#but they are kind of almost the same height and let me check their weights actually

[dirt-str1der]

If majima just calmly stands behind saejima he would be completely obscured from view , have you guys ever thought of that ?

[sirfrogsworth]

Mounjaro's Revenge: The Inevitable Adventures of Froggie, Chapter Unknown

I keep saying I can't leave the house without having some kind of adventure. And I really thought I was going to have a quick, uneventful doctor's visit with my monthly checkup this past Wednesday. I'd go in, they'd check the box Medicare requires every month, and I'd come straight home.

But adventure seeks me out. I can't seem to escape its grasp. And, yes, sometimes I like having adventures. They give me something to write about. And sometimes they are fun memories. But sometimes adventures just make me tired. And not all adventures are positive.

For the past 3 weeks I have been on the second dosage amount of Mounjaro. Unlike the Ozempic, I have had a few issues with side effects. Roughly 48 hours after my injection, I get sick to my stomach and feel pukey. It lasts for about two hours. I either vomit and lose the urge or I hold it in and it fades. I am then compelled to take a nap.

Considering the weight loss and glucose control, getting sick for an hour or two per week isn't a huge deal. There is a good chance I will get used to the medication as time goes on, but even if I don't, I am okay with this consequence.

My injection day was Tuesday, and based on past experience, I figured I'd have until Thursday morning before I got sick. The past 2 episodes happened at almost identical times, so I figured Wednesday wouldn't be a problem.

But right before my doctor's appointment I started feeling extremely... rough.

Optimistic for no good reason, I was hopeful I could get through the appointment before the urge to vomit arrived.

I get to the office and there are 3 patients ahead of me. This was not a good sign. My doctor tends to overbook and I was probably going to have a bit of a wait. I arrived in the middle of a lively conversation about where to get a good steak in St. Louis. I'm used to waiting rooms being full of quiet and bored people staring at their phones so when I opened the door it felt like the conversation smacked me in the face.

The cast of characters were as follows...

There was an older black man who had the spirit of a kindly grandpa. He seemed nice and wise and was enjoying the steak conversation. Let's call him, Old Guy.

There was an older white fellow who was anxious about the wait time due to having another appointment soon. He was on hold with the other doctor's office trying to delay his appointment time. He was only mildly interested in steak due to that distraction. I already used Old Guy, so... Anxious Guy.

And then there was the steak expert who was leading the conversation. Actually, leading is not strong enough. He was *dominating* the conversation. As I sat down and his visage entered my field of view, I was a bit taken aback.

Do you know how in Star Trek everyone has a mirror universe doppelganger who may look the same, but they usually have personality traits that are reversed?

They are often identified by arch overacting or a change in facial hair.

The steak expert was my mirror universe counterpart. He was of similar age, height, and weight. Same color hair and eyes. He even wore similar clothing.

But he had a goatee instead of a beard. *gasp*

And he wore... sandals. *double gasp*

He had clearly been in a recent transporter mishap.

I mean, I could *never* wear sandals. The world is not ready to handle my nude foot and I find very few sandals have the load-bearing capacity necessary for people my size. You are asking for foot pain if you are over 300 pounds and wearing sandals.

Mirror Froggie was very outgoing and personable, but he had trouble filtering what he said and was often obliviously rude. He clearly thought himself to be hilarious but struggled to make even kindly Old Guy chuckle.

Old Guy said, "I think Longhorn makes a decent steak for the money."

And then Mirror Me's unfiltered response... "Longhorn is shit. You shouldn't eat there. You are wasting your money on shit steak."

"I don't know, I've always enjoyed..."

"I'm telling you, friend, it is shit steak. End of story."

You could tell that made Old Guy feel bad for suggesting what he liked. But he brushed it off and asked for a better suggestion. Mirror Froggie confidently told him of a restaurant called "Sam's" that had "the best steak in town."

Old Guy proceeded to ask Siri to look up Sam's and it took a few tries. He reminded me of my dad fighting with the iPhone and repeating things over and over with increasing volume. I think Old Guy wasn't specific enough as he got the wholesale club on the first few attempts. Finally he said, "SAMMM'S STEAKHOUSSSSE" and found success. Old Guy saw the reviews and some of them were... not great.

But Mirror Froggie was like, "You can't read reviews. They're all liars." And I was questioning why people would take the time to lie about a small St. Louis steakhouse, but whatever. He then said it was because the restaurant was in disrepair and needed new plumbing, but that's why they could sell such amazing steak at reasonable prices.

Theories are less logical in the Mirror Universe. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anxious Guy got off his phone call and cursed into the void. He missed his other appointment. He interjected with, "Is that Sam's place expensive?" And that sent Mirror Froggie into a long diatribe about the price of meat at different places and his annoyance at steak-related inflation. Soon after, Anxious Guy finally got in to see the doctor. Old Guy was keeping Mirror Froggie busy with conversation, so I just closed my eyes and rested as they discussed the price of oversized shrimp "as big as your fist". I guess they ran out of things to say about steak.

As they were talking I started to get a spidey-sense about Mirror Froggie.

He *needed* conversation.

He *needed* distraction.

His boredom abhors a vacuum.

Whenever there was a lull or silent moment, I could see him getting very antsy. And if Old Guy got called in before Mirror Froggie... I was going to have a problem.

I was feeling sicker by the moment and did not have the bandwidth to help some stranger with his inability to accept boredom.

And... Old Guy was next.

Because, of course he was.

I feel like sitting there with my eyes closed and also not having said a word the entire time was a pretty decent social cue that I was not interested in talking. But Mirror Me decided to poke that notion with a stick in order to find a way in.

He speaks barely above a whisper, "I wish I could sleep in a public waiting room. Not sure how you do that."

"Yeah, I'm not feeling well. Nothing contagious, just very tired."

"Well, if you're sick, I guess you're in the right place, am I right? *long pause* Cuz we're next to a hospital. *short pause* Right?"

Oh great, he's a joke explainer.

Mirror Froggie did not care about my desire to sit in peace while I waited. His foot was anxiously a-tappin' and he was vibrating with energy that needed someplace to go. He tried standing up and walking in circles. And I guess because my eyes were shut he decided to narrate his walking and stretching to keep me informed. That satisfied him for roughly 20 seconds. He sat back down and was clearly struggling to be alone with his own thoughts.

"Hey, friend."

I open my eyes slowly.

"Do you see that magazine next to you? Would you mind handing that to me?"

I thought, "This is good. He's seeking out an alternate source of stimulation. He can read the magazine and I can rest until my turn."

Seriously, brain... where is this optimism coming from? I've been a cynical misanthrope for like 4 years now.

He flips through a few pages. "Look at this. It's got Oprah on the cover. It's got to be good, right? They don't put Oprah on the cover unless it is good, ya know? Though she doesn't look right after losing all that weight. You know what I mean, friend?"

Well, shit.

I didn't give him a distraction, I gave him a conversation starter. Still, I kept my eyes closed in the hopes he would give up.

"Hey, friend."

Crap.

"You want to hear a joke?"

I open my eyes. I'm not getting out of this.

"Sure." as unenthusiastically as I can manage.

He proceeds to tell three jokes all strung together. All of them terrible and none of them coherent enough for me to remember. I gave him complimentary singular chuckles even though two of the punchlines didn't make sense. I think one was about accidentally eating cat food.

"Hey, friend... how'd you like my jokes?"

I jokingly replied back, "Well, you said *a* joke and that was *three* jokes. That wasn't what I agreed to."

He chuckles and I close my eyes again.

"Hey, friend."

Jesus Christ, would someone jingle their keys for this dude?

"Do you want to hear a 'locker room' joke?"

Oh fuck me.

"I... guess?"

There was no way out of this aside from unpleasant confrontation and my energy calculation of that was much higher than just suffering through a dirty joke.

Here it is, as best as I can remember...

"So there is a pirate ship. And the captain has a beautiful daughter who has come aboard. He tells her that the crew hasn't seen a woman in a long time and they aren't safe to be around, so she should keep a razor blade 'down there.' After the voyage he assembles all of his men and instructs them to pull down their pants. Every one of them has had their dick cut off... except for one. The captain goes up to the only one with their dick intact and says, 'Thank you for not deflowering my only daughter. You should be commended for your restraint. And as a reward, I will make you my first mate.'"

I literally cannot type the punchline because it was an unintelligible noise. Basically, Mirror Froggie imitated someone without a tongue trying to speak.

Yeah. That happened.

I could not hide my disdain for this joke and I was feeling too awful to muster up any kind of response. He seemed confused by the absence of laughter from his wonderful rapey body mutilation joke.

"You get it, friend? He lost his tongue because he ate her pussy."

Yes, explaining the joke always helps... friend.

In whatever the opposite of the nick of time is, moments after this stranger said "ate her pussy"... the nurse calls Mirror Froggie in for his appointment.

I would feel relieved, but the Mounjaro side effects were getting worse and the urge to lose the remaining nutritional value from last night's dinner was increasing by the moment. I was next in line, so I was hoping Mirror Froggie didn't take up too much of the doctor's time with horrible "locker room" jokes and dubious steakhouse suggestions.

Roughly 5 minutes later the nurse calls me in to get my vitals. She weighs me and I am down another 3 pounds. That reminded me of why I was suffering this tummy tantrum. My blood pressure was perfect but my pulse was quite high. I was very anxious holding in my stomach contents and I tried to explain, but she asked me to try and relax to lower my heart rate. We compromised when I got it down to 107.

The nurse keeps forgetting that I don't really have a family anymore. And I know she has a lot of patients in and out and they probably all blend together. But she always ends up asking me questions that require me to remind her my parents are dead.

"Did your mom put up the Christmas tree yet?"

I went with, "No tree this year. Too much work."

"Aw, that's too bad. I actually got mine up early this year. You gotta put up a tree for Christmas."

Thankfully her job was done at this point and she abruptly ended the conversation.

Next up, the pee guy.

He has never actually told me what his name is so that is just what I call him in my head.

Every month I have to sacrifice my urine to the gods of Medicare so they know I am taking my meds and not selling them on the mean streets of Spanish Lake. And the pee guy always comes in to collect my sample. The little cup is kept in a white paper bag for discretion. He used to just give you a clear ziplock, and that was a little embarrassing, as everyone in the waiting room could see your pee. I definitely prefer the new white paper bag system.

It could be my lunch or some cookies or a bunch of peanuts.

Who is to know?

The pee guy is a bit of a talker as well. But the nice thing about his conversational style is that you can't get in a word edgewise. If he asks you a question, he'll even answer it for you. This requires very little effort on my part.

"Hey there, Mr. Benjermin!"

(I have noticed Ben-jer-min is a common pronunciation among Black folks in the area. Not sure if that is just a St. Louis thing or not. Perhaps I have a dialectologist follower who knows.)

I wave hello.

"How's it going, Mr. Benjermin!? Good? Good. Just gotta get your sample. Still taking the same meds? (I nod yes.) Okay, just need you to sign here. New Year's is coming up. Gotta be careful not to party too hard. You'll be regretting that. Though you don't look like a drinker to me. (I nod no.) Yeah, you're a good one. You keep it clean. Okay then, Mr. Benjermin. You're all set. Here is your new sample cup for next time."

He replaces my white paper bag with a new white paper bag and leaves the room without me saying a word. And I'm just realizing he asks me if I am a drinker quite a lot. He must sense my teetotaler spirit or something because he always assumes (correctly) that I don't drink. He's just really concerned about me partying too hard.

Finally the doctor comes in.

My doctor is kind, compassionate, and competent. The almost 3 Cs. But he's got a touch of what I call "Boomer-itis." He's on the progressive side of most things but there are a few ingrained sensibilities from that generation he didn't escape. It's mostly harmless. Though he said something sexist in front of a nurse practitioner student during my last visit that made her roll her eyes behind him.

He greets me and I tell him I'm not feeling well from the Mounjaro and that I am still recovering from my trip to Florida. He tells me that a lot of people can get sick for days from these new drugs, so getting sick for an hour or two isn't so bad. I agree, though I really wish I had not gotten sick at the exact time of this appointment. I keep eyeballing the trash can in the corner just in case things go sideways in my tummy.

He asks about my trip to Florida and I predicted that—as I already had photos ready to go on my phone. I scroll through them, showing off amazing cityscapes and mountainous clouds and an orange sunset over a lake—hoping to impress him with my photography skills to no avail. And then he sees Katrina. Now, I am not blind to her attractiveness, but I do sometimes forget how people respond when they see her next to me.

"Oh, wow. She's beautiful!" he exclaims.

I almost felt flattered on her behalf. But then his Boomer-itis starts to kick in. And he repeats, "Yeah, she's *really* beautiful. Just a friend, you said?" His facial expression and tone of voice are like, "You poor thing, you have been friendzone'd." And probably a touch of, "She's out of your league, buddy." I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it is this familiar look of pity and worry. This is usually followed up with a probing question trying to figure out what our "deal" is. Why is it so odd to that generation that a man and woman can earnestly be just friends and perfectly content with that arrangement?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to just say, "She's gay" and that she isn't "out of my league" as she plays an entirely different sport. (Competitive Subaru Ownership?) But my friendship with Katrina is not some consolation prize due to her queerness. I shouldn't have to explain or justify why I'm "just friends" or why I'm not "being led on."

In a worried tone, "So, umm, how'd you two meet?"

There it is.

"She is an artist. I posted some of her work on my website and it was very popular and helped people find her work. She messaged me to say thank you and we were instant friends. 10 years later she's my best friend and very much like family."

Thankfully his pity face evaporated and he finally saw how long-lasting and meaningful this friendship was. But it is a weirdly common obstacle I have noticed whenever people see a fat guy has a conventionally attractive friend.

Friends are great. Friends have been more supportive and beneficial to me than any romantic entanglement I've ever had.

All of my friends are hot and queer and that's awesome.

Note to self: Put that on a t-shirt.

Knowing how difficult it was, he congratulated me on surviving the trip and we wrapped up our appointment quickly. All I have left to do is check in with his assistant, get my prescriptions sent in, and make my next appointment. I can see the finish line, but my tummy is rumbling and I am making contingency plans for the Great Upchuck of 2023™. I'm clocking trashcans with plastic liners. I'm trying to remember where the nearest restroom is. And then I look down at the little white paper bag containing my urine sample cup and think, "Last resort."

Trinica (the competence ninja and my favorite person in the office) is processing my meds and searching the calendar for next month's visit. Shelly is keeping quiet and working on her computer. I start pacing back and forth. I'm not sure what I think that will do, but I think desperation is taking over at this point.

Shelly sees me and asks, "How's that whole disability situation going for you?" She is acting like my best friend now after cursing at me on the phone. I have a feeling she had an unpleasant conversation with my doctor after that episode because she isn't this sweet and nice to anyone.

I give her the update, "Everything is submitted. My lawyer is happy with all of the records we were able to find. It's just a waiting game now. It could be a couple of months but if I have to see a judge it could be over a year."

She commiserates with me about how slow the process can be.

Then, out of fucking nowhere, Mirror Froggie reappears in the little sliding reception window like a jumpscare in a horror movie.

Are you fucking kidding me with this guy?

"Hey Trinica, do you have a business card for the doctor? I want to recommend him to Doug."

Who the fuck is Doug? Are we supposed to know Doug? Is Doug the tongueless pussy-eating pirate who needs medical attention?

Trinica looks in her desk and is unable to find a spare card. So she stops processing my stuff and starts hunting around the office. She has a bad leg so she is slowly limping while searching every desk. I have never wanted to strangle anyone before, but my doppeldouche was really pushing his luck.

At this point I am just staring at the little trash can in the blood-draw room. I can feel the scrambled eggs reversing course through my digestive system.

Trinica finds a fucking card for fucking Doug and fucking Mirror Froggie finally fucks off to bother people that are not me.

Trinica gets me all sorted, I wish everyone a Merry Christmas, and make to the car.

I sit in the driver's seat, and with that unearned optimism, say to myself, "I made it."

For all of you who are squeamish about bodily fluids, you can just pretend this is where the story ends. Everything was fine. I made it home and was happy and comfortable and nothing gross happened. The nausea faded away and I lived happily ever after.

The End.

Thank you for reading this and have a lovely day.

Just scroll on by to the next post!

.

.

.

Okay, so you all probably thought I was foreshadowing a monumental barf.

But foreshadowing is typically subtle. You don't want to give away the ending. Of course this was going to end in barf. The barfing was inevitable. The barf was not what I was *actually* foreshadowing at all.

Did anyone catch what it was?

You know that discrete white paper bag?

The one that could be for peanuts or maybe a sammich and definitely not my urine sample cup?

The last resort?

Look, it's all I had.

I was not going to make it home. I was not going to make it back into the bathroom. No trash bins on the horizon. Nothing in my car.

At first it was just an itty bitty baby barf. A perfect amount to be contained in a flimsy paper bag. I felt a relief wash over me.

"That's all?" still being stupidly optimistic.

But then I made that noise.

That... pre-retch noise.

That one where your head kinda juts forward and your lips make a giant O shape and you make a very specific grunting sound. That sound where if another person hears it, they involuntarily make the same specific grunting sound.

This was when I had one of those movie moments when a character knows they are about to die and they can't do anything about it. And I made this exact face as I waited for the impending doom of a vomitous explosion.

The Great Upchuck of 2023™ commenced.

And it was... intense.

Everything inside my stomach transferred rapidly, furiously, projectile-ly into the bag of foreshadowing.

I mean, I'm pretty much convinced my stomach is a TARDIS because I do not remember ingesting that much food. This sheer volume of barf had to be coming from another dimensional plane.

I could see it staining the sides of the bag as it was clearly not meant for this. When I finished it was barely intact—soggy, if you will. When I was absolutely sure I had ralph'd to completion, my only option was to gently place it on the passenger's side floor (sans floor mats). All I needed was for it to last 5 more minutes on the trip home and then I could dispose of it and pretend this never happened.

Physically I felt such a relief. Sometimes there is this post-puke euphoria where you just feel, well... lighter. Unburdened with no longer having that feeling. Happy it is over with.

I place the key in the ignition and head for home. As I'm driving I can't help but stare at the bag. I can see it mocking me as it changes colors. The exterior was getting... damp. If this were someone else's vomit, I would have been vomiting because of it. Just... so gross.

I get home and park the car. I walk around to the passenger side to begin the extraction process. I pull the trash can close and I have to psych myself up to deal with this horrible hurling happenstance.

And this next part, well... it would be hilarious if it weren't so damned disgusting.

I stare at the bag.

The bag stares back at me.

I take a deep breath and approach the bag.

The bag grins at me.

I gingerly grasp the very tippy-top in an effort to not touch any of the offending material.

I slowly lift up the bag.

And the very instant it reaches just enough height to do the most damage...

The bottom falls out.

If the bag had broken just as I was picking it up, the carnage would have been minimal. Only a small area to clean up. But clearly this bag read the Wikipedia page on air burst nuclear weapons. It knew you get a much more devastating blast radius if you detonate from an elevated position.

A TARDIS worth of partially digested scrambled eggs just pour and splatter and spray onto the floor of my car. It looked like the bag was puking out my puke.

The bag is now dead but I can feel its ghost laughing at me.

I stand there frozen holding the top of this evil deceased white paper bag trying and failing to process what just happened.

I realize I have no idea what to do with this situation. This is something that would usually be followed with, "MOoooOOOoooommmmm! How do I clean up vomit?"

And she would say, "You'll never do it right. I'll clean it up."

And I'd pretend to be like, "Oh no, it's my mess. I could never let you do that for me."

And she'd insist and break out her endless supply of very specific cleaning potions and magics and soon it would be as if the vomit didn't even exist.

So, I guess my question is... do I have to get my car detailed now?

The Actual End.

[return-to-ravenbrooks]

Return to Ravenbrooks:

Biography

Entry 2

Name: Delroy [REDACTED]

Date of Birth: 1996

Gender: M

Current Address: 910 Friendly Court

Height: 5'7

Hair color: Black

Eye color: Dark brown

Key features: Wick Pompador, shaved eyebrow

Role: Bagger

Abilities: strength, endurance, charisma

Occupation: Stock boy

Status: Fair

Biography:

I wasn't close with Aaron.

It wasn't like I hated him or anything- at least, not unlike the way everyone seemed to after the accident. We just weren't the kind of people who jived well. He was quiet to himself and his goals, and I was to mine.

And like most of the town, I didn't care too much when he disappeared. We were all fed the same lie through town gossip. Aaron and his sister Mya were shipped upwards in the country. Minnesota I think. But I remember one thing, one person who made it loudly known that he didn't believe it.

"I- you guys don't understand! He left me a note and- there was blood on it! Mr. Peterson he-" his eyes were red, like he'd been crying recently, but his voice was livid. Scared, but livid.

I'd winced at his yelling. It was kind of a shame, really. Even for a new kid, he wasn't the largest social outcast I'd seen in town. And supposedly he could even snap back a decent insult occasionally. But with this- outburst. Standing on the outdoor picnic tables, yelling like a lunatic? All that was washed down the storm drains, just like everything else that got stranded in the streets of Ravenbrooks.

