#though a bit hard too.. to put it all into words...

[cosmal]

diced

content eddie munson x reader

summary you slice your hand cutting limes. the kitchen hand you fancy, patches you up.

note woah aerial is back! this is an old blurb that i decided to finish. it's not that big but i thought i'd get it out! can't wait to write some more stuff xx

You try not to create a mess, and you try not to cry, and you try not to pass out. How could such a tiny cut produce so much blood?

You push through the swinging door out the back and almost bump into Eddie. Holding your bloodied hand in the other, you squeeze hard enough to pinch the torn skin. You're too focused on keeping your blood to yourself, the extra pressure doesn't faze you.

You can feel Eddie behind you and hope he's not watching you as you fiddle with the taps. They're old and missing their red and blue markings. You mess with them until the temperature is right and try not to smear red everywhere.

“Shit,” you curse and feel the beginnings of hot tears prick at your waterline. “So stupid.”

“Baby,” Eddie’s familiar nickname for you comes in quick and breaks the ringing in your ears, “fuck, what happened?” He stands behind you and presses his shoulder into yours. He smells of grease and sauteed onion.

“I was,” you swallow. Your throat dry with an upset you can tell is way out of your control now. You really hate blood. “I was cutting limes and slipped.”

The water stings, but not as bad as the lime juice did. The first tear still falls down your cheek and you wipe it away with your shoulder.

“How deep?” He says, firmer than you’ve ever heard him. He walks off around the corner and you don’t want him to. He comes back with the first aid kit. “Can I see it?”

You nudge the tap closed and turn to face him. You can’t look at the cut lest you feel even more queasy than you do now. You sense your skin is a few shades lighter than normal.

“Oh, baby,” Eddie tuts. His sweet affections are always enough to make you feel better. However right now you think the deep slice in your finger is enough to distract you from the way he makes you feel. “C’mon, let’s go sit.”

You follow Eddie through to the corridor and try your best to not focus on the dull throbbing in your finger. You can feel blood trickling down into your palm, your other hand interlocked with Eddie’s, unable to wipe the hot mess of tears on your face.

He sits you on a milk crate, plopping down on another opposite you, and balances your diced hand on his knee. You worry for his new corduroys but there’s a line of tomato puree up the front of them that looks as though it’ll stain just as worse.

“Are you okay?” He wraps a clean bar towel around your hand and squeezes. Your hand feels like it’s on fire. You feel stupid. You've barely said a word but you’re okay with Eddie bossing you around a bit.

You swallow and blink, and worry your cheeks are marred with mascara. “Yeah,” you cough, and feel a little inept. “Thank you Eddie, I think I was on autopilot for a second there.”

“It’s okay,” he laughs. It’s a distracting sound. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I really hate blood.” You suck a sharp breath through your teeth and turn your head away while Eddie fixes you up.

You close your eyes and let Eddie take care of you. You wonder if you’d put up with another bloodied hand for him to touch you like this again. He apologises every time you wince, even though you’re being entirely dramatic, and wipes the left over tears and smudged mascara when he done patching you up.

He squeezes your knee when he’s done and kisses you over your bandage. “All done,” he chirps. “Good job.”

You laugh and kiss him on the cheek. “You’re too kind.”

“You gonna be okay to shake a martini with that bandaged hand?”

You giggle. “Martini’s are stirred, Ed’s.” His face drops. “No wonder you’re in the kitchen.”

“I’d like to see you cook a steak.”

[kirietown]

Rag Doll Dance

Pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x f!reader

Summary: the thunderbolts never came; and instead earth’s mightiest hero is entered into a rag doll dance with a psychologist who’d do anything to see valentina squirm.

Content: manipulative reader, seriously reader is a bad person, smut, cream pie, vaginal fingering, unethical reader, thunderbolts spoilers sorta? this is an AU, very minor mention of past drug use

18+

Word Count: 3.4K

a/n: im considering a part two if people show interest!

Valentina’s instructions were clear; do not make physical contact, and do not give him your name. As far as he knew, you were the psychologist, and that was all you would ever be. 

You didn’t anticipate that you’d break rule one by the end of this session, and rule two soon after that.

”Hello Sentry,” you said after you walked into his room and shut the door behind you. The space was warmly lit, under your own suggestion as it would provide him with a sense of calm. Early scans prior during his trial phase suggested that cooler colours tended to act as stressors. The room, his room, although plain in its features provided security with the thought put into its simplistic design. 

He sat up straight upon your greeting, unmasked curiosity graced his features. You took a moment to assess him; plain face, messy brown hair, yet a sense of wonderment that seemed to elevate him. He was nothing special, yet something about him softened you, though only a bit. 

“You can call me Bob,” he said quietly. “Sentry… I don’t think it quite fits yet. What’s your name?” 

You ignore his question. 

“Why do you say that?” You move closer, and took a seat across from him. He stiffened and moved his back more firmly against the headboard of his bed. You noticed the tremor in his fingers, and relaxed your own posture, hoping to ease his nerves. 

You knew his name already, you knew everything about him. You had watched his pre-screening tapes, and followed along with his trial updates. However, to Bob, you were someone new sent to speak to him. 

“Well,” he chuckled and tilted his head sheepishly. “Hearing it sometimes, it feels like someone’s trying to put me into a suit that’s just a little too big around the shoulders.” He spoke softly, though firmly as though you couldn’t convince him otherwise.

You don’t try to.

”Only sometimes?” 

“Other times… I feel on top of the world, and it fits me just right. But right now, I think I’m just… Bob. Who are you?” The question at the end came quickly, and you barely had time to process it before his apologies came out in a flurry. “Or you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I— I’m sorry, I really don’t want to be pushy… I’m no good at these sort of things.” 

You smile tenderly before you reply, “you can just call me the psychologist. It’s what I prefer; it’s like my own superhero title, don’t you think? I can call you Bob if that’s what makes you comfortable. But just know that Sentry fits you just right, at least in my opinion.” 

He blushes, and once again tilted his head at that awkward angle like a child in an old painting. You do your best to hide your satisfaction. 

“So you’re like my shrink?” 

“Psychologist,” you replied.

”Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I told you I’m no good at this.” 

“What is it you’re not good at, Bob?” You said his name carefully, and noticed the shiver it sent down his spine. He was truly an open book, it was endearing in a way, though it didn’t charm you. You were interested in him the way you were interested in playing with rag dolls as a child. Could you force him to dance? Could he learn to make himself uncomfortable for you?

“People,” he said. “I guess I’ve never been too good with that. It’s hard, no one ever really talked to each other in my house growing up. It was always yelling. But I’m guessing you already knew that, didn’t you?” You barely noticed that he moved closer. You held your breath as you realized he now sat at the edge of his bed. His wavy hair obscured the corners of his eyes as he lowered his head down. You knew if you looked down, his feet would be nearly touching yours now. 

You remained still. 

“I did know,” you make sure not to deny the truth. “But I think it’s better to hear it from you than from a file. After all, I’m here to help you.”

”I don’t think I can be helped… I think I’m a lost cause, I’m no good.” He said this with certainty, as though he knew the truth. You pretended you couldn’t see the lights flickering. You pretended you can’t see his hand on his thigh, twitching, fumbling against his pants as though begging to be held. 

“You talk as if you know that to be certain,” you replied. “I don’t think you’re a lost cause; lost, yes, but I think you’ll find your way. You just have to open up, we can figure out who you are together.” You spoke softly, and noted his heavy breathing. He stilled, as though deep in thought before he replied. 

“I’ve hurt people,” he said. “I’m scared it’ll happen again, and I won’t remember any of it.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if in need of protection. “I don’t know you, but I feel like if I hurt you I wouldn’t be able to live with it.” 

