#solly baby

[fexjam]

Сальмонела.

[toruro]

— ✧ flight of the stars

"It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake."

you go following flights to the stars, and these cars can get us home (zayn)

genre: smut (18+ / mdni), f1 au, brief high school au, angst, fluff

description: being a doctor, you think you should feel guilty when you start to enjoy the presence of a “regular” a little too much, but who can blame you for missing your patient when he's xu minghao. you know—the xu minghao: crown jewel of SECTOR Racing, top pick of the season, and possibly the one person who knows more about you than anyone else in the world.

tags: character death (not reader / hao), discussion of medical issues, descriptions of pain, pining, racer minghao, physiotherapist reader, probably inaccurate representation of physiotherapy, also featuring kwannie, sollie, cheol, wonu, & hannie

w/c: 13.3k

fic playlist

a/n: oh. always thank u to @gyuswhore for helping me w this, and special smooches to han for going over this w me too ^^

smut tags. oral (m receiving), pet names (baby)

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Cheol is going to kill Minghao when he finds out he somehow managed to screw himself over while training. Well, only if Minghao doesn’t kill himself first.

It was just supposed to be a regular session, doing some standard neck exercises with Wonwoo, his training partner. General training shit—you know, the stuff Minghao needs to do so his neck doesn’t snap in half the next time he races and then—pang! Pain flares up in his muscles when Wonwoo adjusts the controls on the harness around Minghao’s head a little harder, the latter losing his form in a moment of unexpectancy.

His hand flies up immediately Wonwoo stops, shutting off the controls and loosening the tether attached to Minghao’s harness, releasing all the tension. “Are you good?” he asks, taking a step closer as he takes in the sight of the racer.

Wonwoo’s heart sinks into his chest when he finds Minghao’s head and neck unmoving, staring straight down as his breaths begin to grow shaky, and—crap, his eyes are glossy and—oh fuck, Wonwoo might just shit his pants.

“Hao—” Wonwoo calls out again, this time his voice drenched with worry as he reaches out to try and untie the harness from around his friends head, but as his hand brushes over the back of his neck, Minghao shifts a little and that’s when Wonwoo hears it—a sharp gasp following by Minghao muttering under his breath:

“G-get the medic.”

His voice is labored and Wonwoo knows exactly what to do and nothing at the same time. His mind is racing because holy crap, SECTOR probably just lost their best racer for a few months, if not the entire racing season, and it’s all because of this stupid neck training session, and—Wonwoo stops himself from thinking about what this means for Minghao’s work and forces himself to scramble back, running out of the training room and down to the nursing hall.

Five minutes and several phone calls later, Minghao is being loaded into a stretcher. He doesn’t say a word though, doesn’t know what to say.

Five hours and even more phone calls later, Minghao is sitting up with a brace around his neck, and his manager and friends around his hospital bed (Wonwoo and Hasnsol are to his left while Seungcheol stands on his right).

“So you’re telling me I won’t be able to compete for the rest of the season?” Minghao finally scoffs out after a couple minutes’ worth of silence in tense air.

“We don’t know that yet,” Cheol responds, crossing his arms over his chest as he watches the racer carefully. Minghao’s lips are curved down in a heavy frown but his eyes remain unwavering as he finally looks up at his manager.

“Fuck,” he breaths out.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Hansol asks worriedly, and Minghao knows that his friend is only just concerned for him but all the pain and frustration is already starting to bubble up inside of him.

“Like a bitch,” he mutters bitterly.

Seungcheol sighs deeply, stepping closer to the bed. He knows the situation isn’t easy for Minghao—it isn’t easy for anyone—and he’s aware of the stakes involved for the team. “Hao, you know we’ll do anything to get you back on the track as soon as possible.”

Minghao scoffs, not meeting the eyes of his manager. “Yeah. I know.”

Wonwoo nearly flinches at the stillness of his friend’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he finally says loudly, causing the other three in the room to look at him. “I messed up with the controls—it’s my fault, and I—”

“It’s fine,” Minghao huffs, tearing his eyes away from his friend. “It was an accident.”

It’s not fine. It’s not fucking fine at all and—

Deep breaths, Minghao reminds himself, but when he actually starts to think about the ache that blooms from his neck and down his spine, it gets harder and harder to keep his cool. He feels like he’s ‘bout to pop a vein from all the blood that’s rushing through his body, the only thing snapping him out of his trance being Wonwoo’s voice.

“You’ll start seeing a physiotherapist tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Best to start the recovery process early, Minghao thinks to himself, mildly calming his irritation. He purses his lips, trying to navigate the cluster of thoughts that plague his mind until he finally musters up the courage to ask, “How long is it gonna take? T-to heal?”

His friends look at him solemnly, and Minghao feels his heart sink right down to his stomach.

“We don’t know.”

“You already sa—” Minghao stops himself from saying something he might regret. “Could I actually be out the whole season?”

There’s silence until Cheol finally decides to speak up.

“There’s a chance.”

Minghao thinks he might scream.

“Hey Seungie!” you chirp, walking into the reception of your office with a bright smile. Your best friend greets you with only an eye roll as you approach his counter at the front, peeking at him from over his monitor.

“I told you to stop calling me that in public!” he whines, nose scrunched up as you laugh at the way he’s pouting.

“No one’s even here, no one’ll hear anything,” you try to reason as he huffs and turns away, refusing to look at you.

“Still!”

You sigh, putting down a brown bag on the floor before raising your hands up in surrender. “Okay fine, I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?”

This time, you roll your eyes. “Yes … Seungie—”

“I hate you!” Seungkwan roars as you double over laughing. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I’m officially disowning you as my best friend.”

You gasp, stepping back and picking up the brown bag again. “Are you kidding me? And here I thought I would’ve liked to share one of my Americanos with you but I guess not …” you sigh dramatically, starting to walk away as you lift the bag to wave it in Seungkwan’s face.

“I was just joking! Come back! How could I disown you as my best friend—c’mon, you know I was just joking,” he pleads from behind you.

You grin as you turn around and walk back to him with a grin. “You’re horribly unpersuasive. Like your acting skills are actually an abomination,” you tell him, pulling out one of the cups of the cold drink and handing it to Seungkwan. “You’re lucky I love you,” you continue, laughing a little as Seungkwan snatches the cup away hastily with a bashful “thanks” under his breath.

“Okay, well ditto to you too,” he barks back. “Who else would put up with you and your ugly crying over Taylor Swift music videos?”

“Hey! Wildest Dreams is a lyrical, musical, theatrical, melodcial masterpiece! ”

“Okay, first of all, melodical isn’t even a word, and even if it was—” Seungkwan is cut off by the ringing of the office phone line. “I probably need to answer this but we are not done with this conversation,” he shoots at you.

You giggle, waving him off and heading down one the hall to get to your office, barely catching what Seungkwan is saying, or who he’s even talking to. It vaguely crosses your mind that it’s a bit too early in the morning for your office to be getting work calls, but you brush it off as you slip past your door and into your little room.

It’s a nice little space you’ve made for yourself; your physiotherapy firm was set up a few years back, and you’d even recently gone through a certification process to belt yourself as one of SECTOR’s physiotherapists. Pretty exciting stuff when you think about it—being able to work with such top-notch racers (albeit under rather unfortunate circumstances), and you get to do what you love at the same time.

Now, you haven’t actually gotten any big-shot patients yet, and you’ve started to appreciate that more recently. It’s not as stressful, and you don’t have to navigate a possibly awkward doctor-patient relationship with someone who’s dealing with what might be a career-changing injury.

You wonder when you’ll stop forgetting that your luck ran out years ago.

Just as you set your bag down and slip into your chair to answer some emails, Seungkwan is knocking on your door and walking in. “Hey, uh, this is kinda important,” he tells you, pointing behind him at his desk where he was taking the call.

“What’s up?” you ask, slightly worried by Seungkwan’s quick change in demeanor from playful to serious.

“Some doctor at SECTOR’s facility just called and—” Crap, you know where this is going already. “—Xu Minghao just fucked up his neck. Like yesterday. And he’s getting discharged from the hospital in a few hours hopefully and they’re gonna send him over right away so you can take a look and start working with him.”

You press your lips together tightly, head going slightly dizzy at the mention of his name. Of course, when you finally got yourself licensed to practice under SECTOR, you were aware of the possibility of working with him, but this feels a little too real and a little too fast.

“You good?” Seungkwan asks, snapping you out of your haze. “Lost you for a second—it looks like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Sorry, just zoned out,” you laugh stiffly, turning on your computer and taking a shaky breath. “I’m a bit nervous I guess. I’ve never worked with a professional like him—at least not yet,” you continue to say, and it’s not entirely a lie.

You are nervous, and in any other situation you would try your best to just not think about the situation but given Xu Minghao is going to step into your office in a few hours, you figure you should get to work right away.

Seungkwan steps out soon, saying, “You got this. Seriously, you’ve been working so hard for so long and you finally get to work with one of the big shots!”

Chuckling at his optimism, you finally open the email application on your monitor. Your inbox is flooded with emails, most of which are a series of X-rays and MRI scans of your soon to be patient, and so taking a deep breath, you dive in.

“Hey Hannie, did you sanitize Room C?” you ask one of your (few) employees as he steps out from the supply room behind the reception.

“Shoot, was it supposed to be C? I’m sorry, I cleaned up B, but I can go to C and get it sanitized right now—” he starts to say, turning towards the supply room at the end of the hall.

“Hey wait no it’s okay, I just asked for C ‘cause it’s a bit bigger but it doesn't really matter. Don’t worry about it—have you had your lunch break yet?”

“Nah not yet, I was just about to step into that with Seungkwan, but he’s taken a moment to grab coffee from the cafe across the street.”

You chuckle, “Already? I got him an Americano only a few hours ago …”

Jeonghan laughs out loud at that, slipping off his cleaning gloves and patting his hands down on his scrubs. “You know how Seungkwan is with his Americanos.”

“Don’t remind me—he’s crazy. I don’t know how he ingests that much caffeine and still functions like a normal human being but—”

Seungkwan’s voice cuts you off. “I know you guys are talking about me but I’d suggest you take a break and go get ready because I swear I just saw a car with SECTOR’s logo on the back pull up onto the street right up front.”

Oh fuck. You’re already starting to feel awfully nervous.

“Shit, really? I didn’t think they’d be here as early as noon,” Jeonghan says quickly, tossing the gloves and turning to you for instruction. “Anything we need to do?”

“Guys, just chill,” you say casually. Ironic, you think to yourself, because you feel like your heart might pound right out of your chest any second now. “Just handle this like you would any other patient. I’ll probably have to talk to his manager, but while we’re doing that Jeonghan can take Xu into B and just ease him into things. Lay off the tension, you know? He’s probably stressed out as is.”

“Noted,” Jeonghan nods as he walks down the hall, and then you turn to the door of the reception where you see a group of three people walking up.

You try to make out their figures; that one on the left’s probably one of SECTOR’s health directors, and the one on the right is … that’s Choi Seungcheol isn’t it? The one who sent you the emails? He’s Xu Minghao’s manager, you’re pretty sure of it.

You straighten your back when the front door opens, clutching the clipboard full of prints of the scans you were sent earlier. Setting your eyes straight, you take a deep breath and finally take in the sight of the three people filling into the reception.

Yup, there’s Choi Seungcheol … and then Cho Miyeon following behind and she’s pushing a—shit, it’s Xu Minghao in all his glory.

Well, you’re not sure how wondrous he feels right now in that wheelchair, eyes cold as he stares at the floor. His neck’s held up in a thick brace that you can see reaches down under his shirt and over his shoulders; he doesn’t look up, and for a moment you’re grateful.

It puts off the question though, the words that linger in the back of your mind.

Will he recognize you? Well, more importantly …

Does he even remember you?

You rid yourself of the personal thoughts when Choi Seungcheol approaches you, holding out his hand to you. You shake it, strong and firm as he smiles awkwardly. “Nice to meet you, thanks for making time for us today.”

“No problem,” you reply with a nod as Jeonghan comes in from the hallway. “My assistant, Jeonghan here can take Mr. Xu to one of our rooms while I talk with you two about a few things. Does that work?”

“Yeah, sounds great,” Seungcheol nods, motioning Jeonghan to Minghao in his wheelchair behind him. The racer keeps his head down as Jeonghan brushes over and starts pushing him down the hall to Room B. You wonder if he’s even noticed you.

As Jeonghan goes off, you turn back to the other two still in the reception and point at your room. “Shall we?”

Once the three of you settle down, Seungcheol and Miyeon sit across from you, the former speaks up. “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice—this all happened really quick and if you can't already tell, we’re kind of desperate to get him back in the driver’s seat as soon as possible.”

“No worries, please. These kinds of situations are exactly what I’m here for,” you tell them, and they both seem to crack a small smile of relief. “Now I spoke with the doctor that examined him at the hospital, and then briefly with Ms. Cho,” you say, motioning towards the woman on your right, “And there’s a general understanding that Mr. Xu’s suffered a pretty serious strain in his neck muscles.”

“Yeah, uh—how long is this going to take to heal?” Seungcheol pops in, and you sigh.

“I can give you a range, but it’s not so definite … I’d say between three to five months,” you tell him. “But again, it’s different for every patient. Muscle strains aren’t like a clean break or fracture where we can determine almost exactly when it’ll be healed … this stuff is going to take more time and it varies from person to person as well. It all kind of depends on Mr. Xu’s body, and that’s what I’m here for—to help figure out what works for him.”

“We understand that, thank you,” Miyeon nods, sitting straighter in her seat. “How often should he be coming in?”

“Hm, I’ll give you a definite answer after checking in with him today, but to estimate, I’d say around 2-3 times a week, while also using my suggestions outside of our sessions.”

You finish the conversation with the two after that, excusing yourself as you let them back into the reception before knocking on the door to Room B. Jeonghan opens the door from the other side and quietly closes the door behind him before pushing you a little deeper into the hallway.

“He seems like, really sad, so—”

“Well, duh. It’s a serious injury,” you say with a roll of your eyes. Jeonghan clicks his lips and nudges your shoulder.

“Whatever. I’m just telling you to tread carefully,” he says as you make your way to the door. You don’t respond to Jeonghan as you slip in. Minghao’s turned away from you as he sits on his wheelchair in the middle of the room you purse your lips before taking a deep breath and nodding.

You got this. Seungkwan was right—you’ve worked too hard for too long to be rendered anxious ‘cause of a silly little overlap of your past with your patient.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you greet, making your way to the table right by where he sits, finally seeing him up close. He doesn’t look at you. “I’m pretty sure you already have heard enough about what’s wrong with your neck right now, so let’s talk about how we can make it better, yeah?”

You hear a gruff, “Sure,” escape his lips, and you figure that given his circumstances, it’s understandable.

“The report says that when you first started feeling the pain you couldn’t move your right arm even a little without it hurting in your neck, right?” you clarify as you sit at the chair between him and your table.

“Yeah.”

“Is it better now?”

“A little. Can move my forearm but moving my shoulder still hurts.”

“Okay, this is a good sign actually—you’re getting through the initial stages of healing just like normal. The first week or so of strain like yours might be pretty painful, but it’s over quickly and the pain after that should be pretty bearable, although it’ll take more time for it to heal.” You tell him, looking away to glance at the scans.

