#and the third one under the cut (i think that one was for 1 month)

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Yandere Hybrid Town (4) | Only Human

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Even with your growing community and a town slowly becoming filled with friendly faces, someone continues to rain on your parade. From the beginning most of the citizens are fine to do business with; with slurs uttered under their breath or a lack of manners when trying to complete simple transactions but none have been as routinely problematic as the one and only vixen–Margarine. 

“Well well out on a shopping trip? All by yourself? What a rarity.”

“Please get off my car, Margarine.”

“Aww~Make me.”

You wouldn’t realize Margarine is who she is until your fourth run-in with her, called out by one of her cronies. While the faces of her group tend to change from time to time, the Fox hybrid is a constant. Her laughter is as backward-sounding as her animal ancestors, constantly ringing out when you try to quietly go about your errands in town. At first, it starts with mere leering, laughing, and marveling at your existence from a distance. Saying:

“Oh look, a big-headed hairless mole-rat—oh wait. Even those hybrids have actual strength.”

Or

“Can you believe that thing got into our town? Probably blackmailed their way in because it felt ‘excluded’.”

Or 

“Look the human got a poor animal to do manual labor for them. Watch your necks everyone they might put a collar on you next.”

They’re words you don’t mind kinda. You can learn to ignore it but Margarine like many in town begins to realize that sitting back and watching just wasn’t enough. She is the first of her cronies to start with the small things. Egging your car, slashing your tires, cutting holes in the wooden boxes filled with produce you just bought; that’s all before she outright begins prodding at you.

“What are you looking away for human? Look at me when your better species talks to you!”

“Margarine, your nails! They’re digging into my cheeks–”

“Claws, honey! That’s what’s digging into your cheeks! Get it right, ape!”

It gets to a point that Margarine lays in bed at night laughing to herself as she replays the tearful expression on your human’s face. Playing with her tail as she goes through the workday as she updates her favored column in the Town’s Weekly. Which just so happens to be about the latest gossip in town which conveniently has been talking about you for the better part of three months. Now more than ever she’s getting the recognition she deserves and it just so happens to be by doing her new favorite thing—messing with you. But as the third month concludes some new obstacles arise. 

“Isn’t this a sight? Enslaving our neighbors are we? Looks like those human instincts are finally taking hold.”

“...Margarine please.”

“Please what? ‘Please don’t defend my fellow hybrids from your ‘oh so mighty’ reign.’ I don’t think so–”

“Marge.”

“....Miss Tiffany.”

“Surprised to see you out here. Shouldn’t you be getting coffee for the Chief?”

“I was on my way until I smelt something out of place. Just doing my bit for the community.”

“...I see. Well, the next time you decide to ‘do your bit for the community’ just know if you put a hand on their head around me I’ll tear your squirrelly hide with every bloodhound–guard dog–fox-tearin’ bone in my body. We clear young lady?”

“Y-yes, ma’am.”

She’s such a liar. Despite the other members of your newfound 'friend group' each giving separate and likely real threats against her abuse of their human. Despite feeling as though she’d pee her pants every time their predatorial gazes landed on her, she still couldn’t shake the desire to fall into her usual routine. She got away with it for a while, poking at you while she orchestrated something to keep those worrisome guardians away, to leave her to enjoy finding some new weakness to rant about in her column. Once again everything was perfect until it wasn’t.

“You’re going to have to…tone down this bias towards the unnamed…subject.”

“What?! Why?”

“The complaints we’ve received have doubled since the column first started. And these complaints…who’s giving them can’t be ignored.”

Who’s giving them? Surely that snobby cow and those dogs weren’t big enough…then who?

“So what? Have I lost the column or what?”

“Just…lean into those counterarguments you seem to have.”

“W-w-what!?” 

There was a heavy subtext that even Margarine had decided tried to ignore. With every harrowing tale, to save the face of the alias she assumed she always left something of a counterargument towards the end of every column. A typical ploy in writing to seem unbiased. That’s all it is….and yet as Margarine pouts and ponders going over her old columns, she realizes an interesting trend. Her counterarguments sound….incredibly endearing. 

For all the obvious weaknesses they have, it’s not that bad of a survival skill if someone finds it adorable.

Or

They cry far too easily, perhaps it’s another tactic that’s supposed to make you want to comfort them.

Or 

The way they shy away as their self-proclaimed guardians defend them, some might say is another tactic to get a predator's heart pumping erratically with the need to protect. But not me, never me.

It was her. And with an annoyed swag of her tail and the blood burning in her cheeks, she writes the totally in+sincere turnaround that gets attention on her column. While she didn’t think her pride would allow her to just ignore the anger she felt at your peaceful little existence, with your clawless little hands, and your clumsy little walk. She’d allow herself to be ‘learning’  in her column which seems to revitalize her popularity. But just because her alias is going to learn doesn’t mean she has to. She has no intention of stopping her role as the town bully.

“Haha getting comfortable are we, human?”

“Margarine what are you doing here?”

“Same as you. Going to get first place at the contest tonight.”

“Awfully confident.”

“Yeah considering the competition I won’t have much to worry about.”

“There’s still 4 other contestants including me, I really don’t get—”

“I’m not going to let you get anywhere near that podium and as long as I do this, you’ll stay where you belong. At the bottom.”

“...We’ll see.”

She won’t dare write about how exciting it is to see the defiant look on your human face as your confidence grows. Or how easily you lock eyes with her in any given crowd, the challenge immediately there. It might be a fear response but in the end, it’s a bond not even those dogs or that cow or that snake could understand.

“WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM Margarine?  What do you hate about me so much that you just can’t leave me alone!?”

“Let’s see where do I start? Maybe it’s your voice, your stare or maybe it’s because you’re so disgustingly weak or maybe it’s the fact that you're a grubby colonizing self-righteous human who’s walking around my town like you own the place!”

“What are you insane?!”

She admits to herself, she might’ve taken it too far this time. The competition was an annual event in town. A little romp where everyone competed in a series of challenges to win the Mayor’s Golden Carrot. The golden vegetable does come with a couple of benefits but no one actually cares for those. It’s for the social advantage. The golden trophy that makes everyone in town look at you with respect and admirable envy. A chance for you to gain the community’s respect with the help of your canine neighbors, your new roommate, and your new friend. That was the hope as Mama Tiff successfully won the baking challenge, Eudora the fashion competition, and Stein– who somehow got the award for most fearsome wonder who voted him for that. All that was next was you. A small faceless competition for floral arrangements. 

You worked hard on this….for months you ordered the flowers and grew some yourself. Placing them on your self-made wire skeleton makes the amazing shape of a bunny on its haunches. It was going to be a work of art and with the mayor judging you would have had this in the bag. That is until you return to your tent from a bathroom break to see your flowers in tatters and the one standing above them is–

“Margarine!? How could you!?”

“I always knew you were a stinky fox I just didn’t think you were rotten too!”

“....This is especially despicable even for you.”

“I’M GOING TO KILL YOU AND HANG YOUR TAIL ON MY WALL!”

She doesn’t care that in no uncertain terms they all threatened her life. It’s you. Glaring and screaming at her with a ferocity she’s never seen. You’re stabbing your finger into her chest and practically growling out all the hateful thoughts you’ve never expressed. People are staring. Others are whispering. Some of the children who are old enough are filming. 

“You—”

“NO! Shut up Margarine I’ve taken a lot from you and I’m sick of it! If you hate humans just say that but DON’T EVER go out of your way to interfere with my life again. Otherwise, I may revert back to ‘my savage ways’. But if I did it will only be because you made me!”

And for once her cheeks burn in embarrassment when it’s over. Her tail curling in around her as everyone continues to oggle but it’s not at the human stomping around the fair. It’s on her. Likely chatting about what she’s done and watching still as she scampers to the uncrowded space behind the stalls. Wringing her hands onto the fluffy end of her tail.

She battles with her feelings. Burning embarrassment and something else…something that makes her heart shrivel a little smile widely. As tears fall down she holds her head high already brainstorming how to take herself out of the event for her column. By tonight the whole town will be talking. 

“Why should I care what they say…or make me feel…they’re just a human!”

Rules | Kofi | Commissions

Taglist: @midnight-nightmares@xrenka@candlesworlds-blog@00hellohello00@lem-hhn @kawaii-cakes @ceramic-raven @lilyalone @asleepysouluniverse @mel-vaz @sxftiebee @staarflowerr @horror-lover-69 @stanfordswifey @butratherbutrather @24-7aroundtheclockanxious @li-ravings @librarymouses @cooldonbutt @whoreforeverythingspice @ethereallyoccultazalea @bitchpleaseeeeeeeeee amethysttigerfigurine @n-lol @ask-kokusu2 @greensunflowerjuna @simpforanimeboys @pocketfulofposies

[zuzu-fairys-tail]

Their relationship through Natsu's eyes

Rambling about the art under cut :)

ok i had SUCH good ideas for what text to put for each of them but i forgot all of it after drawing so i put whatever came to mind. if anyone can think of smth better than what i put, plz tell me and ill change it.

idk why i thought it would be a good idea to draw back grounds too (but they turned out much better than i expected, especially the first one doesnt look like it was drawn by me)

these r some of my favourite nalu moments. the first two scenes r from episode 1.

the third one was manga only but i really love that scene and wish the anime included that. i think thats when natsu started to actually acknowledge lucy (b4 that he was kinda mean lmao). its when they save macao, natsu and macao fall off the cliff or smth and lucy saves them and natsu looks at her with a huge smile and a tiny blush haha. (also how the hck do u draw someone from that pov they were in... idk.

4th one is from when erza says they should formally become a team and natsu says it wont be the sam without lucy.

5th is nalu vs kain and 6th is from the final episode.

not lucy making the exact same face in three of them and in two others, its just the eyebrows that r different

(also WHY DID MY ART SKILLS SUDDENLY UPGRADE?? lmao. like look at the lucy i drew from like a month ago for comparison haha)

[dollinrehab]

PART 1 HERE PART 3 HERE

Summary: Abby doesn't want something serious. You won't let her fuck you and give you nothing in exchange, will you?

CW: Just a little smut under the cut (mdni or just skip the italics part), r! is afab, dacryphilia if you squint, strap use (r! receiving), r! is kind of a manipulator.

Her dick slipped in and out of you relentlessly as you chanted her name, tears falling from your eyes from how good it felt.

"You like this?" She asked in your ear. The knot building in your stomach felt heavy, like a tub of ice cream. Her voice was sweet as caramel. Her panting was the cherry on top.

"Y-yeeahh." You managed to mutter out, your voice high-pitched. "M' gonna..."

"Come on, give it to me, baby." She commanded, and you instantly came. You were incredibly wet that night, so wet that you squirted all over Abby's strap, screaming louder than ever.

After some minutes you spent going to the bathroom, taking a pee, putting on some of Abby's T-shirts with no panties and washing your face, you came back to her bed where she waited for you, in short pajamas. You climbed onto her like a koala, wrapping your arms around her neck and your legs around one of hers. Some minutes passed while she just caressed your hair and you kissed her neck until you pulled back a little to look at her in the eye.

"Abby, will we be something?"

"Listen, I know you want this to be serious." She affirmed cautiously. You hadn't knew her for too long, so trying to guess what would she say next was practically impossible.

One way or another, you were afraid of what she would say next. Maybe she didn't like you? You didn't want her to go after spending a whole month with her and staying at her place at least twice a week.

"Mhm."

"But I don't think I can handle it. I'm too busy with work, and you know that." She excused herself, the guilt in her almost palpable as each word felt like a punch to your gut.

"So you just wanted to use me and throw me away like a broken toy?" Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision as you blinked rapidly.

"No, no, no, baby, listen." She seemed to instantly regret her choice of words and sat up too.

"Listen what? I don't want you to fuck me when you're free." You yelled at her, cracking your voice in purpose at the end of your sentence.

"We can have something casual if you want. But right now I'm really busy to-" The tears kept coming out of your eyes.

"No, I don't want to." Your voice came out of your mouth more high-pitched than usual and, honestly, it sounded like this was the worst day of your life.

"What if I pay you?"

"What?" You weren't sure you heard it well. This was kind of your goal, but you didn't expect her to offer it so easily. Plus, you wanted a rich girlfriend, not to be pampered like a whore.

"I'll pay you. Like a sugar baby. I won't be using you, I'll be giving you something in exchange." You acted like you had just started considering her offer.

"How much are we talking about?" You asked, still not convinced.

"Four thousands a month plus dates and gifts." Fine, this could work.

"You think that's enough for me after literally breaking my heart?" You asked coldly. You didn't feel exactly great using her this way, but you needed the money, didn't you? And, she in fact broke your heart

"Six thousands." You sighed and furrowed your eyebrows, pretending to be mad at her even if you were enchanted with the idea, and laid down next to her with crossed arms, facing the ceiling.

"I have some rules."

"Tell me."

"First, you can't be with someone else or I'll rip my eyes out of my head and kill myself in your front door step."

"Did you need to be that extreme?" She asked with a disbelief smirk.

"It's just so you remember it well." You smiled. "Second, you have to pretend you're my girlfriend in front of everyone. Everyone. And act like my girlfriend."

"I can do that."

"And third, don't treat me like a slut because I'm not one."

"I have the feeling you've done this lots of times before." She said with suspicion.

"Third rule." You reminded her in a warning tone.

"I didn't mean it in that way."

"Sure." You rolled your eyes and turned your back to her. She pulled you close to her, wrapping her big arms around your waist and forcing you to be the little spoon. "Hey!" You giggled.

"You shouldn't stay mad at me. It doesn't suit you."

"Fine, fine." You let yourself smile for once, wiping your tears.

"We'll go shopping tomorrow, okay?"

Taglist: @elliessgfsstuff @giuliaexe66 @playboygirlsnextdoor00 @justhereforthosefics

[loving-family-poll]

2nd Ultimate Incest Tournament- Round 1

Propaganda under the cut:

Liam/Noel:

The Gallagher brothers have a very intense relationship that doesn't make any sense to the outside viewer unless one considers the possibility of incest. For 30 years now they have been utterly unhinged about one another in the public eye. Noel has often made incest jokes; Liam once said on-stage once "we had sex last night" referring to him and Noel. Even people writing in actual books and magazines have picked up on the vibes (some stuff that has been printed about them fully feels like it was written by tumblr incestinas except it's like. actual fucking journalists). Also there was this one time in 1996 where they kissed each other with tongue in front of 40 thousand people.

They have been described as “in love with each other” by both themselves and third parties. the lyrics “you’re my lover, i’m your brother.” they kissed with tongue at loch lomond in 1996 and have also been photographed/videoed kissing on the mouth other times. liam regularly groped noel onstage. liam’s entire twitter is just propaganda too. liam talked about impregnating noel once. noel frequently talks about how physically attractive liam is. liam claims that he’s noel’s muse

their song guess god thinks im abel has the lyrics "i could be your lover" while comparing themselves to you guessed it abel and cain. and like. a thousand more instances of them being weird about each other. also noel REALLY wanted a sister and he mentioned it quite a few times and said well liam IS basically a sister or something like that. normal behaviour

Liam literally called himself Noel's good boy on twitter, and called him god a few times after reunion. Noel said he loves make women cry and the only thing that's better is make Liam cry so he can laugh and call him a woman. They literally kissed with tongue and loch lomand is not their only kiss they have two more photos of different kissing to, they literally used the japan kiss video for reunion video. YES THEY DID THAT TF. Noel said they are head over heels in love and said it's illegal in many countries. Also Noel said Liam is like his ex-wife a few times or shit like those cunts are fucking crazy

Other people have described them as more like boyfriend/girlfriend than brothers and said they’re in love. someone on twitter asked liam “if you’re john lennon, who is noel?” and liam said “yoko ono.” another time someone said on twitter “you defo rimmed noel when you were younger” and liam replied “you jealous?"

Deeply weird about each other getting married (them not attending each other's wedding which occurred month apart and then getting divorce around the same time and they stayed at the same hotel for months), intense infamously love-hate relationship and is everyone's favorite soap opera, noel saying "on stage i just wanted him..there's only two of us that will ever get this", prominent theme of shame and crime and impossible dream in noel gallagher works, the elusive meaning of wonderwall which noel insisted is not about anyone but there's good amount of evidence that it referenced back to their childhood and their shared bedroom, liam having mental breakdown several times on twitter about noel, liam's my brother is getting a divorce playlist to which he shared with his 3 millions twitter followers, incest-baiting on main ever since the reunion, brother and lover being interchangeable for noel when writing lyrics, noel (allegedly) lying to liam that his girlfriend cheated on him in order to sabotage their relationship before oasis took off, liam hating noel's latest (ex) wife (sarah), noel writing "the owner of the star on stage" after liam's autograph and so many more insane shit

"[Liam] thinks all the songs are about him. He even thinks Wonderwall is about him." –Noel Gallagher (1997)

"It's all about me it always was and is" –Liam Gallagher (2023)

Japan kiss (kiss is at the end) loch lomand kiss

PLUS they’re back together after 14 years of estrangement! The narrative!

Edward/Alphonse:

Two brothers try to resurrect their dead mother as children and in the attempt become alchemically bonded together. Sacrificing life and limb for one another, professing to be “practically the same person,” having their bond blessed by the canonical god itself, and in one dimension sacrifice everything they’ve ever known to spend the rest of their lives together.