You decide on a new approach, it’s reckless, and you’re thankful Valentina listened to your request to remove any audio or cameras from this room (you double checked with your guy in IT to confirm this). 

“You may just hurt me,” you said. He turned his head up in shock and met your gaze. “But I know what I signed up for. I won’t give up on you out of fear, nor do I care to make false promises about my safety when it’ll be your choice in the end. I’m not here to lie to you Bob, I’m here to support you.” 

His baby blues continued to stare into your own eyes, his pupils impossibly small and it felt as though you were staring into the ocean. Could eyes really be that deep? Was it a result of the trials? Regardless, you chose to go against your own better judgement, and take his hand in yours. 

As the author, I cannot tell you what the void showed you in those brief moments, but I can tell you that you felt a familiar pain, heard a voice from your past, and relived an experience that was most frightening. 

When you were back in the room, you still gripped onto Bob’s hand. Tightly, securely, and rubbed your thumb onto the back of his palm. 

“Like I said,” you spoke calmly, and it was a wonder how you didn’t spill your lunch onto the floor. Your stomach was queasy, your brain a mess from the void. “I’m not going anywhere.” He looked at you, really looked at you for a few moments, as though in shock that you didn’t pull away in disgust or anger. He squeezed your hand as though to make sure you were still there and it wasn’t all in his imagination. 

“You name,” he said. “I heard it.” He whispered it— sounding out the syllables, as though it were a blessing. It left you stunned for a moment, realizing he had seen your worst fear; the deepest part of you. He said your name again, softly, before he collapsed into your arms. His knees hit against the floor, though you suspected he felt no pain. 

You caressed his locks as he wept into your lap, his arms encircled around your waist reminding you of a shackle chaining you to the floor. 

…

Valentina appeared to be quite impressed by the improvements to Bob’s mood since your first session. Over time, as you continued to visit, she noted more focus during his endurance training amongst other aspects related to his powers. She encouraged the sessions turn into a daily occurrence, and you obliged. 

You walked in, only to be smothered in a hug as soon as the door shut behind you. You were taken aback, though unsurprised as you noted his affections had increased over the course of your time with him. It had started as merely reaching out his hand to grasp yours, which you typically didn’t entertain but after a talk with Valentina after you confessed the events of the first session, she encouraged that you explore his limits together. It was strange of her, though at the time you could only nod your head as she was in charge. It infuriated you,— you had the suspicions from the very beginning that this was all some sort of puppet show to her where she could string you along however she liked.

You snapped out of your thoughts as he breathed in the scent of your hair, and held you close to him. “I missed you,” he said. His warm breath fanned across your cheek and sent a shiver down your spine, and much to your shock he held you even tighter. 

You pushed his chest away softly. “I apologize,” you said. “I realized I had to take some of my PTO, so that was why I missed these last three days. I wasn’t able to warn you in advance.” Your words were true, though you had plenty of time to warn him, you chose not to because you wanted to test the level of co-dependency he’d built up.

It was Valentina’s suggestion, unfortunately; upon reading your sessional notes, she realized he harboured some sort of deep attachment to you personally much to your bemusement. What he lacked was control, an anchor able to tie him down and have him committed to Valentina.

It had been the plan all along, and you were young, attractive, and seemingly loyal enough to Valentina to be selected. 

Valentina of course did not share this with you, rather your own sleuthing skills led you to this conclusion. Her plan would backfire eventually, but for now you’d entertain her— as well as yourself. 

“I thought you left me,” he said softly. “I was worried I scared you.” You furrowed your brows in confusion for a moment, until you recalled that your last session with him had ended abruptly. Bob had been in a poor mood, his finger tips had been blackening. You couldn’t be bothered to deal with a potential Void outbreak, not when you were so close to clocking out. You had made some sort of excuse, and left quickly, hoping that no one would have to die that night. 

Luckily— for the world, it seemed Bob had sunk into a state of worry rather than depression in your absence. You mentally cursed yourself for your own selfishness at the realization you could have almost caused a potential apocalypse because you didn’t want to miss the new seasonal premier of your favourite show. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “My mother… She’s been sick lately.” Your mother was fine, however you knew the concept of a mother in need would trigger his forgiveness far better than any other excuse.

”Is she okay?” He asked worriedly. You felt a twinge of guilt at your own deception, but it quickly disappeared once you realized he’d taken the opportunity to wrap his arms around your waist, tenderly, as though you were a couple. 

It annoyed some deep part of you, though you weren’t too sure why. Was it your code of ethics? It wasn’t as though you lived by the rules, in fact your lack of morals was likely why Valentina was so fond of you. 

“She’s fine now,” you finally replied. “I spent most of my time off taking care of her; she’s always been a real fighter.” The lies came out so naturally, you hardly even realized. The truth was you spent your PTO watching re-runs of your favourite shows, and trying to make dinner plans with some of your friends (which kept falling through). 

“You’re amazing,” he said. His hands moved to cup your cheek. You’re stunned, as once again, this was quite a new development. You chose to lean into his touch anyway. 

“You flatter me,” you replied softly. You make sure your lips brush against his palm and you feel him shiver again. He truly was an open book, it was marvellous. 

He stepped back for a moment as though suddenly aware of himself. You feel cold where his hands had been holding you, and you make effort to show sadness on your face at his sudden lack of contact. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, his eyes refused to look at you. Instead they’re trained on the floor, his fingers grasped onto the bottom of his pyjama shirt. “I shouldn’t touch you like that… It’s not right, I- I don’t wanna take advantage of you…” 

For a moment you freeze, as it took every cell in your body not to laugh at his words. To you, he was the bird in the cage; vulnerable, and perhaps injured in a sense. Did he not realize? You ignored the way his tone made your heart shrink in itself. You buried the feeling deep inside you as you didn’t want to dwell on the fact that perhaps his continuous insecurities bothered you. He softened you, though you would never admit to that. 

“Are you forgetting I’m the psychologist here?” You said as you took a step forward and placed your palm over his chest. You could feel the hardness of his muscles, and felt your thighs tighten a bit at that sensation. Instead, you focused on the drumming of his heart, it beat so loud you could visibly see your hand quake on his chest. 

“I could hurt you,” he replied. You know he can. You sense the way he held back, his hands pressed into fists at his sides. But you have always been curious, and perhaps that was your worst trait (though you had many). 

“What if I want you to?” Your other hand trailed up his shoulder, finding its way curled into his locks as you gently brought him closer to you. 

Suddenly you were once in the middle of the room, and now against a wall. You hardly had time to react due to the speed and because of the fact his lips were pressed against yours hungrily. Slowly, you regained your senses and kissed back, your tongue snaking into his mouth and swirling against his. Moans escaped your mouth as his hands moved against your body, squeezing your hips and ripping your coat off without any regard. 

In another moment, you found your back pressed against his bed. Your legs dangling over the side, with Bob pressed firmly in between them. You wrapped them tightly around his hips and felt an unmistakable hardness digging into your thighs. 

His lips were still against yours, barely giving you any room to breathe until you felt the cold air of the room reach your chest. He had torn off your bra and shirt completely and moved his mouth to latch onto your nipple. 

You breathed shallowly, gulping as much air as you could. You moved your arm to caress his hair as he continued to toy with your breasts, his mouth on one and his hand on the other. Your senses were distorted, it felt as though he was everywhere and yet nowhere. He moved so quickly, you barely had any time to register that his other hand had found its way under your skirt. He toyed with your clit to which you cried before he plunged into you. His fingers jerking rapidly, sending another cry out of your throat.

”You’re so fucking wet,” he said after he’d removed his mouth from your nipple with a pop. “Fuck,” he continued, laying his head against your chest as he inserted another finger into you. “You’re so tight… How are you so tight?” He asked as though curious, he took his other hand and wrapped it around your chin and forced you to look into his eyes. Your own eyes widened in return, noting the gold accents that obscured the once baby blues. 

