter what anyone says, I run this hospital. I can do what I want. Including this.”

Suddenly, you leaned up to press a kiss on his cheek.

“But I better get going,” you said. “It’s almost time for your surgery.”

You started to rise into a sitting position, but Kento’s large hand cupped the side of your face, halting your movements.

“Wait,” he darted his soft eyes down to your lips. “It’s too soon for this, but I need to do it anyway.”

Kento’s lips met yours in a surprise kiss so loving, so passionate, it took your breath away — there was nothing left except that familiar warmth and the feeling of his lips moving against your own. You truly didn’t know if the kiss lasted five seconds or five minutes because when he pulled away, it still felt like it was much too early.

“That kiss didn’t happen too soon,” You uttered breathlessly. “I’ve waited years for that.”

You staggered as you rose to your feet. Leave it to Kento Nanami to make you go weak at the knees.

Dragging your hands across your coat and scrubs to ensure they weren’t oddly twisted or wrinkled, you said, “Now I’ve really gotta go. But I look forward to slicing into you!”

⚕️ — 𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎

“You’re awake.”

It was the voice of an angel. Had to be. But, as Toji’s blurry vision cleared as he blinked, blinked, and blinked — he made out the sterile environment devoid of color and packed to the brim with machines that were wired to his battered limbs — he realized he was in a hospital room, not the afterlife.

“Welcome back,” you smiled.

Toji felt your thumb gently stroke his forehead. Your touch was so comforting. So soothing. It calmed his initial urge to panic as a result of the massive wave of pain and confusion that hit him as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Toji, you’re alright. You were in a construction accident.” Another voice spoke up, but Toji’s eyes didn’t bother searching for the source. They were on you — the pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel, smiling at him.

— ⚕️—

It took several days for Toji to regain the strength to move. Talking was a lost skill to him for weeks.

God, were head-to-toe injuries painful. His nurses informed him — when he could manage to stay conscious, at least — that unsafe conditions led to him falling from a dangerous height while working at a construction site. Most people would have died instantly during an accident like that. If they were lucky enough to survive the initial fall and aftermath of collapsing debris, then they more than likely would have died on the operating table.

But Toji, however, had a brilliant surgeon who operated endlessly for hours upon hours to save his life. Brilliant.

Was it you? The pretty, unfamiliar woman with the voice of an angel who smiled at him when he first awakened? Just where did you go?

You suddenly walked into Toji’s room as if his thoughts had summoned you.

Before you could speak, he asked, “You the one who saved my life?”

“I am. My surgical team and I worked very hard. I’m glad you pulled through. How are you feeling?”

“Took you long enough to come check on me again,” Toji ignored your question, speaking with a soft, tired smile. “Haven’t seen you since I woke up. Was starting to think my mind made you up.”

“Actually,” you paused, approaching the side of his hospital bed. “I came by almost every night to check on you. You were just fast asleep. You can thank our pain medication for that.”

“Hm . . .” Toji’s eyelids were growing heavy. He spoke over the beeping vital monitors and IV pumps. “Guess I owe you one for . . . saving . . .”

He was fast asleep.

You smiled down at his face, which, although bruised and bandaged, was still quite handsome.

As you walked away, you heard the black-haired man mumble in his drug-induced state, “. . . so goddamn pretty.”

—⚕️—

The following physical therapy-filled weeks were rather difficult for a man like Toji. The struggles he endured were not only physical, but mental as well.

After all, he prided himself on having such an athletic build and insane strength — the amount of pounds he could lift with ease was startling.

But for a while, he was no longer the man who could haul just about anything with very little effort. He was a man who needed assistance to stand up. To walk. And his spirit was crushed, even well after he regained those lost skills and was deemed recovered enough to be discharged.

He was rather certain that if it wasn’t for a certain angel sticking by his side throughout his two-month hospital stay, he wouldn’t have found the strength to keep going.

—⚕️—

Toji Fushiguro found himself at a local, quiet bar more often than he’d like to admit. Most times, a wave of self-hatred washed over him every single time he grabbed a seat and ordered a drink, but not today. Today, he was happy to walk into the bar, because you were there.

“Can I buy you a drink, doc?”

You looked up from your phone screen to find your former patient standing at the side of the little table you occupied.

“Toji?” You smiled. “Wow. It’s refreshing to see you outside of the hospital.”

“And without a hospital gown on, I bet,” a little smirk pulled at the vertical scar on his lips. “It’s nice to see you without that white coat on, ‘cause that means I’m no longer in that hospital, even if the coat is pretty hot on you. Who knew I’d have a thing for doctors.”

“Aren’t you straightforward?” You gave a little laugh, then nodded at the empty seat across from you. “Sit down. Join me.”

As Toji pulled out the chair opposite of you, he said, “I was kinda worried, thinkin’ I wouldn’t see you again after getting discharged.”

“Really? I figured after seeing me every day for . . . how long has it been, two months, right? I assumed you’d be sick of seeing me.” You took a sip of your water. Condensation coated the cool glass.

“Sick of the hospital, yeah, but not you,” Toji propped his elbow up on the table and rested the side of his head in his hands. “Anyway, about that drink. Get whatever you want. It’s on me.”

“Toji, you know you don’t owe me for saving your life. It’s my job.”

“I don’t care. I owe you one. But an overpriced drink wasn’t how I was gonna pay you back anyway.”

“Hm?” You raised your eyebrows. “How were you going to pay me back, then?”

“I’ve got a lot of ideas. One of them involves you comin’ home with me. Another involves a nice dinner, whichever you prefer. Though if you really wanna know what I think, I think you should pick both.”

You waited for any sort of indication that, perhaps, the handsome man was joking. But you knew Toji quite well after spending much time with him, and he never bothered with being dishonest or secretive about his feelings.

Hospital food tasted like crap? He said so. Exhaustion lingering within your eyes despite your professional smile? He pointed it out.

You gave him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief. The chair scraped against the floor as you got up to leave the table.

Toji wasn’t surprised to see you leave. He expected to be turned down, having been your former patient. Pursuing any sort of relationship probably disinterested you due to moral and ethical-

“Aren’t you coming?”

Toji turned around. You stood there patiently, having halted your footsteps a short distance away from the table.

“Huh?” He blinked. So you were interested. Another small smile couldn’t help but grace his face. “What about that drink?”

“Forget about it,” you waved him over. “I like what you came up with more.”

“Oh yeah? Which idea?” Toji asked, rising from his seat.

“Both.”

“Then let’s go, angel.” Toji grabbed ahold of your hand, guiding you towards the exit. “I hope you like Italian food. And my version of physical therapy.”

⚕️— 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

Sharp intuition and good instincts were valuable skills one needed in the medical field. As one of the most skilled surgeons in the hospital, the best of the best, according to your peers — and, well, your low mortality rate — your skill set was rather exceptional.

There was, however, a drawback to having good instincts. It was the impending doom you couldn’t shake when your gut told you that something was off.

Though your incredibly long shift had come to an end, you hadn’t yet left the hospital. After all, today, your surgeries were all brief and complication-free. The ER wasn’t too chaotic. Even your coffee tasted extra pleasant today.

Things were going well. Too well.

Your time working as a surgeon had taught you one thing: a peaceful day working in a hospital was a bad sign.

And those good instincts of yours? They told you not to leave just yet.

Many nurses darted their eyes at you curiously, silently questioning why you hadn’t yet run out of the building once your shift was over. Free time was all too rare for a surgeon, so why, just why, were you hanging around in the ER, leaning against the counter of the nurses’ station?

You were taking a tentative sip of your beverage when a car arrived outside of the ER’s automatic sliding seethrough doors.

A man stepped out, not wasting time with trivial matters such as shutting his car door, and he swung open another car door. You couldn’t see what he was doing exactly due to the distance. Not until he stepped into the ER with an unconscious, blood-covered girl in his arms.

“Sir?” You called out.

The dark-haired man didn’t respond. He was in a state of shock.

You and your medical team rushed to find a gurney, ready to assess the girl in his arms, but he wasn't ready to let go of her just yet.

You gave him a sympathetic, but urgent look. “Sir, you need to let us help her. Can you tell us what happened?”

No response.

The man himself was bleeding from his head.

“Sir,” you tried yet again, speaking softly. He didn’t look at you until you touched the bloody hand he had hooked around the young girl’s shoulder. “I promise I will try my best to help her. I need you to trust me.”

He blinked a few times as if coming out of a daze. He placed the girl on the gurney.

— ⚕️—

It was a car accident. The man, who was named Suguru Geto, sat in the waiting room for hours, refusing medical attention for his own injuries. The young girl he carried into the ER was one of his adopted daughters.

Operating on her with the information a nurse passed on to you in mind gave you the strength you needed to push through your exhaustion — to save a young girl on the brink of death.

“I need you to stay strong for me, Mimiko,” you mumbled against your surgical mask, putting down one surgical tool and grabbing another — your scalpel. “Your dad’s waiting for you, sweet girl.”

Though the girl was unconscious, you continued to speak to her throughout the operation.

You couldn’t help it — perhaps believing it mattered on a subconscious or even spiritual level.

When the surgery came to an end, you gave Suguru an update, informing him that Mimiko was stable for now and that he could visit her soon.