Canonically have their souls tied, go everywhere with each other, travel through dimensions and give up everything just to be together

Ed would kill for alphonse and alphonse would die for ed but they are so soulmate coded that they would go against their own principals too: ed would die for alphonse and alphonse would kill for ed IM OBSESSED also they keep talking about how much they need each other and wanting to touch each other constantly they gay as fuck

They need to kiss sloppy and FUCK! They are literally so canon in the 2003 anime… Al says “Brother, I want to touch you” or something like that in an episode. Ed would literally sell his soul for his brother.

[silentsneezes]

The View From 3B - Chapter 3, Part 1

this fic is almost entirely self indulgent nothingness, and it's not entirely finished yet, but it's over 7k words and i wanted to post what i've got so far (fic is under the cut if you want to skip my rambling)

summary/info: J/ayce and V/iktor get stuck in an elevator together while J/ayce struggles with one of the worst colds he's had in years. It takes place about a month after V/iktor moved into the apartment complex, so it's their first "real" introduction to one another.

It's from J/ayce's POV (i'm an awkward, nervous J/ayce believer -- also an audHD J/ayce believer). I haven't written from his POV in a long time, so if anything feels OOC feel free to let me know :)

CW for mess!! I don't describe it in a lot of detail, but it's definitely present in this fic, so be warned! Warning for contagion as well, I plan on writing a followup where V/iktor catches J/ayce's cold

I don't love the introduction/first page (I was impatient to get to the snz and rushed through it), but I'm pretty happy with how it turned out :3 anyways, if you read all this ily, here's a treat:

To say it’s been a long day would be an understatement. It’s felt endless, obnoxiously long in that particular way that makes every small inconvenience feel personal. Jayce is running on fumes, his head aching, throat raw, and nose so stuffed he can barely draw a full breath. He’s been impatient to get home for the past hour, but his bus had been delayed three times, it had started to rain, and his plans to pick up more tissues had been entirely forgotten. 

By the time Jayce steps into the lobby of his apartment complex, he’s running on autopilot. His limbs are aching and heavy, his body having forgotten how to function without discomfort hours ago. He barely manages a nod towards the security desk; he’d usually stop to chat, especially with the woman working tonight, who always engages in friendly conversation. He must look as shitty as he feels because she just gives him a sympathetic look and allows him to pass by in silence. 

Jayce quickens his pace as he notices the closest elevator shutting, just barely managing to slip through the narrowing gap in time for the doors to shut with a loud PING! Once inside, he lets out a stuffy breath of relief, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes and rubbing them slowly. It’s not the most hygienic move, sure, but considering that he’s already sick, he allows himself the small comfort. That is, until he registers a presence beside him, immediately dropping his hands to his sides and glancing over. 

‘Just my luck.’ Jayce thinks as he recognizes the man standing beside him, their eyes meeting for the briefest second before both of them glance away. 

He should’ve just waited and taken the other elevator, another minute of standing there wouldn’t have hurt him. But it’s too late now, especially after slipping in at the last second and making direct eye contact with none other than his next-door neighbor. They’d only ever had a few brief conversations – polite, out of necessity, and highly-performative on Jayce’s end. Afterall, he’d been taught to put on a well-mannered mask and adapt, so he did exactly that; at least he tried to, but his anxiety makes him far less calm and collected as he’d like to think he appears. 

‘Thank God we live on the third floor and not the sixth’ Jayce thinks, trying his best not to sniffle audibly as he feels an unwelcome trickle of moisture slip over his upper lip, ‘And thank God I’m wearing a mask.’

PING! They pass the first floor. 

Jayce is certain that he looks worse for wear, even with the bottom half of his face covered with not one but two medical-grade facemasks. It might be overkill, but his mom had raised him with the understanding that “just because you’re sick doesn’t mean everyone else has to be”. Besides, he doesn’t find it all that inconvenient to wear a mask, aside from those moments when he can no longer deny the itch that constantly lingers in his sinuses whenever he’s congested. 

He’s no stranger to sneezing in masks, but he’s certainly not a fan of it. The sensation alone is enough to make his skin crawl with discomfort, not to mention the either disgusted or pitying looks he receives from anyone nearby. 

Jayce feels his nose continue to run, the moisture beginning to collect on his upper lip and risk slipping further down, but he knows if he sniffles, it'll sound disgusting. The last thing he wants is to gross out his neighbor, who’s politely ignoring him and focusing instead on a loose string dangling from his sleeve. 

Jayce chances a glance at Viktor, feeling his heart thrum a little at the sight of him. He looks tired too, but Jayce ignores the prominent eyebags of the shorter man, drawn instead to the light freckles cast across his face. They’re not nearly as noticeable as his moles, but still, Jayce finds himself rather endeared by them – light, small, decorative things. He only realizes he’s staring when Viktor turns towards him, meeting his gaze wordlessly. 

Jayce blushes crimson, his mind stuttering to a halt as he’s caught staring. He quickly diverts his gaze, looking anywhere aside from Viktor. First it's his scuffed sneakers, then the wristwatch his friend had recently purchased for him, then the smudges on the elevator door. 

Is the elevator moving slower than usual? Jayce swears it is, time dripping by like molasses as he tries to ignore the embarrassment swelling in his chest. ‘Great job Jayce’ he thinks sarcastically ‘what a stellar impression you’re making. Why don’t you just go ahead and–’ his internal spiral screeches to a halt as he feels the buzzing in his sinuses shift, prickling up to the tip of his nose and making the sensitive appendage twitch. ‘No… no no no no no–’

“hh–,” his breath hitches before he can do anything to stop it, the prickling swelling to a full on itch. Desperate for a solution, Jayce decides to do the thing he’d been dreading the entire elevator ride. He sniffles, feeling the moisture that had slipped over his lip shoot back into his nose and cram itself in his sinuses with a loud SNRKkk! 

For the second time in just two minutes, Jayce feels his face burn scarlet. He does his best to swallow his embarrassment, silently reassuring himself that a little sniffle was much better than him sneezing into his mask. Still, that thought does very little to dissuade the anxious voice in his mind. He stares fixedly at the elevator doors, trying to will them to open fast. Anywhere but here. Anytime but now.

Jayce glances at Viktor again, only for a split second, and to his surprise, this time he catches Viktor staring at him. ‘Oh God.’ Jayce’s mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusions: ‘This is it. Caitlyn’s never going to let me hear the end of it if I lose a chance with my crush before we even exchange more than five sentences.’

His fever’s certainly not helping with his mind’s anxious ruminations, causing him to spiral illogically without any end in sight. He barely registers the feeling as his nose begins running again, intent on making a mess inside his mask. 

PING! Only one floor left, Jayce can handle that. He glances at his watch again… odd… he must’ve misread the time before, but he swears, it’s been almost three minutes since he first entered the cramped elevator. It shouldn’t take more than two minutes for him to arrive at the third floor… he must’ve misread it. Afterall, he’s feverish and hopped up on dayquil and–

THHHHUMP! 

Without warning, the elevator jolts violently, lurching with a mechanical groan. The sudden motions throws both of them off balance, tossing Viktor straight into Jayce’s side. There’s no time to react, no chance for either of them to brace themselves, just a blur of motion. 

Jayce reaches out reflexively, arms wrapping around Viktor as the floor seems to drop beneath them. The two of them topple over, Viktor landing half on Jayce’s chest as Jayce hits the floor with a dull thud. The impact knocks the wind out of him, but he barely notices. His only thought (aside from ‘What the Fuck!’, that is) is that somehow he’d managed to catch Viktor before he could hit the floor too hard. Realistically, he would’ve tried to help anyone in that situation, but the fact that he can feel Viktor against him makes it a bit more satisfactory. 

Viktor’s breath is short with surprise, his body tense as it registers the impact. For a second, neither of them move, staying frozen in place as they listen to the elevator groan. Neither of them dare to move and risk plummeting down to the ground level. 

Jayce blinks up at the flickering light overhead, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He can feel Viktor’s hand pressed awkwardly against his ribs, the unmistakable pressure of the smaller man’s weight on top of him. 

Slowly, hesitantly, Viktor detangles himself from Jayce, doing his best not to make any sudden movements – both due to the elevator's instability and an aching in his hip. He’s only semi successful before the elevator groans again, and he stills. 

As Jayce’s mind finally catches up to reality, his voice stumbles over itself to fill the shocked silence, each word more useless than the last, “Sorry! I didn’t– I wasn’t–” His face burns, heart racing from both adrenaline and the sudden proximity. His flustered apology grinds to a halt as his breath catches painfully in his throat and he jerks forwards with a wet, scraping cough.

It bursts out of him before he can stop it, crackling deep in his chest and forcing him to bury his face in the crook of his elbow. His nose and mouth are already covered by two layers of medical-grade masks, so whether the action is a desperate attempt to muffle the noise or simply muscle memory, he doesn’t know. 

The cough blooms into a small fit – tight, rattling, as if his lungs are trying to turn themselves inside out. His whole body shakes as he desperately tries to muffle the sound, though he knows it’s a useless effort. Viktor is still pressed awkwardly against his side, cautiously leaning away, but remaining still enough that he won’t risk jostling the elevator. 

And Jayce? He’s one humiliating cough away from begging the elevator to just drop him through the floor. 

He finally manages to catch his breath, his coughing tapering off into shallow, shaky inhales. His eyes are glassy, bleary with fever and exertion, but he still forces himself to look over at Viktor. He’s half dazed, half mortified at the disgusted expression he’s sure he’s about to see. But instead, the smaller man looks at him with sympathy… No. That can’t be right. Jayce really must be out of it, because there’s no way Viktor wouldn’t be looking at him with anything but outright revolution at this point. He opens his mouth, preparing himself to stammer out an apology. 

And then the elevator shudders. And not the nice “wow the elevator is fixed!” kind of shudder, but rather the kind that causes the floor to drop a few inches with a dull, stomach-churning THUD!

Jayce freezes, his heart lurching up into his throat. How has his bad day somehow found a new level of awful? He’d already had a parade of delays, illnesses, and public displays of humiliation. But this takes the cake. 

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe, doesn’t do anything aside from stare wide-eyed at the flickering overhead light and prepare to plummet to his death. He doesn’t even register his hand half-curled around Viktor’s arm. 

Caitlyn has always teased him for his so-called irrational fear of elevators, rattling off statistics about how rarely they actually malfunctioned. Afterall, he’d been in elevators hundreds of times and never had any issues aside from having to make awkward conversation. 

This, however, is starting to make his fear feel very, very rational. 

Jayce takes a little breath, trying to keep his cool. He looks at Viktor, who doesn’t seem to be any happier about the situation than he is, but significantly more calm. There’s no visible tension in his shoulders, no wild look in his eyes. He seems far more controlled than Jayce feels.

Jayce wants that, needs that – or any semblance of calm or comfort. So he takes a shallow breath through his nose, ignoring its congested squeak and focussing on not freaking the fuck out… Even though his chest aches, his fever simmers under his skin, and he’s sitting in a half-crumpled pile on an elevator floor with the guy he’s been admiring for weeks. 

But Viktor isn’t freaking out, so Jayce won’t either. 

He lasts all of one minute before his thoughts start amping up again. One silent, dreadfully long minute in which neither he or Viktor dare to say a word.

‘It’s fine, right? Elevators stall all the time, it’ll start moving again in a few seconds…’

Jayce shifts uncomfortably, trying not to let his anxiety build into panic as he realizes the gravity of the situation. He’s stuck in an elevator with none other than his nextdoor neighbor, who just so happens to be one of the most jawdroppingly gorgeous people Jayce has ever seen. And he has the worst head cold he’s had in years. It would almost be comedic, if it wasn’t happening to him. 

He clears his throat, hesitantly asking, “should we… uh… press a button?” 

In all his years of higher education, not once had anyone covered what to do if you get stuck in an elevator with your ridiculously attractive neighbor while sick and semi-delirious. There’s no syllabus for this, no instruction manual, no messy notes or annotations for him to reference. 

So, the most logical – panicked, deeply flawed, and purely adrenaline driven – solution he can come up with is to press the third floor button again; maybe the elevator just needs a gentle reminder of where it’s supposed to be going. 

Viktor doesn’t seem to have any better ideas, so he just nods, his expression unreadable as he watches Jayce slowly shift onto his knees and press the bright white 3. And then press it again. And again. And once more for good measure. 

And a fifth time because his panic is gaining momentum and the only thing keeping him from thoroughly embarrassing himself is the vain hope that maybe the fifth time is the charm… No? Okay. What about a sixth?

After Jayce presses the button upwards of ten times, Viktor finally pipes up, “It was probably disabled when the elevator…” he gestures vaguely with his hand, unsure what to say other than “fucking broke,” and that didn’t seem like the most suitable option, given Jayce’s evident panic. So Viktor lets the sentence trail off, doing his best to remain calm in an attempt to ground Jayce. 

Jayce sinks back down to the floor, nodding a little and saying, “Right… so we just… wait.” His voice is strained, resigned to the fact that he can’t do anything aside from sit and do his best not to completely freak out. He leans his head against the cold metal wall behind him and exhales through his mouth stuffily. 

Viktor nods, shifting so he can lean back against the wall and relieve some pressure from his hips. The motion is practiced, subtle, like he’s done this before – and he certainly has, he knows exactly where the strain lives in his body. 

Jayce taps his fingers nervously against the floor, taking a steadying breath and doing his best to ignore the steady thrum of anxiety pulsing through his body. It’s fine. This is fine. Except realistically, it’s anything except fine. Jayce must’ve done something truly horrible to deserve whatever karmic shit the universe was throwing at him today. 

As if the situation just had to get worse, Jayce feels his nose twitch, the lingering itch making itself known again: persistent, teasing. He scrunches up his nose beneath the mask, moving it from side to side in an attempt to lessen the itch, but it only serves to make it run more. He can feel a drop of mess slipping over his upper lip and towards his chin, and once again he attempts to sniff – afterall, it solved his problems last time, why wouldn’t it work again?

SND-RKk! Jayce’s attempt at containing the mess is all but humiliating, halting halfway upon entry into his nose and resulting in a soggy, congested squeak. The sound is deeply unflattering, breaking through the stillness of the elevator and doing nothing to help relieve the irritation in Jayce’s nose. 

His eyelids flutter as the buzzing worsens: a sharp, needling sensation that blooms right behind the bride of his nose. His eyebrows knit together in a grimace, and he clamps his mouth shut in an attempt to stop himself from hitching. 

He presses his tongue to the top of his mouth, holding his breath and repeating ‘I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze. I don’t have to sneeze’ in his mind, as if he could mentally block the sensation prickling through his nose. He can feel his nostrils flare beneath the mask, wet and sensitive against the fabric. At the risk of making things worse, Jayce rubs his finger along the base of his nose over the mask, but it barely provides him any relief. 

‘Please. Not here. Not now. Not in front of him,’ He begs internally, squeezing his eyes shut for a second.

Despite his best efforts, Jayce can feel the itch worsening. He clamps his jaw shut stubbornly, refusing to draw a breath, but his head still snaps forwards with a pitifully stifled runt of a sneeze, “h’nNGKSXgTCHh’uh!”

The stifle (if you can even call it that) is harsh enough to jolt his whole body; his shoulders hunch, his legs twitch involuntarily, and his torso forcibly curls in on itself. It’s muffled into the fabric of his masks, but messy all the same – wet and uncomfortable and clinging to both the fabric and the base of his nose. Within seconds, he feels the heat of it seep through the first layer of the material.

‘Oh. My. God.’

For a second, he doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything aside from sit there dazedly, his eyes fluttering half-closed as the itch lingers. 

Then, a mortifying sense of shame burns through his chest, and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He downright refuses to look at Viktor, desperately trying to think of some solution aside from the obvious one. He has to clean himself up somehow, and he has to manage it with the few tissues he has shoved unceremoniously in his pocket… but in order to do that, he’d have to remove his mask and risk Viktor seeing the absolute mess he’s made. 

Jayce’s thoughts are interrupted by a soft, almost tentative “Bless you,” from the man sitting beside him, and he feels his face flush an even deeper shade of red from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.

He doesn’t dare try to speak; he doesn’t trust his voice right now – he doesn’t trust anything about his body right now – so he just dips his head in a quick, polite nod. He can feel the mess sitting inside his mask, humid and awful and clinging uncomfortably to his lips and skin. But the thought of taking off his mask, of drawing attention to himself, makes his chest tighten with anxiety. So he just… endures it. Miserably. 

Within seconds, Jayce’s nose twitches again, and this time he doesn’t even have a moment to prepare before a harsh sneeze grates against his throat, “hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

He takes in a shaky breath, realizing in horror that there’s no possible way for him to avoid removing his masks. They’re already soaked anyways, and Jayce is almost certain there’s a visible damp spot where the mess has been clinging to the inside of the fabric. 

“Sorry,” Jayce apologizes sheepishly, holding a hand over his masked-mouth out of habit, “do you mind if I -sNDFf- tagke off my masgk for a secgond?”

His voice is so congested it’s almost incomprehensible, but somehow Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted with Jayce, in fact, he seems almost fascinated by the sickly man. No, Jayce must be misreading the signs… maybe Viktor just happens to be a very good actor, and his disgust is merely hidden behind a neutral expression. 