You barely had time to acknowledge the change, when he hit a spot deep in you that it caused you to screech embarrassingly loud. You determined that no one outside the room entered because they likely assumed you were being brutally murdered. 

“Please,” you mumbled. His fingers tightened around your chin, staring into your eyes as he hitched his fingers again, hitting that spot repeatedly. More moans tumbled out of your mouth, though it was hard because his hand forced your lips into a pout. You weren’t sure when the tears came, but you could feel the wetness trail down your cheeks. Regardless he didn’t stop he brutalization of your pussy, nor did he look away from you for a moment. 

“I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum,” he said— and you did. You cried silently as you felt the build up in your tummy subside, as the pressure exploded and left a mess all over the sheets. It was only then that he pulled his fingers out, and you watched as he brought them to his lips and sucked. 

You shut your eyes, opening them again at the feeling of rustling fabric. Bob ungracefully removed his shirt and tossed it toward some far corner of the room. You admired the contours of his chest, gliding your fingers over his abs in wonderment at how such a physique could exist. 

He shut his eyes for a moment, taking in the sensation of your hands before he loosened the ties of his pyjama pants and pushed the fabric down alongside his boxers to reveal his cock. You felt your hole clench at the size, unsure if you could take it after his fingers had left you sore. 

Regardless, on instinct your body pushed closer to the edge of the bed. Your legs wrapped tighter as he pushed his cockhead into you. It stung for a moment, and you hissed softly— he paused, and leaned over you. His lips caught yours in a gentle kiss, so very unlike the one before, and slowly shoved himself into you inch by inch. 

“You’re taking me so well,” he said. He propped himself on his elbow to see you. His hair curtained his face, and you leaned up to push it back, the sweat allowing it to stay in place. He pressed his forehead against yours, as he continued to rock into you. Soft moans filled the room from you both as his hips continued to pound into you. 

“I dreamt about this,” he whispered. His speed hurried, and you could tell he was chasing his end. “I swear I’m not a pervert,” he choked. “But I knew I wanted to be inside you since the moment I met you,” you gasped at his words— not at the sentiments, but at the filth of it. It caused you to tighten around his cock, a shudder went through him as he continued to fuck into you faster. 

“Fuck,” he said. “You’re practically sucking me in. You wanted this too, didn’t you? Wanted me to mmm— fill you up like this?” You only moan in reply, feeling that familiar build up in your gut, your end soon approaching once more. 

He quickened his thrusts. “I love you,” he choked out, whimpering against your cheek. You ignore these words, you tell yourself they mean nothing to you. You tell yourself the fuzzy feeling in your chest is from the orgasm fast approaching you. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he babbled continuously. He repeated your name softly, like a prayer before he shifted to grip your hips and lifted your right leg up. The new angle allowed him to plunge deeper into you and you let out a soft moan as you felt your stomach burst. He fucked you through your orgasm aggressively and likely as hard as he could without killing you. 

His own soon approached, you felt his hips still as a sudden flood of liquid filled inside you. Warm, and impossibly full. He laid on top of you for a moment, and you swear he mumbled: “… way better than meth.” 

As you laid underneath his body, his cock still snug inside you, you felt a sense of dread crush your spirit. It was ironic that inside the room he couldn’t leave, that you felt trapped in his arms. Especially as you focused on the ceiling, and noted the black spiralling shadows that danced across the once warm orange accents. 

I’ve made a terrible mistake, you thought to yourself, and as if somehow sensing your hesitancy, you felt Bob pull you impossibly closer. 

[bitter-me]

Hiya, I noticed that besides your Reverse 1999 masterlist, your Wuwa masterlist was the incredibly lacking. If you're taking any requests right now Could you please do a Jiyan x Jing Yuan! Male Reader? I'd like the reader to be a bit more older than Jiyan, maybe they met back when Jiyan was still a healer and he had to tend to the reader This is my first request I have made to anyone at all so sorry if this comes off as awkward or something, haha

The Dozing General

Jiyan | M. Reader as Jing Yuan [Honkai Star Rail]

----------

"Meditating with my eyes closed. That gets more difficult as time goes on."

----------

Living in Huanglong had never been easy. Sure, there's the beautiful sceneries of the mountains and wild life. Yet the threat of the TD's and the Thernodian hangs above their heads like guillotines. Perhaps that's why something like the Midnight Rangers were established. Perhaps that's why families cries at the departure of their loved one. That fear that it may be the last time they see them.

All they wanted is peace. A life where they can smile freely without a care in the world. A world filled with happiness and no lingering fear of the tomorrow.

Perhaps that's why.. they look up to him. To the General that promises to give them that peace. The same General... that would casually walk though the city and play Xiangqi as if he doesn't hold the people's lives in his hands. As if he doesn't have burdens on his shoulders as he freely laughs with everyone.

"General."

"Yes?"

"Why is it that you, of all people, could laugh and sleep so freely? With everything on your shoulders?"

A small laugh escape his throat. He didn't take any offence. Not at all. Instead, he's glad that the young man would even ask such a bold question to him. That means the other isn't afraid of him. "When dear and despair holds the peoples hearts in a vice grip, they'll find it hard to even smile. As the General it is my duty to protect our hometown. Yet with how things are going now.. people may start to lose hope as we continue to fight in the frontlines with little to no updates."

Turning his head to the other, [Name] gave him his full attention as a small, lazy smile made it's way onto his face. "If someone like me, shows that even I, could smile and laugh freely, then it gives the impression that there's nothing to fear."

"'The General is smiling, then that means everything's going well.'"

"Remember that, Jiyan."

.

.

----------

'The General is smiling, then that means everything's going well.'

That's what he said. Yet here he is now. Tending his wounds. The world is truly harsh..

"What's with that look for, Jiyan?" [Name] ask curiously, his gaze focus on the younger man's face. He can't put his finger on it yet it seems like Jiyan is.. angry? Concern? Afraid? He doesn't know.

"It's nothing." The young medic say, more like mumbled, he doesn't look at the General instead he focuses on treating the wounds. It wasn't too deep but a wound is still a wound and it could become worse. [Name] merely hums in response, not believing it one bit, yet he didn't say a thing.

Silence falls on them. A silence that seems to speak louder than any word could. The worry and care that seems to fill the air almost felt suffocating. Suffocating enough for [Name] to smile fondly at the young medic as he slowly relax his body. The injuries he had sustained were painful yet that seem to be unsignificant as he knew that Jiyan would treat him with such worry and care.

[pookietv]

lost in translation (part four) | george clarkey

hello! final part!!!! so sorry you guys have had to wait, hope i made it worth it!!

i really enjoyed making this, and hopefully over the summer i can do more series cause this was SO fun to write and do :)

i hope you guys liked reading it as much as i loved writing it <3

the message plagued your screen like a glaring issue, and it was all you could do to shove it in your pocket and let yourself storm home as fast as your legs could carry you. that didn't stop you going over it in your head in every scenario possible, though.

what did he want to talk about? what was there to even talk about?

he didn't know you had overheard anything, and you couldn't say with any certainty it was about you. which left you in a strange angry limbo that felt half like a self inflicted wound.

when you got back to your apartment, pressing keys into the lock as quickly as you could and allowing your body to slump into your sofa as you willed yourself not to look at your phone.

it was fine, you could just ignore the text. worrying over george had taken up much of your life over previous months, and it felt right, right? he had ignored you for ages, you could pretend this one text didn't happen. you could leave the carefully constructed wall between you standing.

but the confession you overheard replayed over your mind like an intrusive thought you couldn't will away, as hard as you tried. you couldn't pretend you didn't want to answer.

the easy laughs and comfortableness of george, the part of you that felt a pang every time you ignored each-other in a group setting and wished he would go back to normal ached inside you.

pulling your phone out, a sigh that felt heavier than it should escaped you as your thumbs moved over the screen.