As he stares at the ground, Minghao wants to scream. Good sign? What the fuck are you talking about—he can’t even lift his goddamn arm without it feeling like there’s daggers plunging into his neck, and you’re here sitting all calm faced, pristine, acting like this isn’t his fuckin’ career on the line. Acting like your words are gonna make a difference as long as he’s in this stupid ass brace with this stupid ass injury in this stupid ass room with—who the fuck even are you?

His head hurts, and Minghao thinks it’s partly because of his neck, but it’s mostly because he can’t stop thinking. Thinking about the worst possibilities, thinking about everything that could go wrong and—well shit, he chides himself for letting his anger get the better of himself, even if it was just in his head.

Shamefully, he presses his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before finally lifting his gaze and turning to face you. When you look up from your paper and finally turn back to him, you’re met with the sight of pretty brown eyes staring right back at you.

“I—” Minghao starts, but it sounds like the air got stuck in his throat as he finally takes in your figure, and then he purses his lips together and turns back away. “Nothing.” the possibilities of what he could have been thinking ruins your mind just a little.

You can see it in his eyes—Minghao remembers. Still, he doesn’t say anything about it, and you wonder if you prefer things to stay that way.

“What time is Xu scheduled for on Wednesdays? He’ll be coming in on Wednesdays, right?” Jeonghan asks as he steps into your office.

“Uh, he’s coming in for a session from 11-2 today—which, by the way, could you set up Room C for that? I can’t remember if I already put that on the to-do list.”

“Yeah I did it yesterday after our last patient of the day, I was just wondering. You’re gonna lead it with him this time, right?”

“Yeah, since it’s the first session. You were right about him being … apprehensive—”

“Sad,” Jeonghan corrects you. “A sad, sad boy.”

“Yeah well, go figure,” you sigh out of sympathy. “Anyways, like I said, it’s understandable for him to be frustrated, so I’ll work with him at first to ease him into things and stuff. You can start taking over more of the sessions once he warms up to the whole process, and once we figure out and set a routine.”

“Okay great. Does this mean I can go out for my lunch break at 11:30?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” you reply with a casual shrug as Jeonghan thanks you and slips away. You shift your attention back to your monitor before glancing through the initial medical reports you were sent by the hospital, and then the results of your own tests you ran during your first session with Xu Minghao.

It’s a shitty injury, you’ll have to admit. A neck strain on the muscles closest to his right shoulder, not only rendering his neck immobile for a period of time, but also hindering his abilities to move his right arm.

Must hurt like a bitch—physically and mentally—and the image of him staring down at the ground burns in the back of your mind.

With a sigh, you silently wonder if you could offer him the same solace he gave you.

Xu Minghao shows up to your office two hours later with Choi Seungcheol pushing him inside on his wheelchair, and you’re thankful to see that his stature looks much more relaxed than before. “I’ll come by at 2, right?”

“Yeah, that’ll be great. Thank you,” Jeonghan tells Mr. Choi with a smile before taking control of Minghao’s wheelchair and strolling him into the room. You’re already there and waiting for him, standing up to greet him with a smile.

“Hi Mr. Xu,” you say, thanking Jeonghan as he leaves the room and closes the door behind him.

“Morning,” he says quietly, not quite meeting your gaze. The air isn’t as thick as it was the first day, but there seems to be some invisible barrier between the two.

“How’s the pain right now, Mr. Xu?” you ask, pulling out a notepad on your computer to jot down some notes.

Your patient’s eyebrows furrow, and for a second you have a feeling this might be harder than you thought, but his next words are more comforting than anything. “Uh, can you just call me Minghao? Mr. Xu is … it’s weird.”

“Y-yeah of course, sorry about that, Minghao,” you nod with a half smile. “So could you tell me how things are feeling?”

“I guess it hurts less. I don’t really move that much so I can avoid hurting myself though—kinda in this thing most of the time anyways,” he replies gruffly, hitting the left side of the wheelchair with his palm.

“Do you stand up? Walk around at all?”

“Not often.”

“Okay so I think we’re going to try and change that soon,” you tell him. “We’ll do some mobility checks today but if it doesn’t hurt to move your shoulder a little, then I think it’s best you move as much as you can without pain. Honestly, you’re going to be injured for a while and—”

You pause when you hear Minghao inhale sharply at that, making a mental note to soften your words a little.

“—and we don’t want you to be immobile. If you can move, try to. We’ll try and get you out of the wheelchair within the next two weeks, how does that sound?”

Minghao’s ears perk up at that. “Two weeks? Only?”

You nod happily at his sudden energy and the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Yeah, you know the wheelchair is just so you don’t move your upper body too much but like I said the last time we met, the initial stages are pretty painful but once it’s over, you’ll be more mobile. Of course, you won’t be able to get back to racing and training right away, but you’ll be able to be a lot more active than you are now.”

“How long will it take before I can start training again?” Minghao asks curiously, finally looking you straight in the eye with parted lips.

The desperation is painful to watch.

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, watching his shoulders deflate. “At least two months.”

“Two months?”

“At the least,” you say with a held breath.

“At the most?” Minghao asks hopefully.

You purse your lips. “At the most? … A year?”

“A year? That’s more than a whole racing season!”

“Yes but neck strains are fickle and we can’t let anything go wrong, and due to the nature of your sport, you really—”

“I think I know the nature of my own sport,” Minghao scoffs, and with the way he says it, you don’t know if you should be mad or sad or disappointed or a mix of all three.

“I—” you pause, “I understand your frustration Mr.—Minghao, but my job is to make sure you’re one hundred percent healed before you set foot on the track again, so please be patient and allow yourself to heal.”

Something about those last few words rings in Minghao’s ears, and he zones out for the rest of what you’re saying.

Allow yourself to heal. Fuck.

Minghao stays pretty much silent for the rest of the session, and you’re not quite sure if it’s out of complacency or indifference. You go through some slow mobility exercises, and figure out a good range for him to stay in for the next few days.

“Make sure you practice those movements every day,” you note once you near the end of today’s session. “I’ll send you an email listing all of them with instructions so you remember. Please try and do them every day, and it’ll hopefully speed up the recovery process.”

“Thanks,” Minghao murmurs as he carefully sits back down in his wheelchair.

“Is there anything else you’re doing in your free time right now?” you ask, trying to make casual conversation as you start to type up your list.

“Not really. I watch practice videos and stuff, I guess.”

You hum, not really responding until you finally finish the list and send it to his email. “I sent the list, you should start using it tomorrow. Anyways, I think you should try crocheting,” you tell him casually.

Minghao gives you a sideways glance as he raises an eyebrow. “… Crocheting?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug, finally turning around to face. “You know, with yarn and stuff.”

“I know what crocheting is.”

“I-I know,” you say awkwardly, slightly thrown off your game by his bluntness. “You won’t have to move your shoulders, only your forearms, so it’s fine.”

“But why?”

“It’s fun. And a nice way to pass time, especially when you can’t move around a lot. Plus, it’s always good to have something to distract yourself from—” You pause, thinking about how to finish your sentence. “—from shitty stuff, y’know?”

Minghao chuckles, and your heart swells a little when you finally see him break a smile. “Yeah, I guess.” There’s a long pause. “Shitty stuff, huh?”

You laugh, nodding. “Yeah. Shitty stuff.”

“You and your stupid Americanos,” you sigh, watching Seungwkan grin as the barista hands him his drink.

“Stop acting like you don’t indulge in me too. Getting me all those Americanos in the morning … I should blame you for this addiction!”

“So you admit it’s an addiction!” you exclaim triumphantly, waving your hands in the air. Seungkwan rolls his eyes, leaving you to sit at a table in one of the corners of the cafe. Laughing at his silent admission of defeat, you wait for your drink patiently.

It’s only a few more moments before the barista is back at the counter, calling out, “Honey lavender latte!” With a smile, you walk over, about to reach for the drink before a hand beats you to it.

Frowning, you look up at the man who’s holding your drink before you say, “Hey, I’m sorry, I think that’s my drink.”

“Uh, honey lavender latte? I’m pretty sure I ordered this,” he says. You look at him with a funny expression on your face, eyes darting between the drink you ordered and the drink that’s in his other hand. He catches your suspicion and shakes his head quickly. “It’s for my friend, I ordered for the both of us so I could get us a spot.”

“Oh,” you breath out, figuring that it probably isn’t a lie. “S-sorry for the misunderstanding. I just—” you chuckle, watching some of the tension from the man’s shoulders wither away. “I ordered the same thing—”

“Oh sorry, I—my friend isn’t here yet so you can just take this and I’ll wait for the other to come out,” he offers, watching your face, and you see something in his expression change. “Hey wait, you look really familiar,” he murmurs.

Your eyebrows furrow as you silently thank him when he hands you the drink. “Uh, are you sure? I’m sorry, I just—I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before,” you admit with an awkward chuckle.

The man shakes his head and laughs quietly to myself. “No, I swear I’ve seen you somewhere, but I’m just blanking on it right now—sorry this is probably so weird but—” The bell of the front door rings and he shoots his head to see who’s coming in, eyes lighting up. “Oh hey, Hao! Was just waiting for you!”

Hao? Mingh—

You lock eyes as soon as he walks in.

The man from before beams as he walks up to him as your eyes finally break away, and Minghao turns to his friend. “Hansol,” he greets with a small smile, and it’s a pleasant sight to see your patient—who’s more often monotone than not—seem a bit more at ease than before.

“How’re you doing? Was just waiting on your drink and—” the man—Hansol—points at you with eyes as wide as saucers, “—oh by the way, doesn’t she look really familiar?”

You chuckle nervously, breaking out an awkward smile and waving at Minghao who returns you by raising his left arm in a sort of half-wave before turning his attention to Hansol to give him a blank stare. “Yeah, she’s kinda like my physiotherapist dude.”

This time, you chuckle a bit more genuinely, eyes darting between the amused smirk that’s just barely there on Minghao’s lips, and Hansol’s agape stare.

“Ohh shit, yeah that’s where I saw you! Cheol and Miyeon were talking about you when they were booking you for Hao at the hospital, and I saw your picture on the screen,” Vernon explains as the realization hits him.

“Oh,” you laugh lightly. “That’s funny,” you reply as you turn your attention to Minghao, “Good to see you’re getting out of that wheelchair. I bet it feels nice to finally stretch your legs and stuff,” you say. If Minghao could move his neck without eruptions of pain, he’d nod his head.

For now though, he settles on smiling and saying, “Yeah, it’s refreshing.” His eyes wander around you, taking in how you aren’t dressed in your usual work attire, but rather clad in a cute outfit. “Is that my drink?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed as he points at the coffee you’ve just taken a sip of.

Hansol laughs and shakes his head. “You two got the same drink so when it came out, I just let ‘er have it, since you weren’t here yet.” He glances around before putting his drink down at a nearby table. “Shit, I think I left my laptop in my car,” he murmurs, looking at his friend. “I’m gonna go get it so I can show you those videos I was talking about.”

“Yeah, that’s chill,” Minghao agrees. Hansol smiles at you and then his friend before quickly retreating from the cafe to get to the parking lot, leaving you and the tall man standing in silence. It’s a few passing moments where you awkwardly sip on your drink before something pops in your mind.

“Hey, it’s actually really funny that you’re seeing me right now because—well it’s not funny funny, but it’s a nice coincidence so I guess that counts as funny but—anyways, look, I crocheted this cardigan.” You smile, lifting your arms a little so he can see the dark, navy blue fabric you made yourself, before turning around to show off the light blue, striped pattern on the back. “Cool, right?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty. Nice color scheme and all,” Minghao agrees.

“Thanks. Have you started crocheting? I can send you some videos to get you started,” you offer. Just as Minghao is about to reply, the barista from behind you calls out another order of your drink, causing both of you to glance back. “Oh, you wait there; I’ll get it,” you say, putting your drink down on the same table Hansol did before walking over to grab Minghao’s drink and hand it back to his left hand.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to,” he says as your fingers brush over each other before falling back to your side. “Isn’t your friend waiting for you?”

“Of course I have to. I’m your doctor! I can’t make you do that,” you reason before pointing back at your best friend. “And are you talking about Seungkwan? Looks like he’s having the time of his life doing—” You turn your head around to glance at him before looking back at Minghao, “—doing god knows what on his phone and—”

“Are you talking about me?” you hear Seungkwan’s voice calling from a few meters away, and the way you cringe has Minghao stifling a giggle. “All good things I hope!” he continues.

“You know it!” you shoot back sarcastically, only to be followed by Seungkwan’s rolling eyes. “That little shit. I pay his bills!” you exclaim, a faux frown making its way onto your face.

Minghao laughs, his head throwing back a little. The small movement flares up a bite of pain in his neck, causing his breath to get stuck in his throat, eyes widening as he slowly shifts back into a comfortable position.

“Sorry,” you murmur sheepishly.

If Minghao could shrug without feeling like his neck would snap in half, he would. Instead, he raises his eyebrow playfully when he says, “Are you seriously apologizing for being funny?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m retracting my apology.”

It’s been around three weeks since you started working with Minghao. He’s warmed up to you a fair amount, and ever since you saw him at the cafe, the air around you two has been lighter.

It’s still a bit awkward at times—skitting around the moments where you wonder if you should say something about the elephant in the room before shaking your head and biting your tongue. Then again, given how often you see Minghao, you’ve gotten used to it.

Seungkwan stops by your office this morning when he walks into work. “Morning,” he greets, dropping a small brown bag by your desk as you file through some papers.

“Ooh, thank you,” you tell him gleefully, taking a break from your task to glance at the chocolate muffin that sits inside of the bag. “I’ve been craving this,” you admit, reaching in and picking out a small piece to stuff into your mouth.

“Your welcome,” Seungkwan sighs, sitting down on the seat in front of you. “Anyways, I found something cool that I don’t think you told me.”

You raise your eyebrows at him skeptically. “Yeah? What is it?”

“You and Xu Minghao are from the same hometown!”

You roll your eyes. “Why do you still keep calling him Xu Minghao? He’s told us to just say Minghao, and even if he didn’t, it’s awkward when you say his full name like that.”

Seungkwan scoffs at you, reaching his hand over to try and flick your forehead but you dodge. “Because he’s Xu Minghao. I can’t believe you aren’t still jumping up and down for getting to work with him, seeing how much you love SECTOR.”

“You want me to be happy that the best racer from my favorite team is injured?”

“Ugh, you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Whatever,” you shrug, a small hint of a smile peeking from your lips.

“Anyways, you didn’t answer what I actually said. Why didn’t you tell me you guys are from the same area? That’s so cool!”

“I mean I guess,” you say with a shrug.

“And you guys are the same age so—wait, did you go to school together? Oh my god, are you guys like—I don’t know, long lost best friends or something?” Seungkwan’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’d be so cool—I could totally see a movie on this and—wait! If he’s your long lost best friend, where does that leave me? You better not replace me with him!”

You laugh at the progression of his thoughts, almost choking on your second bite of the muffin. “We did go to school together,” you admit. “It’s not like we crossed paths though. He kinda just, I don’t know, existed back then. So no worries for you, you’re not getting replaced any time soon … unfortunately,” you add with mischievous giggle.