“Thank you.” A shaky, relieved breath escaped from between his lips, and though he was happy to hear the news, he started to cry. Tears were streaming down his face, mixing with the blood on his skin — he couldn’t help but break down over the situation, now that it was partially over.

You wasted no time in grabbing a seat next to Suguru.

Wrapping your arms around him, you held the stranger, rubbing his back soothingly.

“It’s alright,” you whispered kindly.

Suguru pulled away from you after a couple of minutes. You gave him a smile. However, it didn’t take long for the corners of your lips to dip into a frown.

“Mr. Geto, your forehead.” You rose from your seat. “You need stitches. Please let me help.”

It took a moment, but he eventually nodded and got up as well.

You were well within your rights to go home, to pass off this mundane suturing opportunity to someone with less responsibility within the hospital, but you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

You were going to stick with this family throughout their entire healing process.

For a while, you treated Suguru’s wound in silence — beyond the general bustling hospital noise.

“You seem tired. Am I keeping you here past your shift?” Suguru suddenly spoke up.

You were silent for a moment, uncertain of how to respond.

“I’m just glad I was here, Mr. Geto.”

“Anyone who saves my daughter’s life can call me Suguru.” He stared down at the dried blood on his hands. “While you were still in surgery, a nurse gave me an update. She told me how hard you were working, and that you were speaking to Mimiko as if she was your own child.”

“I was. I like to talk to all my patients during surgery. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

“Not at all, why would it? I appreciate it. You seem very caring.” Suguru would have smiled if he had the energy.

“Tired and caring, hm?” You grinned softly, finishing the last stitch.

“I’m sure I will come up with more adjectives in due time.”

Your smile widened, and even Suguru managed to give a tiny grin.

— ⚕️—

Suguru Geto approached you in the hospital hallway during your lunch break a few weeks later, on the day his dear daughter would get discharged. The man who you came to know after seeing him and his family on nearly a daily basis tapped your shoulder.

“Hm?” You turned around, and your eyes darted down to a packaged baked good in Suguru’s hands.

“What’s this?” You asked.

“Consider it a personal thank you for taking such great care of my daughter.” Suguru held out the tiny box, and you took the pastry.

“Oh, Mr. Geto, You didn’t need to do this for me. I was just doing my job,” you grinned.

“Your job was to save her life. To talk with her about her hobbies and interests . . . to comfort her . . . that was going above and beyond.” Suguru stared at you with sincerity and respect. “She’s been rambling on and on about you non-stop. I know you’re a busy person, but she said she’d still like to see you even after getting discharged, should you ever have the freetime.”

“Of course. She’s a sweet girl — both your girls are,” looking down at the sweet treat in your hands, you said, “and this looks amazing. You’re too kind, Suguru!”

“Believe me, I’m not normally a kind person. But you deserve every bit of kindness I might be able to spare.”

“A single father to two girls he adopted, who bakes pastries for other people? Sure seems like you’re pretty kind.”

Suguru stepped closer. He leaned down a bit, as far as he could without raising any suspicion from nearby medical staff and guests, and he whispered into your ear, “You just don’t know me very well. But I was thinking about how much I’d like to change that.”

“How so?” You whispered back.

Suddenly, Suguru stepped away. He grabbed your wrist, leading you towards the on-call room he fully intended on sneaking you both into.

You could hardly put the pastry down and lock the door before his lips were on yours hungrily. His hands were busy pulling off your white coat, your top, and undoing the drawstrings of your scrub pants.

His mouth made its way down to your neck. He sucked and kissed at your skin, all the while his hand snaked their way into your underwear.

“Remember when I started to cry, and you held me?” He asked softly, his breath patting against your skin.

“Yeah,” you replied. “I remember.”

“I think I should return the favor,” he paused, his fingers finding your clit while his other hand held you against his bigger frame. “Let me hold you while you cum.”

🩺 — @sad-darksoul @priv-rose @yihona-san06 @keriaonmarz @thequeenofcurses @he11okitty-mari @luvvmae @underworldsheiress @notgoodforlife @levisfavoriteteashop @insomniacbehaivour @preciousamethyst @kxmorrx @iwanttohitmyself @ellaumbrella1 @lil-apple-pie @prettypixigrl @averysmolbear @starstoru @starlightanyaaa @dolphin1135 @ioveartfilm @filhadaanarquia @blackdxggr @jaegergirl @gunslxtz @he11okitty-mari @deadrevenge @koikohib

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copperrook · 6 months ago

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Eugene's robe is real and it is mine.

You'll forgive me for not wearing it off-shoulder right at the mo, since Tumblr has a problem with tiddies and all.

Construction details under the cut

Now if you read my tags on the previous post, you'll know that it was my intention to make this robe out of some silk that had been languishing in my fabric storage, small problem though

Not all of it is black

(Left two are raw silk, different weights, right's a haboti silk scarf)

Now that's an easy enough fix

I did have to do about three passes to get them to match though, as black is a notoriously hard colour to dye

Next one must make a mock-up out of an inferior material, this here is poplin.

Now if you were just making this costume-quality, this material would be fine, slap on a collar, hem and overlock this guy and he'll do great, I'm just extra.

You'll also note the piecing on the shoulders here, that is because i did not have enough silk to cut it all in one piece

That picture to the right is how much in total was left as offcuts from all the silk used.

Fun huh?

Does also mean it's not floor length, but on the plus side it's my preferred length anyway

Eugene proper doesn't need to move his legs when walking after all

Anyways then it was just a matter of sewing the whole thing together (no pics, soz) most of it is machine sewn (silk thread) with top stitched flat felled seams, that includes the split in the back where it essentially runs from a flat felled seam to a hem by just pressing outwards and tucking under.

The entire collar was whipped stitched down on the inside within the seam allowance to avoid any top stitching lines on the outside or nasty flappy bits on the inside. (And because haboti LOVES to warp, which was not entirely circumvented with this method)

The arms eye seams were also hand finished with an invisible felling whip stitch, and the sleeve bottoms hemmed with a sort of invisible pad stitch.

The several days worth of hand stitching just listed is why this took me a while.

And so i chose a good-enough scarf for a shash-yeah jk i made the sash from scratch out of yet more Haboti silk and dyed it.

I don't think it's quite dark enough so I may dye it again later.

If you want a approx amount of fabric that's in this piece, the robe is a bit over 4 meters of silk Total?

And the sash is about 3mx70cm on top of that.

Now I'm gonna go luxuriate in this robe I stole from our fictional son, happy S3 E2 of Midnight Alley y'all!

#I'd get nicer photos but I'm exited and also not waiting for the weather to clear #maybe later #if i make this a full cosplay #dunno if this'll be useful to anyone making their own #but i recommend consuming vampire and conspiracy based media while making it #since that what i did and it turned out great #drawtectives #Eugene Finch #Eugene Drawtectives #drawtectives season 3 #Midnight Alley #Drawtectives cosplay #?#well eventually maybe #sewing #handmade #✨fashion✨

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indyvinylpressing1 · 2 years ago

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#Vinyl Record Manufacturing #Quality Record Pressings #Record Pressing Machines #Print on Vinyl Records #Vinyl Record Pressing

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rafeandonlyrafe · 8 months ago

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5 acts

words: 2k

warnings: soft!rafe, very fluffy, insecurity from rafe, reader is described as having curly hair, established relationship, brief nudity but very sfw (reader is topless while getting a massage but no descriptions)

5 acts of service to spark romance between you and your partner

make their morning easier: make them breakfast, or their coffee just as they like it

take care of their vehicle: get it washed, filled, and oil changed if needed. it'll feel like a weight off their shoulders

organize something meaningful for them: go through an old photo album or set up a space in the home that caters to them

pamper them after a long day: draw a bath, brush their hair, give them a massage

set up their favorite movie night: get their favorite snacks, light some candles, and turn a simple movie night into a romantic evening

rafe frowns as he reads over the list again.

“baby!” your voice rings out, and he's quick to jump to his feet and rush down the stairs.

“oh!” you stop as he lands on the hardwood in front of you. “you came down so quickly.” you giggle. “i was just going to tell you dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

“ill get the table set up.” rafe leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek, leaving you to look at him in confusion as he walks away, a certain amount of pep in his step you're not used to seeing.

you get even more suspicious when you bring the dish into the dining room and see that rafe has a candle lit.

“is there a special occasion i forgot about?” you question as rafe pulls your chair out for you.

“nope, just treating my girl.” rafe swallows thickly, surprised and disappointed in himself that you're already noticing his change in behavior.

it all started last weekend when rafe overheard you talking to your girlfriends about love languages. he didn't mean to eavesdrop, truly, but he found himself quickly locked in when you said yours was acts of service and quality time, but that you couldn't think of any acts of service rafe has done recently.

you didn't sound that upset about it, and even immediately clarified that rafe makes up for it in other ways and you weren't even sure what he could do for you, but rafe was determined to change the tides of your relationship.

act 1

rafe shuts his alarm off quickly before looking over at you, making sure the beeping didn't wake you up as well.

he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees your eyes are still closed before carefully sliding out of bed and tiptoeing out of the room.

rafe makes it to the kitchen keeping his steps quiet as he looks around at the various cabinets. he's not sure where to start, so he begins with unloading the dishwasher and putting everything away, when he opens up a cabinet to see the waffle maker and an idea sparks.

rafe opens up the pantry, stepping in to find the mix as well as anything else he might need for the breakfast, and just like that, rafes plan sets into motion.

he makes a stack of waffles, but not before turning on the coffee machine so you can wake up to a fresh brew. he makes a good portion of eggs for you to split before checking the clock, figuring it's about time to check to see if you're awake.

rafe pours your coffee in your favorite tumbler before adding ice and syrup, smiling at himself for remembering just how you like it.

rafe is about to head out of the kitchen when he hears your footsteps coming down the stairs.