"talk about what?" you responded, and pressed send before you could allow yourself to spiral more into questioning whether that blunt text was slightly too harsh.

his reply was almost instant, and that made you feel good about yourself, like he had waited patiently with the sole intent of replying to you. "i'd really like to meet up to talk. whenever you're free, i don't want to be inconvenient. coffee maybe, my treat?"

you hesitated for a long while before replying, the words burning a hole through your phone. "tomorrow morning?" you sent.

the next text from him came just as quick, "perfect. the coffee place next to yours, at 10?"

you mentally acknowledged the text, but let it sit in the unopened part of your phone. maybe it was a little bit of power, for him to sit and wonder if you had seen things the way you had done for time before. you debated if it was slightly bitchy of you, but you felt justified to be a little bitchy, this once.

the rest of your night was a blur of overthinking every scenario that could possibly happen the following morning, each conversation being more anxiety inducing than the previous one.

when the morning came, it was surprisingly sunny for april in london - though you weren't complaining, fluffy clouds could do nothing but brighten your current mood.

the painstaking care you put into making sure you looked nice, but not too put together bothered you. you hated that you were putting effort into not looking like you put effort in all for a man you disliked, right?

when you got to the coffee shop, you were grateful that it wasn't too busy - the early morning crowd had left after their caffeine fix and the lunch crowd wouldn't hit for a while, leaving a couple of older people and students on the surrounding tables.

you spotted george before he spotted you, sat at a table facing the window on the opposite side of the street you had walked in from. he looked a little different, his posture slightly vulnerable in a way you hadn't seen.

when you approached the table, he stood up - a half nervous smile gracing his lips, fingers touching at the opposite chair, pulling it out for you, "hey," he said gently.

the word felt small and silly, but you responded the same. what more could you say?

"hey,"

the moments that followed were an awkward silence - the kind that used to be comfortable when you were sat in his room and watching him doing some kind of editing, but now felt heavy.

"i ordered your usual, if that's okay, uh, wasn't sure, and they asked, so.." george filled in, the background of cups or brief conversation a strange soundtrack.

"yeah, um, thank you," you replied. you decided that lingering on the fact he remembered your order stung more than helped you. "you wanted to talk?"

you watched george as his lips pressed together, his gaze falling at the table for a moment as he took a deeper than usual breath, "yeah, i.. i know hearing any of this is late, and you have all rights to be annoyed but," he paused for a moment, and his hands touched his overgrown mullet, which you hated to admit that he had grown into too well, "i, uh... well, is it cringe to say i messed up?"

you felt your eyebrows raise, the small part of you that wanted to claim victory of him acknowledging his behaviour winning, head tilting in an offer for him to continue.

"the distance," his voice lowered slightly, "you didn't do anything wrong, it was 'cause of me, i..." he hesitated again, eyes looking back at you, "i was starting to have feelings, you know? proper ones, and it scared the fuck out of me."

his confession hung in the air, mirroring what you had overheard from his conversation with arthur, like the most twisted victory flag.

"scared you?" you echoed his admission, "so you... ignored me, thinking that would fix stuff? i thought i'd done something, you know... like, for ages, all i could think was, god, i've really upset george, he must hate me, but..."

"you know better than me that i'm not smart. it was stupid, i know," he admitted, his face slightly twinging at you admitting the hurt you felt, "so stupid, i figured pulling away was better than ruining our friendship,"

"pulling away hurt our friendship more, no?" you murmured for a moment, before being paused by the waitress bringing two coffee cups - two lattes, one iced, one hot. he didn't like iced coffee, you loved it.

"like i said, stupid," he spoke again, looking down at the coffee cup. you took a sip of your drink - vanilla and oat milk - and felt a weird sense of pride that he did actually remember it. "i didn't want to make you uncomfortable and i figured the feelings would just... go away."

silence that chipped away from any barrier left between the two of you fell.

you decided to break it, your voice softer, less cutting and less filled with half-hearted anger.

"did they?"

the smile that painted his face was rueful, a small shake of his head, "no. it made everything worse, for both of us i think."

the moment of absorbing that information felt like all you could give yourself. you felt bad, a guilty look you never placed on him covering his expressions.

"i overheard you," you said finally, "with arthur. i wasn't... i... i was going to the toilet, and i heard..."

flickerings of surprise covered his face, a small smile that you may have said was cocky, but more resigned followed, "right, well... that makes things easier, i guess," he said, his signature small chuckle continuing, "i know i don't deserve it, but i'm sorry for making you feel awful, you're great - smart, funny, kind. and i was just, stupidly caught up in all my shit, and i was just ignoring how good the thing in front of me was."

his hand hovered over yours for a moment, as if unsure if he was allowed to touch you right now. the sentiment almost made you melt and reach in for a poorly timed hug, but you kept composure and moved your hand slightly forward to meet his, his fingers slightly closing over yours.

"so," you murmured, "what now, george?"

the look in his eyes, the happy, hopeful look made you feel dopey.

"now? i'd like us to.. y'know, properly try. the normal stuff, not ignoring you, taking you on a date, me not being an idiot... normal things," he said, letting slight jokes seep in, "a proper date, a do-over, 'cause i missed a lot of your good moments as a friend, ."

his thumb lightly ran over the top of your hand, a small comforting back and forth motion.

the warmth spreading through you felt like the first good day of summer, the bitterly harboured anger like a distant memory after clarity.

"a proper date? didn't know you'd even heard of one of those, george clarke," you lightly joked, a genuine smile finally gracing your face.

his smile widened, crinkled corners of his eyes relaxed, "my track record with you isn't great, i'll admit, but... i know a good date." he joked back, "i've watched romance films, candles and questionable italian food..."

"oh, questionable food? now you're really selling it, george," you joked, taking a sip of your drink, the sweetness of the vanilla stupidly feeling like some mirroring of the conversation.

"right, well. you'll see, i promise."

[coffeeghoulie]

Mushy May Day 6: Bitching/Gossip

Mushy May put together by the lovely @forlorn-crows <3

Cirrus isn't certain she can handle everything going wrong on this tour. Aether stays on the line to reassure her that everything will be fine. 600 words.

divider by @ghuleh-recs <3

Cirrus picks up her phone the moment it rings, not even bothering to check caller ID. She doesn’t have to. There are only two people in the world that have the privilege of not getting put on silence and actually having a ringtone. And Cirrus wants nothing more to speak to either one of them right now.

“Hello,” she says, tucking herself into her bunk and pulling a blanket around herself. She pulls the privacy curtain shut. “How goes it.”

Aether laughs on the other line. It’s just as warm as if he were in the room with her, even through the tinny tone of her phone’s speaker. “It’s certainly going, dearheart. You want the news here, or you want to tell me yours first?”

Cirrus takes a moment, listening to her packmates settling into their bunks for a night on the road. “You first, I think. Just want to hear you for a bit.”

He sighs. “I know.”

They sit in the silence for a moment, and Cirrus laughs under her breath as she hears Dew bickering with Rain and Mountain. “How’s Cue holding up?”

“Your mate is doing just fine, love,” Aether promises, and Cirrus feels a weight lift from the center of her chest. “Misses you to the City and back, of course, but she’s okay.”

Cirrus nods even though she knows he can’t see her. “That’s good.”

“Cee’s still a little rough, not being on the road, and Swiss still isn’t sure he’s doing the right thing. I’ve got him working in the infirmary with the little kits.”

“Givin’ him a purpose that’s not just helping Copia.”