“Better not …” Seungkwan huffs.

Minghao comes in a few hours later for his afternoon session. Jeonghan works with him for the first two of the three hours, and you walk in for the last hour. You go over some more mobility exercises, before finally sitting down so you can discuss his progress.

“So things are going really well,” you start to tell him, beginning to list off a couple signs of development which stood out to you. You’re about to commend him on keeping up the exercises everyday, when you notice him staring at the floor with a blank expression. “H-hey, Minghao?” you ask, clearing your voice when he doesn’t respond. “Minghao.”

His eyes shoot up to yours, shoulders tensing for a second before he lets out a deep breath. “Sorry, zoned out for a second.”

You chuckle nervously, wondering if it’s okay if you probe just a little. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Minghao replies casually, but you catch the way he doesn’t meet your gaze. “Just thinking about last night’s race.”

“Oh, Singapore?”

“Yeah.”

“I was able to catch a bit of it last night, but I passed out. It seemed intense though—you see Kim’s pit stop?”

“Yeah, it was kinda insane,” Minghao says breathily. His expression is unreadable, but he’s continuing to respond and so you choose to let things go on naturally. “He’s been living up to his talent now that his shitbox is back to what it’s supposed to be.”

“Can’t imagine how frustrating it is.” Fuck, when Minghao’s shoulders drop, it feels like you said something you probably shouldn’t have.

I can imagine, Minghao thinks after hearing your response, but he bites back the words. “Yeah,” he says dejectedly instead.

Silence. This seems like a good chance to change the topic.

“Uh—” Sorry, you want to say, but you choose to hold your breath instead. “I have good news.”

“Oh?”

“We can get you out of the neck brace today,” you tell him happily.

Minghao’s eyes light up. “Really?”

“Yeah, your progress has been great. Didn’t want to tell you earlier to get your hopes up, in case something went wrong, but everything has been looking really good and you’re at the point where we usually take any supports like braces off.”

Minghao grins, and it’s a stark contrast from the grim shadow cast on his face just moments earlier. You take a few moments to go over the procedures with him, helping him out of the foamy, firm brace with gentle hands and watchful eyes.

“How’s it feeling?” you ask, setting the brace down by one of your counters so you can dispose of it later.

Minghao lets out a low groan of what you can only assume is relief when he looks up. “Like my skin can finally breathe,” he sighs heavily, a bright smile taking over his features as you turn to face him.

“I’m happy for you,” you tell him, before beginning a quick examination process of the area under the brace and going through some quick motions.

“All done?” he asks. When you nod, he continues. “Kinda early, huh?” he say pointendly, and you both quickly glance at the clock on the wall: his session is supposed to end in 43 minutes.

“Oh yeah, uh—actually … I was wondering if you wanted to try something?” you ask tentatively, and Minghao senses your hesitation. “If you have the time.”

Raising a brow, he nods. “Yeah I don’t mind, what is it?”

“One second,” you tell him, getting up and leaving the room to grab something from your office. Shyly, you walk back in and to your seat, all while holding up a brown bag. “Just some old crocheting supplies I thought you might like,” you murmur, placing it down on the counter.

Minghao presses his lips together tightly, not expecting your words. “Oh, uh—I haven’t really … I haven’t taken up crocheting yet. Sorry, uh—”

“Oh yeah,” you say quickly, holding a hand up, using the other to show him the contents of the bag. There’s some balls of yarn and hooks in a little mess, and you reach in to take some out. “I figured—it’s pretty intimidating to take up by yourself but,” you sigh. “I think it’ll be really nice for you. I recommend it to a lot of my patients who can’t do their regular activities and hobbies … and now given your brace is off, your vision will have more range and it might be really fun for you. No pressure if you don’t like it, but I thought it wouldn’t hurt to show you the ropes,” you admit, holding up a ball of blue yarn.

Catching onto your pun, Minghao chuckles and replies, “Sure, why not.”

“Okay great,” you say excitedly, dropping the bag and pulling your chair up in front of him and next to the table, pulling the supplies out.

Minghao is patient as you show off the different yarns and hooks, explaining the very basics in great detail. You can’t quite tell if he’s being so obedient out of genuine interest, pity, or simply polite compliance, but for whatever reason, you’re thankful. Soon, you’re showing him how you do it yourself before handing him one of your spare hooks and the ball of yarn, letting Minghao test the waters for himself.

“Yeah, just do that and—wait,” you mutter, reaching over to adjust the way he’s holding the hook. Your soft fingers gingerly brush over his knuckles, and Minghao finds himself getting lost for a moment. As you innocently fix the position of his fingers, his stomach churns in a manner he can’t quite name. “You got that?” you ask him suddenly, looking up at him with wide eyes.

“Sorry, zoned out again. What was that?”

“Singapore really got you thinking, huh?” you muse before shaking your head and laughing it off.

“Sorry, I—”

“Don’t worry about it. Here, I was just saying you should position your thumb like this or else you might start to cramp up really fast. Happens to me like crazy but I didn’t fix my habit and now I just gotta crochet through the pain.”

Minghao looks at you with an odd expression. “Crochet … through … the pain?”

“That sounded cooler in my head, my bad.”

Minghao laughs. It’s not a tight chuckle, or a soft giggle, it’s a laugh. And it’s bright and full and tugging at your heartstrings in a way you’d rather ignore. “It’s okay.”

“Anyways … here, I’ll show you how to start off with a slip knot and then we’ll take things from there,” you instruct.

Slowly, you walk him through the steps. You learn that Minghao is a good learner. He’s intuitive, but it’s not that you expect much different—you figure no one can get to the level he’s at without being quick to pick up on things.

You’re soon showing him how to start a simple chain, the yarn and hook still in his hands as you work him through the process. “Yeah, now you just gotta yarn over like this—no, the other way, just like that … and—yeah … yeah!” you exclaim excitedly when Minghao slips the hook right through, lengthening the chain. “You got it!”

“Really?” Minghao asks. “Simpler than I thought,” he admits aloud, and you nod vigorously.

“Yeah … crocheting looks hard from afar but once you actually get the hang of it, it’s as easy as breathing,” you explain, softly taking the yarn and hook from his hands and showing how it looks once you build in more loops.

He watches you carefully—the way your fingers so gently, with such precision; how your eyebrows furrow ever so slightly as you focus in on the task at hand, tongue unconsciously sticking out from the corner of your mouth, and— 

“You’re really good at this,” Minghao murmurs quietly, and you swear he’s so close, his warm breath fans down on your cheeks. You gulp, pausing what you’re doing to look up at him.

“My mother taught me. It’s been a casual hobby ever since.”

You feel Minghao’s eyes bore down on yours intensely, wondering if he’ll respond. Something is screaming at you to pray he’ll keep his mouth shut.

Minghao doesn’t say a word, thankfully. Still, the possibilities of what could be running through his mind haunt you.

You think you should start feeling guilty. You think you should already be feeling guilty when you start to look forward to seeing Minghao. He’s your patient for fuck’s sake—you should be happy he’s not holed up in here everyday.

Still, there’s a weird feeling that festers in your chest when you think about him.

Minghao, and the way he’s so persistent, so patient, so attentive with all the exercises and information you tell him. Minghao, and the polite smile he throws your way at the beginning of each session. Minghao, and the way his eyes light up.

“We’re going to try some new mobility exercises today,” you tell him today with a grin, standing up from your seat. Minghao’s ears perk up as he catches the bright look on your face, and something inside of him swells with hope.

“Really?”

You smile and nod in return. “Yeah! I mean your recovery has been really great so far and I think this is a good point to move on and see if we can test out an even wider range of motion.” Minghao doesn’t really say anything in response, but the way his eyes light up when he watches you explain the exercises tells you enough.

In the hour that follows, you two walk through the exercises, trying out each one, and you’re almost three quarters through all the motions you planned today right before you show him how to angle his shoulder before a new exercise.

“How are things feeling? Anything hurting? Anywhere?” you ask anxiously as Minghao comes out of the last stretch you showed him with a pleasant look on his face.

“No, not like pain pain,” he says casually, leaning back into the chair. “Not the kinda pain from the strain, but I feel a bit of tension on my shoulder from keeping it in that position for too long.”

“Okay great,” you say, typing it down onto your digital notepad. “We’ll try and switch up that one next time so your body is completely relaxed from now on.”

“Thanks. What’s the next exercise?” Minghao asks curiously upon taking in the information. You vaguely think to yourself about how you enjoy his growing warmness—he’s been a lot more positive these past sessions with his rapid progress, and it’s bringing a much lighter atmosphere to Room C.

You explain the movement to him, explaining to him how to lift his shoulders just enough to circle them backwards without too much movement. It’s going pretty smoothly like the other exercises; you explain, Minghao listens, you adjust, Minghao lets you.

Right now you’re about to lean in, hands brushing over his shoulder blade to guide them to a more steep angle, explaining to Minghao how to fix his posture. Your fingers brush over his collarbone and jaw a few times in the process, your eyes keeping steady on making sure he doesn’t make any abrasive movements.

“There we go,” you tell him after showing him how to do the circular movement with his shoulders. “Why don’t you try it by yourself?”

Shooting you a thumbs up, Minghao complies, lifting his shoulder forward first slowly. He’s going through the motions of everything pretty normally—after all this is just like any other exercise so he doesn’t really worry that much until—fuck.

Holy shit, that quick but sharp pain stings so bad.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” you ask worriedly when Minghao stills, his eyes widening.

So much. So fucking much, Minghao thinks to himself.

“Talk to me,” you say, moving closer to him so you can move your hands over his shoulder and lead them back down to a natural position.

“It h-hurt for a second. Really bad, but then it was gone,” Minghao says breathily. You purse your lips together and Minghao feels his heart sink to his chest when you turn around and type some stuff he can’t read from where he sits. “Is this like—” He needs to pause to collect himself so the nerves don’t get to him. “—is it bad?” When you hesitate to respond, Minghao already knows his answer. “Fuck.”

“Look, it’s just hurting in that spot for this exercise. The rest of your progress is amazing, but we’re just going to need to take it slower since you’ve probably just overexerted the muscle a little bit.”

“So I’ve been set back, basically,” Minghao says bluntly, his tone doing a full 180 from just a few moments earlier.

“Not a setback …” you sigh. “Just a sign that we need to go slower right now.” You watch him worriedly when he presses his lips together and doesn’t meet your gaze.

“So a setback.”

You gulp. “You can’t think of this like that. I told you from the start that progress is never linear and—”

“I don’t give a fuck, okay?” Minghao breaths out, and something about the way he says it with such a curt, tense tone almost makes you lose your composure. “This is—fuck, this my career okay? I can’t afford any setbacks.”

“I know that and that’s why I’m your doctor, okay?” you say, a bit more harshly than you intended.

You don’t understand why you’re letting his hostility get to your head all of sudden—it isn’t like you haven’t had frustrated patients before. Fuck, you’ve had people cry, sob, break down in this same room over slow progress but something about the way he looks so disheartened has your heart clenching.

“I’m here to help you,” you reiterate, your tone more composed than before. “But I can only do that if you let me.”

Minghao eyes flicker between your wide eyes and his hands in his lap. There’s a growing knot that ties in his throat, and he’s too afraid to open his mouth to speak, too afraid of what he might say. Instead, he just huffs and stands up.

“Sorry,” he finally musters up, eyes trained on the ground as you watch him carefully for his next move. “I’m leaving.”

You don’t stop him as he walks away.

When Minghao walks into the reception a few days later, he’s not surprised to see that you aren’t the one greeting him. He thinks back to the way your lips were pressed into a tight line when he walked out last week. It was the last time he’d seen you in the past few days, and some weird mix of worry swirls in his stomach.

Were you avoiding him? He wouldn’t blame you if you were, but he feels guilty for thinking that way. You wouldn’t let something personal get in the way of your work, Minghao knows that for sure.

Still, he bites his tongue when he briefly considers asking Jeonghan where you are. Would that be overstepping? It’s not like there haven’t been sessions where you weren’t there, but something about the thickness in the air around him tells Minghao that there’s something he should be worried about.

As if he could read Minghao’s mind, Jeonghan speaks up. “Doc’ll come in around the end. It’s her mom’s birthday so she’s out for most of the afternoon, but she’ll be back for the last half an hour,” he says casually, not really expecting to turn around to see Minghao looking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

“H-her—” Her mom? Minghao wants to ask but something stops him from saying it. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re not here. Something feels wrong. “That’s fine,” he mutters, pursing his lips before looking at the ground.

He can feel Jeonghan’s curious gaze burning into the back of his skull, but Minghao only doesn’t move as he keeps quiet. They soon fall into the regular pattern of starting off with mobility exercises before doing a check of his range of movement.

It’s nearing the final hour of his session when Jeonghan excuses himself for a moment. Only two minutes passes before there’s a knock at the door, and then some footsteps leading in.

“Good afternoon Minghao,” you greet softly upon walking in. The man glances up at you, eyes widening when he takes in your figure.

“Oh—uh, hey.”

Minghao wants to bash his head into the wall. Hey? Seriously? That’s all he could muster up? Hey?

“Jeonghan gave me the rundown,” you tell him, looking away as you lift a clipboard and squint to read the tiny text. “No more sharp pains … returning mobilily …”

You hum slowly as you read off the notes your assistant left for you, not meeting Minghao’s gaze. He wonders if that’s what you intended. “Seeing as things are going smoothly for now, we’ll continue with the low-risk exercises and—”

“I’m sorry,” Minghao blurts out. He wonders what compels him to do it, but when you finally meet his gaze, he realizes that he just wanted you to look at him.

“Mi—”

“I’m sorry for how I acted last time. I shouldn’t have said that stuff to you. I was frustrated and took it out on you, and that wasn’t okay. I’m sorry.”

Your lips are pursed by the time Minghao is finished. He’s said enough, but when he peers up at you, his eyes speak a story of their own.

“It’s okay,” you respond with no hesitation, before turning back to your clipboard, scanning over it a few more times and then setting it down.

You smooth your hands over your lab coat, and for a moment Minghao wonders what it would feel like to have your palms run down his neck, pressing into his skin so gently yet with such fervor, fingertips ghosting over—

Minghao shouldn’t think like this.

“Jeonghan told me that it’s your mom’s birthday,” he finally breaks the silence. It’s the first time either of you have actually brought it up, and the reality of it all—fuck, it’s hitting you so hard that there’s already tears pooling in yout lashline.

You silently curse yourself for forgetting to tell Jeonghan not to tell Minghao anything. It’s okay, it isn’t like he knew any better, you tell yourself as you blink rapidly, trying to shoo away the tears.

“Mhm,” you hum, hoping he doesn’t probe any deeper. You aren’t sure what you should say.

You’re silent, and Minghao itches to reach forward, to rest his hand on your shoulder, to smile at you, to say all the things he’s been thinking about you but he just can’t. All he can manage is to clear his throat, causing you to look up at him expectantly.

Fuck, what should he say? “I’m um—I’m glad. Glad that she’s uh—that everything worked out.” That’s fine, right? There’s nothing wrong with that statement, Minghao’s almost sure of it so … so why in the world are you crying?