“Not at all,” Viktor responds, his voice heavily accented and softer than Jayce remembered it, “you seem quite uncomfortable.”

Jayce blushes once again, rubbing the nape of his neck sheepishly and saying, “Yeah… id’s nodt the ideal scenario,” before realizing how that sounds and quickly trying to recover, “nodt that you’re– idt’s mbe. I’mb… uncomfortable,” he finishes lamely. 

Somehow he earns a smile from the smaller man. An actual, real smile, the kind that makes Viktor’s eyes crinkle at the sides and reveals thin but visible smile lines along his cheeks. 

For just a moment, Jayce’s hatred of the situation lessens. 

But then his body reminds him of the circumstances, forcing him to clear his throat as he feels phlegm start to build at the base of his throat. Now that he at least has Viktor’s permission, he feels slightly more comfortable with the prospect of taking off the masks (and besides, he really can’t handle the sensory discomfort of them while they’re coated in mess). 

He turns away from Viktor slightly, pinching the material around his nose to try and contain as much of the mess as he can as he removes the bands from around his ears with his other hand. He shoves the masks unceremoniously into his pocket, making a mental note to throw them away as soon as possible. 

As soon as he takes off the masks, his nose twitches, apparently upset at being exposed when it's in such terrible condition. With the barrier removed, Viktor can see just how sensitive Jayce’s nose is: bright pink, chapped, and twitching in irritation. 

Jayce fumbles to pull a mostly-intact travel pack of tissues from his pocket, noting that he only has a few left. He can’t quite sum up the confidence to blow his nose, so he just does his best to wipe away the residual mess while sniffling wetly against the tissue. 

He knows he’s being gross. He feels gross, but he seems to have caught a cold that downright refuses to be tamed. Usually, he’d hole himself up in his apartment with a bottle of NyQuil and do his best to sleep it off, but the universe decided otherwise.

Viktor, who’s been respectfully quiet, shifts slightly beside Jayce before saying, “I don’t think anyone looks particularly dignified when they’re sick.”

Jayce glances at him in surprise, the dampened tissue still pressed to his septum. Viktor doesn’t look directly at him, instead choosing to pick at the same loose thread on his sleeve again. Neither his tone nor expression reveal his intention in saying that… but Jayce has a feeling it wasn’t meant to be an insult, though it certainly could’ve been interpreted that way. 

“Whadt, you don’d thingk this is dignified?” Jayce tries to joke, tucking the used tissue into the same pocket as the soiled masks and offering Viktor a tired grin. 

“Do you?” Viktor replies, his lips curling up ever so slightly – just enough to reassure Jayce that it’s okay, he’s not intending to be an ass, he just comes off a bit harsh. 

“Ndo…” he admits, running a hand through his hair and clearing his throat again as it protests against its use, “so… we’re neighbors.” Admittedly, smalltalk isn’t one of Jayce’s strongsuits, not with strangers anyways (especially strangers who he happens to be attracted to). But Viktor seems to find Jayce’s awkward blunders amusing, huffing out a little breath and agreeing, “yes. We are.” 

“Righdt. I mean, you already knew that.. Because of the teas and–,” Jayce internally groans, thinking ‘why am I still talking’ as he tries his best to string together enough words to form a coherent sentence. Between his fever, his anxiety over the elevator’s malfunction, and his infatuation with Viktor, he can’t quite compose himself. His voice trails off, letting his sentence hang in the air unfinished. 

His nose gives a sudden, traitorous twitch and he presses the back of his wrist beneath his nostrils, sniffling thickly in an attempt to stop the mounting itch. Instead, it worsens, buzzing up through his sinuses and causing his nostrils to flare against his sleeve. His brows furrows, his eyes starting to shut as his breath catches in his chest, “hh-”

He barely manages to stutter out, “S’cuse mbe,” before sucking in a desperate breath, “hhHHHh–” and pivoting into his elbow, “hhHG’GDSXCHhew’hgh!”

The sneeze tears out of him, wrenching and wet, his shoulders jerking forwards with the force of the expulsion. He snuffles wetly in the aftermath of the sneeze, turning away from Viktor again as he fumbles to pull another tissue from his pocket with his free hand. His pocket resists him, the crinkled plastic of the tissue pack catching on the fabric, so by the time he manages to get a tissue free, he can already feel a damp splotch forming on the sleeve of his sweatshirt. 

Blushing crimson, Jayce removes his nose from his elbow, quick to fold the tissue over his nose in an attempt to clean himself up. To make things worse, his nose doesn’t seem to be done yet. 

A slow, unmistakable tickle crawls up through the bride of his nose, and he draws a breath through his mouth as his eyes flutter half-shut again. 

“hhHHhh… huhh-HHh’…”

He pauses, waiting. His nostrils flare. His lips part. The tickle worsens into a full blown burning, testing his already worn patience. 

“hhihh… huhh’HHhh—”

Within seconds, he goes from wishing he wouldn’t sneeze to wishing he could just let it out. Embarrassment eats at his chest as he feels Viktor shift next to him, reminding him of his close proximity. 

Jayce attempts to rub his nose through the tissue, pinching it shut with a squelch before moving his fingers up and down. It only results in another desperate series of hitches. 

“huh-hHhhuhh…! H-hhhHHh-huhhh… hhHHH–” and then nothing. “Oh c’mbon,” he breathes hoarsely, his voice barely audible. He doesn’t even care that he’s humiliatingly desperate to sneeze right now, he just wants to get it over with. His chest swells with another inhale, “HHHhhuhhhh–!”

By this point, his eyes are watering, his mouth hanging agape, and his brows pinched tight in pure, itchy suffering. The tissue sits uselessly between his fingers, fluttering as each hitching breath catches its surface. 

After what feels like ages, Jayce sucks in a shaky breath, “hhHHHihHh-” before he finally snaps forwards, “hh’HGZZSCHhtCHhuh!” and a second follows right on its heels, “hhRRZZSCHhh-uh!”

He stays there, bent at the waist and keeping the soaked tissue pressed to his nose as he sniffles experimentally, letting out a breath of relief as the itch dies down. 

“Gezundheit,” Viktor murmurs breathlessly from beside Jayce, watching as Jayce holds the mess of a tissue to the base of his nose. 

“Thangks,” Jayce rasps in response, doing his best to wipe his nose and snuffle back the moisture threatening to drip from the appendage, “Sorry… thad was preddy gross.”

He cringes at just how congested his voice is. He desperately needs to blow his nose, but he only has two tissues left and there’s no way in hell he’s using them now. They’ve barely been stuck in the elevator for five minutes, and it doesn’t seem like it’ll start moving again any time soon. The tissue he’s currently holding has lost all structural integrity, and he resigns himself to shoving it into his pocket along with the other. 

“It’s fine,” Viktor dismisses simply, “you’re sick.”

That felt like the understatement of the year. Jayce had tested for the flu and strep just to be safe, and both tests had come up negative, but he feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Whatever cold he’s managed to catch is doing a number on him. 

“Yeah, budt thad was excebtionally–,” his breath stutters out of nowhere, catching him by surprise and barely giving him enough time to half-cover with a hand before, “Hh’DTSSZCHhgh’uhh!” 

Despite his best efforts, some of the spray makes it past his broad hand, glinting in the luminescent light before falling lamely onto his lap. He snorts back as much mess as he can, certain that Viktor is getting a full on view of the most humiliating moment he’d experienced in years. His palm glistens with moisture, uncomfortably wet and probably less sanitary than the floor of a New York subway. 

Jayce groans softly under his breath, his chest twisting in embarrassment as he weighs the pros and cons of using his second-to-last tissue. He lowers his dripping hand, fishing in his pocket for another tissue as he admits defeat. He’s absolutely fucked. 

After taking a minute to clean himself up, Jayce resigns himself to apologize again, sounding a bit like a broken record at this point – sneeze, apology, sneeze, apology, and so on. 

“I’mb so sorry,” he mutters, his voice even thicker with congestion now, “Thadt was… I swear, I’mb usually a lod less digdusting thand this…” He doesn’t dare look up to gauge Viktor’s reaction, instead dabbing his nose with the sodden excuse of a tissue held in his hand. 

“I’m sure you are,” Viktor replies, almost sounding amused by Jayce’s predicament. Jayce can’t even begin to fathom why Viktor isn’t entirely disgusted by him, especially when they’re trapped in such a small, confined space. 

Viktor breaks the silence with a blunt, but not unkind suggestion, “You should blow your nose.”

Usually, if anyone had suggested that to him, Jayce might feel like a child, but something about Viktor makes him appreciate the comment slightly. It’s obviously not coming from a place of judgement, but rather much needed advice (Jayce doesn’t even notice that his nose has begun to run over his upper lip again, but Viktor has a clear view of it). 

The sick man gives a pitiful laugh, which turns into a short bout of coughing, before admitting, “I only have two tissues lefd… and I clearly need themb. I don’d wanna -sNNFf- use themb yet in case we’re stugk here for hours.” 

“That is… an optimistic estimate, is it not?” Viktor replies simply, casting a doubtful glance at Jayce, knowing the tissues won’t last another five minutes. Again, he’s not rude, but upfront. He doesn’t seem to have any interest in dancing around the subject of Jayce’s illness. 

Jayce tries to come up with a response as his ears burn bright pink again, but he’s interrupted as Viktor shifts, reaching into his coat pocket. There’s a quiet ruffling of fabric before Viktor wordlessly extends his hand, holding a neatly folded dark-gray handkerchief. Its edges are soft with wear, but it appears to be well maintained. 

Jayce blinks, “Waidt… seriously?” He’s always surprised when people extend small kindnesses to him, despite Caitlyn reassuring him that he’s just as deserving of them as anyone else. 

“Well,” Viktor finally meets his eyes, “You seem to need it more than I do.”

When Jayce hesitates to accept the fabric, Viktor adds, “I wash it frequently. It’s clean.”  It’s a simple gesture, small and likely insignificant, but it unspools something knotted in Jayce’s chest. 

He grins, enough as to wear Viktor can see his tooth-gap and dimples, and says, “thangk you, really. I owe you one.”

Viktor shrugs, politely averting his gaze as Jayce wipes his nose with the cloth, “technically, I owed you for the tea. We’re even.” 

Jayce settles for nodding in response, unfolding the handkerchief and wiping at the moisture clinging to his septum again. No matter how much he tends to the appendage, it seems intent on running. Thankfully, the fabric of the handkerchief is soft, but it still does little to soothe his raw, irritated nose. 

Jayce glances down at the cloth in his hands, folding it carefully along the seams out of habit. He usually carries a handkerchief, especially when he’s sick, but he’d managed to soil all of his in the past two days since catching this cold. It’s not like he’s been in any condition to do laundry, so he’s been surviving off of whatever half-empty tissue packs he could find around his place. 

Jayce’s breath suddenly catches mid-thought, his chest swelling with a loud hitch, “hhHh’h–” and he tents the handkerchief over his nose just before he shudders forwards with a poorly muffled, “hhH’HMPDTSCSHHuhh!”

He doesn’t have time to mutter another apology; the elevator lurches, stuttering down a few inches before there’s a mechanical whirring. The two men stay perfectly still, Jayce’s hands still holding the handkerchief over his nose. The whirring continues, but the elevator doesn’t move, for better or for worse. Jayce wipes his nose against the dark-gray hankie and snuffles once the coast seems clear. 

“If we’re going to die in an elevator, you might as well blow your nose first,” Viktor suggests again.

Jayce can’t decide whether to laugh or panic at Viktor’s comment, so he just settles for swallowing his pride and blowing his nose. It sounds pathetically clogged, but it allows some of the congestion in his sinuses to shift, giving him a moment of relief. 

A very, very short lived moment of relief. 

His nose twitches, the sensitive appendage downright revolting at the congestion having moved, and Jayce barely has time to cup the handkerchief over his nose again before his breath catches, “hhHh!”

“hhhHHR’DZSSHh’CHhgh!!”

The sneeze bursts out with a damp, desperate force, caught into the folds of the hankie, which is quickly becoming wet from overuse. Jayce draws another uneven, desperate breath, another sneeze already building, “hhHHhh’ihhh… hh’DZGXTshhhuhh!! Huh’GXSSHHhhuhf!!”

The second part of the double takes him completely by surprise, leaving him breathless. A quiet groan slips out before he can stop himself, and despite his breath hitching again, he mutters, “Hh’uhh… fuhhck– I’mb–I’mb s–hhhhhuhhh… sorhhh.”

His voice trails off, his eyes fully closed as his breath hitches in uneven, pitiful gasps, “hehh–hhHHHHuhhh… hhh-” his head tilts back, his adams apple bobbing with each desperate breath, “hh’DdZZSSCHHguhh!!” 

Jayce can’t remember the last time he’s sneezed like that, and it takes him a second to catch his breath. He winces as he swallows, his throat aching as a result of the fit. Despite the handkerchief having caught all of the mess, Jayce is still beyond mortified. If he had thought he had no chance with Viktor before, he sure as hell doesn’t now. 

He sits there, stewing in his embarrassment as he blows his nose as quietly as possible. Once he’s cleaned himself up, Viktor offers a “bless you. Again.”

“Sorry… againd,” Jayce replies, trying to offer Viktor an awkward grin, but it ends up as more of a grimace, “I shouldn’d habve lefd mby apardmend today, bud -snNFf- I had to tagke an exam and… and you don’d ndeed to know this… Sorry.”

Viktor shrugs, once again playing with the loose string on his sleeve as he dismisses the apology, “You said that already. Several times.” 

Jayce feels a bit of the anxiety sitting in his chest dissipate, and he nods a little. He’s generally talkative, and he tends to ramble when he’s anxious, but it doesn’t seem like Viktor minds all that much. 

He rubs the nape of his neck, noting the way his skin seems to radiate feverish heat, trying to change the subject away from his incessant apologies, “So.. you jusd moved in a few weegks ago?”

Viktor nods, shifting his position once again, wincing ever so slightly with the movement, “Yes. Almost a month ago now. This complex is much closer to my university’s campus than my previous one,” he explains conversationally. If it was anyone else, he’d probably ignore any attempt at smalltalk, but Jayce is… an exception to that. 

“Universidy?” Jayce asks, perking up a little, “Where do you go?”

“Piltover Technological Institute,” Viktor answers, glancing at Jayce and noting his smile. How someone so sick still manages to smile like that is beyond him, “I take it you’re familiar with it?”

“Yeah!” Jayce’s voice catches in his throat, a bit too enthusiastic and forcing him to cough into his elbow. After taking a second to catch his breath, he continues, “I’mb a junior there. I’mb sdudying engineering with a fogcus on Aerospace engineehhring … hhh- and thhihhermo–” he blinks rapidly, his nostrils flaring outwards as his breath starts to catch, “thermodynamihhHihcs–” he barely manages to stutter through the word before, ““hHH-hHRRRSZZCHhuew!”

Luckily, he covers the sneeze with the handkerchief, catching the splurge of mess and muffling the sound as best he can, “Ugh, sor–”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor interrupts him, waving his hand dismissively and leaning back against the elevator wall again, “it’s rather redundant at this point.”

Jayce swallows, nodding and trying to ignore the growing fondness in his chest. Viktor doesn’t seem disgusted by him, or irritated with his ramblings and blunders – maybe his chance at becoming closer with his neighbor isn’t completely blown. 

“Right. So uhmb, whadt are you studying?” He asks, trying to keep the conversation going, if anything just so he can hear Viktor’s voice. He wants to ask where the other man is from, he assumes somewhere in Russia, but there’s an aspect of Vitkor’s accent that he can’t quite place. 

“Chemical engineering and biotechnology, though I prefer the ladder. It has more opportunity for innovation,” even from the simple response, Jayce can tell that Viktor’s passionate about the subject. He has subtle, but noticeable mannerisms that give his interest away – a slight upturn of his eyebrows, a glimpse of smile lines along his cheeks, a little shift in his posture, as if he’s drawn in by the topic. 

“So you’re – sNDDFf’gh – inderesded in STEM?” Jayce’s question is dulled by congestion, but sounds excited nonetheless, “we habve thad in common.”

He’s forced to press the handkerchief against his septum again, wiping away a bit of moisture that was threatening to drip over his upper lip. He tries to find a relatively dry section of the cloth to clean himself up, though most of it is already sodden. 

Viktor nods in response to Jayce, “We do,” he agrees as he looks over at the sick man again, “so Aerospace engineering, this is what you want to have an occupation in?” he asks. Jayce grins at the way he phrased the question. His grammar isn’t wrong by any means, but after growing up in Piltover Jayce had become well accustomed to the “speaking-norms” – norms which Viktor seems unaccustomed or uninterested in. 

“Yeah, I thignk so ad leasd. It’s the mosd realistigk field I can go into,” he pauses, swiping his wrist against his septum, “budt we’ll see. I always wandted to be an invendtor.”

Why exactly Jayce is telling Viktor he wanted to be an inventor, he’s not entirely sure, but once it comes out of his mouth, he realizes just how childish it sounds. He opens his mouth to try and say something, anything that makes him sound like a functioning adult when Viktor notes, “me too.” 

“Really?” Jayce’s surprise must be written all over his face because he earns a little laugh from Viktor, making his chest flutter. 