“good morning ba-”

“oh my god, im so late for my nail appointment, why didn't you wake me up?” you squeal, grabbing your purse and adjusting the outfit you threw on quickly.

“i didn-”

“i got to leave, like right now, sorry babe.” you run up to rafe and press a quick kiss to his lips, about to rush away when you realize the two plates of breakfast.

“it's okay.” rafe shakes his head. “i'll make you breakfast a different day. forgot you had a nail appointment. but here-” rafe grabs the tumbler and thrusts it into your hand. “at least take the coffee i made you.”

rafe can see the conflicting emotions going on inside your head.

“hey.” he says softly. “it's okay. go. you and i both know how ridiculous those late fees are.”

“okay.” you nod, pouting and looking back at the plates as you leave.

act 2

“do you have any plans today?” rafe asks, brushing your hair away from your face.

“nope. just hanging with you.” you smile up at him, snuggling closer to his side, not yet ready to leave the bed when rafe is keeping you so warm, occasionally pressing kisses to your face.

“im gonna go take your car to get it serviced.” rafe says. “since you don't have anything going on.”

“oh.” you hum. “okay.” you were secretly hoping you could just have a lazy day in bed with rafe, maybe even force him to watch some trashy reality tv, knowing it'll only take a couple minutes for him to get fully invested in whatever drama starts up between the couples.

“you stay in bed though.” rafe smiles at you, sliding out from under the covers, leaving you to pull the blanket tighter around yourself and inhale his fleeting scent.

rafe heads down the stairs, a pep in his step at getting this task done for you. he grabs your keys before heading out the door, taking it to the service center first for an oil change. it's not very dirty on the inside, but rafe decides he'll still vacuum the inside after taking it through the wash.

you really only use your car when rafe is gone or you have an appointment, so it doesn't get used often.

rafe finishes everything he wants to get done for you, filling up your tank before driving back home.

rafe is whistling and happy as he returns home and heads back up the stairs, and just like he expects, you're still in bed, but sat up, watching the television.

“hey baby.” your smile widens as you see him. “i missed you so much.”

“sorry, doll.” rafe changes quickly before climbing into the bed. “but i got everything done on your car.”

“thanks.” you hum. “really appreciate it.” you press your face into his chest, throwing one leg over his hips as you return to a lying position, no longer caring about what's on the tv now that you've got your boyfriend back.

“you don't have anything else you wanna get done today, do you?” you ask. “i thought we'd have all day together.”

rafe sighs as he looks at the clock, realizing just how long it took him to service your vehicle. “well, we have the rest of the day at least.”

act 3

“um, rafe?” you call out as you open up a drawer in your closet, expecting to see the tangled mess of necklaces and earrings just as you left it.

“honey?” rafe walks into your bedroom before realizing you’re in the closet.

“where’d all my jewelry go?” you ask confused.

“oh, i organized it for you.” rafe moves to the drawers, sliding open the two underneath to reveal jewelry displays and every piece neatly put away. “i also got you a display for your favorite necklaces but i wanted you to choose what ones go up there.”

“where at?” you ask, noticing the necklace rafe got you for your first anniversary in missing from the drawer.

rafe doesn’t respond with his words, taking your hand and guiding you out of the closet and into the main bedroom, where you notice the necklace stand shaped like a tree with two chains already hanging from them.

“oh my gosh, whats this?” you squeal, pulling the new necklace off the stand, admiring the diamonds that glitter back at you in the shape of an r.

“for you, baby.” rafe kisses your cheek.

“what has gotten into you?” you ask, but before rafe can worry too much about you figuring out he’s following a guide on how to treat you better, you turn and pull your hair off your neck for him to slot the necklace on.

act 4

“oh right there!” you moan out as rafe rubs at your back, hands smoothing up and down against your skin, gently kneading into your muscles as he does.

“love pampering you baby.” rafe leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder blade.

“you’re so sweet.” you smile and turn your head. “i’m gonna have to make it up to you.”

“you already treat me better than i deserve.”

you frown and turn over onto your stomach, bringing the blanket with you to keep your chest covered. “not true. you’re an amazing boyfriend.”

“thanks, doll.” rafe doesn’t want you to worry about his insecurities in this moment, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “stay there.”

you get comfortable on your back, eyes sliding shut as rafe starts some gentle music. it flows from the speakers as rafe hums along to the instrumental version of a popular song, grabbing your hairbrush from off the dresser.

you are only vaguely aware of rafes movements, when suddenly a hand is placed on the top of your head, massaging against your scalp that has you moaning out again.

you hear rafe chuckle at your reaction, the sides of your lips also quirking up, when you suddenly feel a hairbrush running through your strands.

you scrunch your face up and give it a moment, hoping rafe would stop when he suddenly brushes through a tangle, making you cry out.

“shit.” rafe drops the brush with a clatter onto the hardwood. “im sorry.”

you can hear the defeat in rafes voice and you turn over onto your stomach to face him, frowning. “baby? whats wrong?”

“i just can’t do anything right. i try to make you breakfast, you have to leave. i take your car to be serviced, and i miss out and spending time with you. i can’t even brush your hair all romantically like the guide said.”

“guide?” you question, grabbing your shirt and putting it back on as you pull rafe up to sit on the bed next to you.

“i… i read something online. about acts of service you can do for your partner. i just want to be a good boyfriend.”

you don’t mean to, but a laugh falls from your lips. “rafe, that’s ridiculous. you’re already the best boyfriend without even trying. did i say or do something to make you feel like you needed to try harder?”

“no-” rafe sighs, knowing he has to admit it. “i just heard you talking with your friend about love languages. i’m trying to make it up to you.”

“and the guide told you to brush my hair?” you scoff. “im guessing whoever wrote that did not have curls.”

“you're probably right.” rafe lets a smile come to his face.

“i love you for you, not because of the things you do for me. besides, you do enough without even trying or following some guide. you take out the trash, you stock up on my favorite treats, you get me anything i want whenever i feel the slightest bit ill.”

“so… you don’t want me to do the last thing on the guide?”

“depends what it is.” you shrug. “if it involves you leaving and doing something for me, then absolutely not. or at least you can take me with you.”

“i set up a romantic movie night in the living room.”

“that sounds much better for both of us than you brushing my hair.” you giggle.

act 5

you tuck yourself further into rafes side, smiling as your favorite scene finishes, turning your attention to rafe.

“thank you for doing all this for me.” you whisper, keeping your voice soft. “i love you so much.”

“i love you.” rafe says earnestly, ducking his head to press a kiss against the top of your head, but you’re quick to reposition so your lips can meet.

“now we have to figure out your love language so i can do things for you.” you tell rafe.

“my love language is you.” rafe says, squeezing you tightly. “my everything is you.”

sfw tags: @winterrrnight @cameronswiftie @ladyinbl00d @ethanthequeefqueen @drewsephrry @wearemadeofstardust0

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frog-with-legs · 2 months ago

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Endless work

Day 3: Tango. "Endless work"

Managing a whole factory all alone while trying to supply some of the most complicated inventions with high quality redstone products comes with its setbacks. You start to lose time in an attempt to maximize your outcome and soon you don't even remember the last time you were outside spending time with friends. Even if you automate all the machines, you still need a human to ensure everything is running smoothly. But do you?

That's what the factory's owner kept pondering about drawing drafts of the new invention: teknicians. Small copper robots, programmed to do specific tasks. During the day they run throughout the factory carrying materials, pressing buttons, pulling levers, collecting data, and packing orders up until late night when they finally put down their tools and walk back to their stations to recharge for the next shift. To ensure that the little helpers are able to find the right paths, and find innovative solutions to problems, their minds were programmed to be as intelligent as humans that keep on learning.

This worked with huge success until one day one of the robots learned about relaxing, which caused a chain reaction of all the teknicians stopping their work.

The owner once again returned to his drafting table in hopes that he too could just relax one day.

#fwl art #mcyt fanart #hermitaday #hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #tangotek #tangotek fanart

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tradebirddigital · 4 days ago

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keferon · 4 months ago

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Two Peas in a Pod: part 6/?

Thank you for the cake and the art and your crazy tags♡♡ you feed me so well so here's some more words!!

Lets see how many of you guest right, lol, they're both stupid, I love them.

__________________________________

A group walking down the corridor on the other side of the glass before six a.m was unusual. And given the volume and rapid chatter, something had either excited them or had them nervous. But when one stopped to peer through the window, looking for Prowl – they would not see him, he refused to be gawked at – there was a possibly it had something to do with him.