And now here I was, sitting in a cheap folding lawn chair in the middle of Trinity's dining room. It wasn't ideal, sure. But I didn't mind. We alternated which of us sat in it with every meeting.

Did it even matter that her dining room only had six chairs though, if she couldn't even manage to sit down? Her pacing was vigorous and thoughtful.

"...So?" I leaned back in the lawn chair, listening as it creaked softly. "People move in and out of town all the time, who cares?"

Almost immediately I could feel glares on me. Most obviously from Trinity, slightly from Enzo and Mari, and while his was the least obvious, I felt the most silent hatred for my question from Nick. No, not the question, the implication.

Trinity paused her steps finally and sighed "I dunno I just... I thought- I mean after they checked the basement and- I thought-"

"He was...gone gone." Enzo finished for her. Finishing sentences had become commonplace since the Inventor's Club became the Ravenbrooks Investigation Club. The things we'd seen together, heard. You understood what someone else wanted to say, but were too stunned or maybe even polite to let the words out.

"Well, not to burst your collective bubbles, but he's here." Finch yawned. I don't blame her, it was too early for this meeting. Too early to be looking at the photos Trinity took at most half an hour earlier. But an emergency meet-up was an emergency for a reason.

She set her hand on the table, not a slam or anything, more-so shifting her weight. "What should we do?"

"What do you mean? I mean... He's just building a house, right?" Ivan asked quietly.

"Over Peterson's house!" Nicky, resting both his arms on the table, straight, to balance his weight as the chair he sat in scooted back across the dining room floor, all in a voice too loud for this time of day. Finch leaned away slightly and he sank back into his chair sheepishly.

"Probably cheaper land-" Ivan excused. "Or- I dunno, maybe he's sentimental of the land. Either way, it's not like we can do anything, really." I nodded, leaning forward again to rest my elbows on the table.

"Yeah, what, we gonna sneak around his half-built house for 'clues'?" I laughed.

[fl3shm4id3n]

ₙᵤᵣₛₑ'ₛ ₒffᵢcₑ

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐮𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞.

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʀᴇᴄᴏᴍ! ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ Qᴜᴀʀɪᴛᴄʜ x ꜰᴇᴍ! ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ! ɴᴜʀꜱᴇ! ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Tw: Smut, making out, groping, leg gridding, Oral (m receiving), Mouth fucking, cum in glass? nudity, using spit as lube.

A/N: Based on this art, I hope ya'll like it.

Masterlist

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ɢᴏ ᴀɴʏ ꜰᴜʀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ɴꜱꜰᴡ/ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, ꜱᴋᴇᴅᴀᴅᴅʟᴇ, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡɪꜱʜ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇᴇᴅ, ᴛʜᴇɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ʀɪꜱᴋ.

Today is the mandatory check up. Ever since the now recoms had woken up, it was made mandatory that they get a check up once a month. Since this Project Phoenix was new and expensive, they wanted to make sure that the recoms were functioning alright. It was basically a physical, but instead of humans, it was avatars that needed to be checked up.

You were always stuck with checking up Walker and Zdinarsk's, they preferred to be checked by a female nurse instead of a male, they felt more comfortable that way. You had to check their blood pressure, breathing rate, pulse rate, temperature, height, and weight. Same with Head, eyes, ears, nose and throat. You also had to ask them questions like 'does something hurt?' 'has your head been hurting lightly?' 'why does your head hurt?' etc. Last thing that you needed was some kind of DNA sample. It could be whatever as long as it belong to them, this was to check to see if there was any kind of mutation or if they had caught some kind of sickness and so that it can be treated before hand. It only took about 30 minutes.

You had been done, you finished writing down the paper and was ready to be turned in. Then someone had come into your office, they had told you that if you could check up on one more recom and you were done. You had no issue, it was one more person, that was until you learned who it was. It was Miles Quaritch. The guy that you had been crushing on for the last few months that he had been alive. You were practically dying on the inside. But you had to remain professional. You had already agreed so you couldn't back down now.

Miles had walked into your office, you were getting your gloves on, noticing him. You took a deep breath and looked up at him. "Good afternoon Quaritch." You said politely. "Hello there sweetheart" he said with a cocky smirk, you felt yourself getting excited. You then gestures for him to sit down on the huge bench. You then moved close, getting on the small stool which allowed you to reach his height. "Let's get started then" you said.

Just like every other time, you checked, his hearing, eye sight, nose, ears, the usual stuff. The whole time you were close to just dying being this close to him. You could feel your legs shaking like Jell-O, it didn't help that you were feeling wet by the sigh of him. Every now and then you'd look into each other's eyes, which made you quickly look away, embarrassed. Luckily you were almost over.

"Okay, could you please remove your shirt?" you asked, making him tilt his head. "What for? Ya trying to see me shirtless sweetheart?" he asked, all cocky. 'Yes!' you thought. "It's so that I could check your spine, to see if it's fine." You said, Miles only chuckled. "Calm down, I'm just teasing" he said, removing his shirt, then he stood up from the bench. Then he bent down to touch his toes. You looked at his back, seen that his spine was alright, pretty straight. Besides looking at his spine, you couldn't help but look at his huge strong back. You felt your face heat up.

Miles then turned his head over, seen you staring at his back more. "Like what you see?" he teased, making you snap out of it. "I was just looking to make sure that everything is alright!" you blurted out, embarrassed that he caught you staring. You then moved over to where your clipboard was and wrote down his results. He then went back to sitting on the bench. Still shirtless. "Alright, everything is good, I just need a DNA sample and we're done." You said.

"Is that all?" Miles asked. You nodded. "What kind of sample?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. "Anything. It could be hair, saliva, blood, anything as long as it's yours." You explained. "I got an idea" he said "what is it?" you asked curiously. Miles then spread his legs, revealing his hard cock, through his pants. "You didn't think I'd notice? Your scent got strong the moment I stepped in here." He said, making you feel hot all of a sudden, he knew and there was no way in hiding it now.

Miles smirked, seen the look on your face. "I liked how you were all up on me, touching." He said. "I was o-only doing me-" you were cut off by him. "Don't be shy now, it's okay." He said comfortingly, as a way to get you calm down and feel less embarrassed. He reached over, taking your hand and brought you up to him. You now standing on the little stool, face to face. "Got to admit it, you have been making me have all these feelings sweetheart." He said, coming close to you face. He leaned in and whispered into your ears. "Every time I see you, I just went to bend you over on a flat surface and fuck you until you can't walk." He admitted, making you feel even wetter then you already were.

Then felt his huge hands run up and down your body, feeling all of you. His hands went down your waist and stopped on your ass, giving it a small squeeze. You let out a small hum, as he then leaned over and kissed your small cheek, sweetly. "You enjoying yourself sweetheart?" he asked, while also letting out a low growl in your ear. "Y-Yes.." you admitted, he then got a hold of your small hand and brought it up to where his hard length was.

"Feel~" he commanded, without hesitation, you began to move your hand slowly up and down his hard length. This made him moan next to your ear. You then gave his cock a light squeeze, making him slightly jump by the feeling of you squeezing him. "Fuck sweetheart!~" he growled animalistic, grabbing your small face with his large hand and smashed your lips together. Proceeded to a heated make out session. The kiss was messy and sloppy, teeth, lots of tongue and force was used. It made you even more excited.

You continued to kiss him desperately, trying to get every taste of his huge mouth with your small tongue. He then pulled away from you, both trying to catch your breath from the kiss, but before you could go back into kissing him, you were stopped by Miles. You let out a small whine of annoyance. "Hold your horses sweetheart" he said, making you look at him, your child was still held by his hand. "I need your help with a little something~" he purred with a grin. You looked down, seen his erect cock was sprung out free, the sight of his veiny and blue, huge monster cock made your mouth water. He was huge.

"You like that don't you?" he asked teasingly. You could only nod, lost by words. "It ain't going to suck it self sweetheart~" he said, before you could get on your knees. He stopped you again. "Come on sweetheart, let me have a peak of you, it's only fair" he said with a smirk. Did he want you to get naked? You felt a bit self-conscious, but you went for it. You began to remove your nurse uniform. You started off by removing your shirt, then your pants, and lastly your undergarments. You stood completely nude.

"That's more like it" he said, then he got you to get on your knees, in front of him. His cock was right in front of your face. "This your first time or something?" he asked while looking down at you. "N-no, it's just... been a while" you admitted, making Miles chuckle. "It's alright, I don't mind teaching you again." He said, then he loved his leg under between your legs, having you press your wet pussy against his cloth covered leg. Having you let out a soft moan. He grabbed onto your chin again, he then spat on his hand and stroked that hand on his cock. "Open wide sweetheart~" he said, as soon as your mouth opened wide, he gently shoved his cock into your mouth.

You shut your eyes tightly, feeling his cock stretch out your mouth. You could taste both his spit and precum on your tongue. Miles groaned at the feeling of your tight throat around his cock. You stayed still, feeling your eyes water and yourself gag by the feelin of his tip hitting the back of your throat. "Just breath through your nose" he said while getting a fist full of your hair. You taken a breath through your nose. "You alright?" he asked, seen that you were quiet. You nodded as you slowly open your eyes, seen how his yellow eyes were dilated widely and a purple blush on his face.

"Move your head up and down slowly, whenever you're ready sweet heart" he said, in a breathy tone. You took one final breath again and you began to move your head up and down. Miles gripped tightly onto your hair as you did so. You also couldn't help but grind onto his leg, slowly. You loved the feeling of your pussy rubbing onto his leg while his cock was in your mouth. Was this some kind of dream?

As you continued to move your head up and down his length, you began to make yourself drool, to lubricate his cock as you sucked onto him. "Fuck!~" Miles let out a loud moan, it echoed in the empty walls of the white room. He hasn't had this kind of pleasure in years, he'd often fuck onto his fist just thinking about you, but this time. It was real. He gripped onto your hair tightly and he pulled his saliva covered cock from your mouth, causing you to let out a small gasp and a cough. A string of saliva was connected to your lip and his twitching cock, you also had some drool running down your chin and naked chest. "You alright?" he asked, making you nod rapidly. "Yes!" you responded.

"Good, because we're not done yet" he said, without a warning, he shoved his cock back into your mouth. You couldn't help but gasp when he did so, then he proceeded to fuck onto your mouth, just like he'd fuck into his fist. You gripped tightly onto his pants while he continued to fuck your mouth. Every now and then you'd gag by the feeling of his tip hitting the back of her throat. You rolled your eyes back by the lovely feeling of his cock thrusting in your mouth. "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he asked all cocky as he watched your face change and also feeling how you'd press your wet coated pussy down on him.

Miles gripped onto your hair tightly, feeling his cock get wetter by your own saliva and he was really close to his release. "Fuck! You're my good girl, aren't you?" he growled while looking at you. Seen how your eyes continued to water and how more drool went down your chin, he also loved how you were chocking on his length. A few more thrusts then he finally had cummed in your mouth. You felt his salty white cum down your throat and some on your tongue. He then pulled away from your mouth, to get a good look at you.

He grabbed you by the chin and lifted it so that you can look at him. "Let me see, open that pretty mouth of your~" he purred, you followed orders and opened your mouth, showing him the remaining cum on your tongue. He then looked over and saw the small glass tube on the near by desk, he got an idea. With his long arms, he reached over and grabbed the tube, bringing it up to your parted lips. "Spit whatever's o your tongue in here" he ordered. You looked down, seen the tube close to your mouth, then you proceeded to spit out whatever cum that was mixed with your spit in the tube. "Good girl" he praised, leaning down to give your head a small kiss. Then he looked down at his leg, seen that you were still rubbing against him and he also felt the mess you had made on his pant leg. "Hm.. it's only fair that I return the favor, you were good to me after all" he said with a smirk, clearly he was done yet.

ₙₑₓₜ ₚₐᵣₜ

[moodymelanist]

like I said before, canon is a mere suggestion to me at this point, so let’s say this little snippet happens during the high lord meeting in ACOWAR.

@sjmcrackshipweek ❤️

And check out this amazing Nesseida fanart by @dustjacketmusings !!

Nesta had been lost in the view from her bedroom window when someone knocked at her door. Frowning, she looked away from the stunning backdrop before getting up to answer.

Whoever it was had knocked softly enough that she knew it wasn’t that overbearing brute or either of his brothers. Perhaps one of her sisters, then.

She was absolutely floored to see Cresseida standing at her door, looking stunning in a blue gown that clung to her curves. The princess’ silver curls were loose around her shoulders, a lovely contrast against her dark brown skin, and those brown eyes were focused on Nesta so intently that it was a wonder she didn’t fidget under their weight.

Instead of betraying her surprise, Nesta drew her shoulders up so she was standing at her full height. She looked down her nose at Cresseida even though the princess had an inch or two on her. “Yes?”

Cresseida merely smiled, her full lips turning up at the corners in a way that made Nesta wonder how much more beautiful she’d be with a true smile. “May I come in?”

Nesta didn’t argue and moved aside. She was far too exhausted to trade her usual barbs, and it was probably best to avoid antagonizing Summer even more than her dear sister already had. Cresseida moved gracefully past Nesta, smelling like the sea, and Nesta looked down the corridor to make sure no one was watching before she closed her door.

“May I ask what your purpose is?” Nesta said once she turned to face Cresseida. The princess was lounging in the same chair Nesta had been using to look out the window, and the glow from the sunset made her dark skin look radiant.

“I found your story inspiring,” Cresseida responded after a moment, turning to face Nesta instead of the window. The light made the jewels of her tiara shine so brightly it almost stung Nesta’s eyes, but she wasn’t complaining. It was quite the visual — she was quite the visual. “And Feyre never mentioned how lovely her sisters were. I found myself wanting to see you up close.”

“I’m not sure lovely is the word she would use.” The words slipped out before Nesta could stop them, and she cursed her sudden lack of control. Pretty women had always been her undoing.

Cresseida tilted her head in confusion, her eyes following Nesta as she sat on the edge of the bed. “And why would that be?”

“We’d be here all night,” Nesta eventually answered. She had no interest in laying out her faults for someone who didn’t know them, who had the chance to form their own opinion on the eldest Archeron.

“That certainly wouldn’t be a problem,” Cresseida replied, smiling in a way that reminded Nesta of a predator playing with her prey. Nesta had seen plenty of those smiles since her forced relocation to Velaris, but she hadn’t expected the hitch in her own breathing from seeing that kind of smile on the princess’ lips.

Nor had she expected to feel her heart thundering in her chest as Cresseida looked at her — really looked at her. Nesta met her stare directly, never one to back down from a challenge, no matter how badly she wanted to run and hide.

“Besides,” Cresseida said after a moment, apparently satisfied with what she’d found, “I doubt her reasoning is particularly sound considering her choice in husband.”

Nesta couldn’t help but snort. She certainly shouldn’t be gossiping about her sister’s relationships, but Mother above did it feel good to find someone who didn’t worship the ground Rhysand walked on.

“If she’s happy,” Nesta offered after a moment, but from the satisfied look on Cresseida’s face, they were both reading between the lines. Nesta waited until the amusement faded from her veins to continue. “Is that your true purpose, princess? To compliment me one moment and disparage my sister’s choices the next?”

“Primarily the former,” Cresseida said smoothly. “Unless you’re opposed?”

Nesta blinked away her surprise. No one had ever asked her that sort of question directly — at least not in the human lands. The closest someone ever came was when Cassian had asked if she’d ever laid with a male, and it had been too easy to deflect the question. He didn’t need to know just how many kisses she’d stolen from the stablehand’s daughter. Or how loudly her lady-in-waiting squealed with Nesta’s face between her thighs.

“No,” Nesta answered after a moment, her voice much bolder than she felt inside. When Cresseida shot her a pleased smile, Nesta thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. Part of her hoped the princess couldn’t hear it, but another part hoped she could. “I’m not opposed.”

“Lovely,” Cresseida replied, her voice soft. Nesta’s breath caught in her throat as Cresseida got up from the chair, her movements fluid and graceful, and sat on the bed.

“You should visit Adriata,” Cresseida said after she’d settled herself right next to Nesta. Nesta turned to look at the princess, almost mesmerized as Cresseida leaned back on her hands and tilted her head back ever so slightly. “After all this business with Hybern is done with.”

“I’m not sure it’s possible,” Nesta responded. She dared to press her thigh against Cresseida’s and was rewarded with another one of those knowing smiles. “Considering the Blood Rubies.”

“My cousin is… amenable.” Cresseida’s knowing smile shifted into a smirk as she studied Nesta, those brown eyes trailing over the small amount of skin Nesta had on display. “And so am I.”

“I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement,” Nesta murmured.

She wasn’t sure which of them moved first — perhaps it was her, desperate for a taste — but suddenly their lips were connected. Nesta gasped and Cresseida used that to her advantage, quickly sliding her tongue into Nesta’s mouth. Cresseida’s lips were soft and warm against Nesta’s, but her kisses were so demanding that Nesta could feel herself practically melting into a puddle under the other woman’s touch.

The next thing she knew, Nesta was on her back while Cresseida loomed over her, those chocolate brown eyes bright with desire. “Is this alright?”

“Yes,” Nesta breathed. She dug her hands into Cresseida’s dress and pulled the princess close enough to steal another kiss. “Yes.”

The next morning, Nesta found herself alone in her room. Cresseida’s side of the bed was long cold, but the scent of the sea remained, along with a lovely set of bejeweled hair combs. In the soft morning light, the diamonds and sapphires twinkled in a way that reminded Nesta of the princess.

She took her time bathing and washing her hair, and even longer with her usual braided coronet. The combs held her thick, golden brown locks with ease, and she wondered whether she’d be able to thank Cresseida for her generosity later that evening. One night with her was simply not enough.

Nesta was the first person to make it to the dining room, and she enjoyed that solitude for approximately five minutes before the rest of Night’s entourage began arriving. Azriel showed up first, selecting a seat across from her, and they ate in companionable silence until her least favorite of the Illyrians barged his way into the room.

“You smell like the ocean,” Cassian commented as he plopped down next to her. “Are there secret beaches no one’s told me about?”

Nesta stiffened and immediately forced herself to relax. He didn’t know, she told herself. He was just being an idiot as usual.

“I used a new soap,” she lied, shrugging nonchalantly. She wasn’t ashamed of what she’d done with Cresseida, not by a long shot, but she’d always been intensely private about her romantic endeavors. She didn’t need anyone asking questions about her preferences, especially not that oversized bat.

“Don’t mind Cassian,” Azriel said quietly, giving her a knowing smile from across the table. He’d seen right through her lie, but she knew the Spymaster wouldn’t confess her secrets. “He’s just upset he’s still banned from Summer.”

“It was one building,” Cassian replied, exasperated. “Can’t they let it go already?”

“Shame.” Nesta reached for some fresh strawberries and popped one into her mouth. She kept her eyes on Azriel as she added, “I think it’s my new favorite season.”

tag list: @iddragyouwithme | @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @nestaspegasus | @a-court-of-valkyries | @angelic-voice-1997 | @rowaelinismyotp | @live-the-fangirl-life | @sv0430 | @brieq | @positivewitch | @sayosdreams | @confusedfandomslut | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @vidalinav | @swankii-art-teacher | @heartless--aromantic | @that-little-red-head | @secretlovelybeauty | @hellasblessed | @starksravings | @dustjacketmusings | @katekatpattywack | @the-red-reading-hood | @claralady | @hellasblessed | @duskandstarlight | @arinbelle | @gwynberdara | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @houseofcalores | @imsointobooks | @silvernesta | @planet-faerie | @teagoddess99 | @champanheandluxxury | @catplayinvioline | @flora-shadowshine | @nerdperson524 | @story-scribbler | @vasudharaghavan | @dealfea | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @charming-butt-insane | @highqueenofelfhame | @julemmaes | @oversizedbats | @spoilersteph

[egoludes]

satisfaction guaranteed.

summary: your super soldiers hear there’s a new contender in the bedroom; they intend to learn all about it.

pairing: stucky x reader.

notes: ok, i’ll admit it - this is so outrageously self-indulgent and fully inspired by a recent, um, purchase. i was hoping to get it out in time for valentine’s day, but then work kicked my ass - so consider it a delayed love letter to y’all heh. my apologies in advance to the manufacturers of the sex toy featured here; please don’t sue me? borders from deathlyrph!

warnings: nsfw / 18+, threesome, sex toy, implied & light overstimulation

He doesn’t mean to listen in - scout’s honor.

There just isn’t much that Bucky’s super soldier hearing misses and the raving of some very giddy --- and very drunk --- Avengers is nowhere near that list. He’s actually pleased to hear the way you, Natasha, and Wanda are carrying on when he rounds the corner. Missions have been taking a toll lately, keeping everyone on the team on edge and up late. You, in particular, have been distant, putting on a facade that never quite reaches your eyes, and he and Steve have been on wit’s end trying to perk you up.