“Yes, really.” Viktor sits up straighter, correctly his posture with a quiet, concealed breath of discomfort before continuing, “Biotech is very interesting, but I would like to have my own lab. Unrestricted research, without the guidelines and paperwork.”

Jayce grins, finding Viktor’s evident dislike of paperwork amusing. 

“I mean it is useless. Why waste time with regulations?” he continues, his accent a bit thicker as he grows more comfortable around Jayce. In an attempt to impress Viktor, Jayce desperately tries to remember a quote he’d read from one of his coursebooks. His fever-addled brain takes a moment to piece it together; he knows it’s from Iven Maren, one of the founders of the Piltover Institute for Radical Inquiry (PIRI). 

Something about disobeying rules… science knows no limits. It's from Maren’s most recently published book; he tries to remember the page he’d read it on, vaguely picturing the image of the founder beside the quote. 

“You kdow, Iven Maren said that “science isn’t meant to be polite, or convenient. It’s meant to – hhhh –” his breath hitches, but he tries to continue, “to ask the hHihh– thhhheh– hh’DZSSCHhhuh!!” He catches the sneeze against his wrist, keeping it held there as he stubbornly keeps talking, “the questhhhions – hhHHh’GGDTSSHhhuehh!!”

The second one is considerably messier, and he keeps his wrist pressed against his septum to contain the mess. The fabric of his sleeve dampens, clinging unpleasantly to his skin as he fumbles to grab the handkerchief off his lap and clean himself up. He gives a wet little groan in the back of his throat, blushing crimson once again. 

“I do not think he said that,” Viktor teases, his tone dry, “bless you,” he adds, his lips curling into a grin. Despite his blushing embarrassment, Jayce laughs, feeling a sense of comfort at Viktor’s teasing, “thangks.” 

After a moment, Viktor’s voice breaks the silence, “it’s meant to ask the questions no one wants answered, especially the ones that threaten the rules.” He finishes Jayce’s quote with ease, grinning at Jayce’s impressed expression. 

“You’ve read Theoredical Pathways ind Modern Engineering?” Jayce asks excitedly, his tooth gap once again making an appearance as he smiles. 

“Who hasn’t?” 

For the next twenty minutes or so, the two of them talk about the various texts they’ve recently read. Jayce does most of the yapping despite the aching in his throat, but he can’t help it. His wallowing misery over being so sick is temporarily put on hold, replaced with an opportunity to talk about his interests. Viktor is equally as engaged in the conversation, noticing when Jayce wears out his voice and taking it as a cue to talk more so the sick man can rest his throat for a moment. 

Jayce listens intently whenever Viktor speaks, making a mental note of every new thing he learns about him: he prefers natural sciences over mechanical engineering, he recently conducted an experiment with the aid of a professor, he’d like to design his own experiment in the future… and there there are things like the fact that his eyes have little golden specks throughout them, making them change color ever so slightly as the lights flicker. Or that his hands absentmindedly play with the bit of threat hanging from his sweater sleeve, twisting it just enough as to where it won’t fall off. 

His internal observations are interrupted as he feels the itch in his nose return, interrupting Viktor with a sudden, “hhhHHuh–”

Viktor pauses, recognizing the sound and knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Despite it being rather obvious, Jayce insists on stuttering out, “shhsorry I’mb gonnahhh… hHHHh snhhehH– sneeze– hhH’RRSZSCHhhuh!! hhhK’TSSCHhh’uhgh!!”

The expulsions come back to back, spraying the already sodden handkerchief and leaving Jayce a little breathless. “Whew,” he exclaims quietly, 

“Bud’te zdorovy,” Viktor murmurs, the Russian blessing slipping out without him fully intending.

i know it ends suddenly, but there will be more!! if anyone has any ideas/requests for the second part feel free to send me a message or DM :) i plan on keeping them trapped in the elevator for quite some time... sorry J/ayce...

as always, any comments or tags are so so so appreciated!! thank you to anyone who read it, i'm doing my best to spread the j/ayvik agenda

[coldkidcookieneck]

Title: Collateral Attraction

Summary: A stupid dare. A locked house. A very armed, very grumpy Frank Benson. She was supposed to run, not come back for coffee.

Author's note: Hi, my dear readers! This is my very first Frank Benson story, and I had so much fun writing it. I hope you enjoy the chaotic tension, awkward flirting, and soft banter as much as I did! Please let me know what you think 😉

Pairing: Frank Benson x Fem Reader

Warnings: Language and Mild Violence

Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3 here

Cross posted on AO3

===========================================

Your living room smelled like takeout, cheap rosé, and candle wax from the third failed attempt to light the "Happy Birthday" sparkler cake. Streamers clung to the ceiling fan like casualties of war, and glitter was everywhere — a sure sign that your best friends, Chloe, Liam, and Amanda, had taken over décor duty.

“You’re officially 22,” Chloe declared, handing you your third slice of pizza like it was your birthright. “Time to do something legendary before the night’s over.”

“Legendary how?” you asked, wiping sauce off your chin.

Chloe’s grin was pure chaos. “Truth or dare.”

You barely had time to protest before everyone was already sitting cross-legged on the floor, drinks in hand, the tension building like a bad horror score. The first few rounds were harmless: someone drank hot sauce, another admitted to kissing their cousin’s boyfriend. Then it was your turn again.

“Dare,” you said, full of birthday bravado.

Chloe’s eyes gleamed. “I dare you… to sneak into General Frank Benson’s house and get out again. Without him noticing.”

The room froze.

Even the playlist paused like Spotify itself whispered: “Girl, no.”

“You’re joking,” you blinked, halfway between laughing and throwing your pizza.

Amanda screeched, “That’s a literal suicide mission! Have you seen that man? He probably sleeps with a bayonet under his pillow!”

Liam leaned forward, solemn as a war general. “Then I’ll command the mission. You’re my agent. I’ll be in your ear. Like the hot ones in spy movies.”

Chloe held up her hand like she was swearing into Congress. “Five hundred dollars if you do it.”

And suddenly, it wasn’t a joke anymore.

You glanced toward the window — at the looming Victorian next door, shrouded in shadow and pulsing with generational trauma. That was his house. Everyone in the neighborhood knew it: the fortress of General Frank Benson — retired military legend, silver-haired menace, living scarecrow of your childhood.

You’d been afraid of him since you were six. Literally.

Your parents used to weaponize his existence like bedtime folklore.

“If you don’t get home by curfew, the General will snatch you and ship you off to boot camp!” “Don’t run off — Frank Benson might put you in a tank and roll you into a battlefield!”

One Halloween, you dared to ring his doorbell.

He didn’t answer.

But the porch light flickered on.

You screamed so loud you peed a little and ran home with your witch’s hat falling off.

Since then, even walking past his house made you clutch your mom’s hand and whisper apologies to the wind.

But now?

You were older. Bolder. And… just the tiniest bit intrigued.

Especially after the annual neighborhood committee meeting a few months back — the first he’d attended in years.

You remembered it too clearly. He’d walked in wearing a sharp black coat, silver hair slicked back, eyes cold and assessing like he was planning battle formations. He barely spoke — but when he did, his voice was low and gravelly and cut through the chatter like a bullet through glass.

And something inside you shifted.

You weren’t afraid anymore.

You were… fascinated.

And maybe, okay, kind of into the whole grumpy, emotionally disturbed war-daddy thing.

“Come on,” Chloe was saying now, waving her phone like a stopwatch. “He’s probably not even home. Just sneak in, sneak out. Easy. We’ll be waiting by the back gate with your victory pizza slice.”

Amanda looked like she was going to throw up from secondhand panic. “If she gets arrested, I’m not bailing her out. But I will organize a candlelight vigil.”

Liam saluted dramatically. “For honor. For glory. For the birthday girl.”

Your heart pounded. Your brain screamed are you serious, but your ego — freshly 22, slightly tipsy, and painfully susceptible to peer pressure — just whispered:

Let’s do it.

“…Fine,” you muttered, pushing off the couch and finishing your wine like it was armor. “But if I get court-martialed, I’m haunting all of you forever.”

Chloe whooped. “Operation: Birthday Break-In is a GO!”

“Okay, squad. Stick to the plan. Eyes sharp. Feet quiet. Asses low.”

Liam crouched behind the overgrown rhododendron bush like he was auditioning for Mission Impossible- Suburban Edition, holding a plastic cup of wine like it was a grenade. Amanda was huddled beside him, just out of sight from Frank Benson’s back fence.

Chloe, ever your partner in crime, adjusted her hoodie like she was going to war. “I swear if I die out here, I want ‘Dare Queen’ on my gravestone.”

“I’m already designing the shirt,” Amanda whispered, pulling out her phone to record. “You two are legends in the making. If this goes viral, I want credit.”

You glared at her, “If this goes to prison, I want a decent lawyer.”

Everyone else chuckled nervously. The stakes were stupidly low and yet wildly high. You peeked past the bush.

Frank Benson’s house loomed at the end of the yard — tall, dark, dignified. A once-white Victorian that had surrendered to time: ivy clung to its brick like secrets, and its turreted attic window glared down at the street like a silent sentry. The back of the house had a small porch with a flickering light and two steps leading down to a mossy stone path. Two gnarled oak trees flanked the yard like bodyguards.

You could see three windows on the ground floor: one half-open, one shut tight, and one obscured by heavy drapes.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” Liam said, dragging a stick through the dirt like a military strategist. “You two — that’s you, birthday girl, and Chloe — take the side gate, sneak across the back yard, and go through the half-open window. It’s probably the kitchen. You go in, sneak to the other side of the house, and come out through the sunroom window on the east side. That’s the one facing the hedge. We’ll be posted there with flashlights and pizza, ready to pull you out and declare victory.”

“Simple enough,” Chloe muttered, tying her hair up. “Break in, sneak across, break out. No blood, no alarms.”

“Exactly,” Amanda said, filming you in selfie-mode now. “Tonight’s forecast: 30% chance of arrest, 70% chance of glory. Let’s go.”

You inhaled sharply. The house looked still. No lights in the upstairs windows. No movement.

“Alright,” you said, pulse quickening. “Let’s do this.”

The gate creaked as you and Chloe slipped through, then padded silently across the dew-covered grass. You both wore black hoodies and sneakers, looking like the worst-dressed spies imaginable. You paused at the half-open window.

Chloe gave it a gentle push. It opened with a soft screeetch.

You winced.

“…That sounded like a horror movie door,” she whispered.

“Keep going,” you hissed, heart hammering.

The kitchen was exactly what you imagined Frank Benson’s kitchen would look like: neat, cold, and full of sharp corners. The countertops were spotless. The lights were off. There was a kettle on the stove — black and steel — and a single mug next to it, like he was halfway into making tea for one.

You stepped inside first, Chloe right behind you. Your feet made the faintest sound on the tile. You both paused, eyes wide.

Nothing.

Just the faint tick… tick… of an old grandfather clock somewhere deeper in the house.

“Alright,” Chloe breathed. “East side window. Let’s move.”

You crept through the kitchen and into a narrow hallway with wooden floors. On your right was a darkened sitting room, all leather armchairs and old bookshelves. On your left was what looked like a dining room, table polished, a lone set of dog tags resting on the center dish. You glanced at them — initials etched in metal. F.B.

Your stomach twisted. You felt like an intruder.

Because you were.

“Chloe,” you whispered. “I think we should—”

You didn’t finish the sentence.

Because you tripped on the edge of the hallway rug.

Your foot slipped.

You fell like a plank of wood.

Chloe toppled after you, landing hard on your back with a loud thump.

You both froze.

Tick… tick…

Creaaaak.

There was a sound from upstairs.

A door opened.

Floorboards groaned under heavy footsteps.

Then — light.

A hallway light flicked on.

And footsteps began descending the staircase fast.

“OH MY GOD!” Chloe hissed, jumping off you and scrambling toward the sunroom.

“I found the exit, hurry up!” she cried, pulling open a window.

You staggered up, adrenaline surging.

But it was too late.

A shadow lunged down the stairs, and before you could reach the exit, a strong hand grabbed your arm, spun you around, and slammed you down on the floor with a practiced, efficient force.

You yelped, wind knocked from your lungs.

“STOP RIGHT THERE!” a voice barked.

It was gravel and thunder, and it made the air vibrate.

The figure above you slammed the sunroom window shut with one hand, blocking Chloe’s exit route as she screamed your name from outside.

He turned on the light.

And there he was.

General Frank Benson.

Silver-haired, towering, broad-shouldered in a black t-shirt and loose sweatpants — but somehow still looking like he could command a battalion. His jaw was clenched, eyes sharp and full of fury. There was a glint of something silver in his hand — a gun. Not pointed at you, but very, very present.

You blinked up at him, stunned into silence, face flushed from the fall, the fear, the fact that he was... ridiculously hot in this lighting.

“Who the hell are you?” he growled. “And what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing in my house?”

You gulped, lips trembling, and scrambled to explain.

“Sir—it was a dare! A stupid $500 birthday dare! I swear, I didn’t mean any harm—my friends dared me to sneak in and out—I didn’t even think you were home—I tripped—Chloe—Chloe was supposed to—”

He glared at you, nostrils flaring, eyes scanning your face like a threat assessment.

“...A dare?” he repeated, incredulous. “You break into my house... for five hundred bloody dollars?!”

Frank Benson was halfway through pouring himself a cup of Earl Grey when he heard it.

Thump.

His entire body froze.

He didn’t move — not at first. Years in combat zones taught him that reacting too soon was how you got killed. First came the listen. Then came the lock.

He strained his ears. There it was again. A scrape. A muffled whisper. Someone — two someones — moving in his home.

His jaw tightened. The mug was already back on the counter, untouched.

He moved.

Fast. Silent. Lethal.

A shadow ghosting up from the kitchen to the hallway. His left hand grabbed the pistol off the console drawer near the stairs — muscle memory. His right flicked on the light in a single fluid motion as he descended the staircase in three thunderous steps.

Footsteps.Too light for a grown man.Maybe teens. Maybe a weapon. Maybe not. Doesn’t matter — unknown is a threat until proven otherwise.

He saw movement in the hallway and bolted forward — years of force recon training kicking in. His body moved before his brain could catch up.

Target. Two. Female. Not armed. One tripped. Second, trying to run—

He grabbed the first — you — and brought you down with a sharp twist of the arm and shoulder, pinning you hard but careful, just enough pressure to restrain without crush.

You yelped.

The girl in the hoodie outside screamed and fumbled at the sunroom window.

He snapped it shut with one arm, blocking her escape route, then pointed the gun not at you, but toward the floor — visible. A warning. His voice followed, deep and sharp like thunder cracking open the sky:

“STOP RIGHT THERE!”

Your eyes were wide, terrified, blinking up at him like prey caught in headlights.

No weapon. No mask. Just panic. Not a threat. Not yet.

He exhaled slow, steadied the beast inside.

“Who the hell are you,” he growled, “and what the bloody hell do you think you’re doing in my house?”

You stammered, breath shaking. "Sir—it was a dare! A stupid $500 birthday dare! I swear, I didn’t mean any harm—my friends dared me to sneak in and out—I didn’t even think you were home—I tripped—Chloe—Chloe was supposed to—”

Frank stared at you like you’d grown a second head.

A fucking dare? Jesus Christ.

“You break into my house... for five hundred bloody dollars?!”

You nodded weakly.

He scoffed, the sound sharp as flint. “You’re lucky I didn’t break your neck. What kind of idiot thinks sneaking into a veteran’s home is a good idea?! You’re lucky I didn’t assume you were a threat and react accordingly.”

God, where do they grow kids like this? Is idiocy contagious?

You opened your mouth again, but he raised a finger — commanding silence.

“And you,” he barked toward the window. “Get your friend back here before I call every emergency service this side of the state line.”

Chloe let out a terrified squeak from outside.

“I—I—sorry!!” she stammered, stumbling back in through the front door, looking white as a sheet.

Frank looked between you and Chloe, eyes narrowing, jaw grinding. Then… something shifted.

His posture eased. Not soft, but no longer a threat.

“You’re the kid that used to hide behind your mum whenever I walked past,” he said slowly.

Your eyes widened. “You remember that?”

He chuckled — a low, rasping sound, like a car engine after too long in the cold. “Hard to forget a child who screamed like she saw a ghost every Halloween.”

Of course, I remember. You were the little,wide-eyed thing who used to cry if you saw me in uniform. Your mum once said they used me as a bedtime threat — ‘Come home before dark or General Benson will send you to boot camp.’ Bloody hell. I’ve become the neighbourhood bogeyman.

“I—um—I guess I did…”

He stood straighter, lowering the gun to his side — no longer threat-mode, but still on edge.

“So now you’re all grown up and sneaking around my yard,” he muttered, giving you a long, appraising look.

You’re not a kid anymore. That much is obvious. Hair’s longer. Lips trembling. That’s a woman’s jacket, not a school uniform. Goddamn. She’s trembling like I’m going to arrest her. I should. But hell, if this isn’t the most excitement I’ve had in months.

Then your next words caught him off guard.

“I… I saw you at the committee meeting.”

You blushed fiercely, gaze darting away. “I… I saw you at the committee meeting.”

He blinked once. Twice.

Ah. That’s it.