Shoot, did he fuck up? You’re sitting in the chair right next to him, head in your hands as you cover your face and turn away; your cries are soft but just loud enough for Minghao to hear over the rush in his ears, just loud enough for him to feel the ache, just loud enough for him to get the message.

Oh.

The first time you meet Xu Minghao, you’re in middle school. Seventh grade and walking into Algebra, going to sit down on your regular seat. Five minutes into class and a new boy walks into the room, handing your teacher a slip before being directed to sit down at a spot a few tables over.

He’s got short, dark hair, cat-like eyes, and a bit of tall, lanky figure as he slinks down into the chair. Your teacher claps her hands together and announces that there’s a new student in class. His name’s “Xu Minghao,” she said.

You don’t really remember his name at first. It isn’t uncommon for there to be new students on campus. He’s not in many of your other classes you realize as the day goes on, and so he slips your mind. Maybe you work with him for a few assignments throughout the year, but not enough for you to wave at each other when you pass the other in the hallways.

Five years later and you’re in your final year of high school. Time has passed, you have changed, Xu Minghao has changed, but what remains the same is what you are to each other. Strangers.

You’re paired with a stranger for your final senior Literature project.

“Do you want to write a paper, or do the poster?” you ask as he sits down next to you once the pairing assignments. Your teacher had given you two options on how to go about the project. “I don’t really mind either or,” you admit.

Minghao hums, setting his copy of Macbeth on the table before turning to you. “Poster? I think I’ve done enough writing in this past year to last me a lifetime,” he tells you with an obvious sigh.

“Yeah,” you laugh. “Were you in Biology?”

He nods. “Regretfully.”

“Oh so you also had to write that whole research paper. Damn, that thing had to have shaved at least ten years off my life.”

“Ditto,” Minghao grumbles, running his hands over his face. “Oh god, just thinking about it is making me queasy. I’m so happy we’re in our final semester.”

“So we agree on no paper, just the poster?” you finalize.

Minghao agrees, “Yeah, that’s great.”

One week later and Minghao is at your doorstep. “Cool set up,” he notes, stepping into your room, looking down at the poster splayed out with markers all over.

You grin. “Thanks—I kind of like being artsy and stuff sometimes so I was pretty happy to do this when you said you also wanted to do the poster.”

“Seems like I made a good choice then,” he replies, sitting down on the opposite end of the poster and pulling out a notebook and his book. “I did some work and got a bunch of lines that we could use as citations in different parts.”

“That’s great,” you say, picking a pen. “Let’s get started then?”

You two get straight to work, and all goes smoothly. Minghao is a good worker, you’ve noticed. His friends are quite fun—you’ve seen him with them in the hallways sometimes—but you start to realize that Minghao doesn’t let himself sacrifice his work ethic for fun.

You make quite some progress over the next hour or two, and you’re just about to bring up one of your ideas. “So over here, I was thinking we could write out the context of the play and then—” You’re cut off by the voice of your older brother at your door. He’s looking down at his phone with his lips pressed into a tight line as he speaks.

“Mom’s starting another cycle of chemo this Thursday so—oh, sorry,” Beomgyu says quickly upon looking up and seeing you have a visitor. “Come to my room when you’re done,” he mutters before turning on his heel.

The silence that envelopes your room is deafening.

You don’t say a word as you take a deep breath and pick up a different colored marker. You clear your throat. “So back to what I was saying …”

The next time you work on the poster, it’s at Minghao’s house.

You wear a blue gown at graduation. It’s a sunny day in June, and you’re sweating a little through the silk fabric, but it’s okay.

Your father and Beomgyu are there in the stands, but your eyes can’t help but be pulled to the empty seat next to them. Your mother said she’d try to make it, but broke the news last night that it was a dream too high up to reach.

It’s okay, you had told her, but as you clutch your diploma close to your heart, all you can think is, no it’s not, no it’s not, no it’s fucking not.

You sit through the rest of the ceremony with a silence and all around you, you see your peers’ smiling faces, the encouraging words of the dean, the cheers of the crowds, and somehow you feel so lost in it all. When you’re finally dismissed, everyone claps and revels once more, but somehow you can’t find the voice in your throat to join them.

Slipping through the crowds of people who line up to take pictures with their friends, family, and all the sort, you slip out of the small stadium and into some hallway.

“Fuck!” you finally cry out, raising your hand up and whipping it forward towards the brick wall. You wince, bracing yourself for the pain, but the sting never comes. Something warm envelopes your wrist, and when you finally blink your eyes open, you see a stranger.

“I don’t understand what you’re going through,” Minghao finally says. “I won’t pretend I do either, but it’ll be okay.” He hugs you and your face is pressed into Minghao’s own blue gown that is about to turn a few shades darker.

You cry. You cry harder than you think you’ve ever cried before.

You don’t know what it is about the way he speaks. Maybe it’s the way he holds you. Maybe it’s the way he smells. Maybe it’s everything, but whatever it is or isn’t, you don’t stop crying and for a gracing moment, you bask in catharsis.

And then, you hear Beomgyu’s voice calling for you from a nearby hallway, so you pull back. Minghao presses his lips together and lets you go, hands dropping to the side as you wipe away the tears. There’s a darker blue splotch in the middle of his chest, but he says nothing of it.

You don’t say a word as you step back—the only communication you share is a nod, but you swear on every last star in the sky that he has said more words to you in that moment than anyone has told you in your entire lifetime.

You don’t see Minghao’s face until it’s seven years later and he’s plastered on the screen as SECTOR’s newest recruit. He’s got phenomenal potential as an F1 racer—greatest new talent in a while—you hear the host of the channel say, but as you look at his picture on the screen, all you see is the face of a stranger who’s held you tighter than anyone before.

The last time you saw Minghao, it was through tear-blurred vision as you scurried out of Room C—you had to tell Jeonghan through broken sniffles to wrap up the session with Minghao—that the weight of the day had gotten to your head and that you needed to take a breather.

It wasn’t entirely a lie. You retreated to your office soon after, staring at the photo of you and your mother that sat at the corner of your table, and then you cried a little more.

It’s the next day when you’re back in the office. Two patients had just finished up, and you’re sitting in your office, filing through some emails when you hear the familiar ringing of the front door opening. You furrow your eyebrows to yourself, not recalling having any other patients scheduled for at least another two hours.

Had Jeonghan and Seungkwan taken their break earlier than you thought? No, that can’t be possible because they always let you know when they’re heading out and—

“Doc!” you hear Seungkwan’s voice call out to you from down the hall. “Could you come here for a sec’?”

Frowning, you close your laptop and stand up, walking out the doorway and down the hallway towards the front entrance of the clinic. “What is i—oh.” The question dies on your tongue when you see Minghao standing in the reception.

Something in your stomach churns at the sight of him—eyes slightly blown out, lips parted but somehow curved downward in a way that has your own lips frowning. The events of the past few days crashes down on you, and you bite down on your bottom lips in hopes that it’ll ground you in reality.

Seungkwan stands behind the main desk, looking at you with some sort of awry expression, and you catch Jeonghan coming down from the other hallway to catch the odd situation. Minghao doesn’t seem to mind though, eyes zoning in on you.

“I need to talk to you,” he says. You feel Seungkwan and Jeonghan’s gazes burn into the back of your skull.

Glancing at them, you point to the door. “You guys can take your lunch break now,” you tell them before turning your attention to Minghao. “Let’s go to Room C?”

He follows you in an instant, slipping into the seat that he always does as you close the door behind you and walking up to stand in front of him.

You can hear the words already coming together on his tongue—I’m sorry—and so you open your mouth before Minghao can even say it.

“I’m sorry,” you say, breaking the silence. “I shouldn’t have stormed out like that.”

“No, I—I shouldn’t have said anything. I had no idea you—” Minghao stops himself. He doesn’t know how much is too much.

It’s funny; Minghao’s whole career is about being in the driver’s seat but somehow when it comes to you, he doesn’t know when to press on the gas or hit the brake.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” he says. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since graduation.”

“Me too,” you respond in an instant. “I see so much of myself in you,” you tell him.

“Stop, I—our situations aren’t comparable and—”

“Let me be the judge of that, yeah?” you cut him off with a small smile and through tears, cupping his face. The skin over his cheek bones are soft when you run your thumbs over them. “When everything is going wrong and you’re so angry, and you’re blaming all the wrong people but you can’t help it, and it makes you feel worse and there isn’t a thing you can do about it.”

“Yeah.”

You inhale steadily, feeling hot water meet your hands and trickle down to your wrists. Minghao is crying, and suddenly you are hit with waves of deja vu. “I get it, okay?” you tell him, even though you know that Minghao already knows. You get it better than anyone. “It’ll be okay.”

The echo of his words from all those years ago crashes down on you, and suddenly Minghao pulls your arms down causing you to hunch over so your face is right in front of his.

“I’ve thought about you everyday since then.” The words come out of your mouth in a soft whisper. “Even when she passed away a few months later.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he mutters, eyes closing and head titling forward so that your foreheads press against each other. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him, stroking his cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry—you were right. Everything’s okay. Everything’s okay.”

“I—I’m sorry, I just—”

Something about the way Minghao says the word sorry not from his throat, but from his stomach, has your mind twisting in ways that you can’t comprehend. The sound is so guttural and heart-wrenching, and this time you want to cry because he’s got nothing to be sorry for. Not a thing.

And so you kiss him.

You kiss Minghao because he is no longer a stranger. Because he is crying for you and you might as well cry for him. Cry for him, but you have done enough crying to last you a lifetime and so you kiss him instead, because they speak the same words: I love you.

And his lips are soft, his tongue warm, his hand ghosting over your arm is gentle, and you can hear it. You hear it in the way he moves against you—he understands and you want to cry again because he’s always understood, and so you don’t cry but only kiss him deeper.

“I made you something,” he admits. “It’s in the car.”

You’re thankful you sent your two coworkers out when you did, sparring all four of you the awkwardness when you and Minghao slip out of Room C and out the clinic towards the parking lot and to his car.

He pulls a blanket out from the passenger seat. It’s hardly big enough to cover your lower half but it’s bright and blue and warm, and somehow you feel your eyes well up with tears that you can’t seem to stop this time.

“Did you—did you make this?” you choke out as Minghao stands in front of you, handing the cloth over as you run your palms over the loose threads and yarn that poke through.

“Crocheted it myself,” he tells you, standing from a couple inches above, as you marvel over his work. Minghao thinks he’s done a poor job—you could probably do better—but you clutch the blanket with such vigor that he doesn’t have the heart to tell you. “You’ve helped me so much,” he says instead.

“Fuck,” you mutter over harsh breaths. “Y-you made this.”

“You taught me,” he corrects, and that’s when the dam breaks.

And this time Minghao hugs you, and you can tell he’s being careful about his neck and in all your frenzy you almost want to push him away and say, “Don’t move so much!” but then his arms fold in on you like a blanket of their own and you crumble.

You crumble into happiness because through everything you’ve ever been through, Minghao still holds you tighter than one holds onto life itself.

“I don’t think I can come here on Sunday next week,” you tell your boyfriend as you peer down at your phone. You’re leaning over his kitchen counter going between looking at some emails and glancing at the screen.

Minghao groans, and you bite back a smile. “Are you serious? Why?”

“Yes I’m serious,” you huff, rolling your eyes playfully. “My brother’s visiting town for a bit.”

“And I can’t meet him, why?” Minghao asks with a raised brow.

You laugh. “Good point. I haven’t told him I’m dating yet though. Might be too big of a ball drop if I tell him I have a boyfriend right away. A boyfriend who’s SECTOR’s best racer, might I add,” you say, pouring yourself a glass of water from the fridge before joining Minghao on the couch.

“It would be a good surprise though, right?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Yeah yeah, whatever floats your boat,” you shoot sarcastically. “But seriously. I’ll see if I can get you two to meet, but I really can’t see you on Sunday. I have to pick Beomgyu up from the airport.”

“Got it,” Minghao agrees, shuffling closer to you as you both focus on the TV. A live interview with Kim Mingyu plays on the screen, the young man talking about his recent rise in recognition. You two sit in silence for a couple of minutes before Minghao speaks up.

“I fucking hate not being able to do anything,” he groans, shifting onto your shoulder slightly. His condition’s gotten exponentially better in past couple of weeks, but you instructed for him to wait at least two more weeks before fully getting back to training.

He’s been restless ever since, you’ve started to notice. “Do I really need to wait?” he mutters, lips close to your ear as you cuddle into his embrace.

You pull back slightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yes! I told you—it’s a part of the process.”

“Fuck the process, I wanna drive again!”

“Too bad I guess,” you say with a shrug, turning your attention to the TV. The channel moves on from the interview to talk about some updates, and eventually somewhere in the mix, Minghao’s name comes up, and you hear the man next to you curse under his breath.

Chewing on your tongue, you debate for a few moments on what to do before reaching for the remote to shut the TV off.

“Hey! I was watching th—”

“Do you ever stop complaining?” you huff, stepping out of his embrace much to Minghao’s dismay. “Stop moving,” you order him, sliding down onto your knees in front of his legs.

“What are you do—oh.” You hear the words dry on his tongue when you nudge your body between his thighs, inching closer to his groin.

“You’re so restless,” you hum, trailing your fingers from his knees, over his thighs, and finally let the ghost over the growing tent under his sweatpants. “Let me take care of you, yeah?” you suggest, toying with the elastic waistband of his pants and boxers.

“O-okay,” Minghao agrees, and you grin at the way you see his cheeks flush pink when you inch the fabric off of his pants. His cock springs out, hardening under your gaze as it slaps against his lower adobe that’s still covered by his shirt.

You think for a moment to help Minghao out of his shirt too, but with the pretty pearl of precum dribbling off his slit, veins pressing up all against the length of his cock—all of him aching just for you—you start to feel your mouth water, forgetting about anything that isn’t having Minghao’s cock in your mouth.

“Careful with the right arm, ‘kay?” you tell him, a sly smirk tugging at your lips when you bring them down, dragging them over the base of his length all the way up to the glossy tip where you place a wet kiss.

“Y-yeah—fuck baby,” Minghao grunts when you envelope your lips around his throbbing tip, tongue swirling over the slit at the top as you do so. His left arm makes its way into your hair, fingers digging into your scalp when you pull back to take a deep breath.

Saliva drips down the corner of your lips, and as you look up at Minghao with wide, glossy eyes, he thinks he might bust in on the spot. “Go on baby,” he murmurs, using his firm grip on your head to nudge your lips closer to his pink tip. “Put it in …” he instructs, and when you grin and open your lips wide once more, Minghao knows he’s too far gone to be saved.

“You’re so hard Hao,” you whisper against him, tongue tracing constellations over the base of his cock when you reach to cup his balls, massaging them under your palms.

“Fuck, just like that baby,” Minghao moans, and the sound is so guttural it has your own pussy clenching around nothing. Your skin burns when you take him into your mouth again, cock sliding further down your mouth than before.

He’s so thick, and you feel every last curve of his cock, every last vein, against your cheeks, pressing against your tongue—Minghao is all you can taste, and you might go drunk on the sensation alone.

And he isn’t faring quite well above you either—his hand in your hair has got a firm hold but if anything, Minghao is losing touch with reality. Your mouth is so soft and so warm, your tongue so meticulous with the way it’s swirling around his tip when you slip off his cock before pushing your mouth back down on him—he’s going fucking crazy.