The ladies, it seems, have it all figured out.  You’re laughing freely for the first time in weeks, and Bucky’s grateful that no one (particularly Sam) can see the way the sound makes him utterly lovesick. His adoration keeps him still a few seconds longer, basking in how free you seem, but he doesn’t intend to stay much past that. In fact, he’s a half-step into leaving when he hears it:

“So, wait -- have you tried it yet? The Satisfyer?” 

Confusion brings him to a full stop. Satisfyer? 

That feeling only grows, knitting his eyebrows, when you’re the one to answer with an emphatic, and damn near dreamy “Yes.”

Bucky’s an intelligent man and the name alone is a pretty effective context clue. Still, he doesn’t really put it together until Wanda squeals and Nat (who he can see in his mind’s eye, clear as day, leaning into you with that cheeky smirk) pushes you for more.

“It’s kind of...overwhelming,” you continue, pausing to refill your glass, “but in the best way. Like in a ‘How did I ever masturbate before this’ kind of way. My knees literally buckled when I got up after. Can you believe that? Buckled! I was fuckin’ woozy! ” He can tell you’re animated just by the way your volume starts to rise and whatever you’re doing must be endearing because even Natasha is chuckling.

Bucky still loves it, don’t get him wrong. In fact, he adores you excited like this, especially after all the darkness lately. But, there’s something genuinely puzzling about so much excitement around a sex toy. He hadn’t even known you’d bought something new. When had you tried it? Where were he and Steve?

His thoughts start to swirl, intrigue and curiosity mounting in a wave that he pushes past with a step, then another, as he reminds himself that he has somewhere to be.

No chance he’ll be forgetting about this, though. 

Steve hears about it from Bucky. 

Secondhand stories can be tricky; full of exaggerations and misunderstanding. But, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t believe it. He just doesn’t comprehend the implications of it until he experiences it for himself. 

That happens on a Saturday afternoon. 

You’d been tense in training, taking hits you’ve dodged a thousand times and fumbling moves you’ve done twice that. A bad bout typically doesn’t do you in, but Steve can tell by the way your attacks grow more and more stilted, that you’re overextending just to make blows meet. 

It gets so bad that he breaks one of his few cardinal rules -- never pulling rank with you or Bucky outside of missions -- to get you out of the spar, and your frustration with it is as clear as the exhaustion that sags your limbs. You’re out the door before he can apologize, or explain.

An hour later, he’s showered and changed, seeking you out in your corner of the compound with peace offerings at the ready. This time, they come in the form of your favorite snack and a promise to spar with you himself the next time you’re scheduled - no holds barred. 

But, when you pull open the door at his knock, he’s surprised to see that he may not need them.

You’re completely...sated. The tension you’d had in your shoulders when you left the gym is nowhere to be found and in its place is a sheen of satisfaction. It’s all over you: in a dopey smile, lidded eyes, and the faint whiff of your cunt he gets when he leans into you.

In an instant, he puts two and two together, and Steve feels his body warm at the realization that you’ve just finished touching yourself. And not just that: it had been so good that your entire mood’s flipped and you’re beaming at him, no walls or reservations.

He makes his apology all the same, though, and your smile widens as you reach for him and the snack in a tease: “Better not back out on that fight, Captain.”

He grins back, pleased you’re feeling better, but making a mental note to speak to Bucky as soon as you let him go.

I think we need to check out this ‘Satisfyer’.

They ask you about it on Valentine’s Day.

You’re running on the high of a beautiful evening: dinner in DUMBO and drinks in Brooklyn Heights. The latter -- a couple cocktails for you, white wine for your boys -- finds you buzzing as you let them into your room back at the compound. You feel eyes on your hips from behind, heavy gazes that sear the curves, and you sway pointedly, smiling at the sharp breaths that follow. 

You know where the night is going ---- know the way a good date makes them handsy. So the attention is no surprise. Neither is the cool press of metal to your back and the kiss to that spot under your ear. “Bed, pretty girl,” Bucky drawls against your skin, intent pressing -- and growing -- against your hip as he settles against you.

Steve rounds you from the other side, not touching but so close you can feel the rise of heat from his body. You look up just in time to catch him watching you back, blue eyes darkening with each step into your bedroom.

Your dress is easy work, pooling at your ankles with a few good pulls, But, Steve and Bucky take their time with everything else. You’re in something special, after all --- pretty lace and dewey colors that deserve an extra look, an extra touch. They’re on you the moment it’s revealed to them, thumbing the fabric with murmured praise through the lips all over your skin. 

The daze it sets follows you all the way to the mattress where you lay back against Steve’s chest (still clothed, to your chagrin) with his arms settled around you. His hands end up bracing your thighs, naturally at first, then deliberately as Bucky starts to kiss trails up and over your calf. With the latest string of missions, you can’t remember the last time you had their mouths on you and the anticipation as Bucky’s creeps closer is almost crippling. Your body tenses with each point of contact, eyes lidding as they watch him rise, inch by tortuous inch. 

“Sweetheart.” Steve’s voice pulls you out of your focus with a rumble you can feel in your back. “We wanna try something new with you tonight.” You turn just enough to watch him, answering with a hum to urge him on. “Can you tell Buck,” he continues, dipping to run his nose along yours. You feel tiny when he bears down on you like this, and he can see the way it affects you just in the flutter of your lashes. “--where you keep your ‘Satisfyer’?”

What?

In a split second, you’re sobered up, no hint of the lust or buzz that’d been following you for most of the night. Bringing toys to bed isn’t new by any means, but they have never, ever referred to one by name like that. Nor requested it specifically. It’s so startling that you don’t know what to say for a moment, mind utterly blank until you feel Bucky’s hand tighten around your thigh to bring you back.  “You -- my what?”

“Satisfyer,” Steve echoes, hand resting on your tummy. From below, you can feel Bucky’s eyes burning into the side of your face, expectant. “Buck’s heard you mention it before, and we’d like to know what all the fuss is about. ---- If you’re willing, that is.”

You look back and forth between them, mouth gaping for a second before you swallow your shock down whole. Two super soldiers can be a lot to manage on their own -- adding a toy that’s knocked you on your ass a few times over now seems like a very dangerous game. But, you can feel Steve hardening against your back and can’t deny the slick that’s seeping through your panties at the thought alone. So you nod, lip pulled between your teeth, and direct Bucky to the left side of your bottom drawer. 

When he’s back between your legs, it’s with the rose gold toy in hand. The mere sight of it makes you clench; something he doesn’t miss when he’s that close to your core. “Someone’s excited,” Bucky muses, brow arching before his gaze returns to his hand. The Satisfyer is unlike any toy he’s ever seen, shaped more like some alien gadget than a vibrator, and no amount of Google sleuthing could’ve prepared him for what it feels like in person. The smoothness of it in his hand, the unique curves along his palm. You bite back a giggle at how intently he inspects it, turning it over this way and that to get used to its weight.

“Hmm.. that’s definitely different,” Steve chimes in, as focused on the toy as Bucky is. It isn’t hard to work out how it’s used from the design alone, but what they’re still itching to know is what it does. How it unravels you so well, until your knees buckle even. And it doesn’t take long for that anticipation to trump their curiosity and you’re brought back to the moment when Steve ducks his head to your shoulder, pressing kisses to the skin there as he smooths hands down your inner thighs. He draws his palms back and forth a few times until they suddenly still, and he’s holding your legs -- and you -- wide open. “How about we give it a go, pal?” 

Bucky says nothing in return, but he probably doesn’t have to. The toy clicking to life is enough, a rhythm that fills the room with anticipation. Your tummy tightens at the sound -- another reaction neither man misses -- and the tension stays put, coiled tight until the Satisfyer closes over your clit.

The first pulse knocks air out of you that you hadn’t realized you were holding. The ones that follow unfurl you, melting your anticipation in favor of a soft, thrumming pleasure that coats you head to toe. It’s odd, having someone else use it on you, but in a good way. The best way. 

You surrender to it, relaxing into Steve’s hold as Bucky holds you open with two fingers.  So far, that’s no different than normal --- you’re always this pliant for them, putty beneath their fingers once they get to work. But, tonight, they’re greedy. Tonight, they want more from you; want whatever this toy has been able to draw out in their absence.

Bucky kicks things up a notch, turning the pulse up two speeds. The change is subtle to them, clicks coming just a smidgen faster and louder. For you, it seems to make all the difference. Immediately, you react, back arching up from its place against Steve’s chest with a sound that makes the Captain purr behind you.

“Mm...must feel good,” he notes, a hand gliding along your tummy until he can palm your breast. “Can you tell us, sweetheart?” He punctuates the question with fingers around your nipple, tweaking lightly.

Your lips part, but no words follow; not at first. It’s like your body and mind are disconnected, static in the places where they usually go together. The fuzziness is welcome, but hard to speak through, and it’s all you can do just to whine when Steve gives your nipple an urgent pinch. Bucky joins in with a cool finger pressing at your cunt, the light whirring from his arm giving you something concrete enough to focus on. ‘S good,” you finally pant, twisting to tuck your head into Steve, “so good.”

Bucky huffs out a chuckle and your entire body goes tight; with his face so close, you can feel every breath. “That mean you’re gonna let us finish you up, just like this?”

It’s a rhetorical question --- has to be, the way he presses the toy tighter to your clit. Still, you answer with an eager nod, legs widening some as if to give him the go ahead. “Please, Buck, ‘m close already, it -- right there, I-I’ll--” Your pleas are pretty, a desperate melody, and they appease every base instinct Bucky has. He’d wanted to keep you on edge a little longer to explore the toy more, but he’s a sucker for his girl; always has been. You win him over without even trying. 

Steve isn’t far behind, cock leaking in his dress pants seeing you so desperate. He hasn’t gotten his hand on the toy yet, but even he seems to feel its effect. The hand that isn’t cupping your breast spreads over your tummy, delighting in the way the flesh underneath tightens and spreads. You’re certainly close --- he knows your body as well as you do. And the thought of it makes him hungry, makes him press teeth into the skin behind your ear as he urges you on: “Go on, honey -- make a mess for us.”

Your peak comes fast after that, punching you in the gut with its intensity. The first wave of orgasm runs right through you, leaving a tremble in its wake, and your hips twist instinctively to escape the toy. Bucky, however, isn’t so forgiving, metal curling around your hip in a vice. Ride it out, he seems to say with a dark, lidded glance from between your legs. 

You whimper in response, head tipping back against Steve’s chest as you fumble for purchase in the warmth of Bucky’s free hand. 

Something tells you this will be a long night. 

Forty minutes later, you can’t see straight.

Your first orgasm had been gradual, as tentative as the men watching this new toy work you. But, after that, it’s like a flip switches in Bucky and Steve, making them greedy for as many more as they can get.

The second one isn’t long after the first. Bucky turns the Satisfyer up to the highest setting, the other end of the spectrum that you hadn’t even gotten a chance to try on your own yet. The first contact lights fire through your sensitive body and you’re on the brink in just minutes.  Toes stretching and curling into the sheets by Bucky’s hips, you’re practically squirming with need and it only takes one good twist of the toy for you to crumble all over again. They give you a break after that, but most of it is spent kissing you too long for you to catch your breath.

You don’t mind that too much, though.

The third orgasm is Steve’s fault. Ever the strategist, he starts thinking through the ways they can play with frequency and angle to make you cum again. You don’t notice it in your foggy comedown, but he’s fished his phone out and flicked through to a page he’s looked over more times that he cares to admit. And when Bucky settles between your legs to get you going again, he finally speaks up. “Buck, I found this review online---” Both you and Bucky turn to him, curiosity in the way you gape, but he’s making a face back that’s loud and clear:  ‘do not ask’. “---that said they were able to cum in a couple minutes with this alone. Had some interestin’ suggestions about how, too.” He grins around a Brooklyn drawl, that handsome face stirring something in you when it looks so devious. “You think we can get our girl finished faster than that?”

They pull it off -- embarrassingly easily at that -- and it’s in the pale of that third climax that they finally, finally press inside you. 

Your cunt is soaked, supple and warm around Steve as he sits you down over his cock. After so much play, the stretch is nothing, a pleasant burn in the pit of your belly that makes your eyes flutter closed. 

“Tell us how you feel,” Steve asks for the second time that night, his voice strained around the effort to keep from fucking you. Even if you’re taking him well -- easier than ever before, in fact -- he’s cautious not to lose his head, no matter how much he wants to. 

No matter how much the urge to plow you into your mattress dizzies him.

Your eyes are still closed when you respond, tongue over your dry lips as you part them with a needy sound. “S-Still good…,” you sigh, mind swimming. You want to move, start to move in a mindless search for some friction. But, the rocking doesn’t last long, stuttering to a stop when you hear the toy click to life  and try to focus through the haze of your pleasure with eyes darting for answers.

You find them in the smug grin on Bucky’s face as he palms the Satisfyer in one hand and works his cock out of his pants with the other. “What,” he purrs, voice lilted in a taunt, “you didn’t think we were done with this yet, did you?”

Oh yeah --- this’ll definitely be a long night.

[han-shinsuke]

h a n d h e r o v e r

f e m a l e r e a d e r 🌹

m i n o r s k e e p o u t

[ tags, smut, nsfw, anal, foursome, themes ]

—•—

Without prior notice, he shows up in front of your dorm, dressed casually. You invite him inside but declined, telling you to come with him somewhere. You argue with him, insisting that you should change to something presentable but Bokuto seems to be in a rush so you have given up when he uses his puppy eyes. Inside his car, you keep checking your looks and it disappoints you. Unlike him, you look so ordinary. Well, you are someone insignificant. What’s the difference anyway?

“I’m gonna 𝒃𝒂𝒃𝒚 you later, Y/N,” huh? you shot him a confused look at the use of some endearment.

You laugh awkwardly, “what, Kou?” he is your best friend and your secret crush.

“You look like a kid in your clothes and considering your height, you really look like 𝒐𝒏𝒆.” you pout your lips and he bursts out laughing.

It’s his fault! He didn’t even let you fix yourself! You were running around the University’s oval when he calls. Now, who’s fault it is that he’s being accompanied by a lady in core 5 inch shorts in black and a plain hoodie?

“Shut up, Kou. You’re annoying!”

After driving for almost an hour, Bokuto parks his car in front of Sakusa’s house.

Wait. Sakusa’s house?! You grab onto the belt when Bokuto tries mounting off the safety strap.

“Wait, Kou! Why the fuck are we here?!” you panic. Sakusa, you, and Oikawa are both in an unstable relationship. Not romantically, okay! You are their damn victim! They’re not criminals, well closer to that! Those two are your bullies and they are friends with your best friend, Koutaro Bokuto!

He taps your temple and comforts you that everything will be fine, that you won’t be harmed while he’s around, “it’s Omi’s birthday. He invited us for lunch.”

You nod your head. There’s no point in arguing. You were already there. He has your sweating hand inside his palm when you both entered the house.

“Give me ten seconds, Kou.”

Sakusa’s house rule no. 1; leave your shoes outside but if you are his friends, go straight in.

You remove your sneakers and leave your white socks on. You have been there before and you almost familiarised yourself with his rules. Since he considers you as his enemy rather than his subject of bullying, you are not allowed to sit or touch anything inside his home so you remain standing near the stairs when Bokuto runs to Oikawa in the kitchen.

You give Sakusa a nod as he descends from the top landing. He smells clean and fruity tuitee and you couldn’t help but blush when you notice his stare goes down to your feet.

Your insides trembles from the intensity of his gaze and that makes you feel like running away or hide from his sight.

Your breathing halts when he kneels after removing his fur slippers. His warm hand grab your ankle then slide your left foot in his slipper, then your right foot.

He didn’t speak a word. He just pointed you to the kitchen. His footwear is too big for your small ones but you still manage to walk comfortably.

While helping in the food preparation, Sakusa and Oikawa are constantly bumping their muscular arms against your shoulders. They even teases you that you lack in the free access of healthy foods in the fridge in your own home that’s why you’re thin and small. You 𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕, okay?! They’re just huge and very athletic that developing muscles and all is no issue to them. And your case is different. Your height is 5'3", you weight right, meaning your body mass index is normal! Again, they are huge people and they look down on your kind. And these men prefers model-like body figures for women!

You let it all pass. You seem immune to all the teasings and soft pinches that those were no longer affecting you. Sakusa leads the way to his theater room, while you, Bokuto, and Oikawa are in charge of bringing all the foods in there.

There’s a long and wide white couch that looks like a king sized bed in the center and there’s also a big screen mounted on the wall. You settle on the lone chair in the viewing room, sit properly and try avoiding Sakusa’s intense gaze.

What? You did nothing to him!

The three men sits besides each other, Oikawa scrolls on the menu of which genre of movies to watch, Bokuto starts picking up some tarts and chews it. And then, there’s still him, Sakusa! Staring at you!

“Hand her over, Koutaro.” your face turn pale when Sakusa pulls his shirt off his body and leans on the couch.

You couldn’t find the will to speak. You stoned on your seat. Bokuto whistles, inching closer to you. He cups your face and whispers soothing words.

“Wh–what is happening here, Kou?” you sound nervous. Bokuto brings you closer to Sakusa. You grab onto your best friend’s arms. “Koutaro... ” a breathe of panic.

“You are his present to me, Y/N. You’re the desserts.” Sakusa pulls you down on his lap, he breathes closer to your hair. Something is growing in between his thighs. You look so scared. He gets even aroused.

“wanna rub my tongue on his pussy, Koutaro,” Oikawa moves closer, too, licking his lips.

“I’m... I’m not—” Oikawa stops you from talking, taking your chin in his hand. “You’re not what, Y/N?” he asks seductively.

“Kou–Kou... help me.” you hold onto his hand, giving him a scared look.

Sakusa tugs on your long hair before latching on your earlobe, “don’t worry, Y/N. Koutaro will help you. He will help you fuck yourself to sleep.”

And the talking ended there.

Oikawa snatches your face and slams his mouth on your opened ones, rolling out his tongue into you before brushing roughly his lips against your lips. Your both hands twitches, the kiss is electrifying. You try to pull away but he restrains you by gripping lightly your neck. You hear Sakusa laughs. He wraps his arms around your body, locking you in restrictions. Oikawa continues kissing you roughly that you can feel his warm saliva dripping from his mouth down to your chin. You didn’t respond to his kisses. You were in shocked. When he sucks on your lips and tongue, you didn’t recognise the moan that passed your lips.

“Undress her quickly!” still in a rush, Bokuto puts his words into action. He separates you from Oikawa’s mouth. You were panting when he pulls out your hoodie, showing your uncovered titsx in broad daylight. They look perfect and round and flushed. The three men growls, pouncing all at one on you. Bokuto has the right breast, Sakusa’s on the left and Oikawa, he moves between your legs, pushing your shorts to the side to take a good look on your rosy folds.

Oikawa licks the slit back and forth until it gets covered with his saliva. He chuckles when your body twitches. He dips his mouth again, flicking the tip of his tongue against your clitx while scratching your inner thighs. You moan loudly, arching your back again and again. Your moan matches the others’ moans and grunts. Both Sakusa and Bokuto are sucking on your titsx and they’re doing it like they’re milking on you. Swirling sharply their tongues and grazing their teeth on its softness. Damn. You didn’t even say yes to them!

Unknowingly, your mouth also salivates as well as your cunt being treated like a meal by Oikawa’s hot and needy mouth. He’s swirling his tongue and he’s sucking you there so noisily.

“Tooru~” you moan his name when he starts pumping digits into you while his thumb is pressing hard on your clitx. Your legs stretches up and down whenever his fingers goes deeper and harder and at the same time, circling his knuckles hard as well on your cunt. He makes you drip like crazy and it’s evident on your oozing core and salivating mouth. He laughs triumphantly, giving you the best finger fuck and tongue fuck. Your body convulses when you come in waves, the two men abandons your chest to join Oikawa slurping your first and rich orgasm.

They pushes your legs up and there are three long and thick tongues slurping and licking your tight pussy that still waves down thick juices. You find support by grabbing on the edges while you were being worshipped by their mouths. A squeal escapes your lips when you feel someone’s tongue poking your anusx.

When they finished, Oikawa pulls you near the edge and kneels in front of your head hanging by on the ends. He’s the first one to get fully naked before Sakusa and Bokuto.

“Kou~” your eyes waters, not in fear but in excitement and other unnamed feelings.

Sakusa goes below you, putting your small body on top of his own while slowly inserting his fat cockx in your tight pussy. You let out a yelp when his balls bumps on your opening. He’s deep inside you!

“Sakusa hnngggg~ sooo deeeppp haaahhh!” you grip his arm that locks your head beside his by putting it tight around your neck. You struggle to breathe properly so you gasp for air. His other hand goes to your stuffed cunt and slaps your folds harshly until he hears you sob and cry.

“Enough, Omi, she’s sore already.” Bokuto slaps Sakusa’s hand away and replaces it by his own, giving soft touches and light kisses.