Not a dare. Not really. Curiosity. Maybe something more.

Shit. He shouldn’t let that twist of intrigue hit him. But there it was.

He gave a small smirk. Nothing warm — just sharp. Teasing. Testing.

“Well,” he muttered, holstering the gun, “if you wanted to know what’s inside my house so badly… next time just knock. Like a normal bloody person.”

You stared. Then let out a weak, nervous laugh.

Chloe looked like she wanted to disappear into the nearest plant.

Frank folded his arms. “Tell your friends you managed to ‘escape’ through the back window. Go get your prize money. And get the hell out of here before I change my mind.”

You hesitated, still rattled. Your gaze flicked to the door. But Frank was watching you closely now.

Your flushed cheeks. Your parted lips. The way your chest rose and fell in the silence.

She’s not a kid anymore. That realisation sank in like cold water down the back of his neck. Christ, I shouldn’t even be thinking that.

He paused.

Then, quieter: “...Happy birthday, by the way.”

Your head whipped up. “How did you—?”

He lifted a brow. “You think I don’t know what the neighborhood kids are up to? Liam and Amanda aren’t exactly CIA material.”

He turned and walked back into the shadows of the hallway, the light fading behind him.

And you were left standing there in his kitchen, adrenaline still high, heart pounding, and the terrifying realisation that the man you once feared… now occupied a very different corner of your imagination.

You and Chloe locked eyes—both pale, panting, done.

“Bloody hell,” she whispered.

You didn’t answer. You were already running.

You ran like hell.

Straight out the side gate, heart hammering, hair sticking to your forehead, lungs burning like a bonfire lit under your ribs. You didn’t even realize your knees were scraped until your friends came sprinting from the alleyway, cheering like lunatics.

“YOU SURVIVED!”

“Oh my god, she did it!”

“You better have filmed it, Chloe—wait, where’s Chloe?”

Chloe came jogging a moment later, wheezing. “He looked at me and I panicked! Like—retired general death glare level ten!”

You wheezed out a breathless laugh-slash-sob and stumbled into Amanda’s arms, who immediately started shaking you like a maraca.

“YOU LEGEND!! YOU JUST EARNED FIVE. HUNDRED. DOLLARS. Do you know how many bubble teas that is?!”

Liam tossed a hoodie over your shoulders like it was a medal of honor.

“General Frank Freaking Benson. The man who made our dads stand up straighter at neighborhood barbecues. You just walked into his den and LIVED. What was it like? What did he say? Did you get a peek at his kitchen? Was it cold and terrifying? Did he say anything like, ‘You have 10 seconds to explain before I neutralize you’?”

You stared at them, still breathless, trying to piece together the shock and the adrenaline and the very real fact that you had just been pinned down by Frank Benson’s arms, and that he had remembered you, and that he had said—

“…Happy birthday, by the way.”

Inside the house, Frank stood at the second-floor window.

Lights off.

Curtains parted.

Just him, silently watching the gaggle of chaotic teens erupt into hugs and fist bumps and high-fives.

Idiots, he thought. No sense of danger. No sense of consequences.Except her.

His eyes found you — standing just slightly apart from the group, hand still hovering near your arm where he’d grabbed you, eyes a little far-off. Processing.

He felt it in his chest. A sharp, quiet pull.

She looked at me like I was a monster. But now... not quite.That’s the look someone gives when the monster turns out to be a man.

He frowned.

Backed away from the window.

She’ll stay away now. They always do.Good. Better that way.

He turned, heading for the stairs.

So why the hell am I still standing here thinking about her?

You’re still catching your breath when Chloe grabs your arm like a human grappling hook.

“Say nothing about the gun. Just look cool. Say you Mission: Impossible’d your way in and out. Got it?”

You nod. Kind of.

Back at the house, your friends are waiting with pizza crumbs, half-filled cups, and $500 in a cereal box because apparently Liam thought that was “stealthy.”

“SO?”

“Did you do it?”

“Did you survive General Doom himself?!”

You glance at Chloe.

She does the tiniest nod.

And you go full Bond Girl.

“Yeah. Slipped in through the side window, skirted the dining room, ducked when I heard footsteps. Almost got caught. But didn’t.”

The group goes feral.

Liam throws the $500 at you like confetti. Amanda screams into a pillow. Someone cranks up music again and shoves a slice of pizza into your mouth mid-laugh.

Only Chloe sees how you keep glancing out the window.

The Next Morning

You knocked on his door at 8:13 a.m.

Why?

Because you couldn’t sleep.

Because your guilt was loud.

Because something about him—his voice, his eyes, the way he hadn’t yelled just to yell—was still stuck to your skin like aftershave.

The door opened a sliver, and there he was.

Sleep-ruffled hair. T-shirt and sweats. No weapon in sight, just an eyebrow raised like a challenge.

“You again,” he said flatly.

“I—um—just wanted to say thank you. For not calling the police. Or yelling louder. Or shooting.”

Frank stared at you.

Then let out a breath that sounded like half a laugh, half a groan.

“You’re here to say thank you for trespassing?”

You winced. “Also to tell you that I got the $500.”

His eyes narrowed. “And that’s supposed to impress me?”

You grinned. “No. I was thinking I could treat you to something. As an apology-slash-celebration. Coffee? Bagels? Explosives?”

A beat.

Then Frank opened the door a little wider and leaned against the frame.

“You really think I’d let a little idiot like you buy me breakfast?”

You shrugged. “I mean, you tackled me. So I figure we’re close now.”

He smirked. A very dangerous, very warm smirk.

“…Next time,” he said, “let me be the gentleman.”

Your heart may have actually skipped.

You nodded. “Okay.”

“Good,” he said, and shut the door again.

But not before giving you one last glance—measured, curious, not entirely annoyed.

You walked home lighter.

Still scraped, still bruised, still $500 richer.

But also—

Something had started.

You just didn’t know what yet.

He leaned against the door after it closed, arms crossed, expression unreadable.

That damn kid. That crooked grin. That stupid, reckless heart.

He should’ve been furious. Still could be. But instead...

He sighed.

“…Coffee,” he muttered to himself. “God help me.”

Then he went to put on real pants.

EPILOGUE

Local Café | Two Days Later

The coffee shop smelled like cinnamon, burnt espresso, and bad decisions.

You sat across from him, two mugs between you. Yours was adorned with whimsical doodles and the phrase “Espresso Yourself.” His was a plain, no-nonsense black ceramic mug. Classic.

You stirred your latte three times before sipping. “So...General, do you come here often, or only when you’re guilt-tripped by teenage gremlins who trespass on your property?”

Frank raised an eyebrow over his coffee. “I’m still deciding if this is penance or a government experiment.”

You smirked.

He came. He actually showed up. On time, no less. He still looks like a man who has backup plans for backup plans. But his jacket’s unzipped. His hair’s still a little windblown. He looks… less like a warning label. More like a question mark. And I’m not sure if I want the answer or the chase.

He didn’t smile. Not exactly. But his eyes? They didn’t look away.

She’s nervous. She’s trying not to show it, but she is. And yet she’s here. After everything. After the fence hop, the bruises, the chaos. She sat down across from me like it wasn’t a death wish. Like maybe… she wanted to. Idiot kid. Brave kid. Dammit.

A beat passed. Then you slid your phone across the table. The lock screen was a screenshot of your bank app. $500.00. Still untouched.

“Proof I haven’t spent the blood money yet,” you said.

Frank leaned back, arms crossed. “Didn’t say you had to keep it.”

You tilted your head. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t.”

He huffed—something between a scoff and a laugh. “Troublemaker.”

You grinned. “Takes one to know one.”

And for the briefest moment, in the lazy warmth of a café too small to hold this much tension, something softened. Not broken. Just… bent. In a good way.

Two mugs.

One look.

No promises.

Just the beginning of something slightly stupid.

But maybe… worth it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[demie90s]

No Spark Lost

꒰ 🍒 ꒱ DIANA TAURASI X READER ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

Part 1 MASTERLIST MORE

⭑ pairing: Diana Taurasi x reader (*soccer star!*fem!reader)

⭑ summary: You were the face of soccer. A household name, viral athlete, and walking highlight reel—until your ACL tore mid-game and the season ended. Months into recovery, you show up courtside at a Phoenix Mercury game. Hoodie, jeans, no limp in sight. But when halftime hits and you’re asked to shoot around, you remind the world—and Diana Taurasi—that your fire never left.

⭑ genre: Slow-burn tension, legend-to-legend energy, mutual obsession, competitive flirtation

⭑ warnings: Strong language, injury references, sexual tension, light physical contact, Diana being bold as hell

⭑ word count: ~ 0.8k

You can’t tell people you’re fine when you’re not.

But you can look them dead in the eye, knee wrapped tight in K-tape, and still walk like you didn’t spend the past eight weeks learning how to move without pain. You can pull on a hoodie—slightly oversized, grey, soft like comfort—and jeans that still hug your hips just right, even with the brace underneath. You can show up to the arena with no sunglasses, no entourage, no crutches.

You just can’t hide when you’re the most famous sidelined athlete in the country.

So when I walked into Footprint Center for the Phoenix Mercury vs. Chicago Sky game, heads turned. People murmured. The sideline reporters tried to act chill, but I caught them clocking my walk. Limp? Barely. Stiff? Sure. But broken? Never.

I nod to security, give a lazy wave to a couple young fans in my jersey, and keep moving. Straight to my seat courtside, three down from the Mercury bench. I don’t need attention. I don’t need pity.

But damn if this doesn’t sting.

⸻

Flashback — Two Months Ago

We were up 2-0. 67th minute. I had already clocked an assist and a goal. It was humid as hell. Turf thick. I went for a cut I’ve done a thousand times—defender tight on me, eyes on the ball, whole damn stadium leaning in.

Left plant. Right slice.

Then my foot slipped.

And the second I tried to catch myself, my leg went back—too far—and she landed on me.

Some forward from the opposing team also slipped trying to pivot. Unlucky timing. Maybe karma. Maybe just physics.

The sound?

Not a snap. Not a crack.

Just a shift. A grind.

And I knew.

Didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. Just laid flat, blinking up at the lights while the ref screamed for the med cart.

I remember a teammate sobbing. Our coach shaking his head like he could fix it just by willing it.

But me?

I took the mouthguard out and said, “It’s my ACL.”

Then I laughed. Just once. Bitter. Quick.

Everything changed after that.

⸻

Present Day

Halftime. Phoenix is trailing by 3. Diana’s hit back-to-back threes. Kahleah Copper is cooking. The arena smells like sweat, buttered pretzels, and momentum.

I’m posted on the sideline, hoodie sleeves pushed up, nodding along to the music.

That’s when I hear: “You bored yet?”

I look up. Coach Nate Tibbetts, Mercury’s new head coach, is grinning at me like he’s up to something.

“Little,” I admit. “Bench warmer energy.”

He laughs. “You ever think about hooping again?”

“I’m retired,” I deadpan. “From two sports now.”

He steps closer, crosses his arms. “Wanna run a few shots?”

I blink. “You serious?”

“Just shoot. Keep it light. Let the crowd see what all the hype’s about.”

“Who set this up?”

He shrugs. “Diana maybe. Maybe me. Maybe you look like you could use the ball in your hands again.”

The tunnel opens like an invitation.

I hesitate for one second. One.

Then I roll my shoulders back and head to the court.

⸻

Halftime – Lights Still On

Ball hits my palm like it remembers me.

Crowd notices instantly. Whispers turn into low chants. Cameras shift.

I step behind the arc. K-tape visible just under the denim. My stance ain’t perfect, but the form?

Flawless.

First shot:

Swish.

Second:

Corner pull-up, slight fade—net.

Third:

Quick dribble, step-back, deep three. Crowd gasps.

“Damn,” I hear from behind me.

I turn—slow—and there she is.

Diana Taurasi.

Arms folded. Lip twitching. Hair pulled back, watching me like I’m an equation she used to know but forgot how to solve.

“You recovered, huh?” she asks.

I don’t answer.

She walks up with a ball of her own. Tosses it once. Catches.

“You and me. One-on-one. First to five.”

“You serious?”

“Why not?”

“I’m literally on IR.”

“You’re here.”

I smirk. “You’re lucky I like proving people wrong.”

⸻

Unofficial Halftime Game

She checks it.

I jab once, slow. My knee barks—but I ignore it.

Spin. Pump fake. Pull. Bucket.

She narrows her eyes. “That was cute.”

Her turn. She drives—low, controlled—tries to spin, but I step right in front. Force her wide. She misses. Ball rolls.

I grab it.

Step back.

Three. Wet.

Crowd’s eating it up. Phones out. Twitter about to explode.

“Don’t tell me this hurts,” she says, stepping in close, chest nearly brushing mine. “Don’t tell me you’re scared of it.”

“I’m not,” I whisper.

“Then stop holding back.”

Next play she pushes—just a little. I don’t flinch.

She goes up. Misses again. I grab it.

Final shot. I take my time.

One bounce.

Eyes locked.

She smirks. “Gonna limp your way to glory?”

I shoot.

Swish.

5-0.

She lets out a breath. Grins.

“You ain’t lost shit.”

I toss the ball to the side.

“Nope,” I say, stepping into her space now. “But you’re real interested in checking.”

Diana laughs low. Doesn’t back up.

Just lingers.

“You ever come to practice…”

“You ever stop watching me…”

We leave it there.

The buzzer sounds.

Game on.

And I’m still standing.

[siri-ike]

Empty chapter 8

Dpxdc crossover fic

Chapter 1 chapter 7

"I think she's me." He said after a long silence.

"She can't be you. You're you." Johnny responded slowly.

He stalled a moment, "Yeah. Yeah, you're right. of course, you're right. That would be impossible. " There's no way. She can't be him, and he can't be her. But there's something about her. Something so familiar they can't possibly be separate. "I need to see her again."

Having a spirit around that can punch your father's lights out seemed like a sweet deal at first. But just like Scrooge, Johnny was quickly learning how persuasive ghosts can be. And by the time their lease was up, his bags had mysteriously been packed already.

Dani's house was pretty normal looking. She had cleared some hangers for his outdoor clothes, and there was a bedroom ready for him, too. Although it was decorated like an observatory. Does she think he's an alien or something? The ghost seems to like it.

Did he glow like that before?

"Johnny!" Dani shouted from the kitchen. "I got some takeaways from West End Burgers. Yours is on the table, I'll be in my office.

She is the weirdest woman John has ever met. For starters, she's a detective, so she carries a gun. She wears pants instead of a skirt. She doesn't even curl her hair. Or cook dinner, apparently. Then there was the whole violence thing.

When he got to the kitchen, he was surprised to see three hamburgers on a plate, still wrapped in foil. He checked the receipt to see if she actually bought 6 hamburgers for the two of them.

"You seem distraught."

"I'm perfectly traught." Johnny insisted. "I'm probably just supposed to take one, right?"

"They're on a plate together."

Johnny picked one up. "I can't eat 3 burgers." He paused for a moment, then offered it to the other boy.

He hesitated to reach forward. Concentrate, be tangible. He carefully held it with both hands. He watched as Johnny took a bite and followed suit.

"You're supposed to take the wrapper off."

"Huh?" He chewed through the third of a hamburger he had stuffed in his mouth. And without a thought, swallowed it, wrapper and all.

"Never mind, here." Johnny handed the third one over as the first disappeared into a snake like jaw while taking a normal sized bite out of his own food. The sight alone was enough to give him a stomach ache. But not enough to make him not eat.

Come to think of it. Johnny had never seen the, ghost? Eat before. Maybe that's why he's so spaced out all the time. Johnny sure wouldn't like to skip months' worth of meals. "Are you still hungry?"

"I don't understand." His voice was less of a whisper than it was, this clearer version sounded, lively. He sounded like someone. It was a voice Johnny had heard before.

Just then, the door behind them opened, and detective Dani walked in with three empty hamburger wrappers on her plate. She really eats like this!? She threw them in the trash under the sink and got three large glasses from an upper cabinet. "Compleatly forgot water." She smiled at him, filled her's with water, and went back to wence she came.

"You two freaks are cut from the same cloth." Johnny addressed the air beside him.

"Yes... we are, " a nearby whisper follows her.

The room was an office. She sat at a desk covered in Manila folders and paper. The moment he stepped through the wall, she looked up. Directly at him.

She can't see him. No one can see him! How can she see him?

She exhaled a small fog of white breath. "Are you here?" She asked, looking around the room. She can't see him. But she knows.

"I've been looking for you." She paused longingly. "That's OK. You don't have to say anything. Clockwork said you might forget some things." Her smile lacked any emotion. It was like she wanted to be happy but couldn't overcome the hollowness. "I met some of our friends. Walker's still alive... Sydney isn't. I've been working on a way back to the ghost zone, but it's proven difficult without hurting the timeline." She looked so worn out. She looked wrong. This wasn't the person he had recognized. It's someone else. "Danny, please. Just show yourself, let me know you're alright."