“Baby—oh baby,” the words rumble at the base of his chest, egging you on. With every bob of your head, you start to take him down further until his fat tip is battering against the back of your throat and yeah, it’s got tears pricking at the corners of your eyes but he’s moaning and grunting and squirming all for you and you just can’t seem to fucking stop.

“Shit, shit, shit—baby, ‘m gonna cum if you keep doing that,” he warns when you deep throat all of him, your nose nearly pressing against his pelvis as you press your eyes tight and revel in the sound of his moans, the feeling of his hands in your hair.

You take his slice of warning as a token of advice, pulling back for only a breath before attempting to do the same thing again, shoving his cock into your mouth and down your throat, rubbing whatever you can’t with your palms as wetness smears all over your lips and cheeks.

“Oh—fuck, I’m—”

When Minghao cums, it’s with his chest singing your name. Breathy moans—calls for you—as you suck him through the high, hot white painting the inside of your cheeks and tongue. You pant heavily when you finally pull yourself off of him, swallowing all that is left of him in your mouth, and then he looks at you with flushed cheeks and you both grin.

And when you climb up, Minghao hugs you. He hugs you like a blanket—like the blanket he made you, the blanket you taught him to make—and you two bask in this moment because Minghao is no longer stranger, but he is here and he is in your arms and you are in is, and there isn’t any other place you’d rather be.

a/n: mika ramble time! whatever demonic sickness has been haunting me for the past 5 days will NOT get the best of me. i have been aching to get this fic out since like september and it was initially supposed to be posted on hubbie's bday but :/ unfortunately i was a bit late bc life gets in the way ;c overall i'm really happy w it! personally, i think this is among the most emotional fics i've written, and i am extremely proud of myself for some parts of this so !! yea !! if u enjoyed reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it, pls feel free to leave comments / reblogs >_< they mean the world to me ^^

[prettyboypistol]

Yo, cis guy here, I've always felt a lot of shame about being super gay for the tf2 men, because it made me feel like less of a man. You reckon I could possibly get a scout or engie x reader when theyre calling the reader handsome, pretty boy, big man, and lots of masculine petnames? Smut or fluff or ignoring this is fine

I really like your work dude 😁

fellow cis guy here- I totally get it man. i'm glad that other guys like me enjoy my work. I also struggled with my attraction to men and fictional men were (and still are) my escape from homophobia and biphobia. Stay safe, you're valid.

TF2 Mercs With a Masculine!Male Reader

Scout

He loves squeezing your muscles and feeling your abs, totally not thinking of you as a goal for himself!

Nicknames include: Big man, big boy, sweet cheeks, hot shot/stuff, bossman, stud, etc.

likes the feeling of your facial hair when you kiss him- it tickle/scratches him in the best way!

Soldier

Thinks of you as the best man in the unit of RED! You're an exemplary man with gusto and power to spare! Solly fell for you when he caught you on a morning run "to keep yourself fit". That dedication got his heart skipping!

Nicknames include: Soldier, pride, the unit's pride and joy, big man

arm. wrestling. as. flirting., sparring. as. flirting. honestly anything that gets him up close and personal to you

Pyro

Hold onto you like a damsel in distress and loves how protective you are over them. As much as Pyro would and has protected you from enemy Spies, they like depending on someone who can hold their own.

nicknames include: My fire, firefly, my fireman, big boy, handsome

They love how you treat them like "just another one of the boys" rather than "the creature"- it really hurts their feelings when they're excluded due to how they cope with life.

Engineer

God he couldn't have asked for a better assistant. You grab heaps of metal for him, toolboxes, and sentries you can pick up with both hands and carry over to him!

Nicknames include: Hoss, handsome, big man, sir, boss

loves watching you work out while he works on his bench (sometimes even being your bench weight)

Demoman

He treats you like how he'd treat any partner of his, no changes. Demo's kind, loving, tender, but would let you fend for yourself to not baby you.

Nicknames include: dear, darlin', lovely, loverboy, handsome, best-shag-of-my-life

loves cuddling up to you and just burying his face in your muscles- but when he's not sleepy he is constantly hooting and hollering about how awesome his boyfriend is.

Heavy

a lot more friendly about his romance, treating you more like a best friend than a romantic partner in public mainly due to his anxiety about "being caught"

nicknames include(mostly in russian): lover, love, handsome man, hero, heart

he loves kissing your strong hands and sliding his hands over your muscles, it assures him that you're strong enough to take care of yourself, and that eases his worries.

Sniper

god this is a useless gay man. he sees you crush a bonk can and his heart skips a beat. you take off your shirt and he's speechless. you make him unprofessional and it ruins him internally.

nicknames include: Hotstuff, love, mate, darling, chickadee, big bugger, bear

he likes asking you to carry his stuff, complaining about his aching arms (totally not to watch you carry his things!!!)

Medic

ooooh god this man is a HOMOSEXUAL for you. on GOD.

nicknames include: honeybear, my love, my heart, my magnum opus, big man, beast

can, has, and will continue to flirt with you on the battlefield, no matter who sees him do it. If anyone gives you shit for being gay, he's instantly at your side and ready to beat them down with you

Spy

i mean... if you have a degradation kink go ahead i guess? he treats you like a bodyguard in public and is cold and callous in other's eyes. they think he hates you. In private however he is all over you. kissing, holding, embracing, etc., whispering sweet nothings in your ears.

nicknames include: my sweet love, my man, my handsome, big beauty, sweetness

although he seems uncaring in public, anyone who disrespects you gets backstabbed as "target practice" later when they least expect it.

[gyucheolslut]

saw you were taking hard thoughts!! :D

car sex with hansol,, :’)) being too needy to even wait till you’re home and looking up at him with puppy dog eyes when you ask him to pull into a dark parking lot bc you need him right now !! and how could he say no? he’ll tease you about how impatient you’re being but he can’t help but be turned on at how desperate you are to have him inside you

not proof read ~

literally written in a car so… yk.. excuse any errors or inconsistencies!!! :)

hehe thank you for being my first request! might add onto this later~

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

no because you’d be heading home from a mutual friends house, and something about vernon being all domestic and boyfriend that day has you all riled up..

the entire time you were there, you found yourself extremely distracted… chewing on your lip while staring at his as he spoke..

eyes trailing down his neck and over his body.. god, what was it about him today? you had wanted him so bad, even before you left the house.. and the smell of his cologne making it even worse on the car ride to your friends…

he had your thighs rubbing together in attempt to relieve the pressure and heat between them, but it was no use… you had to get out of there… and fast.

which that brings us to now, you squirming in your seat as he drives, not able to contain yourself any longer.. you look at him, shifting your weight to one side so you can admire his side profile, hand reaching out and resting on his knee.. a little too close to his crotch which has him immediately tensing..

“baby?” he’d chuckle “everything okay?”

you’d whine and shake your head, shifting yourself as close as possible, finding yourself angry at the existence of a middle console.

“‘sollie..” you’d exhale “i need you.. so bad..” your hand begins sliding up his thigh to the button of his jeans “what if i just..” you mumble, fumbling with the button until it pops, your fingers finding and pulling down his zipper with ease.

hansol’s eyes widen, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. he looks down at your hands in his lap and then at you for a second, before refocusing on the road. “baby.. we’re really not that far from home.. you can wait, right?” he’d hum, swallowing the lump in his throat.. seeing you like this was exhilarating for him..

you were so desperate for him that you’d be willing to pull him out and shove him down your throat for your own pleasure.

“i cant wait!” you’d whine, sounding a little more bratty and needy than you wanted to. “i’ve been wanting.. i need you, now..” you’d add emphasis to your words by gripping him through his briefs, hand now shoved down the front of his pants.

you’d look at him, palming him and rubbing your thighs together… eyes full of desperation and want..

“can we just pull over?” you look around at your options and point with your free hand, it’s a shopping plaza, the parking lot dark and abandoned as it was getting late… “how about there? we can be quick.. i just..” you whimper, feeling a little pathetic at your own words.. “please..”

hansol takes one look at you, and that’s all the convincing he needs, taking the exit to park his car in the deserted lot, forcing his seat as far back and possible and helping you into his lap.

his hands are resting on your hips, lips moving messily against yours and the expanse of your neck.. guiding your hips back and forth on his.

he helps you out of your jeans, tossing them into the back, pulling your underwear to the side as he’s beginning to feel a little impatient himself, lining up with your entrance and sinking you onto him..

he would easily pull 2, maybe even 3 orgasms out of you and your needy little cunt before spilling all over your inner thigh, stroking your hair as you hide your face in his neck, flushed and exhausted.. but something about you being so needy for him has him all worked up and he’d decide he’d like to fuck you more properly when you get home.. ~

[miraclewoozi]

NOW YOU SEE ME - c.hs

you can’t say you’re surprised that your boyfriend leaps at the thought of throwing some sensory deprivation into the mix of your sex life, but you’re maybe a little shocked at just how into it he gets.

pairing; vernon x fem reader. genre; smut. plotless smut. MINORS DNI. w/c; 4.5k a/n; smut warnings under the cut. a/n2.0: you ever just think about that one time hhu wore blindfolds on stage? yeah. yeah, me too. a/n3.0: this is half proof read and half not proof read because if i had to re-read the rest i was gonna delete it! so! if there's a typo, no there isn't! <3

warnings; swearing (honestly just assume this is a given with me at this point), blindfolding, nipple play (m rec), finger sucking, praise, handjob (m rec), orgasm denial (m rec), piv sex (not wrapped but it’s est. relationship), slight dumbification (of him<3), face sitting/cum eating implied(f rec), pet-names (baby, sollie, angel, maybe a couple others). dom!reader, sub!vernon. reader is shorter than him.  (if i've missed anything, please let me know!)

“...Blindfolds?” 

“Blindfold. Singular,” you correct your boyfriend, shuffling slightly against the back of the couch. He cocks his head a little but he doesn’t contest it: he just waits for you to continue. “I don’t know. Things got a little… over-friendly at brunch the other day and someone brought it up as something they’d always wanted to try.”

“Huh,” Vernon muses. “Yeah, no. I’d never really thought about it.” 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to,” you assure him, and he rolls his eyes at you, looking back down at his phone. He taps the screen and the familiar jingle to his favourite game sounds through his speaker once more. 

“I didn’t say that,” he says, the corners of his mouth tweaking up almost undetectably. What’s less discrete, though, is the way his bottom lip pinches as he draws it just slightly between his teeth. “You know I’ll try anything once.”

“Anything?” you tease, raising the volume of the TV again now your little intermission seems to be coming to an end. 

“Almost anything,” he corrects. You laugh, and so does he; you bump your foot against his abdomen where your legs are resting in his lap, and his grin stays an extra few seconds on his face. Right up until something in his game obviously gets a little more difficult; then, his brow furrows in concentration and his thumbs start moving deftly across the screen. You turn back to the TV, pretending to pay any attention to the show you put on a little while ago, but your mind starts to drift elsewhere.

Good to know.

Three weeks pass before anything comes of that little conversation. 

For a little while, Vernon was half-expecting you to whip out a sash of satin every single time things got the slightest bit steamy in the bedroom. When he told you he was down to try almost anything once, he really wasn’t kidding — even though you’re yet to deliver on that grand idea, you can safely say that your sex life has gotten a little bit spicier since you brought it up. Nothing nuts, granted. A few restraints, a couple of new toys here and there, but as yet…

No blindfolds.

So when he gets home from work late one evening, yawning his way through the front door to your apartment, it’s honestly faded almost entirely from his mind. Hearing him enter, you come through to greet him in the hallway, eyes landing on Vernon as he’s mid-stretch, his t-shirt riding up to expose a sliver of his toned midriff. Your smile at seeing him only brightens.

“Long day?” you ask, taking the last few steps towards him. Maybe there’s a little extra sway in your hips as you do, but Vernon looks so out of it that you’re not entirely sure he notices. He nods at your question anyway, rolling out a kink in his neck.

“The longest,” he says. “How was yours?”

“Slow,” you sigh, reaching him and slipping your arms around his waist. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” He ducks his head down, pressing a short but sweet kiss to the tip of your nose. You rock up onto your toes to press one of your own to his lips and he smiles against you, humming in the back of his throat. “Can we order something in today? If I try to cook right now, I’ll end up burning the place down.”

“What else is new?” you tease him, pressing small pecks across his cheek and trailing them down his jaw. He clicks his tongue in feigned indignation but sighs anyway, tipping his head to the side; your kisses start to linger, each touch of your lips lasting just a fraction longer than the last.

Your embrace tightens, pulling him flush to you. There’s something really endearing in the way he lets his weight fall against you, only barely steadied by his hands on your hip bones. 

“But before we do,” you murmur, lips tickling at his earlobe. He slackens his jaw, lips falling apart, eyelashes fluttering. You grin to yourself. “I think you need to unwind a little – don’t you?”

Vernon lets out a softly chuckled laugh. “I think you might be right,” he agrees.

You take a few paces back from him, reaching into the pocket of your sweatpants and pulling free a length of silk, running it slowly through your fingers as you lean against the opposite wall. His eyes fall to the pearlescent material before they lift back to your own; all the tiredness seems to have been shocked clean out of him and he stares at you like all his Christmases have come at once.

“Tonight?” he asks. You can practically see his thoughts firing off at a hundred miles an hour in those beautiful, big, brown eyes. Cute. “Really?”

“Mhm,” you nod. Vernon swallows so hard that his Adam’s apple bobs. “If you want to, of cour–.”

“I do,” he says, rushing before you can even finish your sentence. “Shit, babe. Yeah – I do.”

“Come here, then,” you say. 

He does. What a good boy.

“Shirt off.”

He does that, too. In one swift movement, he reaches behind his head and pulls at the collar. His upper half is quickly bare and the discarded article of clothing is little more than a scrunched ball on the hallway floor. He stands in front of you, still gazing down at the silk. You’re not oblivious to the hardness growing in his pants as his breaths get a little deeper and his chest starts staining pink in a blush, but you make no effort to do anything about it. Instead, you twirl your finger once, asking him to turn around, and he spins on his heels so he’s facing away from you.

He's even polite enough to bend his knees so that you can reach without stretching.

“S’that okay?” you ask once your fingers have tied the silk at the back of his head, tugging gently at the bow. He nods, his own hands lifting to make sure it’s secure and in place, that he can’t see anything, before he stands fully upright again. “Not too tight?”

“Perfect,” he tells you. 

You walk around to his front, using this moment to really take him in. His pants sit low on his hips, as they always do, and the waistband of his boxers peeks out over the top of them. He's perfect, you think, licking over your lips at the subtle edges of muscle and every inch of smooth skin. All yours, all for the taking. I can’t wait to ruin him.

“Tell me anytime if you want me to take it off, okay?” you ask, reaching out with one hand to press your palm against his bare chest. He gasps softly at the sudden contact but quickly relaxes into it, almost falling forwards into your touch.

“I won’t want you to,” he chuckles. “But yeah. Of course.”

“Good boy,” you coo. Your thumb strokes gently over one of his exposed nipples, earning you another easily-won sharp intake of breath. A few more careful brushes and it starts to harden under your touch, your intense, hungry gaze unwitnessed by the man already totally at your mercy. His back arches just a little, seeking more, but you stop almost as quickly as you started.