“Hmm~ Kou... Kou... ” you cry his name, grabbing his hand toward your mouth. You kiss his fingertips and suck on them later. Earning soft moans and heavy breathes from him.

Bokuto takes his hand from your grasp and gives you slow and sensual kiss on your lips. You feel Sakusa inching his length out but you give no enough attention to it. What matters now is how Bokuto kisses your numb lips. He’s good and it feels good.

Your dear friend ends the kiss but not his finger work on your clitx. He’s rubbing it softly.

“My turn baby doll.” you almost forgot about him. Oikawa kisses you again and what he does next surprised you. He shoves his cockx in your mouth, all the way down to your throat. You gag at how big he is but you can’t do anything to remove it not now that he starts moving in and out.

Your moans gets dissolved by Oikawa’s rough fucking inside your mouth. He moans louder than you and his friends and you feel like doing the same so you cooperate with him, sucking him in while he fucks his length harder to your throat.

Down to the remaining men, Sakusa has been hammering your tight cunt with his massive cockx and swear! Your eyes widened when Bokuto positions his big cock head to where Sakusa’s fat one is inserted.

You put your free hand on his abdomen when he hovers over you, slowly joining his friend’s dick into party.

No, Koutaro! You’re gonna rip me with your cockx!

But he didn’t stop. He slides his fat member into your stretched core! Stretching it even wider with Sakusa’s!

Oikawa moans louder and louder and he even dirty talks while spurting his thick loads in your mouth. You gag on it and you do nothing but swallow it all.

When it’s your turn to moan and scream, you give all your best in doing it because fuck, it’s hurt having two fat and long shafts inside your cunt. So you moan and cry and then repeat while ramming themselves into you. Your body shakes and your lips quivers and they huffs and pants and slams their hips until you bleed thick and rich heat again, covering their cocks with your juice and their sperms.

Bokuto and Sakusa only pulls out when they empty all of their loads inside you.

It’s not over, Oikawa pulls you and folds you in mating press, inserting his hard cockx into your leaking hole, pumping faster while kissing your roughly again. He does it again. The rough and deep pumping. The rough kisses that leaves your lips swollen and numb.

“Tooruuu aahhnnggg~ hmmppp~” you shake your head, he’s using you so rough. You can feel the weight of every thrust and you wish for it to be over.

Again, it’s not over even after he cum inside you. He flips you on your stomach, pushing his cockx back inside you. He pounds you harder from behind, groping your chest before slapping your ass as he keeps pounding. You cry. And cry. And cry.

Three times. Oikawa cums inside you three times before handing you back to Sakusa who chooses to fuck you ass up, too.

“Not today, Omi. Her parents would notice. She comes home every weekends.” Bokuto advises his friend when Sakusa put his tip on your anusx.

Sakusa spits on his length and on your anusx, “okay, I won’t anal fuck her hmm~” he says but does it anyway.

He shoves right there! Sliding his full length inside your ass. You let out a loud cry and sob hard. Sakusa laughs. Oikawa, too. Bokuto attends to you and takes your both hands, drawing circles at the back of your hand he’s gripping tightly.

“Kou... Kou... it hurts, please, Kou... ” you cry while holding hands with your best friend.

Sakusa starts grinding his hips against your and that makes you feel the very pain of being analed. Bokuto didn’t leave you. He keeps holding your hand while Sakusa pounds you senselessly, almost adhering you deep against the softness of the couch.

“Ssshhh, baby~ you can take him~ you’ll feel good.” you focus on his words while endurimg Sakusa’s rough thrusts.

“Kou—” you were cut mid sentence. Sakusa pulls you away from Bokuto, flipping you on your back again to face him.

You can feel his loads dripping from your assholex but he’s not done yet. He separates your legs and dips between your thighs, pushing his shaft back.

You wince in pain when he slaps your swollen folds. You tell him it hurts with tears in your eyes but he just smiled. Slapping for the last time before rocking you again and this time, claiming your lips. He kisses expertly and you find yourself returning his kiss even though your lips hurts.

“Omi... ” you cry his name softly and that stuns him for seconds, watching your face contorts in beautiful pleasure. He sees something different in you in that state so he rocks you deep but slow this time, kissing your chin down to your neck and moments later, he’s shooting his loads inside you while still kissing you slowly.

Once again, that moment isn’t over yet, Bokuto takes you inside his arms and brings you in the backyard where there is a inflatable pool set up near the wooden fence.

The sun is up and so is his cockx.

He puts your nakedness in the cold water and slow fuck you there but bruising your whole body with his deep bites and tight grips. He pushes the hair strands that covers your face while ramming himself into you. He looks at you softly and he notices your puffy eyes from all the crying.

“You good, baby?” his voice is gentle so you smile, nodding your head until it slowly falls down backwards. You feel drained and you can’t keep with his deep rumblings while moving up and down on his lap.

He catches your head on time, eyes fluttering from being overworked.

“Kou, I like you. I lied when I say it’s Omi.” you confess before closing your eyes.

Bokuto does your job, he moves your ass up and down his length even though you fell asleep on him. As he shoots his loads inside, he says this, “but Omi found you first, Y/N. He’s afraid to tell you his feelings so he finds another way to get close to you. By bullying you, he gets closer and closer. I just jumped in the scene and befriended you. I like you, too, Y/N. But he likes you first. So, you are his.”

But, you didn’t hear it. You were too tired to fight against the need to sleep.

Two hours later...

You were in the backseat, straddling on Sakusa’s laps, his cockx installed inside your creaming cunt while holding you tight as he kisses your lips torridly.

On your way home,

Bokuto drives the car.

While Sakusa is fucking you mercilessly in the backseat.

With all the bruises and marks of ownership, there’s no doubt you are his.

You are Kiyoomi Sakusa’s property.

[remmammie]

Could you do another Roxas ficlet where he calms down a stressed G/N Reader by simply talking to them? (Reader is stressed about how the future is coming so quickly and they don’t feel prepared)

And maybe add a little encouraging message at the end, for anybody struggling? I kinda need it cause I’m getting a little stressed myself [Finals Week is the last week of May and I just wanna make my parents proud]

Sorry this took me a hot minute, Symmie! I've been very distracted getting back into the swing of college. I'm afraid I haven't ever really taken any important exams - that COVID student life - so I don't understand the pressure of what you're going through, but I'll do what I can which is write this ficlet up for you. <3 Also, people, do tell me if you prefer things to be written in first (I, my), second (you, your), or third (y/n, they) person - I can write in any.

Good Life - Roxas x Reader comfort ficlet

When Roxas had spotted you still by your desk late at night - later than the first time he had told you to get some sleep, he almost couldn't believe his eyes. He had never seen such dark bags under someone's eyes before and it was almost scary for him. Your brow was strained and your fingers were tapping pretty rapidly on the wooden desk you were studying at - or at least you were trying to study at. The blond could tell just by watching from afar that nothing was settling in and no matter how many hours you had been sat there mulling over the same pile of texts.

"Hey." Despite his soft voice (especially as it was so late into the night,) you still jumped under his touch, making Roxas immediately cringe and apologise.

"Sorry! I thought you knew I was here. I just wanted to come and check on you - I told you to go to sleep hours ago." he stated, half-scolding, half-concerned. You sighed, then dropped your head into your hands with both eyes squeezed shut. This is the first time anyone had talked to you in quite while and even such a minimal distraction from your revision had given enough time to let the whole weight of it all settle down on your shoulders. The realisation of just how much time you had wasted despite how hard you had tried to concentrate...it was difficult to swallow. And Roxas had, of course, noticed immediately.

"Roxas, you know I can't sleep until I get this memorised. No, uh, reference to Axel intended." you laughed nervously in some sort of attempt to brush of Roxas' concern, hoping he would abandon his efforts to drag you to bed so you could continue revising. But you already knew Roxas was too kind of a soul to leave you in such a state. He frowned.

"Very funny. You know there's no point in studying when you're this tired. No wonder nothing is settling in." You stayed silent purely because you knew Roxas was right; there was no point in trying to refute what he had said. Instead, the weight of the shame dragged your head down to the desk, buried in your folded arms. Roxas' eyes softened. He squeezed your shoulder gently then crouched down to your height whilst sitting so you could hear him better between your arms.

"Please, tell me what's wrong. I want to help you..." Roxas' voice was perhaps the most hushed and comforting you had ever heard it be. And, besides it just being Roxas (someone who you trusted with most everything,) his consoling tone was enough to encourage you to spill your heart out to him.

"I just...I don't understand how quickly I've gotten here. Everything happened so fast and I'm just kind of lost. I don't know how to handle this all of a sudden." you confessed. Although it was a rather muffled confession, Roxas heard both your words and your tone and could summarise it all in one word: scared.

"You're...scared of the future?" he asked. Head still against the desk, you nodded with a muted sniffle. Roxas let out a small hum.

"I think...that the future is supposed to be scary sometimes. I mean, who knows what will happen, right? But maybe that's because there are so many new opportunities opening up for you. I think the only way you can be prepared for the future is to keep an open mind, to find the white lining and be excited for new experiences rather than thinking of the worst possible scenario." Roxas' words certainly weren't 100% confident - he wasn't used to giving advice, especially about a future he hadn't yet been able to experience himself - but the knowledge that he would be there for you was enough to bring even a small smile to your face. His eyes were so genuine, filled with the same childish innocence you were so terrified to lose. And yet, with Roxas around and in your mind, you'd never be forced to let go of precious childhood memories, no matter what the future brings.

Rem's Note: Hello! I hope you enjoyed this little fic! For anyone that is struggling at the minute, no matter what with, I fully encourage you to simply try your best. It's all anyone can ever ask of you while prioritising good mental health and happiness. Your best might be just doing a little bit of revision each night before examinations, or it may just be waking up - no matter what it is, you should at least aim to make yourself proud with even the smallest of achievements. Know that no matter what happens, the people who truly love you for you will never judge you for doing anything less than simply trying your best. Love you <3 /p

[delimeful]

Helpless (2)

the next chapter in the drider virgil fic!

warnings: spiders, slight dehumanizing language, assumptions/jumping to conclusions

-

Logan was certain that he’d tracked down his quarry.

Of course, he’d also been certain the last two times he’d found promising evidence around a swath of woods, but this time was different.

He had learned plenty while traversing through the varied lands of his kingdom, and while physical evidence was ideal, word of mouth was one of the most useful tools a researcher could use to find leads.

That was part of the reason why he’d been so careful to observe typical travelers for weeks before his departure, the reason he was wearing worn, cheap fabric and staying at the second-cheapest room at this town’s inn, despite having plenty of money still hidden on his person. He didn’t want a single rumor about a suspiciously rich noble traveling alone.

The last thing he needed was for his investigative journey to be interrupted by bandits, or worse, would-be do-gooders attempting to return the missing prince to his place in line for the throne.

Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the very thought, putting aside the last half of his travel rations and stopping at the edge of town to stare into the woods beyond. He checked his compass habitually, and he was pointed firmly westward, exactly towards the point of the woods that were occupied by a dangerous monster, according to the barkeep that Logan had plied for information last night at supper.

The whole town knew of it, even the younger residents, which was a point in favor of the creature really existing rather than just being another folk tale.

There was one other potential source on the creature, a town outcast going by the way others’ noses wrinkled at the mention of him, but Logan was more than ready to begin investigating for himself, and the odds that the outcast actually knew anything were low, anyhow.

Decided, he headed into the forest, prepared for the day-long trek that was sure to follow. If he was prone to less scientific notations, he might have jotted down that he had a good feeling about this particular town.

Exactly an hour and a half later, Logan had found himself almost entirely immobilized by layers and layers of gossamer threads strewn about the trees.

Needless to say, he was ecstatic.

Even the foolish manner in which he’d landed himself stuck in such an obvious trap couldn’t dampen his spirits, not when faced with undeniable proof that there was in fact a drider in these woods. He’d been too hasty in his attempt to collect some of the biological material, and by yanking too hard, had ended up pulled forwards into the thick of the intricate spider web.

His immobility was a bit concerning, but mostly frustrating, since he couldn’t reach for his journal to note down the surprising level of the webbing’s tensile strength. Still, proper scientists had to be prepared to hold onto their observations for as long as it took for them to be able to write them down.

Besides, he could hardly complain. His current predicament practically guaranteed that he would actually get to see the creature!

-

There was a person stuck in his webs, and Virgil was freaking out about it.

It had never happened before. Virgil very specifically made the webs closer to town thick and opaque so that any passerby would see them and avoid this exact situation.

Virgil peered around the cluster of bushes he had half-flattened himself behind. The stranger didn’t seem too panicked, at least, going by the way that the web barely swayed with his presence. He didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, which was… admittedly sort of strange.

Skies above, what if this was a trap? Virgil turned his head sharply to scan his surroundings, wary of human hunters suddenly popping out of the undergrowth.

Several moments of silence, and even with all his senses pushed to their farthest, he couldn’t detect anything. It seemed the only one trapped here was the human.

A pang of guilt curled unpleasantly in his first stomach. He grimaced, wishing desperately that Patton was here to mitigate the utter terror Virgil was surely about to inflict on this guy.

No point in drawing it out. He rose up to his full height, grateful that the human had gotten stuck facing the opposite direction, and quietly crept up behind him. All he needed to do was announce his presence and let the human know he wasn’t going to hurt them, but he was immediately distracted at the sight of just how tangled his webs had grown.

“How does one human manage to touch every single support thread at the same time?” he asked, voice incredulous.

The human stiffened, and he couldn’t help but tense in response, cursing his big mouth.

… Really though, he spent hours crafting these, and now this one would have to be completely reconstructed!

“Are you the monster spoken of in town?”

The measured voice snapped Virgil out of his thoughts as easy as a clap of thunder, and he shuffled a bit from side to side nervously. His many steps must have been louder than he’d thought, because the human immediately attempted to twist around and see him.

He failed, naturally, because Virgil’s threads weren’t exactly easy to wriggle free of, but Virgil’s nerves only grew. “I… why do you ask?”

There was a short silence, and then, “Considering my current situation, it’s only natural I would want to know, isn’t it?”

Virgil resisted the urge to wince at his own dumbassery. “Right. Well. Yeah,” he confirmed, already bracing for the fear that nearly every human bore when confronted with him. Even Patton had been afraid at first, though Virgil really thought him braver than any other human, to be so terrified of even normal spiders and befriend a Drider of all creatures.

“Oh, excellent,” the human said with clear excitement. “Would you mind coming around so that I can see you?”

Virgil blinked, befuddled. The last thing most humans wanted was for him to come closer. Maybe it was the natural fear of him being in their blind spot? The guy certainly didn’t sound very afraid, even with Virgil’s less-than-stellar first impression.

“Do you have a weapon?” he asked warily.

“I have a knife,” the stranger offered, “but I can’t exactly reach it at the moment.”

Virgil could see the glint of it, caught bladefirst at the very edge of a web as though it had been used on the threads themselves. He slowly circled around the clearing, watching the stranger closely for any sudden movements, until he stood before him, all eight legs and thorax visible.

“Fascinating,” he breathed, eyes blown wide as they skittered from point to point as though noticing every little detail. Virgil would have thought him afraid had it not been for the prideful little grin that sat on his face. “I thought maybe you were lying to me-- I hadn’t expected you to be so fluent in the common language, living in the woods and all-- but wow!”

Virgil felt his front legs rising up a little bit in an automatic defense against the unexpected reaction. He ran his tongue over his fangs nervously, trying to figure out whether or not he should be insulted about the language thing. And what exactly did this guy mean by ‘expected’?

The stranger’s hands twitched slightly, still stuck firmly in place, and irritation briefly flitted across his face as though he’d forgotten his position. He blinked, as though remembering something.

“Oh, right. Are you planning on trying to consume me, then?” he asked, the question as politely curious as an inquiry about the weather.

Virgil recoiled physically at the idea, skittering back a few strides and baring his fangs despite the difference in size and strength and trapped-ness between the two of them. “What? No!”

The stranger managed to drag his intrigued gaze away from Virgil’s fangs, his hands twitching again almost subconsciously. “In that case, would you mind helping me down? My leg has begun to go numb, and I really would like access to my journal.”

“I-- I mean, yeah, if you aren’t-- I can--,” Virgil stumbled over his words, drawing closer with his body lowered non-threateningly and waiting for the inevitable flinch or shiver of disgust.

It never came. The stranger continued to stare at him with no trace of terror in his eyes, even as Virgil grew close enough to reach out and touch him.

“Take your time,” he offered, despite being the one trapped in a monster’s web. Virgil abruptly felt a bit silly about his obvious wariness, and lifted his front legs to rub them together at the ankles. The stranger’s head tilted to the side slightly, watching the gesture intently.

“... It’s the oils that make the webs not stick,” Virgil explained. “I produce it naturally on my feet so I don’t get, y’know, stuck. I’ll have to touch the webs that are attached to you. With my feet. The spider ones.”

Virgil didn’t have any other kinds of feet, but the stranger graciously didn’t nitpick.

“A built-in solvent… I wonder if natural spiders have similar traits,” he mused instead, and then, “Do whatever you need, I don’t mind. The opposite, really, I appreciate the assistance.”

Sure enough, he didn’t shy away when Virgil began carefully plucking at the threads entangling him, sliding the sides of his legs along them to coat them in the anti-stick oils. Bit by bit, the entanglement loosened, and Virgil had just freed both arms when the human abruptly twisted around to reach for something on his person.

Of course, now that much of the webbing holding him in midair had been removed, his weight was significantly less supported. A few threads snapped, and he dropped a few inches with a startled yelp. If he continued, he’d be in for either a rough fall or getting caught in a whole new layer of webbing, and Virgil wanted neither of those things.

He quickly reached forwards with his human arms and lifted the stranger up and away from further entanglement, batting away any stray threads with his front legs. Belatedly, he realized he had forgotten to check if it was a weapon that the human had reached for. Even more belatedly, he realized that this was the second human he’d picked up in this impromptu carry.

Weird that it had happened twice.

“Perfect, thank you,” the guy said, and then he started writing furiously in a little book, occasionally glancing up at Virgil and locking onto a feature before returning to writing. It was as though he didn’t mind at all being held aloft like a human might lift up a misbehaving cat.

Virgil took the opportunity to continue cleaning any web remnants off the guy while he was distracted, his mind whirring. A stranger who had clearly never done a day of hard labor in his life, who didn’t seem at all afraid of him, and was taking notes.

... Oh, shit.

Virgil set him carefully on the ground while he was still preoccupied with scrawling out a label for a diagram of Virgil’s teeth. He backed up, softening his steps, and by the time the stranger pulled his attention away from his book, Virgil was already well out of sight and planned to keep it that way, regardless of the confused little call the stranger made.

He was not messing with what was clearly a mage out for his parts.

[tannieschim]

when the camellia blooms | pjm

park jimin x kim! reader | 1 | 2

sypnosis: diagnosed with the hanahaki disease, you had only two options - accept a deathly fate, or never love again. 

genre: au, angst, fluff, humor, friends to lovers? maybe.

warnings: many talks of death and dying, minor character death, pain, unrequited love, swearing, talks of past sexual experience while intoxicated, pining, longing, really sad reader, and lots of angst.

word count: 7.2 k

"you would die for her, for him."

"You're dying."

The two words escape past his lips steadily and breathily as your widening eyes linger on the way his hands fiddle with one another out of habit. He sighs deeply and resists the urge to avoid screaming at you and maintain eye contact out of professionalism, pushing back his slipping glasses.

"At this rate, you won't have any more than a month. Had you told me this sooner, y/n, the results wouldn't have been as scarce. But because you waited after almost a year of this, I'm afraid there's not much to do." He pushes his desk lightly to pull away from it, creating a mere distance between himself and the papers which finalized your future's passing. Reaching his collar, he tugs on his tie to loosen it before unbuttoning the first stitch as he looks at you with seemingly stray and angered eyes mixed with sympathy.

Suddenly, his sight wanders the room as he shakes his head repeatedly, scoffing in disbelief. He then smiles, dimples prominent, lip tightened, eyebrows furrowed, and eyes broken, piercing straight at its target - that being you.

Standing up, he takes off his glasses and slams his fist onto the chair's arm rest before running a hand across his hair, softly hissing.

The professionalism is now out of the drain, "You're an idiot, y/n."

"Fucking stupid. How could you not- I mean- how could you not tell me? I'm your brother! We're family. Blood. We're supposed to- we're supposed to tell each other these things and you just fucking- you kept it to yourself all these months! Ten months! And now I'm sitting here being the one to tell you that you're dying? That you're leaving me? I would've done something. I would've helped you, I- I would've killed whoever this person you're in love with is. y/n, please- I just-"

You don't know why, but you felt exhausted.

The ringing in your ears is deafening. Truthfully, you hadn't heard a single thing the minute you received news that you'll be, well, passing away. Not to mention, within 30 days time.