He stepped back out. Johnny had left, probably went back to his room. He started in the direction, pretending not to hear the quiet whimpers from the office.

~~~~~~~

"Is it true you're taking the Crane boy?" Asked Commissioner Reynolds.

"Yes, sir. Picking him up after work." Dani glanced at the clock on the wall. One more hour.

"It's a big commitment, Nightingale. Are you sure you're up for it." It was less a question and more of an accusation.

"That's the beauty of teenagers, commissioner, they don't need 24-hour surveillance, just food and guidelines. And, you know, attention obviously."

"That's not what I meant. Are you ready for this?"

The air went stale.

"I read your transfer reports. I know about Pointdexter."

"Sydney was a good boy" Dani defended.

"Doesn't mean he was good for you."

Dani didn't answer. She couldn't.

One more hour.

[marvelslut16]

Field Day

Prompt number: 27 "Let me remind you"

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Teacher!Bucky x teacher!reader (no use of y/n)

Rating: T(een)

Word count: 1.1k+

Warnings: Swearing, a stupid hr policy based off a policy at one of my jobs, a horny woman at work, I think that's it.

A/N: Hi, hello, it's been ages since I posted a fic, and this is 2 days late late. I really really want to participate again this year, but I have 2 jobs now and I have some other important things happening this month, so I won't have much time to write. But without further ado, here is day 1!

“Let me remind you that we aren’t allowed to date coworkers,” you sigh, as Peggy tells you that you should finally give into your work crush and go on a date with Bucky.

Bucky is the sweetest soul you have ever met, he’s a little shy but once he warms up to you he’s just a giant teddy bear who will do whatever he can to make your life easier. He’s been your work crush for about a year now, when he switched from second to fourth grade, the grade you teach. Now you have department meetings together, teach science labs together, and go on field trips together. His sweet personality and the forced proximity made it impossible not to develop a work crush on him.

“Technically we can date coworkers, it’s just frowned upon,” Peggy tries to play devil’s advocate, hoping that her friends will finally get over themselves and go on a date. 

“Oh yes, Bucky and I can date so long as we report it to HR the moment we go on a date, and they can still decide to fire one or both of us,” you roll your eyes and give your best friend a look before turning back to the playground to watch the kids. “Isn’t that why you waited to start dating Steve until he went to teach at the military academy.”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Peggy giggles, just as Bucky lets his kids out his classroom door to join yours and Peggy’s for field day. 

“What are you two gals talking about,” Bucky saunters over to where you're standing near enough to the playground to see the kids, but far enough from them that they can’t hear what you're saying. 

“I was telling her that she should start packing her lunch instead of going out on Wednesday and Friday, much healthier. And obviously, she called me on the fact that Steve sends me lunch from restaurants most of the week,” Peggy smoothly lies. It’s a decent enough fib, but if you were Bucky you wouldn’t believe her. 

So where did you end up getting stuck for field day?” you ask Bucky, he was sick the day of sign ups no doubt being stuck with the worst job. 

“The dunk tank, damn Stevie leaving the school and leaving me with this stupid job,” Steve always volunteered to do the dunk tank, and now that he’s gone the entire staff quickly snapped up every other position. “What do you have this year?”

“The inflatable obstacle course,” you grin widely, you’d been petitioning the PTA to allocate funds to rent one for field day for the past three years now.

“I told you you could convince those parents to let you rent one, and the kids are going to love it!” you can’t help but blush at his praise. 

“Third times the charm,” you give him a small bashful smile.

“I’m in charge of dodgeball in the gym,” Peggy cuts in, reminding you that you aren’t alone and have an audience of almost a hundred kids as more classes spill out of their rooms.  

Soon enough the three of you go your separate ways and get field day started. Like every year, the day flies with minimal complaining from the kids, lots of laughing, and just a few scrapes and bruises. The kids all loved your addition to the course this year, all cheering in excitement when they get to your station. Before you know it your class is back at your station and field day is wrapping up, so you take the kids to the refreshments table to grap a dixie cup off gatorade and a cookie. 

“Oh dear god,” you murmur under your breath, catching Peggy’s attention as she walks up to the table with her class. 

Bucky’s also walking up to the refreshment table sopping wet, black t-shirt and basketball shorts clinging to his rock hard physique. Bucky is an attractive man, anyone who disagreed was either lying or blind, so this wasn’t a new revelation to you by any means. But knowing he has abs is one thing, but seeing his shirt clinging to them is a completely different one. Your heart starts to hammer harder and harder the closer he gets to you, damn Peggy had to get in your head about your crush earlier and you’re on the edge of  throwing caution to the wind, and yourself at him. 

“What were those rules again,” Peggy whispers, giggling in your ear. 

“Can’t remember,” your voice trails off just like your thoughts. It’s unreal and unfair that Bucky could be as nice and as drop dead gorgeous as he is. No man could ever live up to him, and you pity everyone that dares to try. 

“Only one person dunked me, and it was one of yours,” Bucky says gruffly, the twinkling in his eyes gives away his humor and pride in the student.

“One of mine?” you grin from ear to ear, your own pride showing at your student. One of your little fourth headers was able to dunk him, when the older kids couldn’t. “Who was it?”

“Me!” Brayden, your secret favorite student, hollers from behind you.

“Way to go Brayden!” you exclaim, the rest of your class cheering as you give him a high five. 

“It was hilarious,” Luke, one of Bucky’s students pipes up. “We were at the human wheelbarrow station next to the dunk tank and we saw everything! One minute he was on the seat, and the next he was coming up from the water coughing on it.” 

“Are you okay, Mr. Barnes?” you giggle, turning to look at him. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes on his, something the other female staff aren’t doing themselves. 

“I will be, once my ego heals,” your two classes laughing at his joke. 

“Do you want to come over for dinner tonight? I’m making my chili that you love so much,” you ask Bucky when the kids are out of hearing range. Peggy stares at you wide eyed, it’s like she can hear your inner monologue, in awe of your bravery and taking this chance. 

“I would love to,” Bucky has a soft smile on his face, like he’s sensing that everything is about to change for the better. Fuck HR, and fuck this job if it keeps you from being happy and with the man of your dreams. As long as you have Bucky everything will be okay, and you’ll both land on your feet eventually, even if it means finding a new district. 

[thequeensim123]

~Feminine Head-Coverings~

Look... I know I announced this two months ago and said it would be a week. The thing about me is sometimes I stretch the truth :D Anyways here it is finally. Apologies for the delay xoxo

1|2|3|4|5* 6|7|8|9|10 11|12|13|14|15 16|17*|18|19|20

credits under the cut as always <3

*these two photos are the same one. my bad! this is the second time in a row I've done this too :/ the second link is the one i MEANT to put but didn't, unfortunately. fortunately, they're made by the same OH SO TALENTED creator. currently thinking of better ways to streamline these so this doesn't happen a third time-

credits:

@bokchoijo @marsmerizing-sims @birba32 @oranos @pluto-sims

@frenchiesimgirl @nords-sims @daylifesims @surely-sims

@nolan-sims

you can find other cc options in my hair with accessories, cultural cc, or hats and hair accessories tags.

[whatsthebestanimeop]

T1: What's the Best Bleach OP?

Final Result: OP 1 ~Asterisk~ by Orange Range is the Best Bleach OP

1st: ~Asterisk~ - Orange Range [OP 1] 2nd: Ranbu no Melody - SID [OP 13] 3rd: Rolling Star - YUI [OP 5] 4th: chAngE - Miwa [OP 12] 5th: After Dark - Asian Kung-Fu Generation [OP 7] 6th: Shōjo S - SCANDAL [OP 10] 7th: Ichirin no Hana - High and Mighty Color [OP 3] 8th: HARUKAZE - SCANDAL [OP 15] 9th: Velonica - Aqua Timez [OP 9] 10th: D-technoLife - UVERworld [OP 2] 11th: ALONES - Aqua Timez [OP 6] 12th: Blue - ViViD - [OP 14] 13th: Tonight, Tonight, Tonight - Beat Crusaders [OP 4] 14th: Anima Rossa - Porno Graffiti [OP 11] 15th: Chu-Bara - Kelun [OP 8]

More tournament stats under the cut! I'll be adding my own ranking of Bleach OPs in the replies, please add yours too!

The final bracket:

All final match results:

~ Asterisk ~ by Orange Range vs Ranbu no Melody by SID 58.7% // 41.3%

Rolling Star by YUI vs chAngE by Miwa 55.6% // 44.4%

After Dark by Asian Kung-Fu Generation vs Shōjo S by SCANDAL 61.4% // 38.6%

Ichirin no Hana by High and Mighty Color vs HARUKAZE by SCANDAL 64.9% // 35.1%

D-technoLife by UVERworld vs Velonica by Aqua Timez 44.3% // 55.7%

ALONES by Aqua Timez vs Blue by ViViD 74.4% // 25.6%

Tonight, Tonight, Tonight by Beat Crusaders vs Anima Rossa by Porno Graffiti 62.1% // 37.9%

The top 4 closest matches were:

Round 1: Velonica by Aqua Timez vs Shōjo S by SCANDAL 48.5% // 51.5%

Round 2: Shōjo S by SCANDAL vs chAngE by Miwa 48.3% // 51.7%

Rolling Star by YUI vs chAngE by Miwa 55.6% // 44.4%

Round 4: D-technoLife by UVERworld vs Velonica by Aqua Timez 44.3% // 55.7%

The 3 Biggest L matches were:

Round 2: Velonica by Aqua Timez vs Anima Rossa by Porno Graffiti 92% // 8%

Round 2: Ranbu no Melody by SID vs Harukaze by SCANDAL 83.1% // 16.9%

Round 1: After Dark by Asian Kung-Fu Generation vs Chu-Bara by Kelun 82.9% // 17.1%

The most voted match was the Round 4 Final with 230 votes. This was followed by Round 4 Third Place Match with 189 votes.

Thanks for making it to the end of Tourney 1! I am sooooo happy that ~Asterisk~ won, it has such a special place in my heart and it appears for so many of you as well. For everyone who voted (and this is such a whopping number 230?! holy heck) I adore you. For those of you who stuck it out throughout the 1.5 months this tourney has run, the biggest of respect. And for those of you who followed and shared these polls across all this time...like literally...take my hand in marriage? Or maybe just tell me with you agree/disagree with rankings, your thoughts, your personal rankings, idk just whatever. Other important things I'll mention (or re-mention) now are Bleach TYBW Tourney will be held upon the release of Cour 4. Bleach ED Tourney will happen but undecided on starting date. Aside, I am also terrified of a 30+ ED tourney (...though One Piece is in that realm so maybe it's not as scary as I'm making out to be). Okay, rambling over. I'll probably never end a tourney with this much gratitude again so please accept one last big thank you (─‿‿─)♡

Bonus: This OP has so many great moments but this is definitely my favourite part. I think it's changed over time - it used to be when Tatsuki and Orihime spray paint the screen raaah just so much good stuff, tell me urs maybe

[sjyuns]

BE MY VALENTINE?┆AISHETERU

written part below the cut!

You can’t believe he’s actually here.

Standing between you and Sunghoon.

Arms linked with the both of you.

And you can’t help but feel a heavy weight of regret mount on your shoulders. You should have known that Jake was one who took jokes seriously, and you shouldn’t have ever planted the sheer idea that he could join you if he found out which restaurant you and Sunghoon were going to — given Jake Sim is a man full of mystery.

You peer at your boyfriend (fake boyfriend), guiltily tuning out the chatter of the third wheel, sad to barely have the chance to talk to Sunghoon since the start of the date.

The all black outfit suited him perfectly, the glasses that was perched on the bridge of his nose complimenting the sharp features that adorned his face. And you can’t help but feel your heart exhilarate just by looking at your best friend.

You think that it’s a wonder how you’ve never seen him like this before. Having him as a boyfriend, albeit a fake one, showcased to you a different side of him — one that you have never noticed. The way he would constantly check in on you, accompany you throughout the night if you had trouble sleeping, feeding your wretched obsession with mario, and most of all bring you on incomparable dates. He was the perfect companion, and above all, he knew you like no one did.

“You okay, love?” Sunghoon’s voice breaking your train of thought, “you look tired today.”

You hum and nod you head in response, only to be cut off by a certain someone. “Wait y’all are actually dating?”

You give Jake an ominous glare, “we’re aren’t.”

“Then why did he just call you love? Or was he talking to me?” Jake questions, his head tilting as he looks at the both of you in suspicion. “I mean, it would make sense if you’re dating, cause the both of you always go out everyday. And, Sunghoon has had a crush on you since — OW!” Jake yelps, his flurry of worlds getting cut off by a loud slap on his back by Sunghoon.

You squint at the two of them, “i didn’t really catch the last part, what did you say?”

“Nothing important,” Sunghoon quickly answers, an innocent smile on his face as his friend continues to mutter a string of curse words under his breath.

You swear your ears weren’t tricking you — Jake just said that Sunghoon has had a crush on you…right? Since when? and you feel the apples of your cheek get warmer under the dim moonlight.

All you have to do now is get Jake Sim to spill.

PREVIOUS ┆ MASTERLIST ┆ NEXT

MIKAELA’S! it’s supposed to mean ‘THIS MAN IS DANGEROUS’☺️ but i love you too jake sim

SYNOPSIS! it’s the month of love, yet you only have one thing in mind — to get your crush to like you back. armed with a mission, you deploy your best friend Park Sunghoon as your fake boyfriend to make him jealous. one tiny problem, Sunghoon’s desperately in love with you and he can’t seem to keep his own jealousy at bay.

TAGLIST 1! @seongclb @jlheon @euncsace @aeuns @mirustardiary @beomgyusonlywife @thesunoosshining @makiswrld @imsiriuslyreal @mrchweeee @enha-stars @sakiimeo @enhaz1 @en-dream @jiaant11 @hoonven @strawberrysavi @semisemirin1i82 @firstclassjaylee @fakeuwus @dilrmma @eleanorheartschishiya @yizhoutv @nyuloverforeternity @woninluv @astrae4 @hexoolio @www-jungwon @pockyyasii @ilovemangograham @isoobie @lcv3lies @forlovvers @enhahah @yenqa @haechansbbg @strayy-kidz @sparklingsjy @jungwonsjellies @nyfwyeonjun @artstaeh @rikisly @delulu4-life (OPEN)

[lunajay33]

Lost Part.2

•🗝️🕊️🩶•

Summary: Carl Grimes was your best friend since birth, when he died the world turns grey, he was your partner in crime so you shut yourself off from the world, no one could get through, until one day you’re wondering Alexandria seeing Negan in his cell, maybe he could be the one to break you out of this hell

Pairing: Negan Smith x f!reader

Content: Age gap, Depressing themes, Consoling, Spicy themes later on, breeding kink, character development

Part.1

•Masterlist•

After Michonne caught me having a moment with Negan, she told Daryl and now they’re ripping me a new one, I’ve never felt like I disappointed anyone more but I can’t help how I feel towards Negan, I don’t get to chose how I feel

Daryl and Michonne are pacing back and forth in the living room in front of me as I’m sat on the couch waiting for their outburst

“Damn kid what the hell were ya thinking? Ya know what he’s done” Daryl groaned

“I’m going to chalk this up to you trying to distract yourself from Carls death but…..”

“DON’T!” I cut Michonne off feeling that rage

“Y/n…..”

“Don’t talk about him, and don’t tell me how to feel, you don’t understand how I feel, Negan does….he’s helping me, I don’t feel extremely depressed when I talk to him, I thought I’d get better eventually but it’s been 2 months, hell Maggie got herself together quicker than this after Glenn, I don’t know what’s wrong with me” I feel my bottom lip wobble again hating the disappointed look

“Why can’t you let us help? Daryl’s tried, do you want Maggie to come back maybe she could talk some sense into you, see the reason why she doesn’t have Glenn anymore” Michonne huffed before she stomped out the house slamming the door

“I don’t like ya talking to him but…….i can’t watch ya go through this anymore, if yer just talking to him and it helps do it, just be careful sunshine” Daryl said more gently as he rubs my back

“Thanks D, I’m just gonna go to my room” I say defeated but at least Daryl was sort of on board, thankfully Michonne never brought up what she caught me and Negan doing, if so Daryl would’ve probably marched down to his cell and beat him black and blue

It’s been a week since everything happened, the first day after I got up to go see him and right as I got to his cell Michonne dragged me back to the house, she wasn’t as keen as Daryl was, I tried again the next day and the same thing happened, see even got Rick involved so now I’m basically under house arrest, by the third day I could feel that darkness seep back in, I continued to stay in my room, Daryl would occasionally bring me food and water just like now

“Hey kid, ya hungry?” He asks as he sits on the edge of my bed with a sandwich and glass of water

I nod feeling too tired to even speak, this was way out of character for Michonne, sure she could be a hard ass but this…..this was too much

“They still won’t let ya leave?” My silence answered his question hearing him sigh

“It’s happening again isn’t it?”

“Yeah, Negan was helping for a bit, I can’t think of anything else except Carl when I’m locked up in here” I say looking at the letter that I have placed on the night stand, he followed my gaze taking it and reading it

“Ya can’t keep reminding yourself of this over and over”

“I….i didn’t even get to say goodbye”

“Would seeing his grave help?”

I didn’t even know he had a grave, no one even told me but maybe seeing it and talking could help resolve something that’s been missing

“I know this might be a long shot but could I take Negan? Would you be able to convince Rick just for the day to let him out?”

He watched me for a bit with that look I can never decipher what he’s thinking

“I’ll try but I ain’t promising nothing, now come on I’ll walk ya to the cell”

I ate my sandwich on the walk to Negan and of course when we got there Michonne and Rick tried to stop me

“I’m telling ya Rick let her go, ya haven’t seen what I seen, she needs this” as they are arguing I slip past them down to Negans cell

“Hey” I call catching his attention

“Long time no see darlin”

“I’m sorry, if you can hear them you’ll know they’ve been keeping me under house arrest, I tried to come see you but…”

“I know, I heard everytime Michonne tried to stop you, I missed our talks though, I can see you have too”

“I’ve been thinking about our conversation last time, it’s partially been keeping me sane all locked up”

“Can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind baby, but you know I’d never use you right, I ain’t sick like that”

“I know, you’re different now hell I’m different now, I just wish you weren’t in this cell I’m working on it”

“What do you mean?”

“Daryl said I could go to Carls grave, I didn’t even know he had one until today, I asked if I could take you out for the day since I don’t feel judged with you, obviously only if you wanted, he said he’s gonna try to work something out”

“Oh sweetheart, you got a good heart but are you sure you want me out with you?”

“You don’t have to”