Instead, your hand travels upwards, flat-palmed but agonisingly light. He's burning up, already, the loss of one of his senses so obviously heightening everything else. 

Two of your fingers curl beneath the chain that decorates his collarbones, pulling at it firmly, and he stumbles forwards for real this time. You catch him with your other hand on his waist, holding him in place and looking at his parted, pink lips. 

“D’you trust me?” you ask, and Vernon nods, following the sound of your voice until he’s just inches away from your own mouth. Each of his breaths feels a thousand degrees as they breeze over your face; you can’t help but lean forwards and kiss him. Just once. As a treat.

“With my life,” he whines, chasing you when you pull away. “I’m all yours, babe. Please. Use me.”

You keep your fingers hooked under his chain and use it to guide him all the way to your bedroom. He follows blindly, steps clumsy: he trips over himself a few times, slipping in his socks on the polished floor. He mumbles various unintelligible things to himself each time and you just laugh sweetly back at him, but his gracelessness only delays you by a couple of seconds. The moment you have him in your room, you uncurl your fingers from his necklace and plant both your hands on his waist, pushing him slowly down towards the bed.

“On your back,” you tell him, watching as he lies flat, both his arms fixed at his sides. 

You climb on top of Vernon, for the first time really realising just how much power you hold over him, right now. He is completely at your will. With one hand planted either side of his head, you lean down over him, hovering with your lips just grazing his own. He tries to press up into the kiss but you deny him, pulling away until he falls back onto the bed with a huff.

“You’re gonna behave for me tonight, aren’t you ‘Sol?” you ask, each syllable dragging your lips across his, joining and separating them over and over. “Be really, really good?”

He nods, and when you don’t respond to the nonverbal answer, clears his throat. “Y-yeah. I promise.”

“Only because you know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

“Only ‘cause I want to,” he corrects, swallowing hard again. You grin at him, giving in to the kiss that he so desperately wants. He moans softly at it, again as you lick your way between his parted lips, again still as you suck his tongue into your mouth and ghost your teeth over the muscle. 

It’s spitty and sloppy and needy on both of your ends but Vernon makes a point not to lift his arms from where they’re placed down by his thighs. He kneads at the bedding instead: grasps and releases the sheets, rubs them between his fingers so that he doesn’t completely lose himself in you and do something he shouldn’t. He really is being good, you muse. Showing real restraint. Because you know, and he knows, that he isn’t allowed to touch you until you say that he can.

You sit back from him after a little while, pulling off your own shirt and taking hold of one of his hands. He curls his fingers around yours, so deeply grateful for even this pathetic little touch.

“Here,” you sigh, and Vernon rolls his head back when you place his palm on your side, on the fabric of your bra band but not at the cup. He holds you there, thumb stroking back and forth, and when you lower yourself back down again, he’s so careful in how he tightens his grip so that he doesn’t let go.

You kiss his Adam's apple first, feeling it dip and vibrate with the moan he emits. You travel lower, then, and lower still: over his collarbone, down his chest, before your tongue flits out across one nipple, hardened from the chill in your apartment and aided by the anticipation of not knowing where you’ll touch him next. He whines at the gentle brush, biting down on his lip; you feel how his hips threaten to jolt beneath you, but his concentration is written all over his face and you just know he’s anchoring them down with all his might. You blow a slow stream of cool air over the bud, one hand moving down to toy with the other side of his chest. 

He’s always been so sensitive, here. Always keening and gasping as you tweak his nipples and suck them into your mouth. You tug one between your teeth, at the same time wiggling your hips down to better position yourself over his cock. It’s straining so much against his work pants and you think if he gets any harder, he’ll burst through the seams. A high-pitched whine tumbles through his defences at the combined sensations, and you roll down against him again, again, again until he’s grasping at your bra for dear life.

“What’s wrong, baby?” You ask him, voice low and quiet. 

“Need more,” he says. “Please — fuck. Fuck, I need more.”

You click your tongue at him. “Such a nasty word from such a pretty mouth.” With a frown, you sit upright and press two of your fingers against his lips. He parts them for you but immediately closes his mouth around your digits, suckling on them, licking over them, groaning at the weight of them when you grab his jaw with your thumb and ring finger, pressing his tongue back down in his mouth. “Be good, okay?”

He nods, his jaw a little slack even when you pull your fingers away, a string of his spit keeping you connected until it breaks and falls onto his chin. It stays that way even when you move off him, even when you start unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down. He helps, lifting his hips, kicking them off and over the side of the bed, ready to be forgotten, all the while not closing his mouth. You position yourself between his calves, just out of reach of his hands, and trail your fingers over the insides of his thighs. 

“You want more, huh?” you ask, watching as Vernon nods again, so desperately, the blindfold staying secure and unmoving even as the bow at the back shifts against your bedsheets. His jaw is so tense, the muscles at the joint are practically bulging. you’d feel bad for him if he wasn’t so damn pretty when he got worked up.

“Please,” he pants, muscles twitching under your touch. When you lean down and kiss the inside of his thigh, right where that adorable freckle embellishes his skin, he jerks enough that he almost plants his knee into your jaw. “M’sorry — it-… it all feels so much more sensitive today-” he says, all rushed and hurried. You kiss his thighs over and over, licking your way upwards, pecking just below his belly-button and dragging the tips of your nails down his sides. God, his cock is hardly even concealed beneath his brilliant white boxers; he might as well not be wearing any with the outline so clear and obvious. A small translucent patch is even starting to form where his tip strains against them. 

“I know, baby,” you grin. “It's okay. Can we take these off, too?”

He wordlessly lifts his hips up for you again so you can work his last remaining article of clothing off his scorching body. His length bounces free the second it possibly can, thick and leaking, and he groans at the relief of finally escaping the elasticated confines. 

I could just leave him like this, you think to yourself, relishing in everything that makes the man lying in front of you so perfectly himself. Every single hair, standing on end, at attention to you. Every dip and curve and bump and bruise and scar. You could stare at him all day. But he’s growing impatient behind that blindfold, no matter what his perfectly well mannered hands and near-silent mouth would have you believe. As much as you want to just sit here and visually appreciate him, you think maybe it won’t hurt to physically do so, too.

It’s a fair stretch, but you manage to lean over him to open your bedside drawer and pull free a small bottle of flavoured lube. You squeeze a little into your palm, and he inhales a few times: even though you can only see two thirds of his face, you can practically feel him trying to figure out what the fragrance he can smell is, all of a sudden.

“Strawberry?” he murmurs after a moment, and you hum acknowledgement, taking his cock in your hand. He sighs, hips lifting to thrust himself further into the circle your fist makes; you freeze mid-stroke until he settles them back against the bed. 

“That’s it,” you encourage, languidly starting to pump over his length as he lets out more sweet little moans and whimpers, teeth so tight around his bottom lip that the skin around them pales. “Let it out, baby.”

He releases his lip almost straight away, gasping a moan of your name, his fists balling at the bed sheets instead to ground him.

“How’s that feel?” you ask, jerking him off a little faster, moving your wrist in the way you know he likes. When he only nods up at you, you squeeze your fingers just enough that he stutters out a grunt.

“So good,” he sighs, licking out over his lips. “Feels-... feels like heaven.”

You hum, fondly smiling ear-to-ear (not that he can see this, but you both know he’s visualising your face right now whether his eyes are trained on it or not). “Fitting for an angel, huh?”

Over the course of the next few minutes, your speed increases until he honestly can’t quiet the noises you so eagerly want him to make. Alongside the lewd sounds of the lube in your palm sliding up and down his cock, over and over and over, his whimpers and pleas grow louder. He re-grasps the sheets in his fingers, spewing out a string of expletives.

“M’gonna-...” he starts, swallowing hard, and you start to slow your movements just enough to make him hiss. His voice, when he speaks again, almost seems to be laced with panic at the thought of not being allowed to finish. “Please – oh, please, you’ve gotta let me come.”

“Do I?” you ask, pouting condescendingly down at him. He can either hear it in your voice, or he just knows you well enough to have guessed exactly what your face is doing right now. Either way, he groans, his own lips jutting out to match your expression as he throws his head back.

“Please,” he tries again, a little deeper this time. As if he’s trying to be commanding when he begs you. As if he could ever stop you playing with him, like this. (As if he’d ever really want to.)

“Not yet,” you say, slowing and softening more until your movements are barely-there. “Hold on, for me.”

Miraculously, he does. even when you bring him to the edge again and immediately drop your pace — he mewls at you and rolls his head back and almost chokes on the spit collecting in his mouth, but he doesn't let go. It’s taking everything he has, you can tell. The pretty vein that runs up the side of his neck bulges. His forehead grows damp with sweat. His cock twitches and throbs in your hand and is so hard you’re sure it must be bordering on painful for him. But he holds on.

After half an hour, after denying him of his orgasm for the fourth time, you can’t help but feel a bit of pity for Vernon; he looks positively wrecked, writhing with every pump of your fist, his voice dry and hoarse. And maybe it’s a little self-indulgent, when you finally stop teasing him: maybe you can't deny that this is destroying you, too. The weight of him in your hand is satisfying, but the need you have to be stretched out on his cock is almost unbearable. 

You undress yourself as he comes back down from the brink, drying off his forehead on the back of his arm. Your clothes join his on the floor and positioning one leg over his hips, you bend down low to kiss his lips.

He presses up into it so hard he almost breaks his own nose.

“I need you, baby,” you tell him, cupping his cheek. His hands instinctively come to settle on your hips. “I want you to fill me up. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yeah,” he breathes, just the idea of finally being able to get his dick wet seemingly wiping away the brain matter he uses to form coherent sentences. “I can...”

“Do you want this off?” you ask, fingers playing with the bottom of the blindfold. 

He shakes his head, almost as if he’s offended that you’d ask. “No – please,” he hurries, gripping your hips tighter. “Leave it on. Wanna-... wanna fuck you with it-... wanna know how it feels…”

“Okay,” you agree, kissing the corner of his lips before grinding your pussy down over his leaking cock. The heat between your legs and the slickness of your folds as they drag against his length does something so deeply sinful to Vernon: he reaches up behind your back, pulls you down towards him, buries his head in your shoulder and sounds like he’s about to sob.

“I don’t know how long I’m gonna-...” he tries to warn you, another smooth roll of your hips cutting him off. He groans into your skin, practically drooling for you. “Oh my God – you’re so wet.”

“It's what you do to me, ‘sol,” you laugh.

He thrusts his hips up to meet yours, and it’s your turn to stutter out a breath. His leaking head grazes your throbbing, neglected clit and you don’t have it in you to tell him to keep still. You let him fuck against you for a few seconds longer, selfishly relishing in the momentary fractions of relief, but enough is enough when you need him inside you so badly it stings and you lift yourself away from him, much to Vernon’s dismay.

“You’ll last until I tell you that you can come,” you instruct him. “Do you understand?” 

He swallows thickly and slides his hands down your back, pressing his fingertips into your ass, but he does nod his assent anyway. 

“I’ll try,” he says, slowing his breathing, preparing himself. The poor sweetheart always nearly comes apart the second he feels your walls hugging him.

“You’ll succeed.”

You don’t give him the time to respond as you take his length in your hand and position it at your entrance, slowly sinking down onto his cock, your cunt stretching to accommodate his size. it punches the air out of both of your lungs after the build-up; his sensitivity and you finally now feeling that delicious fullness renders both of you completely silent. You lower yourself until he’s fully tucked away inside you, until you’re sitting atop of his thighs, and suddenly you’re the impatient one. You want to feel him drag against your walls, want to feel him pounding up into you so hard it rearranges your guts. But you’re not that mean. You wait a few seconds for his abs to relax and for his fingers to stop grasping your ass so ruthlessly before your thighs start to work you up and down in deep, long movements.

Truthfully, you’re really not expecting this to last very long at all, so Vernon surprises you when he holds himself together beneath you long enough for the knot to start tying itself low in your stomach. He doesn’t thrust up into you, nor does he bounce you up and down on his length the way he sometimes does. It’s self preservation, really, but you can convince yourself he’s just being on his best behaviour if you want to (but it’s kind of hard to care too much when his gorgeous cock is pressing so deeply into you that you can feel it in your stomach).

“You feel so good, Sollie,” you gasp for him, changing the angle of your hips and feeling his tip graze across the spot that sends your hips into disrepair and your brain into a frenzy. If you weren’t kneeling, you think you’d collapse. “You fill me up so well, oh my God.”

“Mhm,” he nods, squeaky and quiet. His fingers grip your hips tighter, the sharp lines of nails pressing in. You don’t care that it stings: you’re beyond playing, now.

“You wanna come so bad right now, don’t you?” you ask. 

“On-only when-...” he swallows hard, feeling you bouncing a little faster. His chest is all pink and splotchy, his neck sweaty and tense. “When you say I can-...”

“I think you’ve earned-... earned it, don’t you?”

“You think so?” He asks. You nod, forgetting for a second in your bliss that he can’t hear you until he asks again. “You really think I have?”

“Yes, baby,” you tell him, squeezing your walls around him and feeling his hips make that first frantic jolt up to meet your own. You hold yourself still, dragging your nails down his chest, leaving harsh lines in their wake. “Want you to come for me. Want you to fuck me full.”

“Shit,” he whimpers, fucking up into you again. And again, and again, and again. Over and over, faster and faster, holding you harshly in place as he chases after the release you’ve been dangling in front of his covered eyes since he came home from work. Hell, since you mentioned blindfolding him in the bedroom in the first place all those weeks ago. He can’t control himself, head back against the pillows, moaning your name out loud as his orgasm hits him like a fucking train.

You aren’t far behind: by the time his thrusts slow, you’re coming down from your own Earth-shattering high, thighs burning but feeling so deliciously full. He continues pressing into you, trying his best to keep fucking his cum into your hole even though it dribbles out and pools at the base of his cock. You’re bent down over him by the time you’ve ridden out your climax, forehead on his collarbone, feeling him soften inside you but still not pulling himself out.

“You did so good, ‘Sol,” you breathe, easing your fingers behind his head and untying the knot that keeps you from looking into those gorgeous eyes you love so much. He lets you, this time, and the silk falls away onto the pillows as he blinks up at you. His lashes are a little dewy, his eyes glassy and sweet in his post-orgasm bliss. 

He looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky, except that can’t be. All of them are right here in front of you.

“That was amazing,” he murmurs, hugging you close. “Thank you, y/n.”

You can’t help but chuckle at him. “Thank you for trusting me, silly.” 

“Always will,” he hums, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. “With my life.”

“Well. Thank you for that, too.”

He slowly pulls himself out of you after a handful of minutes, grunting softly at the loss of your heat and his sensitivity. One of his hands lightly taps against your ass and you start to sit, begin moving off him so you can both go and clean off, but he doesn’t let you get too far.

“Where are you going?” he asks, frowning, his hand gripping your ass harder. 

“Well, seeing as I’m literally dripping cum all over the bedsheets right now-...” you start, raising a brow at him. He tugs you, then, as if to pull your hips up towards him, as if to guide you up the bed. You shuffle slightly, unsure, but when he can reach, both his hands wrap around you and he pulls you up so your leaking cunt is sat right over his waiting lips.