“Keeping his mind from things. Misses his mate and all of you something fierce.”

Cirrus sighs, squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m so tired, Aeth,” she says. The adrenaline of the night’s Ritual is starting to crash, leaving her with a headache forming right between her eyes. “We are not even a week into this tour. Your mate broke his foot. My summoner had a breakdown about being replaced and called one of us home, and I’m not quintessence but I can feel that his partner’s about three seconds away from breaking down into tears at any given moment. I don’t- I don’t know if I can do this, Aether. I don't know if I can hold myself together for them."

“You did just fine the last time, dearheart,” Aether says, voice smooth and calming even at such a distance.

“But things didn’t go so wrong last time, Aeth,” she says, dragging a hand down over her face.

“They are out of your control and it isn't your fault,” Aether says. “I know it’s hard, Cirr. But even though I know how strong you are, you know the rest of us are more than willing to help you.”

“I know,” she says quietly, curling into her blankets.

“All you have to do is ask.”

“I know,” she whispers. “I love you.”

She can hear Aether’s smile even through the line. “I love you too. Do you want to get some sleep, love?”

“Want to keep talking,” she says a little petulantly. Cirrus thinks she deserves a little petulance after everything, thank you very much. She yawns, and curses her body for betraying her like this.

“How about this, sweetheart?” Aether says, and Cirrus feels her eyelids growing heavy. If they weren’t hundreds of miles apart she’d accuse him of slipping her quintessence, like he’d ever do it without asking. “You lay down, get as comfy as you can, and I keep talking til you fall asleep?”

Despite herself, Cirrus smiles warmly. She yawns and curls into her bunk. “Sounds like a plan.”

“So, Copia’s office still isn’t finished yet, but he’s still insisting…”

Cirrus lets Aether’s voice and the rocking of the bus lull her to sleep, something warm and comfortable in her heart.

[kattsmuse]

TF 141 Flirting Styles and Love Languages

What started as an ask from Ty ( @siriuslysmutty ) turned into a really long ramble, mostly because of Johnny. I decided to break it into a mini series. Here's how I think Johnny would flirt, and fail miserably at a suave first impression. This man thinks he's so cool and alluring, which he is... but when he tries to be, he trips over himself.

Note: I personally do not write accents/spell the way they sound because I find it difficult for myself to do as well as difficult for some individuals to read.

Please see this post for more information on my reasonings for this

Remember lead with kindness <3

Johnny McTavish Flirting Headcannon

I was probably the most torn on Johnny. I feel as though he exists somewhere between feral little shit and adhering to his religion. I don't think it's as much of a "one or the other" situation. While I love the idea of Johnny not wanting to be intimate until marriage (and proposing while he's grinding all up on you so he can have a taste), I don't think that's the most realistic for him. I think Johnny is very flirty, fails at it, and uses it as a broken mask.

He sees you in a bar and just cannot take his eyes off of you. He isn't so innocent in his gaze, but he waits. He does his utmost to read your body language and ensure you're not married. Glance down the finger, no ring - nor is there a tan line where a ring should be. Watching the men you interact with. Not one of them has an ounce of familiarity. At a bare minimum you are on a first date. While Johnny is observant, he's also incredibly impulsive.

He's tried to learn from John. Observe, gather information, plan, approach. Johnny can be patient, but that patience wears thin all too quickly. In comparison, John's patience is like a quilt compared to Johnny's tinfoil. Once Johnny can be sure you're not outwardly committed, he approaches. Every ripple of his muscles burn with anticipation as he grows closer to you.

He's got it all planned out in his mind. Some charming pick-up line and you'll be putty in his hands.... (giggles and little devil emoji)

He sits beside you, opens his mouth to speak. But instead of a charming one-liner or something to make you laugh... his nerves get the better of him and all that comes out is the fastest line of gibberish you'd ever heard. It can't even be fully blamed on his accent. He was harboring so much anxiety to speak to you, that every word tripped over the other. Even the most articulate speaker in your native language would have made zero sense with how quickly he spoke.

You blink for a second and look at him, your brows knit together. "Excuse me?" That was all you could say, unsure how to even begin deciphering whatever it was that just blurted from his mouth. The man beside you that had walked over with so much confidence actually had a dusting of rose on the tops of his cheeks. You couldn't help but soften a bit at his embarrassment. You'd probably be mortified if it happened to you.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts, whatever pick-up line that was in his mind suddenly gone when your gaze met his.

Johnny is a flirty man, normally mildly offensive and towing the line of cat-calling. But he got so flustered in front of you he found it difficult to put the pieces of his mask back in place.

"Didn't mean to stumble that hard-" Johnny huffed, grumbling under his breath. Only parts of his words emphasized by the pitch of his voice.

"Want to try again? I can pretend I didn't see it?" Normally, you'd have told him to piss off by now, but you found his little hiccup amusing and rather endearing. It humanized him in your eyes. A man trying to flirt with a girl he liked, not some sleaze ball trying to get into your pants directly. It was a fine line that you made room for.

"Nah- I'd just settle for a name." He'd recovered from the misstep rather well, a slight smirk curled in the corners of his lips. You noticed the way he had pronounced his words that he was Scottish. His vowels rising and falling, some consonants missing from the way he spoke, and there was a melodic quality to his voice. It was dynamic, not a hint of flattened tone to find.

The more the two of you speak, the more you grow comfortable and the more flirtatious he gets. At some point, you find him shamelessly staring at your chest, but you're not put off by it as much as you'd expect. It's usually coupled with some half-baked dirty joke that your own crude humor finds amusing. He knows it's corny, you can tell by the look in his eye.

Johnny is the type of man who intends to flirt with his words, but sometimes he speaks so fast you don't pick up on what exactly he's saying. But his intention is always clear. Johnny is a shameless flirt, especially once you two are together. Once you're more comfortable with one another his true flirting style comes to the surface.

Johnny isn't a poet. He's actually very bad with words. He doesn't have the most subtle gaze. He will fully get distracted by you while you're talking to him.

Johnny flirts with his body. He's always wanting to touch you. While a slap on the bottom or a quick grope in the comfort of your own home is always a tell-tale sign from him of his affection for you, it is also his gentleness need to always have physical contact with you.

At a restaurant, he's always wanting to hold your hand across the table, or resting his leg against yours under the table. He wants to hold your hand all the time, always wrapping his arms around you from behind, always kissing your shoulder. If he's touching you, he's happy. Johnny is a feral man, but he also thrives on his gentle intimacy. Brushing your hair, caressing your arms, non-sexual massages.

Even with more literal flirting, from that first time meeting him, he would hold your gaze, then look down to your lips. It's not subtle, but alluring all the same. He jokes and touches. He's a physical flirt.

[bananayuyu]

just friends (6) - spinning out

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 8.1k

warnings: MDNI, smut, oral (f receiving), coming untouched, unprotected sex, also some scenes of puking if you're sensitive to that

a/n: writing a book is hard (and rewarding), but I missed these two. they can't be left alone for too long (they're a hot mess express but I love them)(also part 7 should be up tomorrow or the next day, I just need to edit it)

<- previous part | next part -> | series masterlist | read it on ao3

2 Months Ago

"Girls we have two minutes, I need you backstage now!" Ilya screamed down the hall, his shirt half soaked with sweat as he double checked the schedule for the night to make sure he wasn't mistaken. None of you were standing in the wings ready for the group number, and the bar was louder than he'd heard it in months, packed full for New Year's Eve. It had fallen on a Thursday this year, but that didn't stop people from coming out to celebrate; some had the next day off and were ready to start their three-day weekend with a bang, and those who didn't still were ready to party, regardless.