Prowl suspected that if that was the case, his mobility played a key part. The humans had been more skittish since he had first left the hammock yesterday. Their fear was not misplaced, with the returned ease of swimming, his threat value had more than doubled.

While he would not act unless pressed – as it would be wasted effort with the current situation – Prowl was not completely against whatever illusion that the humans had of him. Let them fear him. It would keep most away and leaving fewer for him to deal with; those brave or stupid enough to still come near him.

The elated shout of Jazz that came from beyond the wall drew in his attention. Prowl sighed softly, recalling the current state of the language barrier. What he wouldn't give for a stylus and a data-pad. Even a simple drawing one would suffice.

He didn't get to linger in dismay as he heard Jazz swim by, but not stay. The view port on the gate was still shut from yesterday so maybe Jazz had just come to check if they would open it? But then he came by again a few seconds later, and then again.

Swimming laps. But was it excitement or anxiety?

Prowl silently approached the gate and rested his forehead against it, listening. The body of water on the other side was much bigger, that much he already knew, but most of the walls and floors of this place were like stone, leaving empty spaces all over his vision. Places sound bounced off of, but didn't pass through.

Metal wasn't necessarily any better, but it tended to reverberate; depending on its composition, and if one was skilled enough, you could see what was beyond or within the metal.

But the gate was metal, and Prowl was that skilled. Tuning his sonar with careful precision, he eventually found the frequency that gave him the best image.

Inside, it was primarily hollow, with large connecting rods and cylinders leading to alien machinery that was too complex to make out with outside noise causing glitch-like distortions across what he could see. But the guts of the wall weren't his goal currently.

Outside was where he drew in his focus. Towards the centre he could very faintly see Jazz as he circled. His sonar images may be in terrible quality, but Prowl had become quite familiar with the other orca's particular blob. It was like watching something move from darkness to light or adjusting the contrast of an image. Jazz was bright and his silhouette shape clearly a mer when he was close, while dim and barely a lopsided oval when he was far.

He was tempted to calculate the distance and overall, the space Jazz was swimming, but – to the right he had picked up on a platform. One that more and more humans seemed to be gathering on. At first, Prowl was worried that the other mer might be in danger, but after a few more laps Jazz approached and waited at the edge.

For a few minutes, nothing changed. Until Jazz moved to somewhere in the middle, almost straight out from the gate, and the humans began to spread out. Something was up and Prowl kept searching and listening for anything that might give him insight.

Till the screeching hiss of the machine attached to the gate suddenly came to life, causing Prowl to recoil. Losing his sonar temporarily as he worked through the noise. It was like a camera flash that blinded you for a second, only this one was a flash against your mind and a bang in your ears at the same time. But Prowl was used to ambushes and this certainly wasn't the worst sonar attack he's experienced, so this wouldn't hinder him, it was just annoying.

Pressing himself against the floor and the wall out of view of the door, he waited. After the passageway had slid completely open, Prowl remained only for an extra moment, just long enough to tell that nothing was coming. Then he cautiously moved to investigate.

With the recovery of his sonar and the obstacle removed, Prowl sent a few quick clicks to pinpoint all the humans. There were seven he could find, though there could be more outside his currently limited range. A poorly laid out ambush regardless, if that was the plan, and chances were very low – seeing as the humans were providing him with medical treatment, they clearly wanted him alive – but it wasn't zero. Prowl really didn't want to fight at this stage of his imprisonment, firstly; his wounds still posed a risk to his overall survival, secondly; he needed to gather more information before he could put together a plan of escape.

When Jazz waved at him, Prowl resigned to the fact that he – or perhaps they – were being closely monitored and there was nothing that could be done about it. So, for now, he would resume gaining an ally, or at the very least a cooperative collaborator. The other captive orca remained at the top of his priority list for making any future plans have greater odds of success. Working out the communication issue aside, he needs this 'first meeting' to go properly and smoothly before anything else could proceed.

And it looked as though the audience had Jazz tense and on the defensive. Nothing a little show of reassurance of Prowl as an ally couldn't remedy surely.

So, Prowl approached with an appropriate speed for closing the distance between an acquaintance, with his arms set at a relaxed, yet polite place along his sides. When he stood before Jazz, he made sure to keep a respectable space, posed with and holding a practised expression of polite professionalism. Choosing to have his most vulnerable side forward in a grand gesture of trust, further expressing that he had no intentions of bringing him harm.

He anticipated a moment of hesitance, allowing Jazz the time to observe him, to look for signs of deceit. But when his roaming eyes became fixed on his wounded flank, admiration showing in his expression, Prowl flicked his tail for Jazz's attention. Prowl wouldn't look too deep into it, but past experience made him keep note.

Jazz showed that he was at least slightly embarrassed – good – but when he did not make a move to greet Prowl with the same gesture of goodwill. Continuing to face him head on had Prowl now searching for signs of what his intention were. But while he did, Prowl began to express slight irritation, in hopes the other would cease and desist.

The other mer reacted by rising and Prowl tensed. Jazz must have had trust issues from past bad experiences if he was attempting to intimidate him with the present state of their body. Where he had been found gravely wounded, Jazz must had been found starving… Or there was the very slight chance that he had recently hit his last growth spurt and he was just a lanky cocksure young adult wanting to show-off.

Jazz quickly paused, pointing and waving for Prowl to follow. Obviously wanting to move to the surface to speak. Fine.

But then he smiled, and not in a friendly way, no, this one was clearly practised. Smooth, confident, and forward. Prowl had dealt with plenty of celebrities and politicians to know what a charming smile looks like, and very aware it was an illusion of friendliness to lure or entertain. Cocky youth had adjusted from 'very slight' to 'likely'. So, Prowl readied for a foolish game of posturing.

{Sorry, Prowler.} Was the first thing out of his mouth and his smile diminished to a more acceptable nature.

Good, Prowl thought at first, maybe Jazz had realized that he would not sway Prowl. However, Jazz still refused to back down, flaunting confidence with lax posture. Speaking in an almost gentle reassurance, {it's okay. Prowler, it's okay.}

Then everything started coming together – prolonged staring, hints of interest, slight embarrassment, insistent forward facing, too friendly of smiles aimed at a stranger – and the almost certain likelihood of Jazz's youth. Prowl was both irritated and bewildered at his own conclusion; Jazz was flirting with him.

Primus, he wanted to be wrong. But… nothing else made sense about Jazz's behaviour!

Not wanting this nonsense to continue, Prowl kept his formal disposition of his side facing Jazz and backed off just enough to show refusal, but not a sign of submission. Prowl firmly said, {no.}

{Wait! I —– } Jazz started to approach.

{Stop,} he said as his scowl had grown into a harsh glare and he quickly turned his body to face him fully, but didn't back away. {trying okay.}

Jazz did stop his advance. Though now apparently, they were locked in some sort of stare down. How else could he express his rejection without this braking out into a physical confrontation?

Again, Jazz moves, this time slowly opening his arms to boldly offer a hug and still keeping a steady friendly smile. Like he's asking for a chance. But was only baffling Prowl further. Why are you so instant?

" 'tzz." He said, the other mer's name was still difficult to pronounce, but he wanted to be clear. Speaking with a warning as he readied to strike. It wouldn't be the first time a pursuer needed a smack to take a hint. But Prowl really didn't want to fight. {Stop.}

Jazz was back to rambling in the human's language, his tone was wavering between calm and frustration. But when he pulled away; after his words had done nothing to change Prowl's stance, Jazz squared up.

Prowl did not hesitate and made a clean charge to Jazz's chest, forcing them both under.

While Jazz recoiled and darted away to collect himself. Prowl rolled his shoulder in discomfort. The impact had still jostled his injuries, but it had been the best option. Biting would have been taking it too far, using even his right arm would have been agonizing, and spinning around to use his tail would have allowed Jazz time to react. No, this was good enough.

Or so he thought when he returned to Jazz to see if he was willing to be respectful of the situation. While Prowl was willing to try and start anew with a mutual understanding, side-ways faced and still offering trust with showing his wounded side.

Jazz looked upset, understandably so as that harsh of a rejection was never pleasant. But this language barrier was really getting in the way. He was speaking human words again, irritation clear in his voice. But then he took a deep breath and started slinking towards him. Still openly refusing Prowl's offer of peaceful intentions.

And... now we've come down to a battle for dominance. Wonderful. Prowl had a slight bit of respect for the other's determination in not wanting to submit when clearly out matched, but this was hardly the time nor the place. Prowl fixed Jazz with a glare, promising punishment as he started to plan out his attacks that would not cause too much pain, but enough to humble the punk.

{Please, Prowler, stop.}

Gladly, but you first. {No, you stop, ['tzz.]}

He did, {what,} but not without pointing back and forth between them, {why?}

WHY!?

Despite his mounting frustration of being unable to explain or even have Jazz possibly clear things up on his end as well. Prowl did his best to make it as physically clear as he could by returning to the calm request and offer to have no ill intentions between them, that they can be on equal ground. He even went as far as to break eye contact and look away, just in case that was feeding into his miscommunication with Jazz.

{Prowler,} Jazz sighed, calling out to him softly, and daring to inch closer.

Prowl tensed; he had tolerated that nickname due to his own inability to say Jazz's properly. But him using it– using it like that was–

That was not– I'm not submitting to you, you punk!