Okay. Maybe now he’s looking at you like you hung all the stars.

“You really are, aren’t you?” he asks, nosing your inner thigh, one hand sliding in-between your legs. An elegant finger plays with his cum, smearing it over your lips, a grin forming on his own when his eyes leave your pussy and lift back up to meet yours. “I’ll be good, baby, I promise. Please. Let me help.”

thank u so much for reading! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always so appreciated<3

[swifty-fox]

Curts back to bothering Johnny in the kfak oneshot...smh

It’s a little better, talking to Benny nearly every other day. With the train ticket purchased and the date two weeks away. He’s not sleeping but he’s not screaming or biting his tongue bloody but he thinks sometimes he’s losing time, caught up wondering what Benny was doing or Bucky, or Crank or Solly of Johnny Hoerr. He’s gotten a letter from most of the boys who mattered by now, save for either of their Majors which surprises him exactly none.

Crank’s working on his baby, Solly’s mailed his grandmother’s crucifix back, and Johnny Hoerr has met a girl already.

They all seem to be doing rather better than Johnny. 

The worst is he’s counting again, and somehow he’s forgotten how to keep it inside. Somewhere at the end, at the march, he’d had the ability to keep it inside ripped away. He counts the windows in the house when they’re out in the yard catching the last warmth of the day, he counts the fireflies in the field and both his sisters comment on it with kind concern. He counts cars driving by one afternoon when he’s meant to be reading but keeps imagining the Stalag library with its mismatched hairs and Buck Cleven’s math lessons. His mother asks him three times before he can respond. 

He wakes up counting from nightmares. Reciting the decades before he’s able to get his breathing under control, rolling onto his stomach and hiding in the pillow until his face is no longer wet. 

It’s dreams of mystery stews and dirt under his fingernails and the men with lice so plentiful their hair seemed to move if one looked long enough. It’s Buck Cleven’s dead-eyed stare in a hollow skull of a face and John Egan standing in the wreckage of a shattered chair. 

Dreams of Benny, shot and torn up and bleeding, dreams of him awake in Chicago but he’s covered in ice and dressed in rags with a neat frozen round bullet hole in the center of his forehead. It’s Benny frozen against the corpse of the horse, frost in his beard and the burning wreckage of Mugwump in his gaze. Him who cannot move, as the guards come closer.

Johnny’s begging him to get up, tugging at Benny with frozen blackened fingers, the nails breaking off as he pulls at Benny’s frozen still corpse. Benny’s staring, staring, staring. Up at the blue sky. Up at Johnny, nothing more than an empty premonition. 

He feels Curt’s bones against his ear, blistered dry tongue licking the shell like a lover, oh you are missing him, aren’t you Captain?

Johnny wakes with a start, finds the pale eyes of Peaches blinking back at him.

Reaching blindly, not for the light but for the beads of his rosary looped around the bedpost, Johnny pulls the string to his lips, feeling the way his breathing exhales unevenly against the wood. It’s the one he’d given Solly to save his life, the one he’d not quite thought he’d ever see again. Now strung beside him once again with a new sort of weight. 

“You’re a long way from home, Biddick,” he whispers to the dark, feeling a bit like he’s lost his mind.

The cat blinks at him.

[2frosty4you]

Fem reader accidentally flustering the mercs by something she did or said and not understanding why (merc) is so flushed and stumbling over his words? :3

Flustering the mercs [Drabbles]

Fem Reader flustering the mercs :3

| Masterlist | ask/request box | Words: 1090 |

i had to stop myself from just continuing some of these 😭😭😭

Also using tumblr on mobile 😭😭😭

╔═════════════════╗

Scout:

You grab his arm and pull him back to cover as a bullet remains where his head was.

“Jesus christ scout at least be careful”

“i - “

He’s speechless, your hand still gripped around his wrist. You look angry with him, but the feeling of your touch on his wrist makes him red, you drop his hand.

“You aight there?”

“Yes! yeah i- i could’ve totally avoided that without ya y’know aha”

He would quickly spit out, messing up words as you raise an eyebrow as he stumbles and runs around the corner. Heart beating fast and his face red.

Soldier:

Im sorry but soldier does NOT get flustered, but you make his heart beat widely when you talk with his racoons in a baby voice,

“Awww aint ya cuties, whats your names huh”

“Sergeant Smith, the one with the medal is lieutenant bites

“what cuties they all are”

He says with speed as you nuzzle the raccoon and baby talk it while laughing, he’s staring for a while before you look up to him.

“You okay solly?”

“Affirmative!”

His heart is widely beating as you treat his pets like your own, giving them food while you think he isn’t looking and always happy to see them when he takes them into base. (even if medic hates them)

Pyro:

They laugh and clap as you flick open a lighter to show them the hello kitty lighter you had bought.

“See! its a pink flame, isn’t that cool!?”

“mpHmH!”

“Anyway this is for you anyway, gotta go see medic; dont burn the place down!”

You toss them the lighter, and wave.

Pyro sits there, holding the lighter in their hands as their face is a bright red under their mask. Laughing as their body buzzed and felt her hands move to flicker the lighter

Happy knowing it came from you.

Demoman:

“Yeah, an she carried your drunk ass to bed; what a sight HA”

Scout teased, demoman’s face flushed red as you walk in. Waving.

“Hey you three, what's up?”

“Tellin ol’ demo here how he ended up back in his bed”

“Yeah! an look at the drunkard”

His face was a dark red, a. hot feeling radiating as he grummbled and burried his head in his arms.

“Hm? oh yeah did you drink the water i left you?”

“y-yah”

He mutters, you raise an eyebrow but the other two men laugh to themselves as demo grumbles into his arms.

Heavy:

A bowl of hot soup laid before heavy, you standing with a white apron tied around you with a smile.

“What are you waiting for? taste it”

He takes the spoon, blows on the soup and takes a sip. His eyes widen as he feels the taste of his mothers soup on his tongue.

“Does it taste right? not sure if i got it all correct, russian is hard for me to read”

You smile, he coughs softy. Nodding, face a soft pink as you stand like a sun in the kitchen.

“Da, its like how my mother used to cook”

He stumbles over a few words, yet you look at him with a tiled head and a bowl of your own.

Engineer:

Engi had been tinkering on his sentry all night, large bags under his eyes as you place down a place of cut red apples with a bottle of juice.

“Engi, eat something”

“I- oh thanks darlin”

He would say with a smile, face red as he ate. You standing there with crossed arms.

“Take a break soon, we need you tomorrow”

Your small act of affection causes him to stutter and laugh softly, scratching the back of his neck slowly sipping the juice you gave him. Looking over his blueprints, just waiting there for him to finish and take a break.

Medic:

It was a hectic battle so far, medic was tired healing the scout and not noticing the enemy demoman behind him he dropped his gun and readied for the impact of sword against his neck, when it didn’t come and the sound of a body dropping make him look up.

You turn back to him with blood dripping from your face and body.

“You okay doc? He didn’t hurt ya did he?”

“i- nien- nien he didnt”

He’s red, standing there staring at you as you look feral with the demoman’s blood soaking into your clothes and skin,

“Doc? ya there?”

He stumbles over his words as he holds his medigun close, waving to you as he speeds away to go heal heavy who was yelling for him. Almost tripping over his feet as he couldn't remove the image of you from his mind.

Sniper:

Sniper grunts, holding the wound on his arm. The blood bleeding through his fingers as you come around the corner, head perking as you walk back.

“Snipes?? what happened jesus,”

“nothin nothin”

He bites back a groan of pain as he went to grab the med back, you kneel before him.

“Snipes move your hand, jesus what even happened”

“its foin, its nothIN-“

He takes a sharp breath in, and with a delicate touch you move it, which feels like electricity through his body you take the hand holding the wound and place it down.

His face was growing a thick red, heat radiating from his cheeks as he looks away from you, treating his wound like glass even if both of you were war criminals.

Making quick work of the bullet wound, you wipe your hands on your pants and look at his red face.

“Aight, should be good. I’ll get medic to heal ya if we come through”

“tha, thanks mate”

“Try not to get hit again”

Spy:

It takes a lot to fluster the spy, but with you?

You grabbed the spy's arm, pulling him down as a soldier walked past you two. The two of you cramped against each other behind the crate, him in for lap with his two lanky legs just strewn around you two.

His face is red under his mask, breath quicking as he faces away from you.

You look up, and then push him up.

“Be careful, next time i ain't saving you”

“oui, merci,”

His words slip into french as his feet stumble and you catch him before falling.

“What, are you sick? Is that why your head is out of the game?”

“no, non, its nothing ami, merci for hiding me”

He cloaks and quickly leaves as his face was red and his head was clouded with you. As you stood there, a confused look on your face as you kill the other spy.

╚═════════════════╝

[toten-kunst]

behold, my tf2 oc

more info about him below the cut!!

meet the artist! his real name is oliver pick and he is a sarky little bloke from the city of britsol in england. after a run in with merasmus left his art supplies cursed/enchanted he can now use them either as projectile or melee weapons. mann co. soon gained knowledge of his abilities and hired him to fight in the gravel war alongside the rest of the cast. my bf helped me a lot with his lore ^w^

he is an attack based class, mainly dealing up close hits with a giant paintbrush/pencil or widespread attacks (eg. splattering acidic paint everywhere). i don’t have any illustrated depictions of how his attacks work so sorry. his art supplies have an “attack mode” and a “resting mode”. what this means is when they are in “rest mode” they appear as normal art supplies and when in “attack mode” they enlarge or become more hostile looking. all of his art supplies typically have bright green paint on them to signify their connection to merasmus and glow bright green when they’re preparing to engage in “attack mode”.

in terms of his personality, he is quite introverted and awkward. his only real friend in the base is scout, because he’s one of the younger mercs and artist finds it difficult to converse with the older mercs. he’s 19 years old, so, pretty young compared to the rest of them. here is a more in depth list of what his relationships with the others are like:

scout - pretty close with him in a brotherly way. they tend to shit talk the others most of the time and scout likes to ask him to draw stuff.

soldier - artist is actually kind of afraid of soldier, mainly because he dreads to imagine what would happen if solly found out he was british.

pyro - artist and pyro share a common interest, being art, so they get along fine. pyro likes to put stickers on artist’s art supplies and artist likes to paint on pyro’s mask.

engie - he really really really likes to help engie draft his schematics. engie typically lets him do a few lines at a time before taking over again, because artist is a dumb kid who shouldn’t be trusted with drafting schematics in his eyes.

heavy - heavy tries to take on a more father-like role with artist because he worries for the little baby man. being faced with so much atrocities at such a young age cannot be good for him. artist likes spending time with heavy, playing catch and other such games. he doesn’t really understand why heavy’s so worried about him though.

demoman - demo and artist get along fairly well. artist doesn’t really interact with him often but every time he does it’s always a positive experience. demo typically offers him a drink like that cool uncle at family reunions and he gifts him some shrapnel from the battle field sometimes.

spy - artist hates spy. point blank. even thinking about him makes him wanna throw up. do not ever mention the frenchman to him. ever.

sniper - artist doesn’t really like sniper either. he finds the whole concept of jarate weird and gross. his first death was due to the enemy team’s sniper so there’s also just some mild resentment there.

medic - artist is unbelievably terrified of medic. he’s afraid of the things he’s capable of doing but chooses not to. he��s always avoiding him, even on the battle field. this leads to artist having a very high death streak compared to the others.

so yeah that’s a somewhat-not-really brief overview of my silly little guy!! if you have any questions about him i’m more than willing to answer! thanks for listening to my mad ramblings!!!

[mutant-distraction]

Solly Levi Photography

Meerkat baby-Kalahari https://www.sollylevi.com/Namibia/i-7tbH4Qp/A

[honeyplushie]

I wan to make some sollux agere headcanons :3

Here they r!

He is v tiny! he regresses v little, and hes nonverbal when he regresses, but he still makes noises sometimes(usually cooing noises, giggles, or some kind of humming).

Karkat is his cg usually, but aradia and feferi and nepeta babysit him sometimes!(nepeta is also an agere so sometimes she and sollux have playdates! Equius is neppys cg ^^)

He likes to wear overalls and tshirts mostly, he doesnt usually wear onesies unless he has pants/a skirt/overalls on top ^^ also he likes to wear boyish stuff usually but sometimes skirts are cute and comfy!

He uses a paci(almost always has it in his mouth if hes regressing) and also sippy cups! He doesnt use bottles uwu also he likes stuffed animals, blocks, and video games when hes little(specifically child friendly video games, he also has special kid consoles just for regressing)

He can be very emotional when hes little, he gets frustrated easy and can cry a lot. He keeps his big emotions hidden, and they all tend to come out when he is small. But kk is very good at calming him down ^^ kk is warm and cozy and big and strong and has good hugs!

He doesn't use nicknames for his cg/babysitters, except the ones in canon(kk, aa, etc.) But that's also bc he is nonverbal ><

Kk is very good at not getting angry or impatient when sollux is little, this is more of a kk headcanon, but hes a v good cg, very attentive and balances babying sollux well with properly caring for him. Idk how to explain, but like, he babies solly but also can be stern(sweetly) with bedtimes and meals and self care and stuff!

Hes a sleepy baby! He doesn't like to go to sleep if hes big, so he regresses to help him sleep :3 often times he wakes up still little, which can scare him if he is alone.

He has 2 rooms! He has a big room and a little room! His big room is where his computers and big kid games are, as well as a place to sleep and some other things that dont fit into a little room(its also more mature looking), and his little room has his toys, his little kid games, his little clothes, and is generally bighter, more colorful, and childlike ^^

Sollux is, luckily, very short! And so he can sit on most peoples laps, which he loves bc he likes when his cg or babysitters arms are around him and they cradle him/rock him(is that the word? Like rock a bye baby?)

I think thats all i have! This was v fun to write aa i hope u like to read it :3

[rainbowdelicsunshine]

Favorite scene/storyline with your F/O in canon? Or in your personal canon with them? with whomever comes to mind!

OOOOOOOOOOOOO GONNA TAKE MY OPPORTUNITY TO SPOUT ABOUT SOLIDER AND SNIPER FOR THIS ONE WOOP WOOP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

For Soldier

Canon Moment: Soldier being Super Autistic in Expiration Date by taking "You can teleport as much Bread as you like" Literally

Coming from an Autistic Person, if I was told the same thing I WOULD'VE DONE EXACTLY WHAT SOLLY DID AND IM NOT AFRAID TO ADMIT THAT!!!!!!!!

Personal Canon Moment: Solly being Secretly OBSESSED with music played by acoustic guitars, thus whenever he hears Engineer play his, Solly stops whatever he's doing just to listen to him play and sing! (he thinks Engineer's Singing Voice comes straight from God and he loves it)

For Sniper

Canon Moment: When in Meet the Sniper he whispers to the side:

"I think his mate just saw me"...

It always sounded so oddly charming and adorable since it sounds like he's trying to say his own Aussie Take on "I think ya boy just saw me" and I LOVE HIM for that! (he's a vv creative man)

Personal Canon Moment: Him having deeply buried and hidden away paternal instincts and desires that manifest themselves through his love and care for animals (especially small baby ones)

He has a spot somewhere hidden away on the base (that only Soldier knows of thanks to him taking raccoons to Sniper in the past) where Sniper keeps animals he's taken in to help them so they can be rehabilitated to go back to the wild!