In the dressing room, you'd all just taken shots, and the sudden shout sent you scrambling to your mirrors. Shit, you thought as you looked at yourself. You'd forgotten makeup at home, had woken on Tina's couch not remembering how you got there, and felt unprepared for your work week. You and Tina had been holed up, working tirelessly on your musical and forgetting all else. Well, really, you'd been working tirelessly on it, while Tina sat by looking uninterested, trying to be encouraging despite her crushing depression. You hadn't eaten enough, slept enough, stretched your body enough in days; your hand was shaky as you'd done your makeup, and as you looked back at your reflection you saw a face resembling something you'd done as a teenager.

It looked unprofessional, but you shook the thought from your head. Sure, you'd been neglecting almost every other part of your life as you worked with Tina. This project, it was starting to mean everything to you, and you liked when your writing and creating did this, when it made you feel like you were flying. It reminded you why you liked this job; you didn't have to be a professional, didn't need to look or sound perfect or put on fake smiles to keep the peace. Here you could be yourself, and didn't have to waste any energy on doing the opposite. If you looked like shit today, well, that was what it was.

It was New Year's Eve, and you'd taken a shot. You were in for the most chaotic night of your working life so far.

"God, what took you all so long?" Ilya asked as your entire group finally stumbled towards him, lining up in your designated order.

"You want?" Sasha asked as she produced another shot from behind her back; Ilya rolled his eyes and you and Tina laughed, grabbing onto each other.

"Were you seriously doing shots back there?" he asked in your direction. You shrugged, nodding your head, starting to feel the affects of the drink. The regret was already sinking in, but you weren't able to deny yourself the pleasure of joining everyone just minutes earlier. You always had to deny when drinks were offered, and though you tried to accept it, it still sometimes grated on you. It was a holiday, after all. I won't ever make a habit of this, you'd told yourself. Still, you already felt the wooziness and knew this night would be long, and difficult; keeping yourself from falling or puking would no doubt be the focus of your entire evening, because of this one stupid choice.

"Y'all I know it's New Year's Eve but it's 5pm and we are working here, not customers here, so please don't get fucking wasted, for the love of god," Ilya sighed, running a hand through his sweaty hair. "I can't have you all falling over on stage this early in the night, I-"

You looked over to his exasperated face, and your eyebrows turned up in sympathy. I'm sorry, you mouthed, holding onto Tina now for dear life. Your head was so fuzzy, it was beginning to feel hard to stand; you blinked your eyes closed, trying to focus on calming yourself. If you could make it through the group number, you weren't on for more than half an hour; you just had five minutes on stage to survive, it should be doable.

But just as the music started up, you felt it. Your stomach lurched, your diaphragm spasming.

"Fuck," you gasped as you broke from Tina and ran down the hall, making it to the bathroom in time to slam into a stall and empty your guts into the toilet. The shot burned coming up as it had going down, and staring at the amber colored mess in the water in front of you made you gag again and turn away in disgust. You waited several moments, feeling another round coming, your stomach painful and unsteady. When more fluid finally launched itself out of you, you flushed the toilet and stood quickly, rushing out to the sinks to look at yourself.

The bathroom was empty, and under the florescent overhead lights, your face of makeup looked far rougher than it had in the soft lighting of the dressing room. You hastily rinsed out your mouth, but you couldn't get rid of the horribly sharp taste of bile now sitting in the back of your throat. You could hear the music coming from stage, and knew that in maybe twenty seconds you were supposed to be walking on. Sasha was introducing Bibi to the crowd, who erupted in applause; you weren't sure if she even knew that you'd run in here, if she knew you wouldn't be running onto the stage when you were meant to, after she called your name. You imagined how uncomfortable she'd feel as the seconds ticked by, with no sign of you; how the audience would be looking from wing to wing, then to her, with confusion on their faces. The nerves it brought to you were enough to fuel your legs, and in a moment you were back in the wings just as your name was announced.

"Are you okay?" Ilya called to you over the music, but you had no time to respond, flouncing onto the stage and taking a dramatic bow at the front, before joining Tina in line, stage left.

All your focus was on keeping your face neutral, as the bitter sharp taste in the back of your throat threatened to make you gag. But being on stage was always a rush, and the chaos of your current group number held your attention enough, your sickly state completely unnoticeable to each and every audience member. You all were performing flawlessly; something about being slightly tipsy gave you all a giddiness that translated off stage, the excitement of the night and the coming new year making the whole room alight with joy.

You were singing along to the song, unabashedly giving it your all. There was no feeling of self-consicousness, no need to hold yourself back; you were flying through the choreography, smiling over at Tina doing the same, completely loving the moment you were all having-

A loud bang shocked all of you, and when you turned you found Peachy, one of the baby drag queens hired only months ago, crumpled on the floor with a look of pain on her face. The entire room gasped, hundreds of screaming people silenced in a second. The number was almost over, and the music petered out in the way that felt subtle and conclusive normally, but now seemed almost eery in it's highlighting of the strange scene on stage.

In a moment Ilya was pulling closed the curtains, and Sasha had grabbed poor Peachy, holding her as she exited to the wings and set her down on a bench in the hallway.

"Fuck, fuck, I don't know what I did," Peachy was crying, holding onto her right ankle, tears streaming down her face as her body shook with shock and adrenaline.

"You probably just sprained it darling, it's gonna be okay, let me help you get this shoe off," Sasha said comfortingly, undoing the three straps that held the heel to her foot. Peachy was grimacing, trying her best to not kick Sasha or make her injury even worse; everyone stood around gawking in horror, her ankle already swelling and turning shades of purple and blue.

"Y'all, give her some space, good god!" Ilya called, all the stress of the evening showing in the bags under his eyes and the harsh tone of his voice. Julie was gone for her annual winter vacation, and tonight everything was on him; the last thing he'd wanted was to be dealing with an injury, rewriting the schedule of numbers on the spot, with a cast of performers that were charismatic and fun, but far from very responsible.

Everyone scattered a bit, but still remained in the hall, talking in hushed whispers and staring in the direction of Peachy and Sasha. Taking off the shoe was taking far longer than expected, and when you chanced a glance in their direction you saw pure agony on Peachy's face, her whole body jolting when Sasha finally managed to pull off the heel.

"Can you move your toes?" Sasha asked, and Peachy just shook her head, more tears streaming. "Okay, I'm gonna push on it for a second, I know it's gonna hurt but I need to check something." She took her hands to the foot, pressed her thumb gently against a bone just below the ankle, and Peachy let out an involuntary shriek.

"Ilya, I need to take her to the emergency room right now, I'm gonna call a taxi," Sasha called, wiping a hand down the side of Peachy's tear stained face. "Darling," she said turning to Peachy, her voice softer, "I think it might be broken, that's why it hurts so bad. We'll get out of here as soon as we can, it'll be okay."

"Of course, everyone clear a path please, Bibi! Bibi! Where are you?" Ilya called in panic, looking frantically through the hallway.

"I'm here, sorry," Bibi said, rushing out the bathroom.

"I need you to host tonight, Sasha is gonna take Peachy to the hospital."

"Oh- I- I haven't in a long time-"

"I know, I know you hosted in Spanish at your last bar, and I know hosting in English won't be the same but-" Ilya sighed sharply, grabbing hold of his face.

"I will do it miss thing, please don't panic," she said, and with a sigh of relief and a look of almost agony, Ilya ran to grab the hosting mic from where it'd been set on the side of the stage, and ran it back to Bibi.

"Okay, go on and tell them that Peachy is okay, that she's being taken care of, that the show will go on, and then go right into-" Ilya looked at his clipboard, scanning down the list of numbers. "Go right into Despecha, and try to drag your talking on as long as possible, I'll let Jo in the booth know to wait for your signal to start your music..."

The two disappeared to the wings, Ilya's voice trailing off as you stumbled back to the dressing room with Tina.