Bristling, Prowl twisted and lunged for the other mer. Only clipping him this time, but was swift with a sharp turn to follow through with his earlier threat. And Jazz tried and failed to escape him. Charge after charge, Prowl battered him with carefully made strikes. Making it clear that when he stopped and let Jazz get away, that he had allowed it to happen.

When he met Jazz on the surface once more. Prowl remained facing him head on, silently asking if he wanted another round of showing just how out of his league he really was. Regardless if that kind of movement put strain on his healing body, that he could feel the sharp pull of new tissues fighting against the flex of muscle. He could probably get away with a few more attacks before something popped open.

{Please, Prowler. Please, stop.} Jazz begged.

But Prowl waited to see if Jazz was being honest about putting this to an end. After a minute of neither of them making a move. Prowl once again turned so his side face Jazz and this time Jazz mirrored him.

Prowl then gave a loud breath of relief and laid down to float on his back. Finally! No more idiotic posturing.

Jazz also followed him in releasing the tension and floating, though he looked humiliated.

Good, you should be embarrassed.

__________________________________

I hope you found this as funny as I did. XD And now that the boys can be in the same pool, it's time for bonding and shenanigans!! >:3c

Prowl: doing everything by the book and reading into every micro expression to aim for the best results.

Jazz: trying to restrain his overflowing excitement and desire to make a friend. (but also has a budding crush) be cool, be cool OuO;;

Prowl: sees Jazz's not-so-hidden excitement and desire. what – here – right now – but also why? … sigh, you're just a shameless flirt aren't you? :/

IS IT really a jp fic if they aren't– Check List ✔ Arguing at least once ✔ Fighting at least once ✔ Jazz being an absolute flirt (unintentional currently, but still counts!) ✔ Prowl greatly misunderstanding a situation with Jazz at least once

Also, I've seen the pleas of the lovely readers!! I will post this fic on ao3 in the next day or so. But since this is my gift to my platonic love ♡♡♡Keferon♡♡♡ updates will be delivered here first.

Until you want me to stop dropping the fic in your inbox♡ -GLC

WHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEZE oh my god they're fucking stupid ahahajjakfkfmgndb

I was wroNG ahaha I was completely wrong. Jazz wasn't saying "fuck you" in the last part it was "let's fuck" /j

To be fair. If I was held captive with the other random human and they greeted me by staring at my ass and then enthusiastically approaching despite me showing that I'm not okay with them flirting with me? Yeah no I completely understand Prowl haha.

Also. This isn't directly related to this part but. Sigh. I made some doodles of Blaster after reading the previous part and then.uh. completely forgot to show them. So I guess I'll throw them here now lol

#I thought they were fighting #I was wroNG this is worse/j #Prowl: being polite #Jazz: 👁👁#Prowl: hooookay you're creepy so imma show that I want to keep it nice and peaceful using body language beca-#-use it's the only language we both can speak right?#WRONG HAHAH #Prowl: turns his face to the side #Jazz: you're bratty #Jazz: keeps facing forward #Prowl: YOU'Re bratty!#Everyone else in this goddamn room: what is this are they flirting or are they fighting I don't have phd in whale romance #Josh you are a wet bread moron they're dolphins not whales #my apologies but I don't have phd in dolphin romance either #Fred from the other side of the room: Mermaid gay drama hurt/comfort slowburn no archive warnings 999k words (sorry I got hit by a bus)#Josh: the fuck you just said #Fred: *grips tranquilizer harder* nothing #maccadam #transformers #prowl #jazz #jazzprowl #apocalyptic ponyo #blaster #GLC #ponyo jp writing

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fear-is-truth · 8 months ago

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IN NOMINE PECCATI ( IN THE NAME OF SIN )

— CHARLIE MAYHEW x f!reader

tags — mature content﹒porn with plot﹒doctor + priest charlie mayhew﹒fem!reader﹒cnc﹒somno﹒oral (f!receiving)﹒unprotected p in v ﹒wc : 1.5k

THE DOORKNOB TURNS, allowing a sliver of yellow light to slip into the quiet house as charlie mayhew steps inside. with practised ease, he hangs up his coat and sets his keys down without a sound, as he’s done countless times before. his eyes fall on you, lying sprawled on the couch, bathed in the blue flicker of the television. you’re wearing nothing but a grey t-shirt, the hem brushing the tops of your bare thighs, one arm draped across your stomach, the other lying beside you. he notices the familiar band logo stretched across your chest—you’re wearing one of his shirts, hanging loose over your frame.

the sight tugs at something deep inside his chest, an ache tempered by affection.

an infomercial flickers on the tv, with over-excited voices and pristine images of miracle kitchen gadgets that promise to “slice, dice, and change your life!” charlie reaches for the remote and lowers the volume, careful not to let it die completely—its glow is enough to keep the room from sinking into total darkness. he treads lightly toward you, feeling a bit like an intruder in his own home as he crosses the room. when he finally stands by the couch, looking down at you.

he takes a moment to study you—no, admire you. your face is slack with sleep, lips parted slightly, lashes casting faint shadows across your cheeks. a loose strand of hair has fallen over your face, and he carefully reaches down to brush it away, fingers lingering against your skin as he cups your cheek. he drinks in the sight of you in the eerie blue light, noting every rise and fall of your chest, the slight flutter of your eyelids. there’s an ethereal quality of your slumber, a serenity. so lost in dreams, undisturbed by the world around you.

his sleeping beauty.

he reaches down again, brushing a thumb over your cheek, a featherlight touch as he marvels at the smooth softness, in juxtaposition to the harshness he’s known all day. you stir slightly, murmuring something incoherent, but he holds still, waiting until you settle again. unable to resist, he leans down, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, lips warm against skin. then he climbs onto the couch, carefully positioning himself above you with his forearms braced on either side of your body, his weight held carefully. his face hovers inches from yours, his gaze tracing every detail—the slight curve of your mouth, the way your lashes fan across your cheekbones, the softness of your expression in sleep.

carefully nestling himself between your legs, charlie’s mind drifts (a bit morbidly) back to the icu, the patients lying motionless in their beds, tethered to tubes and machines, barely clinging to life. hours spent witnessing the slow erosion, orderlies turning over comatose bodies to prevent bedsores—wipe, clean, repeat. he’s grown cynical about them over time, but here, with you—your skin soft, alive, bathed in coloured light—he feels the difference.

fingertips trace your collarbone, meandering through the valley of your breasts,delving to your stomach and finally their destination in between your thighs. no panties, that have been your mutual agreement.

in your dream, there’s warmth, first. heavy and unyielding, a heat that settles over you like fire, burrowing into your skin like ultraviolet rays. your senses wake slowly, your cheek brushing against something coarse, unfamiliar. dark fabric clings to you, wrapping you in heavy folds, thick wool scraping against your neck and wrists like penance. your eyes open to an unnatural red glow that bleeds across the vast, vaulted space, spilling from the stained glass in vivid torrents. it bathes the walls, fills the air like smoke. shadows stretch and twist across the stone, curling toward you as if drawn by some unholy force. the air reeks of incense—an earthy, heady scent invades your lungs,

and then, there’s him.

above you, a figure looms, like a dark angel descending. his face is half-shrouded in shadow, lit only by the crimson light that paints his regal features in blood-red relief. a white collar gleams against the black of his robes. a priest’s collar, you realise.

charlie is dressed as a fucking priest.

your eyes meet, and the face of your lover is a study in contrasts, softened by the lurid red light but edged with shadows that deepen every line, every trace of restraint he’s barely holding onto. hands frame your face, roughened palms warm against your skin, and then his mouth is on yours, a kiss that is equally reverent and devastating, as though he’s whispering a prayer between your lips.

his weight presses you down, rooting you to the altar, cold marble biting into your back and only feeding the heat pooling low in your stomach. his mouth captures yours, lips parting to coax you open. when his tongue slips in, it’s unhurried but intentional, roving over your hard palate and tracing against your tongue. his hands cradle your face, thumbs grazing along your cheekbones, grounding you in an act that feels like the quiet theft of something sacred.

charlie pulls back, lips parting from yours which leaves you breathless and aching in the sudden absence. his gaze holds yours for a moment, then he shifts, hands trailing down your sides, fingers pressing gently against your hips, before he slips down from the altar entirely, lowering himself onto the floor at your feet. his hands rest on your ankles, thumbs tracing over the sensitive skin there as he looks up at you, his eyes darkened in the crimson light. from where he kneels, he seems to take you in entirely, a reverence in his gaze that skirts the edge of blasphemy.

fabric clings to you, unfamiliar and restricting. you glance down, catching a glimpse of black, long and heavy against your arms. the realisation dawns slowly, seeping in with the blood-red light: you’re wearing a nun’s habit. heat coils through you, unsettling, molten desire dripping into your loins like honey. you know what you share right now is both holy and desecrated.

your head drops back against the altar, cool stone pressing into your scalp and your spine arches in a slow, involuntary curve. skilled fingers curl in a languid manner, breaching that sweet spot inside you. a broken moan slips past your lips, and the last vestiges of your willpower dissolves under his touch, leaving only the warmth pooling low in your belly and the faint tremble in your breath. charlie continues to devour your forbidden fruit, claiming it without guilt or hesitation. each swipe of his preachers tongue in and out of your searing cunt carries reverence, as if he’s sampling something holy yet wholly his.