“No I want to, I wanna be there for you”

Just being here for a few moments have lifted that weight off my chest

Later that night everyone went to bed early and they left my door unlocked so I sneak out as quietly as possible, quickly making my way down the block to Negans cell and he was still wide awake, I unlock his cell and sit next to him his arms immediately wrapping around me

I sigh in relief to be able to touch him again, to feel his warmth, he moved me around so I’m partially laid against his chest and lap as he sat back against the brick wall playing with my fingers

“Have you tried anything since our conversation last week?” He asks breaking the silence my body feeling on fire instantly

“I still don’t know how”

“Want me to show you baby?” I look up at him feeling my legs tingle

“You’d do that?”

“I’d love it, you need to unwind, forget about your problems for a moment”

“Please, please help me forget” I whine feeling his hand rub up and down my thigh

“My pleasure” he smirks as he plays with the hem of my pants before pushing his hand fully down basically grasping my pussy

“Look at that baby girl, already wet and I’ve barely done anything” I can feel my face redden

“This is so embarrassing” I mumble hearing him laugh

“Nah baby, this is hot as hell, you’re being such a good girl” his praise eased me

His fingers circled my clit making me jolt it felt so foreign, everytime I’ve tried it’s felt like nothing but his strong hands touching me was so much more than I could imagine

“Oh god” I whine as he gets faster pushing me closer to the edge

“You like that angel? Do I make you feel good?” He teased as he grips my hair with his other hand

“Yes Negan! Oh it’s too much fuck” I gasp when he moves his hand down and enters a finger then another stretching me a bit with his big long fingers

“You okay darling?” He asks as he continues to finger me at a slow pace, doing a come here motion hitting a spot I’ve never felt before

“Woah, that feels…….oh god that feels different”

“Different good?” He goes a bit faster making me see stars as my head slumps against his chest

“So good, why does it feel better when you do it” I whine

“Cause I know how to please ya, this tight pussy just need a good man to clear your head, fix all your worries”

Something was building low in my stomach, it felt so weird but good but also like I was gonna lose control

“Negan wait I’m gonna…” but he kept going

“No baby it’s alright I’ve got you, let it go” his thumb came up to rub my clit again and I instantly let go feeling his hand wrap around my mouth as I let out a intense scream my sight going white, my pants felt soak as I came back down to earth laying limp in his arms

“Fuck baby, that was hot as fuck, you’re dripping” I sat up realizing what just happened, I look at him as he sucks his fingers clean making me hot all over again

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I told you something was happening now I made a mess and my pants are full of piss, I have to go” I turn to leave completely embarrased when I feel his arms wrap around me from behind

“Oh baby, you’re so damn cute, that’s normal and it’s so damn sexy, you just came all over my fingers and let me tell you, you taste like heaven” he whispers in my ear as I turn in his arms

“Are you sure this is normal…….it did feel really good couldn’t see for a second” he smirks gripping my hips

“If you think that was good baby, wait till I give you this dick, you’ll be begging for more after”

“Can we now?” I beg as I push him back on the bed straddling his hips

“As much as I’d love to destroy this pussy, I ain’t taking your virginity in some grimy cell where everyone can see and hear us”

“Okay, but what about you I can feel how hard you are, I can help” I say grinding down on him moaning as I feel his bulge rub against my sensitive clit

“Not tonight, tonight was about you”

“Well if I can’t help…..can I atleast see it?” I ask biting my finger aching to see his dick

“You ever see one before?” He asks laughing

“No please I wanna see it” I pull on his belt slowly undoing it waiting for him to stop me but he never does, unbuttoning his pants, we both stand so I can pull his pants down to his thighs, playing with the hem of his boxers

“Go ahead darling, he ain’t going to bite” he says gripping my hair, I pull them down seeing it smack against his stomach and my knees felt like jelly again, it was so big and thick it was mouth watering

“You like what you see”

“Can I touch it” I look up at him seeing his eyes were blown with lust

“Go ahead baby” I run my finger up the bottom till I reach the tip and circle it my finger wet with liquid, I bring it up and lick it and it tastes so good I want more hearing him groan as I do it

“Fuck you know what you just did?”

I shake my head I feel so clueless with all this

“God you’re going to be the death of me” I push him back down on the bed again and kneel between his legs

“Please I want more let me lick it”

“God how can I say no to that”

I lean down flicking my long over the tip tasting him again but I need more, I’ve heard others talk about blow jobs and this must be it, I take him in my mouth circling my tongue around hearing him hiss I look up but her looks like he’s enjoying it as he runs his hands through my hair

I take more of him in my mouth till he hits the back of my throat but I keep going till my nose is flush to his stomach moaning when I finally fit him in

“Jesus Christ baby” his moans drive me insane, I move my head up and down as his groans get more and more louder till I feel a warm liquid fill my mouth it’s surprises me, I lean back on my legs looking up at him with a mouth full of his cum, I swallow it feeling like ecstasy

“Was that your first time cause god damn woman I ain’t ever had my dick sucked like that”

“I want more, god Negan I could get addicted to this” he lets out a low laugh as he tucks his dick back in his boxers

“Oh baby what have I unleashed”

Part.3

Taglist: @lanadelnegan @lvrgirl6999 @aubiewabie33 @mordilwen-of-mirkwood @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @sadgenderfluidmaniac @aleemendoza2425-blog @donniedarkosblog @itsmytimetoodream @twisteduniverse5 @heidiland05 @negandevotee

[saveahorserideaneddie]

9-1-1 s9 ep 1: “Fault Line”

To Preface:

This is a long ass post that I am putting under a cut for ease if scrolling by if you don’t feel like reading. This is literally just a fun little outline of how I would write the season opener if I were showrunner- obviously it’s not going to be perfect, and if it were ever a real episode there would absolutely be edits made- this is just me having fun.

For context this is set about three-ish months after the end of s8, and would take place in late September-ish in my head. It does end on a cliffhanger since it’s only the opening episode of the opening disaster, but I might be compelled to write outlines for the other two (idk tho so im not gonna promise anything)

and last but not least: some actions/words from some of these characters might come off as cold/harsh, but this is literally not even half a year after bobby died so like- none of them have passed the grieving stage yet and are still not in great mental states- in my head a lot if the initial conflicts between characters that would not usually be fighting would be resolved by the third episode, but since this is only the first of three, those conflicts will not be resolved here. again- this will end on somewhat of a cliffhanger, but it’s nothing like drastic; just a basic “oh shit that just happened” ending

anyway if you’re still here, i hope you enjoy my long ass post :))) <3

9x01: “Fault Line”

We open on Athena staying in May’s apartment with her while she hunts for a new place. Athena goes through her morning routine, and we see that she’s on depression meds. Her morning seems to go well, but May is definitely Concerned™️ about her, even if she doesn’t say anything. Athena arrives at her precinct, greeting everyone, going about her morning, changing into her uniform. She goes out on patrol, and we see her chase a few bad guys, run a few tickets, just casual stuff, nothing crazy, until all of a sudden as she’s driving- what she thinks is a small earthquake hits and she pulls off to the side of the road to make sure everyone is okay. After a few moments, she hears another rumbling sound- she thinks it might be an aftershock, but when she turns around she sees a new highrise building collapsing, filling the streets around them with rubble as she and a few other pedestrians enter a storefront to avoid the rubble.

Cue: “9-1-1” intro screen

“A Few Days Ago”

Athena is in therapy with Frank, who is asking her how she’s doing. She is obviously masking her grief, telling him that she’s moved past it and has to focus on doing her job. He tells her that there is nothing wrong with still processing her grief over losing her husband, that no one would blame her for taking time. She tells him that the last time she lost someone, she held onto that grief for 30 years before she was able to let it go and it hardened her, and that she didn’t want to do the same with Bobby. Frank then asks how the 118 is doing in the wake of Bobby’s death.

Cut to, the 118 responding to a call. Chim is acting captain, Buck and Ravi are on heavy rescue, and and Eddie is partnered with Hen as a paramedic. Immediately, something is off- everyone is working well, doing their job, but the energy has shifted. Initially it seems to be because Bobby is gone, but as the rescue goes- a small sinkhole- we see that Eddie is pointedly ignoring Buck, while Hen and Chim are being snippy with each other- poor Ravi just stressed and confused as usual. After a few cliche “will they save the day” moments, they do save the day and begin to pack up the scene; this is where we really see the awkward tension in the group.

Commercial Break

They return to the station where it’s the end of their shift. Buck asks Eddie how Chris is enjoying high school so far, and Eddie gives him a short, clipped answer before walking away. Buck is left looking like a sad dog, before he turns to see Chim making his way to the captain’s office. He calls out for him and asks if he wants Buck to record Jee’s dance recital. Chim tells him that there’s no need, and that there’s no way he’s missing Jee’s first recital. Ravi comments on the fact that Chim looks exhausted before he and Buck walk out of the station together.

Athena gets home to find May on the phone with someone- she tells them that her mom just got home and that she needs to go, but she’ll text them later. Athena asks who that was and May tells her that it was just a friend. She asks Athena how therapy went, and Athena tells her “it was therapy.” May then asks how Athena is adjusting to her new medication, and Athena tells her that she’s adjusting fine. May asks if she wants to talk about it and Athena deflects, changing the subject to May’s senior year of college.

Hen gets home to find Karen alone in the house. She asks where Denny and Mara are, and Karen tells her that they both had sleepovers planned since it was a weekend. Hen looks a little dejected, and Karen asks her what’s wrong. Hen tells her that she feels like with extracurriculars and sleepovers, she feels like they never see the kids anymore. Karen tells her that their kids are growing up, and that they have their own personalities and lives. Hen sighs and tells her that she’s not sure she’s ready to acknowledge that her kids are growing up, and Karen tells her that their kids will be in college, and they still won’t be ready for them to grow up. Karen then says that there’s one good thing about the kids not being there though, Hen asking her what that is before Karan grabs her hand and pulls her towards their bedroom.

While they wait for Jee’s recital to start, Buck is venting to Maddie about how Eddie isn’t speaking to him and he doesn’t understand why. Maddie tells him that maybe Eddie’s busy with Chris starting high school, and having to shift to being a paramedic while Chim is intirum captain. Buck counters with the fact that Eddie would have asked for help if that were the case, but that he hasn’t. He tells Maddie that he’s been trying to give Eddie and Chris space to get settled after moving back but that this feels like he’s being iced out. Maddie suggests that maybe Eddie feels a bit like Buck’s been ignoring him, spending more time with Ravi lately, but Buck disagrees saying that he still tries to talk to Eddie, so he can’t possibly feel like Buck is ignoring him. Before they can continue, Jee’s recital starts and they look around for Chim who hasn’t gotten there yet.

Cut to the fire house where Chim has passed out in the captain’s chair, being woken up by the B shift captain, telling him it’s now almost 8. Chim panics, rushing out of the firehouse to his car, speeding through LA to get to Jee’s school, only to find that the recital had finished.

Commercial Break

Maddie arrives at Dispatch the next day, Josh asking how Jee’s recital went, and Maddie tells him it went fine, but that Chim was beating himself up over missing it. Maddie tells Josh that she tried to make sure Chim knew it wasn’t the end of the world, but that there was no consoling for him. She tells him that Chim took the kids out for the day to make it up to himself. Her attention is caught by Linds informing a caller that a noise complaint is not a valid reason to dial 9-1-1, before she hangs up and looks at Maddie and Josh telling them that another person called about the new luxury high rise being built. Maddie says that the site is right next to the 118 and that Chim says that the construction can be heard all day during a shift and that it’s hard to concentrate on anything because of how loud it is.

Buck knocks on Eddie’s door, waiting for him to answer. Eddie opens the door and Buck notices he’s dressed to go out. He asks what Eddie is doing and Eddie tells him that he’s having lunch with Karen and Hen. Buck asks if Chris is doing anything and Eddie tells him that Chris is at his friends’ for the weekend. Buck tells Eddie that he had hoped they might be able to hang out that day, to which Eddie says, maybe some other time, before pushing past him and leaving Buck alone on the doorstep.

Athena drives by her and Bobby’s old house, watching from her patrol car as the family who bought the house leave for some sort of weekend activity. She sits there for a moment before silently driving away.

Eddie is at the Wilsons’ for lunch- the three of them laughing over something as Karen sets a tray of sandwiches down on the table. The conversation shifts to Chris starting high school. Eddie tells them it’s been an adjustment, that the house is a bit emptier without him there all the time since he has so many clubs he’s a part of. Hen tells Eddie he needs to get out more. Karen scoffs and jokingly calls Hen a hypocrite before telling Eddie about thier conversation from the night before about not beign ready for kids to grow up. Eddie attests to the reality of that and says he still wishes he could carry Chris around in his arms and play legos with the kid, but that that’s the beauty of growing up- they become their own person and that they need the freedom to explore themselves and learn who they are; adding on that he knows from personal experience how not getting that opportunity can mess with you. Karen points out Eddie’s words of wisdom and he shrugs, saying therapy has helped him and that all that time alone leaves him with a lot of time to think. He then pivots the conversation back to Hen’s feelings on her empty nest syndrome and tellls her that if she had accepted the captain position she wouldn’t feel this way. Hen deadpans that she’s already pissed at Chim, jokingly warning Eddie not to piss her off too.

May and Buck are getting coffee- Buck thanking her for agreeing to meet with him. May jokes that she misses their brother-sister coffe dates to which Buck roles his eyes but smiles all the same. Buck notices May texting someone with a smile on her face, asking who she’s talking to, her telling him it’s none of his business. Buck says “so there is someone” before May deflects by asking if he’s been seeing anybody lately. Buck tells her that he’s taking a break from dating- taking Maddie’s advice and learning to be alone before he tries to start another relationship. He explains that he’s always felt like he’s always grown attached to his partners too quickly, often romanticizing what they had to the point where he thought his feelings were stronger than they were, when in reality he didn’t really ever like his exes deep down except for taylor and abby. He says that by learning to be alone he’s training himself not to latch on to his partner. May tells him that she doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with being attached to your partner as long as it’s genuine and built off of true commitment and trust- not just immediately throwing yourselves at each other. saying that that love needs to grow snd build before going all in. That she learned that from her mom and Bobby. Buck asks her how she’s doing and May tells him that she’s just worried for her mom. Buck tells her that he’s there for her if she needs him, and May thanks him. May gets a notification on her phone- Buck joking that it’s her someone before she tells him no- that she has Athena on Find My Friends now, and that Athena was just at their old house.

Commercial Break

Athena gets home and May asks her how her day was. Athena tells her it was a slow shift and that she’s hoping that the next day might be a little more exciting. May stays quiet for a moment, Athena asking if she’s okay before May tells her that she knows Athena went by the house today. Athena asks her what she means and May reminds her that after she left for college, they shared their locations with each other on Find My Friends, and that she still gets notifications for the old house, and she got one that Athena was there. She asks what she was doing and Athena deflects telling her that she responded to a call on the street and that’s all- May of course sees right through this, telling her that she’s not upset that Athena was there, it’s that Athena is clearly not okay and that she wants her to be honest with her. Athena argues that she is being honest, but May tells her she knows she’s not- that she knows her mom well enough to know that’s not true. That she misses Bobby too and she’s still not over it- that she doesn’t think she ever will be- but that bottling it up and ignoring the problem will just make it worse, telling Athena that she’s already lost one parent, she can’t lose another. Athena stays silent, turning and leaving the room as she goes to her own room- tears streaming down her face.

Maddie gets home from her shift to find Chim sitting on the couch, watching Jee’s recital on their tv, looking dejected. Maddie asked how his day was and Chim responded by saying that Jee asked why he missed her recital. Maddie sympathetically tries to tell him that she’ll understand when she’s a little older that Chim’s job is important. Chim cuts her off by saying that his job is not more important than his daughter- that he’s already missing so much of Jee’s kindergarten events, and that Robbie is growning so quickly that Chim feels like he blinks and the baby’s grown two sizes. He tells Maddie that he had an absent father, and that he doesn’t want his kids to feel thst same way. Maddie tries to tell him that they won’t have an absent father, but Chim scoffs telling her that that’s what he feels like. He storms off, leaving Maddie alone on the couch- Jee’s recital still playing as she starts to cry.

We then see the same montage of Athena getting ready for work, only this time after she leaves May’s apartment we cut to