It's not as if you didn't already know about your condition, of course you did. Coughing soft pink camellia flowers every time you see the man that's brought you here is not exactly something that just simply passes a blind eye. You sense it, you feel it, and it hurts.

It really, really hurts.

You also felt awful for your brother. You hadn't meant for it to go this far. You didn't mean to not tell him. You didn't want your assigned doctor to suddenly call in sick and have your brother temporarily take his place. You didn't mean for him to find out this way - such a twisted, horrible fucking way, but here you are.

"I'm sorry, Joon. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for this to go this far. I just-"

"Were you ever even going to tell me?" He cuts you off, voice low and steady, almost afraid of your coming response.

Your eyes locate his across the cramped room, and one could clearly tell that it's striving its hardest to fight against desperate tears.

"I- yes, Joon. I was. Of course I was. I was gonna do it after this check in actually, but I guess God wanted you to find out sooner than I intended, though He could've just waited a little while longer and it would've been fine." You joke whisperingly, the heavy weight of your heart lightening just a small bit when you notice the corners of his lips twitch and his eyes faintly soften.

Regrettably, that was a lie. You didn’t plan on telling him, not today at least. Maybe not even ever.

The softening air lasts for only a second as his following question makes you hold back the urge to cough up another camellia flower slowly blooming its way to your throat.

"Who is it?"

Genuine, concerned, curious. These were all that he was.

But noticing the way your body went entirely rigid at his words and the way your hand clutched your clothed chest in attempt to shut down what you know will happen next, Namjoon's brotherly instincts causes him to naturally make his way towards you softly, taking small and careful strides towards your fragile state.

And once he's finally reached you, he gets on his knees gently in order for him to be of nearing same height level as you're sitting down, his hands rubbing the back of your hand in a comforting manner.

He does this all before pulling the trigger.

"Who are you in love with, y/n?"

two years back

"Jimin!"

You call out your brother's best friend loudly, who is currently in the midst of doing a one-man stage play in front of the mirror, "Joon's saying you guys need to get going now. Says he has a patient in two hours and wants to go over all sorts of documents before treating her."

Turning around, you scan the living room and dining room for the keys of your friend's car as your brother also asked you to hand them to him since the two always end up on forgetting it until they've already reached the car parked across your apartment's block.

You hear Jimin shuffle behind you, "Really? He wants to go over documents at- 9 AM in the morning?"

Smiling at his attempts of complaint, you nod your head softly in order to play along and answer his rhetorical question, "He really needs to learn how to drive doesn't he? Since he's dragging you along everywhere he goes."

Jimin laughs at your statement, which being an opinion, your brother would argue, 'driving isn't a necessary aspect of life.' But who really thinks like that? Oh right, non-drivers.

“I guess he’s getting too caught up in learning medicine that he forgot to learn how to officially become an adult.” Reaching above the kitchen top, you finally found sight of Jimin's car keys.

How did it even get up there? You think to yourself. It's really high up, so Namjoon must've been the one to leave it as to where it is.

You groan slightly, "Joon, can you get over here! I found Chim's keys but it's too far up high so I can't reach it. Hell I don't even think he can reach this-"

You are cut off when you feel a hand sneak around your waist, making you flinch and suddenly spin cautiously.

Eyes widened. Lips parted. Breath hitched. You let out an inaudible gasp as you come to the realization that Jimin is now in front of you, head tilted with an amused smile on his face, "Excuse you? I can very much reach this." He says, all the while reaching up behind you, inchly leaning forward. At this point, your body is being pressed up against the kitchen counter and his oh-so-very toned front.

This small action is enough to instigate a flaming abyss inside of you as you very much attempt to calm your alarmed heart.

You can feel the cuts and lines of his abs against your chest as he is now standing on his tippy toes, desperately trying to reach the keys on the kitchen top. Anyone that could see his posture would call him adorable, but your body is currently being sandwiched and by all that is high and mighty your mind can't even really process a single thing. Wait, what were you thinking just now?

"See? Got it." Jimin falls back in place as he jiggles his car keys in front of your stone-cold face, smile wide as he giggles softly, "Piece of cake, y/n."

He then proceeds to move on with his life like he didn't just do what the fuck he just did.

Clearing your throat, you blink about a million times in order to gather your thoughts. Your heartbeat is racing faster than the speed of light and your lips have become as dry as a desert. If you had gone standing on your tippy toes just as he did, you would've been a baby hair away from lips touching. The thought is enough to make you grow weak.

Yet as if something inside of you is suddenly turned on, no pun intended, you remind yourself that these thoughts are wrong. You can't be having these apprehensions, they aren't right. Because not only is he your brother's best friend, he also has a-

"y/n?" Jimin's soft voice calls out your name.

Breaking out of your trance, you turn to see him sitting down on the dining table, head tilted downwards with a small smile on his face. The sun escapes your pastel curtains as it slips past the window sill, reasoning with the current ray of golden yellow that has found its home on Jimin’s plump cheek, shining on the left side of his luminous face.

It's absolutely senseless how he can look as beautiful as he does simply by existing, and it makes perfect sense that your finding yourself to liking him more and more.

Just look at him.

You are broken out of your enchanted daze once more as dreaded words leave his smiling lips, "I'm gonna ask her to marry me."

Only then were you brought back to your inadequate reality.

“W- what?” You attempt to speak, but you notice the way your voice has suddenly become noticeably hoarse.

Jimin looks up at you with a smile, the kind that has his eyes almost disappearing.

“Sung. I’m gonna ask her to marry me tonight.”

silence.

silence.

and more silence.

Like a coward, that was all what you could muster to respond with.

And only then did you notice the velvet box on his hands, upon which he is tenderly caressing. Only then did you recognize the questionable romantic script of his one-man stage just moments earlier. Only then did you realize that the reason behind his growing smile are because of her, not you. Not because of what had just taken place.

Only then did you remember that no, you can't be having these apprehensions - they aren't right.

Because not only is he your brother's best friend,

he also has a, now upcoming, fiancé.

present time

"I already loved him then, Joon."

By this time, your brother has stood up and begun pacing back and forth the modest office, murmurs of curses towards his friend escaping past his lips, "-that small son of a bitch."

Smiling softly, you look down in reminiscence of the moments you have spent falling for Jimin. "I guess I've always been infatuated with him ever since our first meeting, but my God Joonie," you pause, inhaling a short breath in attempt to stop tears threatening to spill. "-ever since that day, when he told me that he was going to propose to her, I finally realized that like was the wrong term to use. I realized that I loved him and I just- I lost sight of everything." You cry, small sobs coming from you as you blinkingly look up to try to contain the waters forming in your eyes.

It was true. That day, when he told you about his plans to ask her to marry him, you've never felt more indignant.

Of course you faked it at first, congratulated him and consoled him into truthfully believing that she will undoubtedly say yes. But the minute he and Namjoon left your apartment, you collapsed on your carpeted floors, sobbing loudly and hitting your chest repetitively all the while cursing yourself in your head for ever even considering the tiniest of possibilities that you and Jimin could ever happen.

You also went out that night, got drunk, found a guy, slept with him, and never looked back.

Sure, this may seem like a regular night out for many, but not being the type to kiss and sleep, sex meant a lot to you.

Nothing wrong with one night stands, that just wasn't your particular chosen lifestyle. But you were wasted. You were intoxicated. You didn't know what you were doing. Had you been sober, you wouldn't have done what you did, especially with the person you did it with. So when you woke up in the middle of the night naked in bed next to a familiar face and realized what you've done, you rushingly stood up, got dressed, and left, ignoring the calls of the man you had just been with.

You went straight home and washed yourself for hours, feeling dirty and sloppy and disgusting. You can easily recollect sitting down in the showers, head tucked underneath and in between your legs, sobbing and crying loudly as the steam surrounding you from the warm water kept on worsening.

You hated what you did, and you most definitely despised the reason for what you did, - to simply get over someone else. You felt guilty. You felt ashamed. What would Jimin think? You thought to yourself. And though that truly didn't really matter, the ache in your heart kept on making you believe otherwise.

You didn't notice how your tears have fallen and stained your newly-bought jeans until Namjoon's hands holding a napkin comes within your perception.

Mumbling a small 'sorry Joonie,' you accept his offer and wipe the tears still continuously streaming down your now reddened, warm, and puffy face. As you do this, you furthermore catch sight of your brother's shadow rubbing his face in frustration, matching the groans that you also hear release from him in the background. And without meaning so, you deflate in insecurity.

Hearing the sound of air being released from a pulling force, you look up to see that Namjoon has sat back down, his elbows resting on the desk while his chin rest on his hands. "Does he know about this, y/n?"

You sigh, "No."

"Are you going to tell him?" You hear him ask once more.

Closing your eyes and sniffing lightly, you inhale a steady breath as you answer him for the second time, "I don't know, Joon."

Namjoon looks at you, eyes full of worry and concern. You don't know?

You're his sister, and he loves you. He would do anything for you. If he could shower you with all the love that you lack from Jimin, he would. And he would do it in a heartbeat. But you're dying. You're leaving him. And he doesn't know what to think. He doesn't know what to do. So how could you not know? How could you sit here, in front of him, after keeping this shit for ten months to yourself, tell him that you just don't know?

He feels frustrated. Frustrated over the clearing fact that if you don't know the answer to that simple yes or no question, then how more could you know the answer to when he asks you to make the choice?

The choice - to love or to die.

A very careful, unprecedented surgery that has been performed by professionals only a few times, yet each one has been successful. This seems easy, yeah. A surgery to save your life? Of course you'll do it! But there's a reason as to why this has been done only by a certain small count.

To perform the surgery and live, the price is not the expense, but rather the loneliness that shall come as you spend the rest of your life void of emotions. The surgery doesn't get rid of love on its own, it gets rid of everything that comes with it - happiness, sadness, trust, pain, pretty much everything that one can possibly feel. The only emotion left is indifference, yet even indifference lacks its self-sustainability.

Who would want to live like that?

Who would want to live a life where you just simply exist and nothing more?

He knows that the day will come eventually - when he offers you the choice, the chance to save your life, and he knows it will come soon. But right now, he has chosen to prioritize being a brother over a doctor. Right now, the only thing in his mind is comforting you.

"Okay." Your brother nods, making your eyes widen slightly in shock.

Okay? No scolding? No 'how could you not know?!' older brother reprimands? But then you remember, oh yeah. You're dying. And who could possibly scold their dying little sister?

"I'm sorry Joonie-" You try to apologize once more before he cuts you off again.

"No, don't apologize, y/n. It's not like you could've possibly wanted for any of this to happen, yeah?" He offers you a smile, but you could easily see past its fabricated purpose, "But instead let me ask you this. And I need you, in our deceased parent's name, to be completely honest with me."

You only nod, completely submissive and understanding of his seriousness the moment that he mentioned your passed parents.

"What you just told me, when you first fell in love with him, that was two years ago." He starts, making you nod again in agreement.

"But you were diagnosed only ten months ago."

Your heart drops, and you don't nod again.

"The Hanahaki Disease is not something that gradually begins and comes to existence over the course of time. It is an illness that is triggered. It could be by a sudden forthcoming realization or proclamation of love, or by an event that triggers the heart to completely shut down in overwhelmth. Either way, basing on the timing of what you've said, you should've been diagnosed with the Hanahaki two years ago. But you weren't."

Namjoon eyes you questioningly, but not too much to the extent that you feel uncomfortable, only just enough to remind you of the importance of this conversation, "You were only diagnosed ten months ago, y/n. Why?"

You sit still, not wanting to move, as if your stone figure would somehow make him think that you're not real or that you're a simple figment of his messed up imagination.

"y/n, what happened ten months ago?"

He finishes his question and you swallow harshly only to realize that you're parched, your throat completely dry. You then tilt your head to steal a gaze at your brother, making you catch the way his eyes suddenly widened as if he just realized something of high importance. As if he had just realized the answer to his own question. And that didn't work with you.

Clearing your throat, you are about to answer him in order to cut off his thoughts until the door swings open and you feel your throat compact, - the coughs of a camellia flower slipping its way to visibility -because there he is,

the man of the hour.

"y/n." He noticeably breathes a sigh of relief before making his way to you, engulfing you in a giant embrace. "I was so worried about you. Why didn't you tell me you had the Hanahaki? How could you not let me know? How long have you had it? Who is it? I swear I'm going to murder whoever this piece of shit is that he dared ever making yo-"

"Jimin this is a professional space between a doctor and his patient." The two of you pull away almost exactly the same time as soon as Namjoon speaks up, Jimin's eyebrows furrowing, "Get out."

"What?" Jimin barely gather the voice to ask him as he is completely caught off guard of his friend's erupting vulgar attitude.

"I said-" Namjoon speaks before getting caught off again.

"No trust me, I heard what you said. But what?" Jimin repeats himself, "So you're telling me you're not prioritizing being y/n's brother right now? You're still caught up in this Doctor Kim bullshit? Like you're a real one?"

"Jimin-" You attempt to budge in, sensing that a certain trouble may suddenly come knocking.

"No, y/n. Listen hyung-"

"No, YOU listen. You small piece of shit." Your brother raises his voice, "-don't come barging in here like you own the place or like you have any authority over her. She is MY sister and this is a family matter. So it's best you stay out of it and keep in your lane."

At this point, Namjoon is in front of Jimin, a short distance separating the two of them, "And don't you ever dare speak to me in that tone again. I know you're my friend, but remember to treat me with respect. Not only am I your superior, but I'm also your hyung." He finishes with a serious voice, tone low, and message deep. His earnest eyes piercing through his friend's pained ones.

Jimin, mouth slightly agape being at loss for words and clearly confused at his close friend's unreasonable anger, storms out of the room.

But not before he drags you along with him.

Namjoon is quick to act as he tries to reach for you, but you turn back and look at him pleadingly, signaling him that it's okay and to not worry. And him being the understanding brother that he is, pulls back and holds himself steady.

You can handle him. You’re a Kim. You’re strong.

Strong enough to survive through this.

You’ll be okay.

And as he watches the two of you leave, the door closing shut right in front of him, only then does reality hit Namjoon as his legs tremble abruptly, feeling lightheaded all of a sudden.

Falling down the floor, he reaches onto the desk for assistance as he slides his back down the wooden wall, hands painfully fisted and finding its way to cover his mouth in order to muffle the choked-in sobs perilously escaping him. He proceeds to blink away the tears and bite harshly on his lips, trying to diminish the flourishing grievance in his heart.

His sister is dying, and he doesn't know what to do.

“Doctor Kim? The next patient is ready to see you.” A knocking nurse distracts him and calls out from behind the door, “-shall I send them in?”

Namjoon sniffs heavily and sighs deeply, rushingly grabbing his glasses and adjusting his emotionally wrecked state, “One moment!”

He lets out a soft, shaky breath and reminds himself once more that you’re a Kim.

You’re strong.

You can beat this.

It'll be alright.

You'll be okay.

"IM NOT OKAY JIMIN-SHI!" You voicely whine out to your friend who is currently dragging you along the halls of the hospital and out the technologically advanced glass doors, "What is wrong with you?!" You pull your arm aggressively from his grasp as you bend down, hands resting on your knees while you hastily try to catch your breath. The camellia flower stuck just along the chords of your throat making it very difficult.

Jimin stares at you worryingly, having forgotten of your illness, "O- oh no. y/n, I'm sorry I forgot I- are you okay? Should we go back?" He stutters in concern before you hold up one finger, signaling him to shut the hell up. "-sorry."

Looking at you like this, tired and exhausted from having to put up with all his bullshit, Jimin feels a sudden urge to reach out and embrace you tightly, almost forgetting of his previous encounter with your brother.

And so that's exactly what he does.

You are caught off guard the moment you feel a hand grab your shoulder by means of pulling you closer all the while another rests just at your crook of spine, and although this first makes you stumble in a not-so-very prettily way, your destination is found to be in your friend's embrace, his fragile yet protective arms wrapped around you securely.

Not letting this moment simply pass by, you let yourself melt in his arms as you find the comfort meant to be found in his comforting hug, wrapping your arms around his neck as you slightly stand on your tippy toes. Somehow, your simple action makes him pull you even closer, one hand creeping behind your neck all the while his other is completely wrapped around your waist although this time is tighter than before.

As the two of you stay like this in the middle of the sliding glass doors of the hospital, crowds of unfamiliar voices passing by you and ambulances ringing endlessly against your ear, you let yourself submerge within the passion of your heart.

Amidst the chaos and cries of your nearingly counted days, you find consolation in the arms of the same man that has put you in front of death's door, and quite frankly, you wouldn't really want it any other way. You'll take what is given by the heavens above when it comes to Jimin, because well- you love him.

Unfortunately, that quick and simple thought is enough to make you lose control of your reminded disease.

"y-y/n what's- are you okay?" Jimin pulls away from you abruptly as you break into coughing fits, pastel pink camellia blossoms escaping your trembling lips.

The sight has caught the attention of many civilians, but both you and Jimin remain to be indifferent about them as you or more or less are occupied with your illness all the while Jimin specifically aims his attention on you alone.

"Alright that's it, screw your brother alright?" Jimin exclaims a bit louder than what you're comfortable with as this obviously did not benefit with the proceedingly growing public focus on the two of you, "-we're going back, y/n, it's my fault for bringing you outside so suddenly-"

"No chim, please-" You roughly attempt to speak out, your throat painfully extracting the feeling of abrasiveness, "Please just- let's just go."

"y/n.."

“Please chim,” you cut him off for what seemed to be the fiftieth time, coughing, “-please. I don’t want to be here any longer.”

Hesistant yet concerned, Jimin nods slowly as he assists your side, his hands finding its home around your waist and lower back while you both take short and careful strides. You destination is still unknown, but you didn’t mind. A journey a day with someone you love has never turned out for the worse.

At least that's what you think.

"Really?" You roll your eyes as you notice the familiar lane that Jimin's car just entered, "I asked you to get me out of the hospital area, I didn't ask for a sleepover, Jimin." You jokingly accuse him, but you can't help the smile that makes its way on your puffed-up face as you notice him smoothly take a side-glance at you with a knowing smirk.

"Well I thought that with all that bad hospital air, you might've wanted to breathe in a familiar scent," Jimin responds as the car comes to a stop.

You turn slightly to open the door and step out before you here a meek, "Jankkanman!" and perceive a 5'9 in height blondie come running around the bonnet in order to open the car door for you as a gentleman would. It is such a sweet and casual pantomime, yet an ill-patient diagnosed with an illness of the heart can never bring you any wins. Consequently, his actions only causes your throat to feel strained and compacted for the endless time.

God, how much did you love this man that such a simple gesture makes you want to cough out countless of fully bloomed flowers?

You thank the heavens above for your past endless experiences that allowed you to now be better in terms of hiding your pain as you attempt to smile genuinely, mumbling a small "thank you" in the process before making your way inside his home.

"So," Jimin starts as the two of you plop down his couch, his eyes seeking for yours as he tilts his head ever so lightly, "what should we do today... now that you're out of that hell hole?"

"Chim!" You scold him lightly, "my brother and your best friend just happens to be working in that hell hole, just in case you forgot, and- hey! You work there too, you ass." You accusingly point at him all the while hitting his arm playfully.

Jimin is was a nurse in that hospital. Your brother is a doctor.

He laughs and smiles widely, "Nope. I don't work there anymore, remember? But I did for a while, which is why I can most definitely testify that that place is indeed, a hell hole. And by the way, I'm kind of offended that you pretty much forgot my lost profession just then, y/n, like what the fuck?" He jokes endingly.

Your eyes soften slightly as he mentions his lack of job, yet you still stubbornly choose to ignore his last remark. "Well I sure hope that's not the case since I'll be most likely spending my last days there."

Oops.

The silence that ensues goes inevitably noticed by the two of you the moment those words escaped past your lips, but you paid no mind. That was the reason that you asked him to take you away anyways. You weren't hoping for some cliche romantic bullshit where the two of you simply elope and forget your real worries in your life, no. Instead you were here with the main purpose of facing it.

Besides, even if you did want to leave with him, you couldn't. Remember?

Jimin is the first to break the excessive blockade, "Don't say that y/n."

You sigh, "But it's true, chim."

"I don't give a shit if it's true or not."

"Chim.." You are slightly startled with his sudden outburst, caught off guard in the way his voice slightly raised as his attention and body language are now completely directed at you, "Wha- why are you getting mad?"

Jimin scoffs, almost irritated at your oblivious question, "Why? Because you're talking of dying like it's not a big deal, y/n!" His voice getting louder and louder by every word he spits out, "God, you know you can be so fucking insensitive sometimes. What, did you already forget the shit I suffered when I lost someone? Did you already forget all the fucking shit I suffered when death took her from me?"

At the mention of her, you pause. Speechless. Guilty. Hurt.

Of course you remember. How could you not? You remember the darkest of days as like it was just yesterday.

You remember getting that call in the middle of the night from the contact name of your brother as you slightly answered it in an irritated voice, "Joon I swear to God if you're asking me to drive you to work in the middle of the fucking night I will personally drag your ass right now to get a driver's liscenc-"

"y/n?"