“mghm.. charlie…”

charlie’s head lifts at the soft sound of his name murmured from your lips, breaking the silence of the room. a slow smile spreads across his face as he watches you, noticing the way you shift, lips parted, fingers curling faintly as if reaching for something just beyond reach. licking his arousal-coated lips, he leans in, carefully easing himself back onto the couch, moving with a quiet intent. his legs nestle between yours, fitting into place as he settles. the t-shirt has slipped off your shoulder at one point, revealing the delicate curve of your clavicle. charlie dips his head, letting his lips brush against your temple. fingertips lightly graze your side, tracing the hem of your shirt, feeling the steady beat of your heart.

somehow, miraculously, you’re still asleep. carefully nudging your legs wider apart, he tilts his pelvis to the precise position. charlie bites down on his bottom lip to silence a groan as he eases himself inside you, inch by agonising inch until he’s fully sheathed inside you.

lashes flutter, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he bottoms out, a tingling sensation spreading from the base of your spine to your thighs, his cock nestling deep within you. filling every inch of you with a sacred fullness.

charlie buries his face into the junction where your neck meets your shoulder, placing languid kisses up the column of your throat as his hips rock steadily against yours. the glorious stretch coupled with the way his hands and lips are all over you—fondling your breasts and nibbling at your earlobe coaxes out another mewl from you, tightening your grip on his shoulders and leaving pink, crescent indentations. he pauses mid-thrust to mumble an “i love you,” against the corner of your mouth.

velvety walls pulsate around him, milking out charlie’s orgasm as he succumbs to the white-hot pleasure, hips stuttering before he spills himself inside you, warmth spreading low and deep, radiating from your core like an ember kindling to life. waves of pleasure flows through you—a blessing you’d missed, returning to you as if by divine grace.

all around, the shadows seem to swell, the red light growing deeper, darker, as though hell itself waits just beyond the cathedral walls.

MASTERLIST

#Charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #Charlie mayhew smut #father charlie mayhew #doctor charlie mayhew #dr charlie mayhew #Charlie mayhew x reader #charlie mayhew x y/n #Charlie mayhew x you #nicholas alexander chavez #Nicholas Chavez #nicholas chavez x reader #Nicholas Chavez smut #nicholas chavez imagine #Nicholas Chavez fanfic

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gummygunk · 18 days ago

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RISOSF9450EIIU - Is a zine made during my stay at Pencil Urchin Press and was created in collaboration with P.U.P co-founder Devyn Park.

The photography present within the zine was documented with our respective Nintendo 3DS systems in and around Kona, Hawaiʻi. The captured images were subsequently paired with iconography relating to both the 3DS and Risograph machine. The visual dialogue between the textural and variable nature of both the 3DS picture quality and Risograph prints create a hazy, dreamscape that welcomes readers to treasure outdated/niche methods of image making.

The zines are staple-bound 8 page booklets, printed in cornflower blue, yellow, fluorescent pink, and black inks on an SF9450 duplicator.

To learn more about the project click here!

And if you'd like to support me and get your own copy of the zine you can find them here!

#kidcore #kidwave #weirdcore #artists on tumblr #dreamcore #webcore #nintendo 3ds #nintendo 3d xl #2025 #zine #risograph #riso print #mixed media #nostalgiacore #hawaii #glitchcore #glitch

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writingslob · 2 months ago

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(Part 3) Lin Ling's guide to becoming an emotional support civilian [YANDERE EDITION]

[TO BE HERO X] x [LIN LING]

[Part 1; Part 2 can be found here!]

Context warning: Cursing, falling

Author's note: Oh, thank god I'm done. This ballooned way past my expectations, so I'm really glad to be done! I hope you guys enjoy!

Once again, thank you @kiraisrika for the idea! [ And to my friends! if it weren't for their love bullying I wouldn't have finished so fast! ]

Lin Ling was awestruck.

His cheeks were on fire, and he could feel his heart pounding out of his chest, but how could he not be!? His queen, his idol—his goddess—was standing right there! In front of him! They were breathing the same air! Oh god, he can’t breathe—

“Welcome to True Love Recipe at our live venue! I'm your substitute host for today, rank 249th hero in the Association...Eye of Truth, Enlightener!” Huh? Lin Ling turned to Miss Juan, and from her facial expression, he could tell she was just as confused as he was.

Enlightener continues, “Welcome, Nice, Moon. This show is called True Love Recipe. As the name suggests, behind every romance lie hidden stories not known to outsiders.” Miss Juan was growing more frantic, pointing and slamming her hands down on the table. He was stuck in an awkward spot to either go over there and help her or continue to stand behind the couch, waiting like a sitting duck. ‘Damn Nice and his puppy eyes,’ he thought to himself, staying put.

“So, today, we'll test just how much you understand each other.” Gesturing to them with his cup of tea, Lin Ling can now finally see the mask drop slightly for Moon, her eyes widening. “Nice, how many total commercials has Moon starred in? And what is their total runtime?” Oh, easy, 134 commercials with about 285 minutes and 48 seconds.

“What kind of stupid, nitpicky questions are those?! Is he asking for a fight or something?” Or not, judging from Miss Juan’s reaction.

After a beat of silence, Enlightener smirks, “Since your love is so perfect, I'm sure you wouldn't forget such details.” He goads. Getting a bit nervous for Nice, he clapped inaudibly to try to get Nice’s attention while mouthing the answer. ‘134 commercials with about 285 minutes and 48 seconds,’ he mouthed on repeat.

“In total…”

134 commercials with a total of 285 minutes and 48 seconds! C’mon!

“In total, there are 134 commercials.”

Yes!

Nice turned his attention to Enlightener, who stopped mid-sip of his tea to stare at him with shock. “They had a total run time of 285 minutes and 48 seconds.” Behind them, on the big screen, giant pink letters appeared, spelling out the word ‘BINGO.’ Lin Ling let out a stubble-sigh of relief. If he knew his fangirl's knowledge of Moon would come in handy, he would have started stanning her mouth earlier.

Moon turned to Nice, whispering something to him, but Nice responded loud enough that Lin Ling and the Mic could hear. “Of course, you are my girlfriend after all.” He says, his eyes empty as he smiles back at her. ‘Right,’ he thought to himself, with all that happened earlier, the fact that the Moon is his fake girlfriend slipped his mind.

Recovering from his shock, he pressed on, his confidence returning in full force. “For the second stage, let us play a game.” Suddenly, a little spot of light appeared on his chest before a string emerged from the spot, connecting Nice to a small machine in the middle. From the looks of it, it looked like a lie detector. “Truth or dare?” Enlightener smirks.

“Honesty is one of the most important qualities—”

“Dare.”

“Huh?”

Nice offered him an embarrassed look. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you, but to answer your question,” There was a certain sharp glint in his eyes as he smiled at Enlightener, as if daring him to contest him on this: “I choose dare; I hope you don’t mind.”

Enlightener gritted his teeth, his smirk wavering to a scowl. “Well, Nice, I actually do mind. Before you so kindly interrupted me, I was just about to go on about how important honesty is in maintaining relationships, so tell me.” The scowl has now reverted back to his smirk, but he can’t help but compare it to baring teeth. “Is Moon really your girlfriend?”

Nice blinks, “Of course she is?”

All eyes turned to the machine. The machine spluttered for a little bit before a giant question mark appeared on its surface. “It’s…half correct?” The man seemed as confused as everyone else (excluding Nice), and at this point, Lin Ling’s lips were raw from how much he was biting them. Everyone turned to Nice for an explanation, but all he did was sigh, as if expecting this outcome.

“I wanted to do this in a more private place, like at the cafe we had our first date at, or at my apartment, but” he waved helplessly at the machine. “The cat is out of the bag, I suppose.” Standing up, he neatly dusts himself free of any dust before turning to a stunned Moon. Bowing at exactly 90 degrees, he looks her dead in the eyes as he asks.

“Moon, will you be my wife?”

Instantly, everyone in the room exploded in shock. Not even Moon can hide her startled “Huh!?” She backs away from him, her hand covers her gaping mouth. Nice smile at her reaction, gently taking both her hands into his own. “I understand if this is a lot to you, but,” Drawing back to his full height, he continues, “I can’t help it. I have fallen for you deeper and deeper every day, and it pains me that you aren’t fully mine, so will you marry me?”

“I-I-”

“Stop!” Enlightener screeched, slamming his cup down on the ground, “Don't get complacent just yet! There's still a third stage you have to pass!” Lin Ling held back on the ground. Of course. The heart screen door to the left cracked open, smoke billowing out, and in the white smoke was the silhouette of…a man?

The man stepped forward into the light, the smoke dissipating with each step he took. Lin Ling can feel his throat tighten up as he finally realizes who it was.