"God, what the fuck is happening tonight?" Tina asked as you both slumped down onto your stools.

"I don't know, I shouldn't have taken that damn shot," you sighed, rummaging through your bag in hopes of finding toothpaste that you knew wasn't there.

"You threw it up, right?" she asked.

"Yeah, it was so fucking nasty," you cringed. "Do you have any toothpaste, or a toothbrush?"

"No, I never bring one with me here, I should though," Tina sighed, rifling through her bag too though she knew she didn't have one either.

"Fuck, fuck," you sighed, the nasty taste in your throat now impossible to ignore. "I need to go get some, the taste in my mouth is gonna make me puke again if I don't get rid of it."

Down the hall you started jogging, spotting Sasha helping a limping Peachy in your direction, towards the locker room. You swooped in to help her from the other side, comforting her as Sasha gathered all of their things and set their bags outside, coming back in to help Peachy to the curb as they waited for their taxi. Only a minute later it arrived, and after sending them off with a wave, you walked back in.

"Ilya, I'm sorry to bother you," you started, sneaking up behind his hunched form.

"Huh?" he said, lifting his head from the mess of papers in front of him, covered in quick notes he was jotting down as he reorganized the whole evening.

"I really need to go get some toothpaste and a toothbrush, I just puked and the taste is so bad, and-"

"You puked again, just now?"

"No, before the number," you said, the pounding sound of Bibi's projected voice ringing through the hall.

"I thought so, I can't believe you went on, do you need to go home?"

"No, no," you sighed, shaking your head. "I know you're already down two people, I don't want to make it worse, can I just go run to Walgreens real quick to get some?"

"Of course, how long do you think you'll need?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes?"

Ilya scanned over the paper in his hand, then slid it into his clipboard.

"Yeah that should be fine, there should be about twenty two minutes before you're performing Circus," he said, holding out the new hand-written schedule for you to see.

"Okay, thank you," you sighed, hugging him in exasperation, before stopping by the dressing room again.

"Titi, I'm gonna go to Walgreens, I'll be back soon!" you called.

It was chaotic, but you made it back in time, thankful for your clean mouth but still struggling a bit to make it through such a high energy number. Stumbling backstage again your memory finally kicked in. San, he was supposed to be here to see you perform tonight, having the chance to because he was off this Friday for New Year's, like everyone else with a good salaried job. He was excited to see you perform again, having only been back to the bar a handful of times in the almost year he'd been seeing you. The last time he came you hadn't even noticed; when he asked you the next weekend if you'd seen him in the crowd, you responded with such blunt confusion that he never really wanted to go back. It was your place of work after all, and he recognized that if you had shown up to his unannounced, it would have been strange, too.

Though he knew, he probably would have been a bit more excited to see you. It was one of those thoughts that sunk itself down into his psyche, one that he recognized was there, but that he refused to bend to. So what if you didn't ever want him coming to your work? You lived a strange life, seemed to value things differently, anyway, but he still loved you all the same.

With the sudden memory of his face in your mind, you rushed to the locker room to grab your phone, something so foreign. At work you never did, but today it was necessary; immediately you spotted two messages from him, and opened them.

5:07pm: is that dancer okay?? I just came in and saw them fall 5:09pm: the show is still happening, right? did the schedule change?

You sighed, picturing him out there in audience in such a state of shock, and immediately you thought of your poor coworker and how awful it must be to be reigning in the new year in the hospital.

5:37pm: We don't know yet, I haven't heard anything from Sasha. They went to the ER, it's probably broken 5:37pm: And yes, the schedule changed a lot but I'm still performing

Tina glanced at your phone in the dressing room with slight confusion, so unused to the sight.

"I don't want to be here, this night is horrible," she said, her body and face still in her sadness.

"I know Ti, but we just gotta push on," you sighed, looking away. You had many more numbers to perform, and your stomach was gurgling and painful, nausea starting to creep in. This was bad; if the shot was going to send your body into waves of nausea now, it would make the whole night that much harder. You'd puked it up, gotten rid of it. That should have been all it took to feel better; it normally was.

It was as if a heavy cloud had perched itself on the roof of the building. Everyone was in a terrible mood, even the bartenders and servers were perturbed, having witnessed with the audience the scary accident on stage. You did your best to keep up with the energy the night required, but by ten you were feeling your diaphragm spasm again, and there was nothing you could do to make your body behave. You ran to the bathroom, puking time after time after time, your measly breakfast of granola and an apple leaving you, along with every bit of water you'd drank throughout the day. By the end you were spitting up pure bile, and it stung your throat horribly, tears washing down your cheeks as you tried to breath through it.

"Are you puking again?" Tina had walked in after her number and heard you, peaking her head into the stall you laid in.

"Yeah, like everything I ate today. I guess it wasn't much, but, I can't stop-" You heaved again, spitting up a small string of orange fluid.

"Go home, you're probably sick or something," she said, crouching down to run her hand along your back.

"But we're already down Sash and Peachy, I can't leave you guys now," you respond, more tears falling.

"Tonight's just been a fucking disaster, it is what it is," she sighed. Though you loved your best friend dearly, sometimes her words weren't the most comforting to you, even when they should have been. She was right, it was what it was; you weren't heart surgeons, weren't EMTs, you didn't need to push yourself to the brink just to get through this one night. You had been pushing this way with work on the musical, too, unnecessary really, but something you just couldn't stop doing. The way you'd been talking to her, trying to force her to create, create, create through this challenging time of year, was unfair. Guilt crept up the back of your throat, but you swallowed it back down; feeling this way towards her felt unsurvivable, and you wished beyond words that you could wipe the thoughts away and never think them again.

"I- god I feel fucking awful," you cried, sobbing into your hands a moment, before collecting yourself as best you could. The words held multiple meanings, some you weren't even aware of yourself; your subconscious was trying to speak to you, but you weren't in a good habit of listening.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

"It's not your fault Ti," you sighed, finally flushing the toilet and standing up. You did your best to clean up in the sink again, grabbing the toothbrush and toothpaste you'd just purchased and using them again, but feeling far from clean. Your entire esophagus burned, your body felt weak, and all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball on the floor and hold yourself.

"I'm gonna go home," you told her, voice going flat with dissociation as you hugged her in the wings.

"Okay, feel better," she sighed into you, kissing your cheek before turning away and steeling herself for her next performance.

"I'm sorry again," you said to Ilya as you passed him, your bag in hand.

"Hey, don't be, you're obviously sick so there's no reason for you to be here. Get some rest and feel better."

Carefully you made your way out into the audience, searching high and low for San, several servers giving you confused glances as they spotted your messy bun and bag, a clear sign you are leaving. They all still had several hours left of their shifts, but the night is too crazy to pull you aside and ask you anything. The floor was packed with people, and to your dismay a few recognized you, yelling out praise or questions in your direction, which you really weren't in the mood for.

Finally you spotted him towards the back, standing next to a high table with a beer in hand, his empty plate filled with crumbs and his dirty napkin.

"Are you okay?" he asked immediately, seeing the look in your eyes.

"I'm heading home, I couldn't stop puking," you responded.

"Oh shit, are you getting sick?" he asked as he pulled on his suit jacket. He hadn't had a chance to change after work, heading straight over, so he's adorned in the sort of style you first saw him in, looking wildly professional and sharp next to your disheveled mess of clothes.

"I don't know, we all took shots back stage and I ended up puking it up right after, and then my stomach was all messed up, I don't know..." you trailed off, sighing and looking towards the door. With a hand on your back San guided you in that direction, through the rowdy, buzzing sea of people. When you burst through the front doors it wasn't much different, the streets so crowded it was hard to move any distance without bumping into and squeezing past yet another group of strangers.