You remember immediately stopping as you recognize the voice that most certainly did not belong to your brother, "Chim?"

"y- y/n."

You remember the outbreak of his sobs as you call out to him, his sniffles and cries becoming more and more prominent as you stumble on your feet, struggling with keeping your phone against and in between your ear and your shoulder as you hurryingly take off to grab a jacket and your keys, "Chim what's wrong, where the hell are you? W- where's Joon?"

You remember the way your heart dropped as your worst fear came to mind, the thought of losing your brother itself being enough to make you wobble in your feet, your heart clenching. He had your brother's phone, and he was crying.

"N-no, he- he's fine, y/n. It's not him, hyung's... hyung's fine."

You remember the way he struggled to find the right words; the way he sniffled and stuttered through forming such a simple sentence all the while you on the other side of the line breathe out a sigh of relief at the information of your brother's wellness, yet feeling slightly guilty that your emotions are in contrast with your friend's.

"It's Sung."

You remember Jimin's worst.

"It's Sung, y/n. Sh- she got in an accident on the way here to visit me during my off hours and- fuck! Some fucking demon pulled a hit and run on her. She was walking, y/n. She walked an hour here and got ran over by someone and.. they're doing an operation on her- hyung's assisting and he just- it's bad. It was really bad and she was bleeding all fucking over and- hyung, he- he left his phone and I didn't know what to do so I just called you- I didn't, they pushed me out of the room, y/n. I need you here. Please, please. Please come here because I'm losing my fucking mind and I need you here."

You remember driving to the hospital as careful as you can with the fear of the possibility of an accident occurring still in the midst of the back of your mind.

You remember reaching the doors of the emergency room and being greeted with a pair of reddened and exhausted eyes that looked up the moment you walked in, "Jin."

He stands up to greet you politely but you stop him, obviously seeing that his reaction upon seeing you is no more than a forced delight, "Let's not do this under these circumstances, okay? You're allowed to feel unwelcoming. It's okay, Jin."

He does no more than mumble a small 'thank you' before going back to his previous spot with you trudging along beside him.

You remember feeling the sorrow of the man beside you as you watch him lean his head back against the wall, fragile streaks of tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. You couldn't imagine his pain, the pain of such a situation where your sister's life is at stake. You wanted to comfort him, to softly rub his back and whisper sweet encouragements against his ear, little white lies that his sister is guaranteed to make it without a doubt. But you couldn't. You weren't here for him, regardless of your history. Regardless of the way you left him the morning after your supposed mistake.

"Uhm, have you seen Jimin?"

You remember the way his void eyes find yours and the way his lips lightly upturn as he gives you a forced smirk, trying to keep up with his image of being Kim Seokjin, Kim Sungkyung's handsome and cocky older brother, "And here I was thinking fate brought you here to me, y/n." He trails off, "-considering how you fucked me then dipped."

You gasp slightly and playfully hit his arm at the blunt mention of your regretted one night stand as you give him a small yet genuine smile, partly glad yet at the same time worried that he can make such remarks during a situation like this.

It was strange really, how everything in your life seemed to be connected. How on the day you felt your heart tore apart the time Jimin first mentioned his planned proposal, you went out and accidentally slept with the soon-to-be-bride's older brother.

Letting out a small sigh, Jin nods his head in the direction of a different waiting room, "He left when I came. Guess he was embarrassed of how fucked up he was but hey- I'm not doing any fucking better am I?" He tells you, subtly pointing at the very visible streaks of tears still falling down his now puffy face.

You get on your feet and turn to leave but not before giving one last glance at the man next to you, a hand softly reaching to rub his shoulder, "I'm so sorry, Jin. I wish I could stay, but-"

"It's okay, y/n. Go." Jin encourages you with a small yet noticeably forced smile, "He needs you."

And so you do, bidding him a soft goodbye before taking off, your eyes beginning to water out of the guilt of leaving a friend in that state.

You then remember being suffocated. Suffocated from the embrace that greeted you the moment Jimin entered your peripheral vision. You remember landing on your behind with a harsh thud from the struggle of Jimin's weight as he continues to seek your embrace for means of comfort, the two of you falling down the floor. You remember getting drenched from Jimin's tears as you cradle him as would a wailing child, rocking him back and forth all the while softly rubbing his back, whispering every bit of amenity that could make him feel better.

You remember feeling your heart physically ache as you fail to notice the tears that have fallen down your own eyes, blurring your sight.

To see Jimin in this state, so broken and hurt and scared, it tore you apart. You wanted him happy. You wanted him smiling. You wanted him. You loved him. And God forbid that you're admitting this in your own mind while his fiance is battling for her own life, but fuck.

You wanted nothing more than to lay down your own life for Sung so that she could continue in existence for him.

If you could, you would take here place.

You would die for her, for him.

You remember pushing back your thoughts as you put focusing on Jimin your first priority. You remember keeping him in a neverending tight embrace as he neverendingly sobs against your chest, his lips leaving prayers you could barely yet still tried to understand;

please don't let her die

don't take her away from me

i love her too much

i still have to marry her.

You then remember hearing a wail of anguish, putting a pause to both Jimin's silent pleas and your eavesdropping as the both of your heads turn to pinpoint from whom the noise came from.

You remember the way Jimin stilled.

"No."

You remember his whisper of such a small, two-lettered word, yet somehow it caused your heart to crumble.

"No no no no-"

You remember having to tackle Jimin slightly as he causes a mess of himself, punching the seats and harshly tugging on his hair all the while screaming wails of pain and suffering, "Jimin please-"

"No- get the fuck off of me! Sung?!"

You remember how Jimin lost sight of reality as he pushes you off of him, your body making in contact with the cold tiled ground.

"SUNG? SUNG! LET ME INSIDE-"

You remember seeing nurses and other staff pull the man you love back as he causes a scene, starting to become physical and violent with the people surrounding him, "PLEASE! Please- I just- I NEED TO SEE HER! SHES MY FIANCE-"

You remember seeing a man dressed in blue make his way near Jimin, a needle in his hand.

"H-hey, no!" You remember trying to catch up to the nurse, attempting to prevent them from giving whatever the shot was to Jimin, "Stop! Please-"

"y/n. D-don't."

You remember feeling a hand on your shoulder which makes you turn around instantly, only to find the culprit behind the anguished scream just moments prior Jimin's outburst.

"Jin." You start, "-they're going to sedate him. That- that's not okay."

"They have to, y/n." Another voice calls out from behind Jin, "I know how it seems and I don't like it either, b-but he's becoming violent. They have to sedate him."

"Joon." You whisper softly.

What a sick and twisted game that life is playing on you, that your brother, Jimin's best friend, Jimin's best man at the wedding being planned, is the one to give news of the bride's passing.

"Sung, is she really.." You trail off, not having the heart to finish your sentence.

It seems neither does he, as he responds with nothing but a simple avoidance of eye contact.

"HYUNG!"

You remember Jimin's faint and tired yet still firm voice as he calls out your brother, "Hyung, you saved her didn't you? You- you were part of the surgery. You saved her didn't you? Didn't you!?" Jimin is weak as he trails off his words as the effect of the syringe takes its course, but that doesn't stop him from reaching out to the three of you, "H-hyung. Tell me you saved her. P-please tell me you saved h-her."

Namjoon doesn't stop the tear that rolls down his hardened face as he only shakes his head, "I'm sorry, Jimin. We did our best. We really, really did. I'm so sorry-"

You remember the way Namjoon's voice trails off your hearing as your throat suddenly feels contracted. You remember the itching pain just within your chest as you find the struggle to breath, your hand clutching it harshly. You remember stumbling back just a little bit as you feel lightheaded, thinking that these were only from the overwhelming happenings in that moment.

But then you cough.

And you cough

and you cough

and you cough.

But no one notices you.

Not even yourself.

Your attention remains still at Jimin, who has now dropped completely to the floor, tears still continuously spilling out of his drowsy eyes. Short breaths are released from his trembling lips as he mumbles words that none of you can understand. He then begins to seemingly reach out for something, someone.

"P-please," He whispers.

And as you bend down almost immediately to attend to his calls, you cough.

And you cough

and you cough.

And still no one notices.

No one except him.

You cough as your eyes find his, barely open yet staring right at you from the lows of the floor.

You remember having to excuse yourself and run to the nearest restroom you can find, legs trembling and stumbling on your way there as you push against the winds of the almost empty halls, still coughing with every step you take. And just as you reach the doors of the restroom, you turn back slightly, just enough to catch Jimin's last sight while his body is being carried away to where you guess is a vacant patient's room, all this before his eyes ultimately close.

Eyes you found lastly staring at you.

You remember finally shutting the door and locking it, thanking God silently that you're in a family restroom hence there is no one else inside. You cough desperately, your throat beginning to feel exclusively sore and your lungs beginning to tighten from all the air being released as you cough and cough and cough again.

You reach out to the sink, gripping tightly onto the white metals as you cough and cough and cough again.

You then brushingly turn to the toilet, your eyes watering and lips numbing as you cough and you cough and you cough once more.

You practically clean the whole restroom, as disgusting as that sounds, from all the moving you made as you coughed anywhere and everywhere. You felt awful for the next person to come inside, now that your bacterium were practically in its every corner, side, and space. You cough again, this time harder, the worst one out of the previous.

You remember sensing a certain feeling rise up, something soft yet itchy, something light yet heavy.

And so you cough, and you cough, and you cough, and you cough,

and you bleed.

And amongst the red is a pink.

A single, individual pink petal from what you would soon find out is a camellia flower - the flower that is soon to be the latter symbolization of death chasing you, growing closer, inching nearer, just about to knock on your door.

So of course you remember Jimin's distraught. Of course you remember Sung's - his fiance's death.

Because her death was too, the ultimate beginning of yours.

taglist for part 2?

[whythinktoomuch]

recovered in time

(pt. i)

“From what I can tell, the implant seems to be interrupting the connection between your visual cortex and your emotional center,” Brainy says, eyes narrowed in concentration, two fingers pressed against the incision point at the base of Kara’s neck. “As well as inhibiting your frontal lobe and sending distress signals to the amygdala.” 

“What does that mean?” Kara asks. 

“It means that... you weren’t feeling like yourself,” Alex says, and Kara nods hesitantly at that. 

“So, can you rid of it or not?” Alex asks, fixing Brainy with her most hardened stare. 

“I’ve already determined five different ways to extract the device—”

“Great! So, we can—”

“—but none that wouldn’t immediately prove fatal or result in permanent brain damage.” 

Eventually, Alex releases a long-suffering, shuddery sigh. “... You could have fucking led with that.” 

“I did feel like myself though...” Kara interjects, suspending what was surely about to result in another very unproductive argument. “And I still feel like myself now. It’s just...” She ducks her head, fiddling with the sleeves of her shirt, already frayed from anxious attention. “... I felt so alone? Like, I’d been abandoned, or was suddenly in a world where I’d lost everyone all at once. Again.” 

Kara shifts uncomfortably in her seat, now able to feel everyone’s eyes on her, burning holes into her skin. She has long since traded in her super-suit for comfy clothes, and her scarf has been upgraded to a pair of heat vision resistant blackout goggles, but it would take more than 24 measly hours for her to adjust to, well... everything. 

“You’re not alone though,” Alex says, giving Kara’s knee a firm squeeze as if in reminder. “You know that, right?” 

Kara rubs at her nose, sniffling herself back into some semblance of composure. “Yeah, I know.” 

But of course, knowing something hardly ever outstrips the feeling of it, and Kara kinda just wishes that she still had Lena’s scarf on her. 

//

“Hey Lena,” Kara calls out softly from the bed. She doesn’t lift her head from her pillow, but still offers a small wave in greeting. 

“What gave me away?” Lena asks, and it’s almost playful, which makes everything that much easier. 

“Well... Pretty much everything, actually.” 

“Ah.”

Then the smell hits her, overwhelming her senses in an unexpected rush of heat and spice. Kara sits up right away, startled. “How did you...” is all she manages to get out, then pushed into her hands is a considerably sized takeout box of potstickers. 

“I wanted to surprise you, so I might have created a hermetically sealed lunchbox just to sneak these in,” Lena says, and Kara’s already laughing softly. “The food’s still good though! I literally just slipped them inside right before walking into the building, so...” 

“... Thank you,” Kara says. She inclines her head to the spot next to her, and feels the bed sink with Lena’s weight accordingly. 

Kara starts eating, but does so with only one hand. The other just fidgets at her thigh, tugging at her sweatpants, lying in wait so impatiently. Then Lena takes the hand and holds it firmly in her own, and finally, it feels like Kara can breathe freely again. 

“I never thanked you,” Kara says, “for, you know... everything.” 

“You already did,” Lena reminds her, squeezing Kara’s hand. 

“I... did?” Kara feels Lena nodding beside her. “Okay... so then, why does it feel like I still have so much left to owe you?” 

Lena tries to hold her breath quietly, but Kara hears it; of course, she hears it. “I can’t answer that for you.” 

A couple of hours later, when Alex pops into the room for her usual check-in, she stumbles upon an unexpected sight: Lena sitting up on the hospital bed, her legs tucked beneath the sheets as she answers emails on her phone, and Kara fast asleep, curled up around her. 

Kara’s still holding Lena’s hand, her face buried in Lena’s shirt where it smells most like her, apparently, besides her hair. 

Lena blushes a little, but can’t find it in her to regret her position. 

//

“Alex says it’s because I didn’t see your face,” is the first thing Kara says the next time Lena visits. “I pretty much saw everyone else’s, but... never yours. So, I’ve imprinted on you, or something.” 

Lena recovers quickly, “Well... what do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” Kara admits, running her fingers down the back of her neck, feeling the tender skin still raised in jagged lines. “There’s still so much I feel like I can’t trust right now.” 

“But you trust me...” 

“Yeah.” 

Lena carefully cradles Kara’s hand in both of hers, and it feels like a thank you of sorts. Then Kara draws their joined hands closer and closer, pressing her lips gently to Lena’s knuckles, and sighs in a way that could only ever be an expression of deep gratitude. 

//

Kara’s days all seem to unfold the same way, with Alex and Brainy running tests, Lena stopping by once per day for company, and Kara just trying to break up the monotony of it all with podcasts, books on tape, and tossing a tiny bouncy ball around the room to test her reflexes. 

For that last one, she has to stop the moment she hears Alex approaching her room, of course, because of all the broken glass and knocked over plants, and such. 

Until one day, she overhears a couple of DEO agents discussing some urgent mission—not exactly a rare occurrence, given her super-hearing, but she perks up, ears honing in at the mention of Lex Luthor. 

But when they also mention how Lena might be in danger, Kara is already out of bed and flying out the window.

Kara hasn’t flown since donning her blackout goggles, but she remembers enough to travel at a height that would be safe from any threat of collision. And before long, she’s hurtling straight for the source of all the distant commotion now pounding in her ears. 

She practically crashes in landing, the earth cracking beneath her bare feet. She whips her head toward where Lena’s heartbeat is fluttering the loudest, then hears low chuckles coming from the same direction. 

“You’re all so pathetic and predictable,” Lex crows. “At least try to make it somewhat of a challenge for me. God, it’s all just too easy.” 

“Kara, get out of here!” Lena’s voice shouts out to her, muffled and desperate. “It’s a trap!” 

But Kara takes a step toward them anyway, and immediately, the entire world seems to scream in protest. 

Kara falls to her knees, hands clapping over her ears but to no avail. The excruciating sound is coming from her own head, akin to hot spikes scraping at the inside of her skull. She calls out to Lena, but can’t even make out her own voice over the pain. 

She crumples over, helpless, her teeth gritted as she pushes her face into the dirt and shakes uncontrollably. She knows she has to get up; she’s a sitting duck like this. She can’t save Lena like this. 

And so, Kara does the one thing that she can do. 

She rips the goggles off her face, hurling them somewhere behind her, and jerks her head up. 

She sees a blur of colors, then a single hand outstretched towards her, clutching onto something silver and vaguely rectangular. 

She fires a burst of heat vision right at that hand, and feels the back of her head explode. 

//

“Man... she couldn’t just put them down gently?” mutters a voice that’s not unfamiliar. “She just had to throw the goggles like a goddamn shot-putter or something? These things cost a fortune!”  

“All right, that’s enough, Demos,” says Alex, a much more familiar voice. “I’ll worry about the budget, okay? You just get everyone else back to headquarters.”  

“’M’sorry,” Kara says, or at least she tries to say. “My bad...” Her eyes still shut tight, she flashes a thumbs up, then lets her arm flop back down to the ground. Alex stops her when she attempts to sit up. 

“Hey, not so fast, you jerk,” Alex says, somehow keeping Kara grounded with a single hand pressed against her shoulder. “We’re getting a stretcher for you.” 

“I don’t think I need a stretcher.” 

“Yeah, well... nobody asked you,” Alex sighs, before grumbling, “God, what’s taking them so long? Ugh, hang on... Hey, can you watch her? I’ll be right back.” 

Lena’s there now, and Kara can actually feel herself grinning without even meaning to. “No, don’t... You shouldn’t have come, Kara.” But there’s a smile in Lena’s voice, and Kara’s grin grows wider for it. “I’m serious!” 

“Okay, me too.” Kara then winces as a sharp pain gradually surfaces, trickling into reality. “The back of my head is killing me...” 

“Yeah, you’re bleeding.” 

Kara scoffs. “I don’t bleed; I’m Supergirl.” 

“Okay, Supergirl... but somebody got blood all over my shirt, and it sure as hell isn’t me, so...” 

“I don’t believe you.” 

“Then check for yourself.” 

Kara goes rigid, her humor dashed and her brow furrowing heavily.

“... You know I can’t do that.” 

Soft fingertips brush down Kara’s face, tucking her hair behind her ear so tenderly. “Listen,” Lena says. “You destroyed Lex’s transmitter, along with most of his right hand, and I think you blew out the implant in your head in the process as well.” 

There are thoughts then—the kind that Kara is unwilling to say aloud lest they develop reasons to be true. Thoughts like, what if the explosion damaged parts of her brain permanently? What if it severed that neural link between her eyes and everything else for good? And, how can she risk losing the one person who she believes to be absolutely, 100% real? 

Lena draws Kara’s attention with a gentle hand squeeze. “Hey, where’d you go?” she asks softly.

“I’m still here,” Kara says. “Still just right here.” 

But Lena seems to understand Kara’s concerns, unvoiced or not, because she leans a bit closer and asks, “Do you trust me...?” 

And, yes; yes, she does.  

With a deep breath filling out her lungs, Kara slowly opens her eyes. Everything’s a blur at first, just like before. But then little by little, bit by bit, the night sky comes into focus. She stares up at the darkness, counts as many stars as she can to put off the inevitable. 

Then her hand is being tugged and squeezed in the gentlest reminder, so she turns her head, blinking her eyes in preparation before looking up to see Lena Luthor smiling down at her. 

“Hey,” Kara says. 

“Hey yourself,” Lena returns. 

Kara nods thoughtfully, then gestures to Lena’s shirt. “Sorry, but I can’t afford dry cleaning,” she says, squinting at the various splashes of red—light but unfortunately prominent against the very white material—and Lena just laughs and laughs. 

[saarasabaku]

DMC OC Week Day 1

So I am once again taking part in DMC OC Week surprise, surprise 😂

Saara is uh back again this year lol A lot has change but some of it is still the same With that out of the way lets begin 🎉

Day 1-Round 1

Name: Saara Age: 2000+ DOB: June 1st Race/Species: Primordial Demon (Her Father) and Elemental Demon (Her Mother) Gender: Chaos

Pronouns: She/Her

Height: ~6’1ft (~185cm)

Weight: She never cared enough to check :D

Appearance: Saara resembles a woman about the age of 25 but in reality is much, much older, many thousands of years old in fact. She has quite the imposing figure, standing much taller than most with a fairly muscular body as a result of years of training and battle. Saara takes great pride in how present and visible her muscles are, a compliment or two will not go unappreciated or unnoticed ;) 

Saara’s face is much the same, sharing equally strong features to match the rest of her intimidating silhouette. A jaw that can cut diamonds and cheek bones just the same paired with forest colored eyes so intense they seem to peer into the very depths of one's soul. Her skin is tan with a reddish undertone, and Saara’s curly, waist length hair is even redder, the color is very reminiscent of freshly spilt human blood. She tends to wear it out and kind of wild, there is also usually at least one braid hidden in her thick hair. It holds a cultural/sentimental significance to Saara, one of the last tiebacks to her family. 

On good days there may also be many more braids strewn about her head, representing each and every one of her friends who she considers to be family. Each braid is decorated with little trinkets and accessories to make them personalized to the person they represent.      

Saara looks humanoid in nature but has far too many otherworldly features to ever be mistaken for one and that is exactly how she wants it. If her pointed ears, slit pupils and sharp claws give away her Demonic nature, so be it. 