A shift arriving at the firehouse. Ravi is filling Buck in on something that happened to him on their days off, Eddie side-eyeing them as he silently makes his way into the locker room. Ravi greets Eddie, getting nothing but a small noncommittal “hey” in return. Ravi doesn’t think anything of it, going back into his story but Buck cuts him off asking Eddie what his problem is. Eddie looks at him- shock, anger, hurt on his face- asking what Buck just said.

Cut to Hen sighing as she sits down in the loft. Chim is silently sitting at the table, eating his breakfast. She comments on the weekend being rough, saying that the kids were all out of the house and she was bored out of her mind with no one there. Chimney scoffs at that, Hen asking what’s the matter.

We see interspersed Athena’s montage of calls.

Buck repeats himself asking what Eddie’s problem is.

Chim tells Hen that he missed Jee’s first dance recital because he was so bone tired from all the paperwork he had to do that he fell asleep in the officd.

Eddie squares up and says Buck is his problem. Ravi asking no one in particular “uhh what’s going on” but he gets ignored.

Hen asks why Chim is catching an attitude with her, and he snaps- telling her its her fault for not accepting the job that everyone assumed she wanted having been interim captain for before that now he’s having to donit and is missing important milestones in his kids’ lives while Hen is sitting still home apparently twiddling her thumbs.

Eddie tells Buck that ever since he moved back with Chris, it’s like Buck doesn’t even exist anymore- that he moved out without even mentioning it to Eddie, he stopped coming over, and that Chris keeps asking what he did wrong. Buck tells Eddie that he’s not ignoring them to which Eddie tells him that it sure feels like it.

Hen, getting defensive, tells Chim that he’s being unfair, but Chim snaps back that it’s unfair that he’s missing his kids’ lives because he’s doing what should be Hen’s job.

At that moment the small earthquake hits. Chim jumps to action telling everyone to standby and be prepared for calls to come rolling in any moment. Hen grabs Chim’s arm, stopping him from walking away. She asks if Chim really blames her for all of it, and Chim frowns, telling her that he doesn’t see who else’s fault it would be.

Just then, the station begins rumbling again- Chim saying “aftershock” before they start hearing screams from outside, followed by large crashes. Chim looks out on of the windows and notices the sight if rubble falling from the sky- realizing what must be happening. He shouts out over the firehouse for everyone to take cover right as a wave if debris and rubble crashes into the fire house.

After a few moments, Hen and Chim help each other to their feet- asking if each other is alright before assessing the damage. Chim mutters “holy shit” under his breath as the camera turns around to show almost the entirety of the engine bat filled with rubble- burrying the engine, ladder truck, and rig under layers if debris. Buck, Eddie and Ravi are all unharmed and trapped in the locker room while a few other A shift members are scattered around the firehouse with small cuts and bruises. Hen says “that’s not good” before the scene cuts to black.

Roll Credits

[ultimateshixiongfuckertournament]

THIRD PLACE ROUND - Jiang Cheng vs Wen Kexing

The battle for third place is between Jiang Cheng (shixiong: Wei Wuxian) from Mo Dao Zu Shi and Wen Kexing (shixiong: Zhou Zishu) from Word of Honor

Propaganda under the cut

Wen Kexing:

(okay so the canon part is confusing. cause wenzhou are officially canon in Faraway Wanderers and are censored bromance in Word of Honor. but they're only shixiong/shidi in Word of Honor and not in Faraway Wanderers. so idk what you want to do in regards to the canonicity of their relationship)

I mean Wen Kexing is all over Zhou Zishu from day 1, though he has very complicated emotions surrounding the whole shixiong/shidi element to their relationship, he does eventually declare himself as the second disciple of Shiji Manor and publicly acknowledges Zhou Zishu as his shixiong. anyways if you know anything about Wen Kexing you know how desperately he wants Zhou Zishu, even the censorship couldn't hide the fact that Wen Kexing wants to rail Zhou Zishu to kingdom come

the utter simp that is WKX for his ZZS? No contest. None. None at all.

#WKX now actually fucked his shixiong like pls the entire book/show is about him wanting to get with him

#WKX hands down wanna fck or get fcked by his “Ah-Xu~” from day 1

#y'all have the audacity. as if Wen Kexing did baby trap is shixiong with TWO kids

Jiang Cheng:

Clinged to WWX constantly for 7+ years, wanted to have WWX as his right hand man forever after becoming sect leader, cried after WWX left, cried when he discovered what WWX sacrificed for him, was TORN APART when it got explained to him that if they were more outwardly close knit, WWX might not have died

PROPAGANDA!! to start, i'm still very bitter about how fairy lost the sentient animal poll and i want to win this badly. very very badly. current stats are 50.6 in favour of jc but that's too less of a gap for me. jc should be winning this by a landslide, y'all hear me? anyways. starting with a class act, like the clown i am->

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a few links ( because i'm chengxian trash, as always and i'd love if poll-guy could copy paste them on the og post): one, two, three, four (gif), five, six, seven (gif), eight (thoughts on different wavelengths), the absolute circles of them saving each other, the fucking golden core reveal scene. golden scene reveal part 2, jiang cheng will always forgive wei wuxian

to start with. jiang cheng is literally the picture of "i knew from the moment i met you that i'd spend a lifetime forgiving you".

the earliest dynamic of jiang cheng and wei wuxian is jiang cheng giving away his dogs (the only gift his father has ever given him, btw) because wei wuxian is scared of the dogs. tis only the start of it.

his father very obviously prefers his shixiong over him, his mother berates him for not being as good as wei wuxian and tells him his inheritance is in danger, and his sister (in my opinion) has more care for him (visibly. maybe jiang yanli doesn't show it because jc is an emotionally complicated purple grape, maybe because jc doesn't need it, or wei wuxian is traumatised but that's my opinion). but still. still. Jiang Cheng loves Wei Wuxian. so much. jealousy is like. the most tame response i can think of. and jiang cheng is proud of wei wuxian, okay? he'd believe his big brother if he'd said anything. want proof? well, here you go-> link

to paraphrase the link:

Jiang Cheng had just lost his family, his home, and his very golden core, and his older brother - his brilliant older brother who could fix anything, who could sneak wine into Cloud Recesses and defeat an ancient turtle nearly-god and make Jiang Cheng share a smile when Jiang Cheng’s mother was disappointed and furious at both of them - His big brother smiled and said, “I can fix this.”And Jiang Cheng believed him then, and believed him three months later when Wei Wuxian crawled out of the Burial Mounds (just the second miracle in three months), and believed him every day of the next seventeen(?) years until the pieces were shoved into place for him to see.

also. the circle these two go in protecting each other. (gif set by @sandushengshou), the 'if one of us is to die, then, i beg, let it be me' that they both do for one another in a seemingly neverending loop of sacrifice. via this post a la my lovely @backtoyunmeng

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jiang cheng is a cannonically ruined woman archetype, justified via the countless posts you'll get in the top posts of jiang cheng tag. he keeps chenqing, wwx's flute in perfect condition even when he hates wei wuxian, even when wwx, if only indirectly, has a part in jiang yanli's murder and oof okay someone pointed out to him that he's known to have killed wei wuxian and he almost cries. he absolutely believes, with his whole heart, that wei wuxian lives even when the world is sure he doesnt. and it always read to me like, i'd know if he was dead. he's a part of my soul, so i'd know if he was dead. he can't be dead.

this is getting too long, so, to sum up, some absolute poetry by @jiangchengsjawline

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#JC On The Other Hand Has His Entire Life Shaped By His Shixiong And Ended Up Cast As The Ruined Woman By The End

#jiang cheng though. wasn't able to fuck his shixiong but his shixiong definitely fucked with him

#hello?? the answer is Jiang cheng pls#he's the shixiongfucker or all shixiong fucker you wish you could be as pathetically in love with your shixiong as he is#chengxian

#i do not go here (chengxian) but the propaganda is incredibly correct they are insane abt each other#also sorry jiang cheng ik you're suffering but they are so funny to me#neway VOTE JIANG CHENG FOR CLEAR SKIN

#look I rarely go here#(here being chengxian)#but by GOD their lvoe compels me#they’re tragic and doomed and they love each other without knowing how to say it in words the other would understand#or in words at all because communication??? we don’t know her???

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he didn't even think about sacrificing himself, and consequently his entire bloodline, his sect, pretty much everything that depends on him for his shixiong??????????

is this not convincing->

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#had to vote jc though i have more feelings about chengxian#i think jc should have a huge gege kink

#like. jiang cheng should win the entire tournament hands down period

#jiang cheng#is the only correct answer in my gay little brain#i’m sure everyone else’s shixiong fuckers are great too#but jiang cheng is MY favorite#tumblr polls#mdzs#if chengxian fucked in canon it would make everything about their situation at least 65% less complicated you can’t change my mind

[moki-dokie]

The Second Sunday

alright yall wanted to read about my #1 himbo mikey, i shall deliver it to you. in pieces. every sunday. bc that's the theme lmao

relevant warnings i can think of: religion (catholicism), light sexual activities (mostly implied), mentions of prison system violence, light homophobia, criminal activity, alcohol and drug use

part 1 under the cut:

It was Sunday.

Specifically, it was the second Sunday of the month. More specifically, it was the second Sunday of March. For one Mikey O’Meara, who lay in his bed of silken multi-colored animal print, squinting at his phone, it being the second Sunday of March meant a few things - all of which he struggled to bring to the forefront of his half-asleep mind.

The first thing was that Sundays were for family. Always had been and always would be. There had been only one exception to this for Mikey, a dark five-year period in which he’d been behind bars in the country’s second-worst prison after his car-jacking crew was ratted out during a heist, and he was figuratively and almost literally thrown under the bus during the snitch’s getaway. He didn’t enjoy thinking about that time, though. What he thought about instead was Mammy O’Meara’s roast that he’d be gorging himself on later in the evening. No one made a better roast in his humble opinion - but then that was rather typical for a son to think of his mother’s cooking. It had to be the best for him to have never tired of it in all thirty-something years of his life, every single Sunday. Except for those awful five years. Her roast was so good that it could bring the entire flock of O’Meara siblings together every Sunday - and sometimes it even lured Aunt Aileen and his cousins out from their haunts. Mikey wondered, while rubbing crusty sleep from his eyes, if this would be one of those Sundays.

The second thing was that the second Sunday of the month was the designated day for the whole family to attend Mass. These Sundays were serious business. Mikey couldn’t remember when the rule started, or how it even came to be that it was something they all agreed unanimously on, but it existed and the lot of them followed it, well, religiously. The rule was this: so long as they were in the country, alive, and not incarcerated (this amendment was thanks to Mikey), then they would always find a way to come home to Sligo, meet at the cathedral, and then sit together for an hour or more and actually behave. While the weekly Sunday roast at Mammy’s was optional, the monthly Sunday Mass was not. There wasn’t any sort of punishment for not attending, aside from some very serious glares the next time they met up, but they all treated it as if there was. Mikey tiredly sifted through memories of the last month, trying to remember where he’d put his rosary. Probably, he thought as he sighed and pushed himself up to sit. The same place I always put it. Probably.

The third and final thing was that the second Sunday of March meant it was going to be wet and cold - not that wet and cold were particularly uncommon for early spring in Ireland. Still, Mikey wasn’t a fan. He would rather hibernate until May when the days were growing long, warm, and sunny. The second Sunday in May, Mikey wouldn’t have to drag himself out of bed. Well, maybe. That heavily depended on whether Cole would be spending the second Saturday in May with him, and then it would further depend on if they stayed up until the wee hours of the morning partying, drinking, doing drugs, having marathon sex, or all of the above.

Mikey looked at the space beside him in the bed and his hazel eyes crinkled softly at the edges as he smiled. The only part of Cole that was visible was the top of his head and its messy blonde spikes going every which way. The rest of him was tucked and snuggled deep into the blankets. Mikey lay back down, turned onto his side, and folded himself against Cole’s warm back. The skin-on-skin contact was immediately gratifying. If there was ever a temptation in this world to keep him from attending second Sunday Mass, it was this perfect, beautiful, wondrous specimen of a man. Mikey kissed the back of his head and slipped a hand onto his side, slowly sliding it down to his hip. He could tell by the change in Cole’s breathing that he was awake, if just barely.

“Hey,” Mikey murmured into his hair. Cole responded with a grunt. “Church day. Ya comin’ with?”

This time, Cole gave him actual words, albeit sleep-slurred. “Hhhhn… fckoff..”

Mikey grinned against the back of his head and squeezed his hip gently. “Fair ‘nough.”

Cole never joined him for Mass, and Mikey didn’t expect him to. Regardless, he asked every time - if he was there instead of his husband’s bed. And if his husband was there, too, Mikey would extend the offer to him as well. Ed usually laughed at him when he did, but Mikey didn’t mind. He wasn’t exactly sold on the Catholicism thing himself, nor were a couple of the other siblings, but it was such a ritual amongst them that faith didn’t really matter. Anyway, he knew Ed had no love for the religion that ruined his homeland, and just like Cole, he never expected him to come.

Mikey planted a kiss against Cole’s shoulder next and let his hand start to wander away from his hip, in and down his thigh. The deeper inhale Cole took gave Mikey all the answer he needed to the silent question he was asking, but he liked to ask aloud anyway. Mainly because mornings were just about the only time when Cole had all of his metaphorical spikes retracted and he became a soft, pliant thing. Completely opposite of his norm.

“Wanna sin with me real quick, then?” Mikey softly crooned the question and rolled his hips against him. If Cole hadn’t noticed the stiff morning wood before, he definitely would then. In response, Cole let out a soft, feeble whimper, colored by his sleepy state. Slowly, he untucked himself a little, enough to partially twist at the waist and reach his arm back, hooking it around Mikey’s neck. Notably, he kept his face turned down toward the pillow as much as possible. A likely attempt to hide the lovely pink blush that was probably already spreading across his face, Mikey thought. He leaned over a little more, peppered kisses against his neck and the side of his jaw, and nuzzled his scratchy beard against the ticklish spots as he went. 

“Gonna have to speak up,” Mikey purred against his ear. Cole pulled against him with his hooked arm, like he was trying to tug him across his body to come lie in front of him. He made another muffled sound into the pillow - a whiny note of complaint that clearly had the tone of a secretive, bashful smile. Mikey persisted, nibbling his earlobe and tugging it gently with his teeth. “Say it — for me.”

“Yes,” Cole replied almost immediately, moving his head enough to uncover part of his mouth. “I want you. Please…” It was whined so prettily that Mikey had to vent a groan himself, but then didn’t waste another moment.

As it often happened with them, the quickie turned into a longie and now Mikey was running late. He hurled himself through what barely qualified as a shower, fingered a bit of product through the longer parts of his dark brown hair just to tame the curls - or attempt to, anyway. The humidity would have something to say about that. He chose a nice pair of black jeans that didn’t have any rips or patches, a black belt, and a white button-down covered in black, sketchy-styled birds and flowers. The outfit was finished by a pair of zebra-print Converse high tops. 

Mikey adorned his fingers in a variety of chunky, silvery rings that looked more expensive than what they actually were, and then quickly inserted mismatched earrings into each lobe - three each. Three black studs, two small hoops in silver and gold, and the final one, a silver skull with tiny rhinestones for eyes. His last piece of bling was the thin metal hoop piercing through his right nostril.

He checked himself in the mirror of the brightly lit, teal-tiled bathroom. Mikey did not look like he was going to Sunday Mass. He didn’t even look like the kind of guy who would step near a church. With every inch of skin from his neck down to his hips covered in an eclectic menagerie of tattoos, the piercings, his right cheek darkened and purpled with a fading bruise, and the classic hooded bedroom eyes of a Celt, Mikey looked much more like the kind of guy that would make every father frown disapprovingly, make every boyfriend feel suddenly insecure, and would quite probably seduce someone’s mother.

The thing was, it was all true.

It just so happened to also be true that he was going to Sunday Mass.

Mikey started a pot of coffee for whenever Cole decided to finally get up, threaded himself into his leather jacket, snatched his keys from the table beside the door, and hurried down the metal stairs which led to the auto garage - his own business. Made things easy and affordable to live and work out of the same building. 

Nessa, his custom-built motorcycle, waited for him in the empty bay like the beautiful, fearsome steed that she was. Technically, she was a chopper, but she had the muscular bulk of a cruiser. Realistic flames were painted against black along her fenders and tank and practically every other piece of exposed metal was highly polished chrome. Mikey grabbed his helmet from the seat and shoved it onto his head, shoved his key into the ignition and flipped it to the ON position, then smacked the button to open the garage bay door. The bike roared to life with a single, forceful kickstart, and growled as he rolled her out into the driveway. It was indeed cold and wet, and Mikey sighed out his heavy disappointment. From within his jacket pocket, he pushed a remote button and the garage door noisily clanged its way closed. As he thought, his rosary was also bunched up in that same pocket. He never really took it out except on Sundays, so he wasn't sure why he always worried about misplacing it.

“C’mon, babygirl. Let’s go repent for our sins and shite.” Mikey gave the tank a fond pat like one might have done to a horse they were riding, flipped down the visor of his helmet, and took off snarling down the dreary Sligo streets.