It can’t be… “Boss?” He muttered to himself. Nice snapped his head over to Lin Ling, but before he could say anything, Enlightener continued. “He was once an entrepreneur, but now he's been pushed into a corner like a trapped beast. He owes all of this to you, Nice! Nice, your entire hero persona is a product of his team's commercials! Not only that, but you've driven him to bankruptcy! You—”

“When are you going to pay me?” Just hearing his voice sent a shiver down his spine. When he was fired, one of the many thoughts going through his head was outside of ‘Holy shit, what should I do? I only have enough money to cover half a month of rent. I am so fucked—’ was ‘At least I never have to work, see, or even think about my boss ever again!’ Think again, past Lin Ling! Because there he is! Standing in… ripped frog armor?

‘What is my life?’ he thought for the 1 millionth and 1 time. As he questioned all his life choices and what led up to this situation, he failed to pay attention before a BOOM and CRACK could be heard. Whipping his head around, he can see Enlightener on the ground, rumbling surrounding him, and a crack in the pony wall behind him.

Snapping his head back to his ex-boss, black tendrils of fear began to swim around him as his face twisted in anger. “I can't go out of business. I don't want to go out of business!” His inky black hands were shaking with rage. Whipping out a whip made from fear, he bellows, “You owe me a final payment! Pay me!” His whip lashes through the air as he runs towards Nice, his arm raised high, ready to send a devastating blow when-

Nice punches him.

He is knocked out cold.

They were back in the van, speeding on through on the busy highway. Lin Ling had his eyes closed, resting his head against the cold windowsill. With such an anti-climactic fight, all the adrenaline has left his body, leaving behind an aching exhaustion. If it weren’t for the bumps in the road waking him up periodically, he would have fallen asleep right then and there.

Nice was curled up by his side, his face agitated. After confirming with Lin Ling that the man he punched was Lin Ling’s asshole boss, he was 1 second away from flying out of the car and giving the man a second round of ass-whopping. It was due to Lin Ling and Miss Juan’s combined efforts that they managed to keep him in the car. Lin Ling didn’t know why he hated his boss so much (perhaps he had experience with bad bosses before?), but he was too tired to ask. So now they ride in silence back to Hero’s tower.

Arriving back at Nice’s barren apartment, Lin Ling lazily threw his shoes on the ground haphazardly, and Nice picked them up and arranged them neatly near the entrance. “Do you have any pillows I can borrow?” He asked, yawning halfway through his question. His eyes were drooping now, and he desperately wished for a bed to crash on. A couch works, too. Honestly, the floor was also looking mighty tempting the longer he looked at it.

“Pillows?” Nice ask from behind, his arms pulling him back into his familiar embrace. “Yeah? I’m going to need them to sleep on the couch.” Nice stared at him before laughing. Lin Ling stares at him in sleepy confusion. If he had the energy, he would have rewound the conversation back in his head to see what he missed. But now, all he can do is stare at Nice so he can explain himself. “Silly little thing,” he coos, grinning, “You’re not sleeping on the couch. I have a perfectly sizable bed we can use!” Floating up, he tugs on Lin Ling’s hands, leading him behind the statue toward a bed on the ground, surrounded by water.

You know what? Sure, why not? Lin Ling was too tired to fight. Nice as he pushed him gently onto the bed. Unconsciously letting out a sigh, his tired body sank into the feather-light mattress. He can hear Nice giggle slightly as he burrows his head into the pillow, and like an ostrich, he ignores him completely in favor of pulling the blanket over himself.

In one second flat, he was out like a light.

Lin Ling woke up gradually.

The first thing he could register was warmth. The second was someone behind him, their arms wrapped around his waist, squeezing him like a teddy bear. It was… pleasant. Pleasant enough that he was about to drift off back to slumber if it weren’t for the sound of a camera’s shuttering and someone angrily grumbling to themselves.

“—Stupid Treeman company, stupid Miss Juan, stupid Nice. Lived with the guy for years and yet never once told me he had a boytoy.”

Nice, boy toy? What?

“—Miss Juan has to let me go now with these pics! Ugh, I can’t wait to revisit Bali and take a nice, long vacation there.”

Lin Ling slowly opened his eyes before immediately shutting them, hissing in pain at the sudden flashbang. The person—a girl—cursed out in shock at his sudden movement. He blinked multiple times, his eyes getting used to the bright room they were in. Once he blinked away all the blurriness, he looked to where the person was—

“Moon…?”

Moon blinks.

“Moon!”

Nice startled awake as Lin Ling jumped a good foot in the air, landing his ass in the cold water surrounding the bed. His heart was beating out of his chest, and the ice-cold water definitely shocked his system awake. “Moon!” Say something! “Hi! I didn’t know you lived here!” YOU IDIOT.

Both Nice and Moon are now staring, one concerned and one deadpan, at him. Lin Ling's face was hot all over, and he didn’t need a mirror to know he was blushing bright red. “Do you feel okay, Lin Ling?” “This is who you chose to cheat on me with?” They both said it simultaneously. Nice whipped his head in outrage at Moon held up her head while she looked back at her phone, clearly losing all interest in the conversation. “Save it, I don’t care, because!” Her scowl turned into a large grin, and a pop song rang on her phone. “That means I can leave!”

Miss Juan answers the call, “Moon, what is it—”

“MISS JUAN, NICE IS CHEATING ON ME; THAT MEANS HE BROKE THE CONTRACT, RIGHT?”

Lin Ling’s eyes widened as he desperately scrambled out of the stream of water. “Wait! No! We’re not like that!” He tries following, but with her quick strides and Nice pulling him back on the bed, soaking wet and all, he can only stare forlornly as she walks away, screaming into the phone. Or he would be if Nice didn’t put his hand over his eyes, blocking his sight.

Of course, “Nice, can you move your hand?”

Nice hums above him, as if actually considering the question at hand, “Would you continue to look at Moon if I do?” He asked, his tone playful but with a sharper edge. “I mean, yeah?” If she’s in the room and talking with him, what is he supposed to do? Not look at her? Nice hand tighten over his eyes. “Wrong answer!” Lin Ling groans.

“Can you at least let me go to the bathroom? I feel disgusting right now.”

Nice sighed, as if it physically pained him to remove his hand, letting light enter back into his world. “Fine.” He brightened up again, though, as he began to haul Lin Ling back onto his feet. “Let me show you where the bathroom is! Don’t worry, you have your own toiletries and everything.” Huh, he didn’t even think of that. Stepping into the bathroom, he had to admit it was nice, the white, futuristic, minimalist decor finally working in a room’s favor.

Looking at the fancy toothbrush holder, he spots a bright yellow toothbrush, sharply contrasting with the other two paler toothbrushes beside it. Squinting, he almost rubs his eyes because no way at’s—

“Is that my toothbrush?”

Nice nods. “Mpmh! We got it in yesterday!”

“...please get out.”

Shooing a stubborn Nice out of the bathroom, he quickly sped through his morning routine. (He grimaced slightly when he stepped out of the shower, realizing he would have to change back into his old clothes as he didn’t bring any fresh ones.)

Stepping out of the steaming bathroom, the white hung loosely around his neck; he was both half surprised and half not when Nice (who was apparently standing guard outside) lunged to his side before promptly attaching himself to him like the needy Koala that he is. He can see a few wet droplets dripping onto his white locks, but he doesn’t seem to mind, letting out a relieved sigh. “You smell good,” he mutters, digging his nose into his throat.

Before Lin Ling could even think up a reply to that comment, his stomach growled, drawing both their attention to it. Nice blinked at his stomach before promptly dissolving into a fit of laughter. It wasn’t even a polite little chuckle or even a giggle, no! It was a full-blown fit of laughter! Lin Ling could only stare in shock as the man laughed himself to tears, holding his stomach in for support.

“What—WHAT ARE YOU LAUGHING ABOUT!? I DIDN’T HAVE DINNER LAST NIGHT OKAY!?”

Nice held up his hand as he desperately gasped for air between laughter. After a full minute of this, Nice was finally able to pull himself together, wiping away the tears from the corner of his eye. “Sorry, I wasn’t laughing at you, I was just—” He sombered a little, pulling himself up to his full height. His arms were still wrapped around Lin Ling, but he couldn’t help but shiver slightly. “I just realized I hadn’t felt surprised in a long time.”

And if that didn’t break his heart. Hesitantly, he slowly pulled Nice into his own arms, reciprocating the hug. He can feel Nice’s body freeze, his hands around him like they didn’t know what to do.

“I’m here.” He says simply.

Nice was quiet for a second before, like invisible strings being cut, all but melted into his hug. “Thank you.”

Breakfast was awkward. They sat at the long dining table, Moon on one side, Nice and him on the other end. He was trying to enjoy his breakfast, but with Nice breathing over his shoulder and Moon alternating between glaring at Nice and staring at him hard like he was some kind of puzzle to solve, the food tasted like cardboard to him.

“So,” Moon starts, her voice cutting through the tense air like butter, “Your Nice’s boyfriend?”

Oh, thank god, a chance to fix this misunderstanding. “Actually—”

“None of your business, nosy. Also, your elbows are on the table.” Or it would be if Nice didn’t cut in, his tone colder than Lin Ling has ever heard it. Awkwardly realizing his elbows were on the table, he hastily changed his posture while Moon huffed, looking him dead in the eyes as she deliberately splashed some sauce onto his white shirt. He can see Nice’s eyes twitch, zeroing in on the stain.