Personality:

Saara is a proud and confident person, she is powerful and won’t miss a chance to let you know it. She’s very good at what she does and as long as you don’t get in her way there won’t be any problems.

Stubborn and smug but entirely willing to follow someone else’s lead if she thinks they have more experience or are more capable of leading. However most don’t have either of these qualities in her opinion. Which is just fine because Saara almost always works alone…

Almost.

At a glance Saara appears rather regal in a way that makes her seem untouchable and standoffish. Most first meetings can be rather intimidating but don’t let this put you off from getting to know her. She doesn’t really like strangers and won’t offer to shake your hand, but the Primordial is anything but disrespectful to those who haven’t done anything to warrant that kind of treatment. 

Saara tends to be somewhat formal and professional with those she doesn’t know well but the more time spent, one will find that she warms up rather quickly. She has seen much in her long life and has lived through even more, this has shaped her quite a bit. Saara is kind and caring to those she trusts, almost to a fault. The Primordial trusts quickly and gets attached even faster, she isn’t naive and can tell a person's true intent with ease but not if it's something she doesn’t wish to see or accept.

For all her power Saara is unable to deal with loss, or just does not deal with it very well so she’ll do anything and everything she can to prevent this from happening even though that doesn’t always work. The Primordial tends to worry constantly after the people she loves, treating her friends more like family. Saara will care for people more then she cares for herself, and is very motherly in this endeavor

“I apologize for being somewhat overbearing. It brings me no joy to feel your suffering.”

In battle however Saara grants no such treatment to her enemies.

There is no mercy for those who would be foolish enough to face her seriously in battle.

She wholeheartedly believes that holding back against her opponent is an insult so friend or foe, that is something she will never do or at least not much in the case of friends. Saara fights with a fierceness and passion that is hard to match, she enjoys the hunt and revels in the resulting battle/kill even more. The Primordial takes pride in the total annihilation of her prey, it’s extremely fun to know she’s the strongest thing they’ll ever get to meet.   

“Oh you poor fool… You truly do think you have a chance.”

“That’s so cute, it's absolutely pathetic.”

“I am the beginning of your end. There is no stopping Chaos.”

Quick facts/Abilities:

Saara is immortal and cannot die, nothing can kill her, not even herself. The most that can happen when she is grievously injured, her body will go into a coma like slumber and not awaken until she is completely healed. This can last for a few hours or several days to months depending on the full extent of the injury. This is due to her Primordial bloodline.

She has superior strength, smell and healing capabilities due to being a Demon. As well as incredible sensory abilities that she was innate born with.

Saara was born with wings that she can use at will but keeps them mostly away due to the fear effect they have on lesser beings (Humans, lesser Demons and anyone weaker then her)

She has fangs which she won't hesitate to use. Two top canines and two bottom ones as well.

Saara has an affinity and deep love for plants and nature, due to her abilities she can also commune with them which grants her quite the green thumb. Being more than able to grow Demonic plants outside of their natural habitats and alongside Human plants very safely.

[jmoriarty-221b]

Ok so this idea was inspired by AUs where Tim Drake is a member of the Addams family and thus this cute idea was born

Ok so, Tim’s parents still travel a lot but instead of leaving him alone in a big empty manor they leave him with his aunt and uncle Morticia and Gomez Addams

And Tim is a weird little kid who grows up without fear of the dark figures at night because the boogeyman is actually a pretty nice fellow who was very touched when Tiny Tim gave them a drawing of themselves, the monster in the closet actually gives great fashion advice as well as providing the perfect clothes for playing dress up, and the monsters under his bed are great storytellers and the shadow man gives Tim great advice on how to hide and use shadows to his advantage, etc.

The point is that Timmy grows up under the care of the Addams when his parents have to leave on long business trips or excavation sites and as such, is exposed to Gomez’s great appreciation of swordsmanship and fencing, and the haunted suits of armors are always great at comparing which kind of swords are the best in which kind of combat as well as the the importance of craftsmanship when in relation to having a reliable sword

And then one day Timmy watches the movie ‘The Legend of Zorro’ and becomes absolutely obsessed with learning how to use a sword and fight with it in the way only little kids can become obsessed with something they find completely cool, and Gomez is so excited to be teaching Tim everything he knows and they work together to craft Timmy his very own mini rapier for learning how to fence (swords are heavier so Tim learns those from Gomez when he’s older and can parry more weight)

And Tim becomes very Focused and Serious on learning how to fence and he’s very excited when he manages to finally best his uncle in a fencing duel (not as excited as Gomez tho, “MY CHILD SHALL BECOME THE BEST SWORDSMAN YET MY LOVE, DID YOU SEE HIS TECHNIQUE, HAD I BEEN SLOWER HE WOULD’VE RIPPED OPEN MY THROAT IN ONE SWIPE, I’M SO PROUD” “Our child dear”)

And then the movie ‘Count of Monte Cristo’ comes out and both Tim and Gomez are super fans (as a whole the family’s favorite movies are this one as well as the Legend of Zorro because 1. Revenge is achieved to the improvement of the main character’s well being and 2. The Aesthetic) and Tim just focuses on getting the hang of swords now with Gomez being more than happy to help his darling nephew

So years pass and Tim’s parents have finished one of their most taxing excavation digs so they return to Gotham and Tim has to return too (for the purposes of this AU Janet and Jack actually do give a fuck about their son so they would call him every other night when they’re away and if they can’t then at the very least they would call Tim once a week; they also call Morticia and Gomez at least once a week to check on how Tim is doing and they were also very happy to know that Tim has taken a liking to swords so they try to bring new types of weapons or literature related to weapons from the culture of their latest excavation so Tim can learn how different types of swords are wielded all around the world)

But anyway, Tim is going back to Gotham so he and Gomez work on creating a new sword for him with the family motto carved on the blade “Sic Gorgiamus Allos Subjectatos Nunc” which translates to “We Gladly Feast on Those Who Would Subdue Us” which is metal as fuck so yeah, and this sword is super durable and strong, inspired by a katana’s durability and a rapier’s gracefulness with a blade that is such a dark purple that it looks black like obsidian and the inscription of the family motto is carved in letters that are ruby red with a black hilt where an image of a drake is engraved in the same ruby red as the family motto (basically it is a Very Deadly Sword that is also Very Pretty with a dark aesthetic)

So Tim gets back to Gotham and one day he’s watching the news and sees The Batman saving the day and what not and sees Robin do a quadruple back flip and figures out their identities and decides that he wants to meet them at some point while on his nightly photography sessions of Gotham architecture; and if he manages to snap a couple of shots of Gotham’s heroes sometimes then that’s a bonus but Tim is mostly focused on capturing the essence of Gotham city (at this point in time when Tim moves back to Gotham he physically looks like 10-12 year old; he did meet Dick at the circus when he looked like he was 4 years old but for the purposes of the timeline Tim, as an Addams, can choose to remain at any age he desires for as long as he wants so while he did appear to be 4 years old at the circus, he had been alive for a couple of years more at this point, this also explains how he can master swords and fencing while physically looking like a 10 year old because he has been practicing for years as well as why he remembers Dick from that night at the circus)

So the timeline continues with Tim figuring out that the Bats are actually his neighbors but instead of staying away from the Waynes, he decides to go ask his parents if he can stay with the neighbors whenever they have to stay later than usual at the company or have to take a short business travel and they talk with Bruce about it and he agrees to take care of Tim, so now Tim has an in to befriend the Waynes and helps smooth out the edges of Dick and Bruce’s relationship so Bruce doesn’t fire Dick from Robin, but rather they talk about their feelings for once and Dick decides he wants to create his own superhero identity and Bruce supports his decision (Tim may or may not have had to talk about how his family happened to be very open about their feelings and worry for one another and how much closer they are due to talking to each other and resolving conflict; Alfred may or may not have been 100% behind Tim every time he made such a conversation) also, Tim is basically a trial run for Dick on becoming a big brother for when Jason arrives

One time Tim asks Dick if he knows how to fence which Dick can’t really answer because technically he knows how to fight with a sword but that’s for vigilante purposes which his civilian self isn’t supposed to know so Dick says that he doesn’t and asks Tim why he wanted to know, Tim proceeds to talk about how his favorite masked hero uses a sword to fight injustice and he has a black cape and a black horse and Bruce comes into the living room they’re in in the middle of Tim’s rambling about his favorite hero using a sword and is Concerned for a hot minute until Tim finishes the rant by saying “. . . and that’s why I like his movie so much, have you seen the Legend of Zorro?” (Cue relief for both Dick and Bruce because for all that they scrambled to put a name to the hero Tim was describing they couldn’t come up with one and were considering the possibility of a new player in the vigilante scene) so then Tim asks Mr. Bruce if he knows how to fence and Bruce says yes and asks if Tim would like to learn cue the “Oh, my uncle taught me how to fence a few years ago and when I lived with them we had a duel at least once a week, it was very fun so I was just wondering if you knew so we could practice if you want to Mr. Bruce”

Dick is 100% on board with this because the idea of Tiny Tim and 6’1” Bruce fencing is hilarious in his mind, Alfred is there to supervise and both Tim and Bruce are provided with the appropriate fencing equipment and protection; Bruce starts off slow and is surprised when Tim manages to beat him before starting to enjoy fencing with someone who can surprisingly keep up with him (Dick is taking pictures because the height difference is just too cute to be ignored and Tiny Tim is adorable in his own mini fencing equipment)

Whenever his parents do have to leave for extended periods of time (any company trip that takes more than 3-5 days qualifies as this) Tim stays with his aunt and uncle, thus starting a fun tradition of having spontaneous fencing duels with his uncle Gomez, basically if one of them is in the library then the other will shout ‘En-garde’ while throwing a sabre towards the other person and engaging in a quick duel; basically, if Tim is reading about the latest poisonous plants produced by Poison Ivy and annotating his research in order to get an idea of what would be a nice gift for his aunt Morticia and Gomez walks into the library then Gomez will grab two of the sabres they have on the wall for this exact purpose while shouting ‘en-garde’ before throwing a sabre at Tim and engaging in a duel, same goes for Tim, it’s almost instinct to the point that Tim has to hold himself back from doing exactly this whenever he sees Bruce in the library of Wayne Manor

Later on, when Jason is already adopted into the Wayne family, Tim still comes over and makes it his sacred mission to teach Jason the art of swords so he has another fencing buddy because “Mr. Bruce isn’t always here and I have decided that we will be friends and you’re pretty cool but knowing how to fight with a sword just ups your coolness level ya know?” So now Jason has smol Tim teaching him how to fence and it’s pretty fun to be able to do a taxing physical activity outside of being Robin with a friend, when Jason gets the hang of fencing Tim decides that he must now advance to the next level: sword fighting (Alfred is always there to supervise and give tips and pointers because he also knows how to fence but chooses to stay in the sidelines and let the young masters have their fun)

The problem with this is that, while the Waynes do have sabres for fencing, they don’t have swords, at least not in their civilian selves, so Tim decides to bring his own swords to teach Jason how to sword fight, Alfred is the first to see Tim’s very own special sword and is both impressed at the craftsmanship and concerned as to why a child has a sword, Jason thinks Tim’s sword is the coolest he has ever seen and Tim is happy to talk about how he made it himself with his uncle’s help when he finally learned all about sword fighting and promises Jason that they can make him his own cool sword when he learns how to sword fight too, Dick also thinks that the sword is a little concerning for a kid to have but he also wants his own cool sword and so now he insists Bruce has to teach him how to sword fight because Tim said he’s not allowed to have his own sword until he learns how to sword fight, Bruce is baffled as to why Tim has a sword, impressed at Tim’s skills in craftsmanship, and a little Concerned as to why Tim’s sword has that Latin inscription on the blade (no Tim, knowing that “we feast in those who would subdue us” is your family motto doesn’t calm me down yet it explains a lot about your mother)

By the time Damian comes along to the family he is very interested in where Jason and Dick got their Very Cool swords from, his father also has one and he wants to have his own Very Cool Sword too, thank you very much, and Tim visits them when Damian is still settling in and asks his customary question of if he knows how to use fence and gets an affirmative answer he asks Bruce if it would be ok for him and Damian to have a fencing duel, Bruce explains the rules to Damian and makes sure that Alfred, Dick, Jason and him are present in order to keep Damian from maiming/killing Tim

The duel does get a little out of hand as Damian gauges that Tim is more skilled than he previously thought so he stops holding back, Tim is positively grinning at this since he always has to hold back with the Waynes in a way that he doesn’t with Uncle Gomez because while an Addams won’t die from a stab to the heart, the same can’t be said for anyone else; the duel ends with Tim winning because he has more experience than Damian but he is positive beaming at how awesome Damian was and how these duels could become a weekly thing before they transition to swords and once Dames graduates from swords he can design his very own sword with Tim’s help as a sort of graduation present for learning how to sword fight and he’s sure that it won’t take too long for Damian to master swordsmanship because he’s basically a natural already and very skilled and this duel was so much fun Damian we have to do this again sometime oh my gosh I want to teach you everything I know it’s gonna be so much fun

And Damian, a poor baby, was mad at having lost to Tim but then Tim hits him with all this excitement and smiles and it’s the promise of getting his own Very Cool Sword is what gets him to agree to learn from Tim, it’s not that he feels warm at getting compliments from someone who also likes swords and knows what he’s doing in a fight, he definitely doesn’t find Tim cool at all, he’s just making use of a resource and he will learn everything Tim has to offer and become better than both Grayson and Todd, that’s all (that’s not all because it turns out that Damian is the younger brother Tim never had and he takes Dami under his wing and helps him adjust to a life outside the League of Assassins and how to find hobbies to enjoy; Damian won’t admit it but he is also Very Attached in to Timothy and feels like he won’t be judged for his past with him and he is also a fellow sword enthusiast so yeah)

Tim decides to do the same thing to Damian and initiating a quick fencing duel whenever he sees that Damian is in the gardens (no fencing inside the Manor on pain of Alfred’s eyebrow of disappointment); this helps Damian with the transition of learning to have fun and also learn to realize that not everybody is an enemy, it also helps keep up his training and burn some energy whenever he gets restless and helps him bond with Tim more

The idea was that Tim and Uncle Gomez would surprise each other with spontaneous fencing duels by shouting ‘en-garde’ at the other person whenever they find one another in the library, and now it turned into a fluff AU where Tim isn’t Robin but he’s still a family friend to the Waynes and an Addams and helps bring the family closer through his love of swords because yes

[theskywaslookingback]

[AO3]

“Why do you even have that?”

Sasha looks up from her laptop to give Jon a quizzical look. They’ve been deep in a research hole for hours now, Jon with his files spread out before him like a buffet and Sasha picking her way through line after line of code to access things that she really shouldn’t be able to access - although, the government should have better security if it didn’t want to get hacked so she tried not to feel too badly about it. Jon’s not looking at his files now though, his gaze appears to be drawn to her shoe-box sized kitchen.

“Why do I have what?” She asks, “A kitchen?”

“No, the--” He flicks his fingers in a vague gesture to the counter, and his eyebrows pull together in a fetching little wrinkle that Sasha desperately wants to smooth away with her thumb, “the absolutely massive thing you have taking up half your kitchen.”

“Oh!” Sasha says, and then starts to laugh.

The stand mixer is large, honestly, too big to store in the meagre storage space of her cabinets and taking up half the countertop next to the stove. It’s also a garish bright red, loud against the backdrop of beige walls and a white lino countertop. She wonders why on earth Jon’s bringing this up now, they’ve been working for hours now and this certainly isn’t the first time he’s visited her flat, and decides the answer to simply be that ‘it’s Jon, he’s probably just never noticed.’

He’s fully scowling at her now, in a way she knows is defensive. He probably thinks she’s making fun of him. He can be so sensitive. “Sorry,” She says when she stops laughing long enough to speak, “I think you just caught me off guard. It was cute.”

“Cute?” Jon starts to sputter, the tips of his ears darkening and his nose wrinkling.

He is cute, Sasha thinks.

She waves it off. “It was a wedding present. That’s one of the big ones, I think, for most people. First thing I added to the registry.”

Jon couldn’t look more blind-sided if he’d been hit by a lorry. He even drops his pen, staring at her with wide eyes. “You’re married?”

Sasha snorts. “Don’t be daft. Does it look like I’m living with someone?”

Jon looks around anyway like he’s looking for evidence. “Divorced?”

“Nope.” She says, popping the ‘p’ with extra emphasis and grinning at the helpless confusion radiating from her friend.

“Then--” Jon trails off. He looks at the stand mixer again, like maybe it holds the answers he’s seeking. He looks back at her, and then down at his files. Suddenly his head jerks up and he says, “Wait, have you ever even been engaged?” He says this so seriously it tugs at Sasha’s heart. His eyes narrow like he’s caught her in some kind of trap, as though that wasn’t what she was expecting.

Sasha grins. “No.”

Jon looks at her incredulously, like he’s fitting together a bunch of puzzle pieces in his mind. It’s fun. Jon is so fun. “Sasha, did you fake an engagement just to get a stand mixer?”

“Yes!” Sasha slams her laptop shut and points at Jon, “But do not tell my great aunt that, do you understand? It took me years of work to get that stand mixer, Jon!”

Jon stares at her silently for just a moment, absolutely bewildered, before he dissolves into laughter, curling in on himself and digging his fingers into his sides. It shakes his shoulders and Sasha swears there’s tears in his eyes and before she knows it she’s laughing too, hard enough it hurts her chest and blurs her vision. To an outside viewer they must look positively loony. It takes ages for them to stop and gather themselves back together. Jon takes off his glasses to wipe tears away from his eyes while Sasha rubs at her face and tries to stop the giggles that keep bubbling up when she looks at Jon.

“God,” Jon says at last, “I haven’t laughed like that in--” he clears his throat, “anyway.”

“Yes,” Sasha agrees, “anyway.”

She looks at the clock and is both shocked and completely unsurprised that it’s after midnight.

Jon must follow her gaze because she hears him utter a quiet, “good lord.”

She’s dangerously close to laughing again.

Jon starts to shuffle his files away back into their folders. “Later than I thought.” He says.

Sasha hums in agreement, putting her laptop away and sorting her notes into neat piles. “No use trying to get home this late, you might as well just stay the night.”

“Ah,” Jon’s nose does that cute wrinkle thing again, and Sasha’s lips twitch, “that’s quite alright. I’m sure I can just find a cab.”

“Could do,” Sasha agrees, “but it’d be easier if you stayed. I’ve got an extra toothbrush and everything. Plus, tomorrow is Saturday so it’s not like we have to rush back to work or anything.”

Jon’s got all his things put back in his messenger bag, a solid olive green canvas affair that Sasha privately thinks is dreadful looking. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your weekend. I’m sure you have plans.” He’s stalling, looking for a reason not to go. Sasha wishes he’d just tell her what he wants.

She smiles, because Jon isn’t easy but she knows him and she likes him anyway, “Well, I was going to put that stand mixer to work and make myself some bread. But other than that--” She shrugs.

Jon’s eyes go once more to that bright red piece of kitchen equipment. “You make your own bread?”

“Sure. It’s cheaper and it tastes better.”

Jon makes a thoughtful noise. “Well, I suppose… that is, if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Lovely,” Sasha beams, and then adds slyly, “I’ve even got some of Tim’s things you can sleep in.”

Jon goes properly red at that and buries his face in his hands with a groan.

-

Sasha busies herself with getting her ingredients together while Jon wakes up. Before they’d become friends she’d always just kind of assumed he’d be a morning person. He had that air about him at work, sharp and alert even when she was still trying to get her head on. The truth is that while Jon has difficulties getting to sleep, he would happily sleep until mid-afternoon if she let him, so she makes sure to wake him at a decent hour and then goes back to check and make sure he hasn’t fallen back asleep. Since her flat is basically a glorified closet, and Jon sleeps on the sofa, this is not a hard task to keep an eye on.

It takes a good twenty minutes before Jon comes and sits himself down at what she generously calls a kitchen table. His hair hangs in curls around his shoulders and he impatiently pushes a hand through it where it covers his face. He’s still sleepy-eyed, the sleeves of Tim’s jumper she’d let him borrow pooling around his hands.

“Good morning.” She says with amusement.

He grunts, flopping into a rickety chair. “Coffee?” He asks.

“All out. Tea alright?”

He nods.

“Great. Kettle is over there.” She gestures vaguely to the area next to the fridge, “Tea is top cabinet.”

Jon sighs, like it’s a great effort for him to make his own tea, but offers no further complaint as he retrieves the kettle and fills it with water.

With Jon out of the way Sasha appropriates the table for more space to set out her scale and bowls. She won’t need anything too fancy today so it doesn’t take long to get set up. She hears the kettle and turns around just in time to see Jon half-way climbing onto the counter. “Jon!” She scolds, similar to the way she would her cat when she was a child.

He freezes and gives her a sheepish grin. “You said top cabinet.”

She did, and she hadn’t thought about the almost foot of height she had on Jon. She snorts and waves him down. “Grab the mugs, I’ll get the tea then.”