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Thank you oh so very much for sending this in my good friend! I hope you have a wonderful evening!!

[prettyboypistol]

It says requests are open but please feel free to ignore if not and ofc don't do it if you do not feel like it or don't have inspo but may I request the mercs (tf2) reacting to finding out the reader (male ofc) has a voice kink and got turned on hearing them talk? Thank you in advance! have a nice day/night !! - transleviathan

Tf2 Mercs Realizing You Have a Voice Kink! || x Male!Reader +/18

Scout

Oh God, he gets so turned on when you tell him.

He already dirty talk babbles, now it's a hell of a lot more intentional.

Pulls you close and whispers dirty things in your ears

"Hey there, baby boy, wanna have a quickie?"/"Hey there prettyboy, you doing anythin' later tonight?"/"I got a bucket of chicken-"

Jeremy HAS and will CONTINUE TO take this as a massive ego stroke that makes him feel high as a kite.

Has asked to see if just his voice can get you off. (embarrassed when it can)

MAFIA VOICE HOTSHOT SCOUT THO

Soldier

He's really confused at first, but understands it after you lay on the compliments about how manly and hot his voice is.

Likes viewing it as him being superior to you in an authority figure in a military sense.

Solly likes dropping his voice suddenly to make you scream in surprise. He likes how you tense up and blush.

High key wants to kiss you when you get embarrassed.

Thinks it's funny when you giggle eagerly when he insults you in a deep voice.

Demoman

He's kinda caught off guard that you find his voice hot, but takes it and sprints with it.

Absolutely turns up the Scottish pet names and slang terms to fluster you. "Attaboy, there's a good lad." Is his favorite way to praise you.

Think it's cute how excited you get when he mutters under his breath.

Tavish grumbles an exasperated "Jesus christ.." and suddenly he has a cute Lil boyfriend in his lap and trying to kiss his face off.

PINS YOU DOWN AND DIRTY TALKS

Engineer

Oh this man takes it and runs with it. As soon as you tell him you like, really, like his voice, he feels his heart flutter

High key wants to role-play a cowboy and outlaw scene where he catches you and you 'convince' him not to turn you in.

You get "howdy"'d a lot more lol

SO MANY SOUTHERN NICKNAMES

Can't help but drop his voice and feel you up, God, he loves the reaction you give. You better be prepared for hot hyperfixation rants

Pyro

Overjoyed that someone actually likes their voice- not in the invasive way. When you confess that you find the muffling of their voice from their gas mask.

They like that your Kink isn't more... explicitly their voice, moreso the muffling.

The heavy breathing and little whines that you can hear when you're close.. nobody else hears that but you, and it turns you on.

Pyro likes talking to you through little orders that are easy to understand. (mmt./sit, mhpay./stay, mm mny./good boy)

Likes grabbing you by your hair and pulling you close to make you listen to the hissing of air from the gas mask.

Heavy

GOD. DAMN. This man goes above and beyond with his accent and russian talk around you after you tell him

He's super flustered but also really happy that you find his voice attractive! He's always been insecure about how he sounds in English because he sounds stupid when he talks in English.

When you express attraction to Heavy's voice, he gets all happy and confident.

"Oh? You like Heavy's voice!" Heavy pins you against a wall, his laugh shaking you. "Good."

Medic

"Oh, but listening to me talking about vivisections grosses you out?" kind of teasing

HUUUUGE ego boost to him, def likes teasing you with his voice and gently touching you in little ways (grabbing thighs, petting stomach, rubbing neck) ALL TOUCHING FROM BEHIND JESUS CHRIST

Again, loves holding you from behind and growling things int your ear as he kisses your neck. (please introduce him to mirror sex PLEASE)

German. So. Much. Fucking. German.

Wants to teach you German so so so badly!!!!

Spy

he knew you had a voice kink as soon as he talked to you.

He loves sneaking up on you and whispering dirty french in your ear. You don't know exactly what he's saying, but you know it's said to make you blush.

Only translates the dirty talk to english to fluster you further with an "Oh, I'm sorry dear, let me translate.."

Spy loves making you flustered with different voices, especially with roleplay scenes (loves dressing up in elaborate roles i'll die on this hill)

Sniper

Pins you against a wall and whispers into your ear, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath. "Oh, so you gotta thing for Aussies then? Right, I can work with that, darlin'~"

This man WILL bring you on a sniping mission and order you to get off as his eyes are trained on the target.

Likes how he can just order you to be aroused, just by a certain word or inflection in his speech. He grins like a predator when he realizes his power over you and God. You know it's over for you.

Has offered to dirty talk his way into getting road head

[leadshootingcupid]

Any memorable critter encounters you could share with us?

-🍃

Aw, most of 'em are memorable!

Got two in particular from the top of my head, though. Can I respond to these twice? I'll figure it out.

First one happened a few months ago.

Fuck o'clock in the mornin', I hear four hearty bangs on my van door.

'S normal for Soldier to be the first one to wake up, but he usually sends Scout over to wake me - 'n this one was really early, even for ol' Jane.

He held out his helmet to me, upside down - had a little gray fox cub in it! Beady eyes 'n everything. Said he found it when looking out the window - didn't know the species or nothing, but he came up because it needed to be taken care of.

'Course I was up for it. Cub looked all healthy, so I went out with Solly, headed towards the woods, 'n looked for the mum [the bloke said he hadn't checked if she was around].

I held the little gal durin' that, though. Helmet was a cutesy idea, but she needed warmth.

'S clear Soldier always cares 'bout his team, but I didn' know he'd be that big on the li'l guys. Asked me about what they eat, when to feed 'em, 'n how warm they actually need it - everything. Listened well when I told him, too. 'Preciated that.

We did find the mum, though. Had Soldier do the honors of releasin' the baby. Could tell he wanted to - 'n no harm done.

Sun was up by the time we were done, but I didn' mind it. I think Jane liked it, too.

[devildomwriter]

Reacting to Your First Sonogram | Solomon x Reader

You were a nervous wreck in the waiting room, and Solomon couldn’t stop laughing at you as you were completely unable to sit still in the cushioned seat.

He held your hand to try and calm you down, but you were visibly sweating and started to fan yourself with the gossip magazines on the table.

When your pregnancy test came back positive, Solomon, being the “wise” one, knew all the appointments he needed to book, and you certainly hadn’t expected the first one to be so soon.

You only just found out, and now you were in the waiting room of the building where you’d see your baby for the first time.

Thankfully no one else was in the waiting room, or you’d have made a fool of yourself.

Solomon gave up trying to get you to sit still, so he started reading an outdated gossip column about the British Royals.

You looked around the room at the center table for kids with the beads you could push around, and as some form of comfort, you sat on the floor and started to play with it. Solomon gave you a curious and mildly concerned look before sitting down with you and joining you in the childlike fun.

Just then, the door opened, and Solomon stood up fast enough to not be caught playing with the children’s table.

Your face turned red, and you glared at Solomon. He laughed at your expression and helped you to your feet.

He gave you some hand sanitizer and followed the nurse into a long white-tiled hallway with colorfully painted walls.

In the other rooms with doors slightly ajar, you noticed other women with bellies somewhat larger than yours and became nervous at the idea in a few months’ time; you’d be in the same state.

You wanted to go through with the pregnancy, but you were still very emotionally confused about suddenly being thrown into this situation without prior planning.

He noticed how on edge you seemed and squeezed your hand.

The nurse led you into their only available room and went over the paperwork with you, confirming everything was correct.

They told you where to sit and handed you a gown to change into before leaving.

Solomon leaned against the door to stop any sudden visitors and watched you intensely as you changed out of your shirt and into the flimsy gown.

“Solly, can you help me tie the strings?” You asked him, and he chuckled and nodded.

After observing some of the charts on the wall in awkward silence, the doctor finally arrived.

Solomon greeted the doctor and sat in the seat by your bedside, holding your hand to comfort you.

“How far along?” The doctor asked, and you looked at Solomon, who’d probably know the answer as he always did.

“About six weeks,” he informed, and you nodded along.

The doctor went over some basic facts with you about what the baby was like at six weeks, and further explained how the sonogram would work.

Solomon laughed when you let out an embarrassing “eep” at the cold object over your belly. The doctor laughed too and apologized as he moved the transducer around, looking for the baby’s heartbeat.

Suddenly you became nervous; there might not be one and squeezed Solomon’s hand tighter until finally, you could see it on the screen.

The doctor smiled and pointed it out to you, but you’d already noticed, and you couldn’t take your eyes away from it until you felt Solomon’s grip tighten immensely.

You looked at him worriedly, but his expression was that of awe.

He knew everything he could need to know about children and pregnancy but actually witnessing the tiny movements of a being he in part created was somehow unfathomable.

The doctor offered to record the screen for you, and you and Solomon simultaneously asked that he do so immediately.

He motioned to Solomon and let him hold the transducer, which you weren’t sure was usually allowed, but Solomon was very happy about it.

Solomon looked at you, love in his eyes as he held the transducer over your belly, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little at the joy he was experiencing.

“This is incredible,” he praised, and you beamed excitedly. Solomon hadn’t shown much enthusiasm in the beginning for this but looking at his expression now; you knew he was ready for this and overjoyed to be doing it with you.

[swifty-fox]

last line tag

tagged by @majorbuckyegan

we sleep now with the light on was the project for the dayyy

It’s a little better, talking to Benny nearly every other day. With the train ticket purchased and the date two weeks away. He’s not sleeping but he’s not screaming or biting his tongue bloody but he thinks sometimes he’s losing time, caught up wondering what Benny was doing or Bucky, or Crank or Solly of Johnny Hoerr. He’s gotten a letter from most of the boys who mattered by now, save for either of their Majors which surprises him exactly none.

Cranks working on his baby, Solly’s mailed his grandmother’s crucifix back, and Johnny Hoerr had met a girl already.

They all seem to be doing rather better than Johnny. 

The worst is he’s counting again, and somehow he’s forgotten how to keep it inside. Somewhere at the end, at the march, he’d had the ability to keep it inside ripped away. He counts the windows in the house when they’re out in the yard catching the last warmth of the day, he counts the fireflies in the field and both his sisters comment on it with kind concern. He counts cars driving by one afternoon when he’s meant to be reading but keeps imagining the Stalag library with its mismatched hairs and Buck Cleven’s math lessons. His mother asks him three times before he can respond. 

He wakes up counting from nightmares. Reciting the decades before he’s able to get his breathing under control, rolling onto his stomach and hiding in the pillow until his face is no longer wet. 

tagging @anachilles @stereobone @blixabargelds @feyd-meowtha @hogans-heroes

[reallylilyreally]

For the Send me a fic of mine and I'll answer...

Since you've already been asked about At Your Heels and Breathe Through the Bruises, how about Nine Mothers' Sons?

ahhhhhhhhh nine mothers' sons, probably my favourite thing i've ever written

My favorite scene

Ooooh. Hmmm. There are a lot of moments in this fic that i ADORE but i think it has to be the ending:

“What was it like,” James asks him.

Brilliant. Terrible. Cold. Boring. Beautiful. 

“Which bit?” Johnny bites back, no snap.

James laughs. “I dunno,” he says, as if he’s aware he’s being an idiot. “What was the best bit?”

“The best bit of being a bomber pilot?” Johnny asks him.

He thinks of the clear, beautiful blue of the sky, open around him like more ocean than you could ever imagine. Thinks of the crackle of flame over the hardstands, the buzz of the bars, the way Benny’s wrist fit perfectly in his palm, the look on Bucky’s face when he played Blue Skies on the saxophone. He thinks of the extra chain next to Solly’s dog tags, Ham’s gold tooth in the dark, Crank’s wooden forts, Buck and Macon doing calculus, Jefferson drawing girls he didn't know, Ev Blakeley coming back from the dead, Johnny Hoerr on his right for twenty flights.

He takes a sip of his whiskey, lets it sit in his mouth for a moment, lets it burn.

“The best bit of being a bomber pilot is the crew,” he says.

I didn't really know where I was going and then I got to "what was it like" and i had this... magic moment? where all of a sudden i knew EXACTLY what i wanted to say and it was like i was possessed by the spirit of John Brady.

Also this:

John Brady kills three men with his bare hands that day, and doesn’t for a moment feel anything like guilt the whole of the rest of his life.

I wrote that and had to take a moment.

Hardest scene to write

Oof. This.

Who's going to protect Bucky from the weight of his grief now? Brady, apparently.

“Alright, Major?” He says, for want of anything better.

Bucky looks up at him, eyes red and startlingly clear for the amount he's presumably drunk. It's barely afternoon.

“Little John,” he says, dredging the snide name all the way up from flight school, and he's only slightly slurring. “Draw the short straw?”

There's a pause where Brady doesn't know what to say, and then Bucky lets out a nasty bark of laughter.

“No, wait, I know why you're here. It's because everyone else is dead, isn't it, Johnny?”

Brady sighs. “C’mon Bucky, time to go.”

Bucky stares at him. “Night's young, Little John.”

“It's the middle of the afternoon. We're flying tomorrow.”

“Lucky us,” Bucky says. He gestures at the publican. “Have a drink with me, Little John, just one, and then I'll come when you call like a good dog.”

Something about the turn of phrase turns Brady's stomach. The way the other man is calling him Little John makes him feel hot and cold and furious and he misses Buck, badly. The publican looks at him with concern, almost a request for direction.

“Two whiskeys,” Brady tells him, and Bucky does that nasty hollow laugh again.

They drink in silence. Bucky is staring into the rows of bottles behind the bar like he's seeing the endless horizon for the first time. At rest, he looks slightly shocked. He's not telling himself a story now, there's no Boys Own Adventure playing today. He's a man with the bottom dropping out of the world.

“I'm so sorry, John,” Brady says, even though he knows better.

Bucky bares his teeth. “Don't make me break your nose, Johnny,” he says. “You've got no fucking idea.”

He's abruptly furious. “Who was in the right hand seat, Bucky?”

Bucky stares at him.

“Who was sitting next to Buck when Our Baby went down? Who was it?”

“Who was it?”

He doesn't really need to hear Brady say it. 

“Benny,” Brady says anyway. “Benny was. So don't you tell me I've got no fucking idea. Might not be quite the same but it's close enough. Finish your god damn whiskey, we're going home.”

Dealing with Bucky's grief in a way that left room for interpretation while still allowing Brady to be really angry at him while also being kind? I felt like I was just flailing around, really.

Favorite character to write in the fic

Johnny Brady is my best girl and I'm not sorry. I love that man.

Favorite dynamic to write in the fic

For the last second string i said Brady/Bucky, and I do love that dynamic, but in this fic I think I'd say Brady/Benny. That steady love and support and acceptance. And of course, holy co-dependency, batman.

Why I chose that title

This was my first time writing a fic with such a strong recurring motif, and I think i was worried people might miss it?? dunno how. but i stuck it in the title just in case.

A fun fact about the fic

I fully imagined Brady and Benny as a totally platonic relationship all the way through this and only got bitten by the bug after.