“Uh-huh, anything else, your highness? Perhaps you would like me to cease breathing too, since it’s so rude and untidy.” The tension was back in the air, and it was stronger than ever. Nice rolled his eyes. “You leaving would be pretty great, actually.” He snipped back. This comment was what tipped Moon over the edge as she turned a bright red. Standing up and slamming her hands down the table, she screams, “AND WHO’S FAULT IS THAT!? I DIDN’T SIGN UP TO BE STUCK TO SOME POMPOUS, ARROGANT, ASSHOLE LIKE YOU! I—”

“Actually,” He cuts her off, slicing his Eggs Benedict perfectly in half. “You did. Deal with it.”

Holy shit. Lin Ling whipped his head towards Nice, his mouth gaping wide in horror. “Nice.” He hissed, horrified. Nice, like a liar, calmly turned to Lin Ling, his face the picture-perfect face of innocence that screamed, ‘I did nothing wrong ever in my life.’ “Yes?” His voice honey-sweet. Before he can tell him off for that line, because honestly, what the fuck was that!? The doors burst open, and out came Miss Juan, surrounded by the men in black suits.

Miss Juan took the chance to survey the room before nodding. “Good, you’re all here. We can get down to business then.” Pulling out her tablet, she continues, “Since Nice’s little stunt last night, you two have been trending on FOMO, so that means we have to capitalize on it!”

Moon's eyes widen in horror as Nice tenses, his hands tightening over Lin Ling’s. “No…you have to be kidding me.”

The shark-like grin on Miss Juan's face tells everyone that no, she isn’t kidding.

Wreck has been doing great.

His apartment was littered with beer cans; he doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed most days, and his phone has been glued to his hands 24/7 for even the slightest chance that Miss Juan or, heaven forbid, Nice himself, finally picks up theirs and answers all his texts and emails. (Most of them came at 3 am when he was drunk off his ass and desperate.)

When he was 22, freshly graduated with a performing arts degree in hand, and his best friend at his side. He thought they could take on the world together. Ha, what a joke. The minute Nice got popular, they tore Wreck from his side and tossed him away like he was just another piece of trash on the street. It’s not like he didn’t massively help contribute to Nice’s popularity or anything, he thought angrily to himself, rewinding the latest video of True Love’s Recipe.

It’s been months of Wreck sitting on his ass in his filthy apartment. (If Nice were still here, he would have wrinkled his nose before he smiled that smile that promised him hell if he didn’t clean up right this second. He would always help.) He was going stir crazy, and nothing helped. Running doesn’t help him (Nice would always complain, but he’d follow him during his route regardless), and none of the recent media has caught his eye (Nice loved shooter games and would deny it every time).

“I can’t help it. I have fallen for you deeper and deeper every day, and it pains me that you aren’t fully mine, so will you marry me?” THUNK The empty beer can slides pathetically off the TV as it glitches, no doubt because of his powers (Nice banned horror movies because of it, even though they were his favorite.) “Yeah right.” He mocks the screen. He’s about to grab the remote to rewind the video again when he hears a ping. A text.

Lunging for the phone, his eyes shake as he opens up his phone. Please let it be Nice, please Nice, please—it was Miss Juan. He sighs, dropping his forehead onto the phone. Fuck, he thought humorlessly, of course. Shaking his head, he opens up the test to see-

“HE’S GETTING MARRIED!? TODAY!?”

There was more, but his vision was blurred. 2 months. 2 months of no contact, no nothing with no prior warning, and 2 months of worrying and sitting on his ass, and this is how he’s supposed to figure out his best friend since diapers is GETTING MARRIED!?

Suiting up and running out of his apartment all went past in a flash. Civilians were screaming as their screens started glitching and buildings began unraveling, but he didn’t care. The only thing running around his mind was Nice and how he was getting married, and he didn’t even think to text him! Even if their entire relationship was fake, doesn’t he, as Nice’s best friend, deserve to know from the man himself!?

Before he knew it, he was at the park where the ceremony was taking place. The music was loud and grating, paparazzi and fans everywhere taking pictures, and ahead of them all, under a white floral wedding arch, stood him.

“NICE!” He roared, pointing his sword at him. All sounds around him fuzzed into background noise, and his vision tunneled in on Nice. He was wearing a suit, obviously tailored to harken back to his normal hero wear. It was white, with gold lining and a flowing, white cape. Nice turned to him gracefully, as if expecting him to show up.

“Wreck,” He greets back pleasantly, as if he didn’t ignore all his texts and calls from him for 2 months straight. “I should have known you’d crash my wedding. Just because you like Moon too doesn’t mean—” Oh no, you don’t.

In the back of his mind, he can vaguely recall a script attached to the text sent to him earlier, but he didn’t even open it up before rushing straight over here. Good. He thinks viciously as he swings his sword at Nice, rock tendrils sprouting out from the ground, splitting him and Moon up. He advances, lunging himself forward; he swings—Nice blocks it with his arm while the other comes up and tries to uppercut him.

It was a dance—a familiar dance of sweat and blood, of bruises and cuts. He knows how the song goes; he roughs up Nice, throws out some one-liners, perhaps threatens a civilian or two, but he would always let Nice shine. Let Nice have center stage as he dances in the background, propping him up. Nice always wins. They have danced this dance a million times; they know how this goes.

But, seeing Nice standing proud and tall and happy while he’s been sinking in worry. Something snapped within. Fuck the music, fuck the dance; he wants Nice to pay.

He savors the looks of surprise on Nice’s face as he tanks the punch—his sword slicing through his shoulder. Nice grunts, looking at him with newfound caution. He backs up, his feet off the ground, ready to fly. “What are you doing?” He hissed, Wreck’s laugh. Nice throws a punch; Wreck dodges. “Me? What have you been doing!? My texts, my calls, my emails—all ignored!” Before he can respond, the sound of a portal opens. Moon jumps out, kicking him in the head.

Moon’s saying something about lifelong regrets or whatnot. Wreck’s not listening. Because right now, right in front of him, a man walks over to Nice, concern clearly visible, and Nice smiles. It’s real. (He hasn’t seen it in years.)

His vision goes red.

“YOU!”

The ground erupts, rocks ensnaring the man in a cocoon. “Lin Ling!” Nice yells. Before he can do anything, the roots take them into the skies, far above the clouds. Moon joins them. Nice, Nice, Nice, standing across from him, angry. Out of all their thousands and one fights, Nice was never angry. He feels like laughing. He feels like crying. “Let Lin Ling go, Wreck.” He says through gritted teeth. His hands are balled up into fists.

“Not before you answer my questions, Nice.” Beside him, the cocoon cracks open, revealing the man—Lin Ling, bound together. He squirms, trying to get out of his restraint. He stills, however, when Wreck points his sword at him, the blade dangerously close to his neck. Nice flinches. “Who is he!? Why haven’t you been answering my texts!? Why do you look so…so” happy?

Nice looks away, his lips pressed to a thin line. “We can talk after this; just let Lin Ling go.” Wreck tightened his grip on his sword. He can hear Lin Ling gasp as it drew closer to his neck. Yeah, right. “And give you another chance to ignore me!? No. You are going to answer my questions here and now, or God help me, I will kill this man. Nice.”

Nice, flinched back as if he had been struck. “Don’t make me choose, Wreck.”

“WHAT!? SO BETWEEN HIM OR ME, YOU’LL CHOOSE HIM OVER ME!?”

His look gave him all the answers he needed.

He understands.

He’s been replaced.

He laughs.

27 years. 27 years of being friends, of being the person Nice turned to for support. When his parents kicked him out, he was there. When Nice went through his depressive episode, he was there. When Nice wanted to be a hero but was too nervous to do it alone, he was there. He was always there. Ready and happy to be his backup dancer. Because all he ever wanted was for Nice to be happy, in the spotlight.

But it didn’t matter. 27 years, and it didn’t matter.

“WHAT DID I DO WRONG!?” He screamed. “WAS I NOT GOOD ENOUGH!? WHY WASN’T I GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU!?”

“No! Wreck! That isn’t it!”

“THEN WHAT IS IT, HUH!? I WAS THERE FOR YOU! I TRIED SO HARD, AND YET NOTHING. NOTHING I DID OR SAID COULD MAKE YOU SMILE YET.” He swung his sword at Lin Lin. “HE COULD. WHY WAS HE THE ONE TO MAKE YOU SMILE LIKE THAT AGAIN!? WHY COULDN’T I MAKE YOU HAPPY!?”

His parents were right, he realized; he couldn’t do anything right. He couldn’t even keep his one friend, the one light in his life, happy.

There were tears in his eyes, and he couldn’t see anything properly. His heart was both aching and empty, and it was all too much. With one last look at Nice, he dispelled the structures around them. Everyone screamed. Moon opened up a portal and clung to his side as everything collapsed between them.

The last thing he saw was Nice swooping in to save Lin Ling.

And then he fell.

#to be hero x #tbhx #tbhx nice #tbhx lin ling #to be hero x lin ling #to be hero x nice #emotional support civilian #tbhx moon #to be hero x moon #tbhx wreck #to be hero x wreck #yandere nice #Yandere to be hero x Nice #Yandere tbhx nice #Nicest #Nice x Lin Ling #Niceling

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