He grumbles something about doing it himself but obliges, plucking two mugs from the drying rack.

“Green tea alright?”

Jon makes a dismissive noise. “Black?”

“Out.”

“I’m taking you shopping after this, Sasha James, this is downright unacceptable.”

“Yeah, sure.”

She hands him the box of tea bags and he rolls his eyes at her, muttering as he fills their mugs with water.

“Do you at least have milk?”

“Yes.”

“Thank god.”

Sasha rolls her eyes and gets back to her scale, weighing out her dry ingredients.

“Why are you doing it like that?”

“By weight?”

Jon hums.

“It’s more accurate by weight than by volume, typically.”

“You can’t just, I don’t know, eye-ball it?”

“Jonathan Sims have you ever baked anything in your entire life?”

She takes the jerky shrug he gives in response as a no. She shakes her head and dumps her flour and yeast into the mixing bowl of her stand mixer. Jon hovers there at her shoulder, watching, so close she can almost feel his breath.

It gives her a wicked idea.

She reaches a hand up, like she’s checking something, and then flicks the mixer on high.

Flour explodes from the mixing bowl in a cloud of white, covering her and Jon and the countertop.

The little shriek Jon gives will stay with her for a very long time.

“Why?” He asks, mouth agape and positively covered in flour.

“Because I knew it would be funny.” Sasha says, laughing. There’s flour in her hair, and she’ll definitely need to wash her clothes, but the look in Jon’s wide eyes and the slowly blooming smile on his face is worth it.

It takes less time than she thinks to get everything clean again, and the second time she even allows Jon to help her measure ingredients and start the mixer. He’s very serious about the whole thing, watching the scale with a grim kind of determination like it would mean death if he added just a bit too much yeast to the dough, but it’s the most fun Sasha’s had in forever. By the end of the day she has enough bread to wrap a loaf up for Jon to take home, and he looks at her like she’s just given him the greatest gift he’s ever received.

“Same time next week?” She asks as she wraps his scarf around his neck.

“I suppose.” He says, ducking his head to avoid the kiss she tries to plant on his cheek. “If you’re amenable.”

“I’m amenable.” She says, and kisses the top of his head anyway.

Sasha watches him leave and Jon turns back at the end of the hallway to wave, before disappearing into the stairwell. She laughs, bright and happy, and closes the door.

[jadelynlace]

Hvitserk’s First Tattoo / Ink Drinker Modern Vikings AU Request [Ivar x F!reader]

catch up on the porno, I mean series, here.

requested by: @quantumlocked310 ♡

author’s note: thanks to this post, you’ll all be subjected to the written requests. here is the visual reference for the tattoo Hvitserk gets (image isn’t mine and all credit goes to it’s original owner). mentions of brotherly bickering, Hvitserk being scared and Ivar tattooing.

synopsis: You finally talk Hvitserk into getting some ink.

✎

“Did I miss it?” You say, nearly falling in through the main door of the shop. “I almost took the ambulance over here just because it has lights and sirens,” Hvitserk offers you an estranged look, one mixed with him being mortified and slightly impressed with your timing after the over night shift.

“I’ve never seen you this excited,” Sigurd calls from his spot, pulling a record from the shelf as he goes about lining it up, pulling the needle over so the music can fill the room.

“She doesn’t even get this excited when she sees my dick,” Ivar teases from his spot and you offer him a less than kind finger gesture. 

“Can you blame me?” You remark back and Ivar only returns your original hand motion. “Did you pick yet?” You the ask as Hvitserk studies Ivar’s portfolio, as if he will be quizzed on it at the end of the session.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” He groans, another turn of the laminated pages.

“All of our best talks happen when it’s in the ambulance cabin at four in the morning,” You laugh, patting his back as you round the small counter. Ivar’s hands are quick to seat you on his lap, wrapping around you almost instantly and you both breathe in relief.

“Long night?” Ivar asks softly in your ear.

“Routine bullshit,” You grumble back, his hands tracing up your back and you could almost fall asleep in the very spot. One hand leaves your spine, reaching along the counter to grasp the tall can of his energy drink, offering it to you but you only shake your head. “That crap tastes like cough syrup,” You add as Ivar downs another gulp.

“Hurry up Hvitserk, we’re here after hours for this,” Ivar calls before he pulls the can back to his mouth.

“Yeah, I can’t wait to pop your cherry,” You say and Ivar looses some of the energy drink through a spray from his lips.

“You can get her name on your ass,” Sigurd says, walking past Hvitserk and tapping his uniform clad back. 

“Why? So Ivar and I can match?” Hvitserk grumbles back and you laugh against Ivar’s chest. 

“How do they know about that?” Ivar asks you quietly, through a teasing voice and you raise slightly, giggling against his mouth as your catch his lips with yours.

“Oh, for fucks sake—Hvitserk here, do that one,” Sigurd says, tapping his fingers against the page. “Paramedic Ragnarsson gets an anatomical tattoo,” 

“Nice choice,” Ivar hums, standing to his full height with you latched still around him and he sets you to sit along the counter.

“Is it nap time for the baby?” Sigurd says, voice taking on a toddler’s tone as he sits back at the front desk, and at the receiving end of the pen that flies from Ivar’s grasp. Leather combat boots stalk along the dark wooden floors, pulling the design from its laminated home before Ivar sends the image through the printer in the far corner. Your eyes catch sight of his back, the muscles in his biceps, the veins on his forearms as he programs the machine to spit out the stencil. Looming your eyes up the gray fabric of the old band tee, over the locks that he’s starting to comb into a bun, and then down the dark wash jeans and over how they end in the tops of his shoes. More thoughts swirl about how you couldn’t wait to undress him when you two would go to your apartment.

As Hvitserk makes himself comfortable in the black leather chair, he rolls up the uniform sleeve, a quick unbutton and folding of the blue material, already deciding on where he deemed the appropriate placement. The curl of his sleeve stops above his elbow and you could see the faint burn mark on his wrist from when he tried to eat a marshmallow that was still on fire. You watched Ivar position himself at his station, a meticulous arrangement of his tools, setting everything in a straight line to connect. There was a squirt of the ink into the containers, a pull of gloves onto his hands, wiggling his fingers into their spots and cracking his knuckles. You bit down on your own tongue to stop that moan that tried so hard to escape. Taking the razor to shave off the blond fuzz, he gingerly laid the stencil on his brother’s inner arm, pressing it gently before pulling it back.

“Double check in the mirror that you like the placement,” Ivar says, tossing his head towards the back wall with the mirror surrounded by an intense wooded frame Floki had built. Hvitserk stands, and you see the slight tremor in his hands, never a fan of any sort of pain—intentional or not. You’ve seen this man cry at the sensation of a paper cut, and all but sob when he jerked his shin against the metal grate on the ambulance’s bumper. But, he was also the man who would tell the patients that it was going to hurt—the realignment, or when he set up the hare for an isolated femur fracture—it was going to hurt and they had his full permission to break his hand if need be. You laugh every time there’s an active labor call, and Hvitserk reassures the mother that he has two hands, and if she needs to break one to push her child out, he’s willing to suffer. It calms the hysteria, even on the worst calls you two had walked into, Hvitserk always knew how to calm any of the demons that danced in the ambulance. Ivar turns to you as Hvitserk gazes, probably far longer than other client has to date, and slides himself over to where you’re perched. There’s a removal of one glove, an index finger and thumb on your chin as he kisses you once, twice, and third time. 

“I already know what I want to eat for dinner,” He whispers against your ear, just loudly enough so you’re the only one to hear his words. “But make sure you leave the polo on, baby girl,” He adds, kissing your temple and nudging the badge that’s on your chest, as a slow blush roses over your cheeks while he turns back around. “Alright brother, ready?” He calls, tapping the seat of the chair and Hvitserk takes a final look before plopping both himself down and his arm against the cushion. 

“Is it going to hurt?” Hvitserk asks, trying to bite the smile he’s showing while both Ivar and Sigurd are preparing to throw whatever they can reach. “I’m sorry I couldn’t resist,” Ivar offers him another lethal glare, nearly plucking the smile from his lips as he begins to spread a thin layer of the ointment across the purple ink. There’s a buzz from the needle gun and Hvitserk whimpers not unlike a puppy. Ivar’s glove-clad fingers stretch to pull the skin taunt, taking the gun down the first line and wiping it with a paper towel.

“Still alright, sir?” You say to Hvitserk as if he’s a patient in your ambulance and you’re watching an IV start. 

“Can you hold my hand?” He whines in a faked voice of concern.

“No,” You say back and there’s a snicker from Sigurd on the far side of the shop. The room dulls to only the noise of the record, the vibration of the needle and you watch Ivar so effortlessly in his element. Eyes watching, concentrating on what he’s doing yet singing lowly to the lyrics of the song that floods your ears alike. He rolls his chair slightly, maneuvering Hvitserk’s arm to his liking as he holds it down with his own. Strength unmatched because his least favorite thing is when the client fidgets, since it sends his work to become sloppy, and he’s grown accustomed to a way to hold the body part down to his liking. And that sight makes you think about him over you, body weight pressing against you like a weighted blanket, one with a smart mouth and curved lip who melts at the sheer stroke of your nails on his skin. Your thoughts rolls from the shift you worked prior, reanalyzing what you had done, gone through, pulling it to part like thread. They roll like waves but crash with thoughts of Ivar, his small comment earlier and then they shift. From work to pleasure and you’re squeezing your thighs before you realize it. Ivar’s voice comes through your ears to halt the dissection, and you move your head to see Hvitserk admiring the piece now forever on his skin and you smile back. Another layer of ointment and then it’s wrapped tightly with Ivar’s instructions to leave it on for an hour. 

“See? No need to be a little baby about it,” You tease him and he laughs.

“That’s his default setting,” Sigurd’s voice calls as he stands up. “Ivar you’re closing up tonight, right?” And Ivar just nods. “I will see your smiling face tomorrow morning then,” He adds sarcastically, and with a wave and check of his pockets he’s out the shops front door.

“Wasn’t as terrible as I thought,” Hvitserk jokes. “Maybe I will get your name on my ass after all,” You offer him a faked smile and forged laugh. “I’m going to head out too, I got the over time for tomorrow,” And he’s gone with a salute through his hand and the hundred dollar bill on the desk, leaving you and Ivar alone in the shop.

“I like seeing you in here,” You say softly as you watch him clear his materials, place everything in their homes and he smiles while he works. “You’re so relaxed,”

“I can say the same thing when I see you in that ambulance, baby,” He replies as he casts a look back to you and then he’s standing, arm grabbing you to come into his side. “Now let’s get going, I’m really looking forward to my dinner…”

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[karmaischerryred]

🍒 NSFW 18+

🍒 Dazai Osamu from Bungou Stray Dogs

🍒 x Fem Reader

🍒 A/N: Hello! This would be my first time posting my work here. I create fan fiction on a different website but I'm linking all my R-rated chapters or one-shots here; also for y'all to enjoy, to whoever finds this.

🍒 Background:

The story I published on the other website is a book of Fem Reader x Dazai One Shots of them doing ordinary (and sometimes not-so-ordinary) things a couple would do. It's kind of parallel to the events happening in BSD, but they're not in chronological order. Every six short stories, I'll be uploading an NSFW 18+ one, and this is the first. Reader's character is consistent all throughout the stories.

🍒 My inbox is always open for suggestions, though I can't promise fast productivity because I have classes :) Enjoy! xx

Y/n took another sip from her wine.

She grimaced as she swallowed the warm liquor, disliking the smell. Normally, she'd prefer champagne over this, but she had associated the sparkling drink with parties and celebration.

And nothing was worth celebrating about tonight.

Under the dark blue glow, Y/n sat on the couch overlooking Yokohama's city skyline. The clock reading almost forty-five minutes past midnight.

She pulled her silk robe tighter to her body. Even with the air-condition off, the breeze at an hour like this still managed to make her chilly. The alcohol was only doing so little to heat up her insides, and her uneasiness wasn't helping either.

Dazai had left her a message earlier that afternoon that he'd be home late. And that could only mean the agency had assigned him a job that so much required his ability; a job that was most likely dangerous.

Y/n trusted in his ability, and himself even without them. But she still couldn't help but worry about him at times like these. She didn't want to see him suffer terrible injuries, or at worst, actually die.

A sudden clicking from the door lock fortunately snapped her out of her building worries.

"You're awake."

Y/n placed her wine glass on the small side table, not turning to look at him. Instead, she closed her eyes and tilted her head back on top of the sofa's backrest, letting out a sigh of relief. "You know I choose to wait for you to come home."

Dazai walked towards her. "Ah, I wish you wouldn't. I would always come home to you no matter what."

She felt Dazai's arms rest on both sides near her head. Opening her eyes, she was greeted by her smiling boyfriend. His eyes glinted in reflection of the city lights right outside the big floor to ceiling windows in front of them. He looked extremely handsome under the teasing of the darkness.

How did she get so lucky?

He kissed her forehead, taking the time to inhale her scent, before making his way to lay on her lap. "Seriously, you should rest. I'll be busy often so you can't keep tiring yourself."

Y/n stroked his dark, perfect hair. "What was the task tonight?"

Dazai unconsciously drew circles on her thighs, the tip of his cold fingertips leaving goosebump on Y/n's already freezing skin. "Just had to er, capture a weretiger."

"The tiger that's been on the news?"

"That's the one."

"Why did they send you after it?"

"Him," he corrected. "The weretiger's an orphan's ability even he didn't know about. Poor boy scared everyone away at the orphanage, even himself."

Y/n let him continue. He might not proudly announce or show it, but she knew that he was growing to love his work.

The side that saves people.

He sat up and stretched. "Not even a scratch on me. Okay, Y/n? There's nothing to worry about."

She hugged him by the neck and kissed him right on his jawline, the most convenient place to land a kiss considering their height difference.

"Wait." He chuckled, standing up and pulling Y/n with him. "The job was done in a warehouse, I should probably clean up."

"All right." Y/n yawned and walked towards their bedroom. "I'll head in first while you go take a shower, you do smell like dust."

Y/n hung her robe by the door before sinking to relax on her side of the bed. She was grateful Dazai had been coming home more often recently. He'd sometimes choose to stay in the agency's dorm when there was too much work or when he felt like he was being closely observed by an enemy of some sort.

She closed her eyes, still trying to keep herself awake until Dazai joins her.

The door to the room swung open and she could hear his footsteps drawing closer. Dazai likewise found himself under the cool, white sheets and spooned Y/n, kissing her on the cheek while doing so.

"Y/n, you're hot."

"Thanks," Y/n mumbled sleepily.

He smirked. "Of course you are, but I meant your body temperature, kitten. Are you sick?"

She shook her head. "I maybe had too much to drink."

"You didn't have work to take home?"

"I drank while working until you arrived," she admitted. "It helps keep myself in check."

Dazai sighed. "How many times do I have to tell you not to brood so much."

Before Y/n could answer, she felt him lightly kiss her neck, his breath teasing the shell of her ear— her weakness.

"D- Dazai," y/n warned, doing her best to suppress a moan. "Aren't you tired from the job?"

She tried to control her breathing as she felt him go hard against her butt.

"I'm not tired," he assured, pulling her closer to him by the arm as his lips continued to plant soft kisses on her neck. "Turn around."

Y/n was sure her cheeks were flustered red by now. Good thing it was a little dark, with only the glow coming from outside the windows as their source of light. She turned to face him, now laying face to face.

He cupped her face with both hands. "You're too cute when you worry, but I'm sure you stress yourself enough at your internship."

She closed her hand around one of his and kissed it by the palm. "I don't mind. I want to wait for you."

Dazai smirked. "Then we must do something to relieve that stress, no?"

"W-Wha—? Dazai!"

In one swift movement, Dazai was on top of her, pinning her down with both hands at the side of her head.

"You're always so stubborn, Y/n." Dazai's lips hovered above hers. "But it's my turn now."

His lips pushed hard against hers, Y/n struggling to suppress a smile. Dazai rarely asked for them to do 'it' and like today, he'd usually find a way to pin the need on her benefit.

"You're playing hard to get, huh?" He kissed the area between her breasts, his hand finding its way underneath her tank top.

"Why can't you ask for this like a normal person?" Y/n moaned as he continued to play with her breasts.

He hummed in amusement, now tracing a finger from her nipple down to the hem of her pajama shorts. "Because I'm not a normal person, love."

Y/n held her breath as Dazai's fingers circled around her clit.

"So I'm going to make you ask for it." He kissed her on the forehead and pushed a finger inside her without warning.

On instinct, Y/n gasped and closed her eyes at the sensation. He was too good with his hands that even though she wasn't an ability user, she could suddenly almost understand how it would feel like to be nullified by his touch.

"No." He grabbed her gently by the jaw with his free hand, making her open her eyes. "Look at me."

"Dazai..." was all Y/n could muster through her moans as he continued to flick his finger from inside, and that's only one. She barely held his gaze as her own eyes would threaten to retreat at the back of her head.

"Yes?" He stopped abruptly.

Before she could stop herself, Y/n screamed out, "No!" And immediately avoided his gaze.

Ugh.

"You were saying something?" Dazai started again, now going for slow thrusts with the same finger. It was sliding in and out easily now that her body had given in to him, betraying her mind.

"Now that you started it," she seethed. "Please."

Even though he was still climbing back to the quicker tempo he had earlier, Y/n squeezed his free left wrist, signaling to him that she was close.

Dazai's love for control flashed over his dark orbs, he loved it even more when it involved applying it to Y/n in bed. "Please, what?"

He pushed another finger inside her, his other hand teasing Y/n's bottom lip before inserting two twin fingers into her mouth.

Y/n sucked on them to conceal her moans. She was reaching a different kind of high compared to how close she was a few seconds ago.

"F-Fuck—" Y/n struggled to talk now that her breathing has quickened, mimicking the pace of Dazai's fingers, while also still trying her best not to break their gaze.

Her body went rigid as she clenched around him, her fluids slipping past his fingers and onto the bed sheets.

Dazai took his fingers out of her mouth and covered it to muffle what was almost a scream from her, while his other hand continued to work their magic from below. His weight now slightly pinned half of her body down as she squirmed, overcoming her orgasm.

Once she was done, he retrieved his fingers and stretched them out with a smirk on his face, admiring the fluid dripping from them. "Can you talk properly now?"

Tears were forming at the corners of Y/n's eyes. She was already too sensitive down there, but she wanted more of him.

It could only get better than this.

"Please," she said with a shaky breath. "Fuck me."

"I love seeing you helpless like this." Dazai pulled out his member and stroked the tip with the wetness from his fingers. "Your wish is my command."

He grabbed a pillow and placed it underneath her butt to elevate the lower part her body, since she was smaller and shorter than he was.

They kissed again as he thrust inside, slowly but hard.

Y/n gasped into his mouth but he was quick to claim it again. His elbows resting at her sides, barely pulling out of her as he continued to stroke deeper and deeper into her insides.

She grabbed his hair as they continued to make out, fortunately stifling their moans for their neighbors not to hear. Every stroke made her eyes water up more as she reached for her second orgasm.

"Dazai," Y/n whispered in between kisses. "Faster."

He pulled away and grinned.

"Good girl." He pressed his lips on hers before rising to support his weight with his hands. "Safe word if it hurts, okay?"

Y/n nodded as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. She tried to grab at the pillow underneath her head, but Dazai reached for her hand and held on to it instead.

No sound came out of her mouth as she struggled to regain proper breathing, even though she was very near screaming her brains out. Dazai, too, was close to reaching his peak with his own moans muffled on to his shoulder.

She couldn't feel anything else with the rest of her body except for the part that's being pleasured greatly down there. She was so wet she could hear the sound liquid with every stroke, together with the sound of skin slapping against each other.

She squeezed his hand to signal him again. "Dazai, fuck!"

"Me too," he said, focused. "Fuck, I love it when you're loud."

"Cum in me."

"What?" He started to thrust rougher at the same fast-paced jolts. It was starting to hurt but it turned her on even more.

And he knew this. He brought a hand up to her clit and started rubbing them.

"It's safe today," Y/n tried to catch her breath. She was dangerously close now that Dazai had done his final trick.

Her back arched as she arrived at her second orgasm, a bit more intense than the first one. She could feel Dazai empty himself into her, his jaw clenched as he slowed down.

He collapsed into her arms, whimpering in satisfaction. "You feel so good, Y/n."

She was too breathless to speak, her legs were shaking and she was throbbing down there. Y/n was in ecstasy, but the exhaustion came crashing down quickly to her.

"I'll go get you water." Dazai stood up and took a box of tissues from the dresser to clean his member off before tucking it back inside his boxers. He then left the room.

He came back with a glass of water, and assisted Y/n to sit up.

She took the glass gratefully and began chugging down the water. She then placed the glass on the bedside table once she was done, trying to get her breathing right.

Both of them shared a smile as Dazai tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You know I fucking love you, right?"

Y/n nodded. "And you love fucking me."