"You took a shot?" San asked when it was finally quiet enough to hear each other, his hand slunk around your waist as you walked in the direction of your place.

"I know I shouldn't have, you don't need to lecture me," you responded, trying to keep your tone even.

"I wasn't going to, I'm just surprised."

"It was stupid, I know," you said, tears springing in your eyes again.

"I didn't say that, that's not what I meant-" He cut himself off as you both avoided a cyclist on the sidewalk, nearly bumping into a wall. "Let's go to mine, I can take care of you."

"I don't need you to do that, I can take care of myself just fine," you grumbled, looking up at him.

"Have you considered the fact that I want to take care of you?" he shot back.

"Fine," you sighed into his shoulder, letting him redirect you, leaning on him heavily as you made your way to his place.

You let your mind leave you on the journey, let him hold you and direct you through the throngs of people, through his lobby; you needed the escape, needed a break from the pressure you were feeling about every aspect of your life.

It wasn't until you were in his bathroom and puking again, that you truly felt it. You loved the bar, but now that you'd been working there for multiple years the pressure was creeping in, so subtly that you hadn't noticed at all. You were expected to have your shit together always, expected to barely ever call out, because you hardly ever did. Your boss wasn't trying to take advantage of you, you had just been there while so many others had come and gone, and soon you saw the parallels between yourself and poor Ilya; he had taken on the stage managing gig in the early days, and loved it enough to stay for years, but then suddenly, without his permission, he had become the most important employee of this ever-growing business, one that everyone, genuinely everyone, relied upon.

You weren't in that situation yet, but you weren't unimportant anymore, either. You and Tina, now Sasha too, were the longest standing members of the performing crew. The expectation that you'd be there for years to come, silently keeping the ship running behind the scenes, was clear. No matter how quiet, that pressure loomed; not loud, but heavy.

And then there was the musical; the ever growing pressure you put on yourself, the absolute need to succeed. With San by your side you'd grown this inner confidence, this inner ego, and it was threatening to starve you from the inside out if you didn't feed it well enough. Accolades, success, adoring fans, that's what it needed. It was embarrassing to realize, hard to accept; this was you, now, this angrily driven, cold, harsh girl. San's hand gently rubbed your back as you continue to heave, suddenly realizeing how fucked you were, that you'd been seeing him almost a year and were still unsure what you wanted, still dangling this whole thing in front of both of your faces, daring either of you to do anything about it. It wasn't going to happen though, because change could only mean one thing; cold hard separation, a realistic acceptance of how incompatible you were, even if you felt so deeply connected.

You were stuck, completely and utterly chained to this agreement you'd made; a stupid and flippant conversation, not more than thirty-seconds long, had decided this fate. Tears stung in your eyes from the pain in your body, but you knew they were emotional, too; you'd lived this last year of your life so chaotically, and hadn't taken a damn second to think.

New Year's always forced a moment of reflection on you, even when you least wanted it.

"You feeling okay?" San asked quietly, once your puking had subsided. You cradled your head against the side of the toilet, your eyes squeezed shut as you did all you could to avoid your pain.

"Obviously not," you whispered, swallowing the lump of spit and bile gathering in your throat with a wince.

"What would help?" he asked, yawning deeply.

"I don't know, I-" The tears sprang free, hitting your bare calf. All you wanted to do was scream. "Just go sleep, I want to be alone."

"Baby, I'm not gonna leave you if you're not feeling well, do we need to go to the emergency room-"

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," you spat, starting to shake. "I don't want to go to the fucking emergency room right now. Just, leave me alone, please-"

"I just want to help you-"

"I know but I don't fucking want it right now!"

San winced at your yelling, his tired brain working with the little energy it had to try and understand.

"I'm sorry I yawned, I was up at five-thirty this morning and I'm just tired, I didn't mean anything by it," he sighed, pulling loose his tie and throwing it over his head onto the floor.

"I know, I know," you spoke, and then suddenly sobs wracked through you, and you crumpled into a ball on the floor, moving away from him. "I just want to be alone, just please let me be alone."

Your voice was thin and sobering in it's pleading; it was the most honest thing you'd said to anyone in a long time. With a deep sigh San left the room, not wanting to press on further. He always pressed, pushed, pulled, did what he could to maintain this shaky bond between you. The words you'd spoken were quiet, unpanicked, steady; he knew you'd meant them in totality.

After your silent sobs finally ceased, you cleaned yourself up as quietly as possible, undressing and leaving your clothes in a heap in the corner of his bathroom. Gingerly you stepped into his room, taking in his deep breathing; it was hazy, his room was always hazy, somehow, but the silence and softness of it only exposed you to yourself, your chest ripped open by it.

You should have made other decisions. You should have known you needed a break from work, from the musical, from him. You knew it, knew it wholly and completely, but the thought of it absolutely terrified you; the next month was spent here, with him, his hand in your hair, his mouth on your cunt, and you lapped up every bit of distraction he'd give you, like a starved kitten.

Tina got sick; the bar reeled from its first serious fist-fight.

Life went on.

January was frigid, but as you pushed on through the strange days you thought nothing of it. You had no idea that every little stupid decision was like the first crack of a dam; a harbinger of destruction to come, the beginning of the end.

Present

"Hey!"

Your voice rang brightly through the phone, the cool breeze of late February blowing gently through your wild hair. Waking in time for your meeting had been a challenge, but somehow you and Tina had both shown up on time and looking reasonably professional, enough that your meeting in the back offices of the Willow Theater had flown by without a hitch.

You were excited, shaky with the stale adrenaline still working its way out of you; you hadn't eaten breakfast, either, that was part of it. Tina had suggested hitting a Banh Mi place she'd spotted on the way to the building, and you'd agreed in an instant.

"Hey, how's it going?" San asked, his voice quieter than usual, his question strangely formal.

"Good, we just had our first in person meeting with Mark Smith, the theater owner," you laughed, finding the nature of his question quite funny. Tina laughed beside you too, thinking your chuckling was for a different reason. 'He's fucking terrifying!' she called out beside you, making you break into deep laughter, her wild gestures of fright absolutely ridiculous.

"How are you?" you asked once you got ahold of yourself, following behind Tina as she opened the door to the restaurant.

"Did you get my text last night?"

"You texted last night?" you asked, pulling your phone away from your ear to pull up the messaging app, seeing an unread text from him.

I miss you.

The sight of it made the slight shakiness of your missed meal turn into a near panic in your gut. Those three words had never been said between you, only maybe in a joking way, in reference to lust. This didn't seem lust addled though, this seemed serious and real; the quiet tone of his voice only added to that sense you had.

"Fuck, I'm sorry," you started, quieter now that you were in a restaurant, even if it was bustling with activity and no other customer was looking your way. It was hard to hear yourself over the chatter, but you pushed on. "Me and Titi were at our meeting with Millie last night, and it ran so late, by the time we got home we just crashed I think, I honestly barely remember-"

You remembered now, remembered how Tina had been late to the meeting and a thread of anger had shot through you, how that anger had bubbled back up when you'd finally arrived back at her apartment and readied yourselves for bed.

"Hello?"

You weren't sure how long you'd blanked for, blinking hard at the sound of San's voice. It was low, almost longing, making your breath slow in a very noticeable way.

"Sorry, I was rambling and lost in my thoughts," you sighed, pointing to show Tina which sandwich you wanted from the menu, before dipping to the only empty table you could see.

"I wanna see you, I've barely seen you lately," he said, voice even softer than before.

"Sannie, I thought I'd been taking up too much of your time, I thought you needed more space from me," you said, hunched into the corner of the wooden booth.

"I didn't mean I didn't want to see you, you know that," he sighed.

"Sannie..."

"It's been more than a week, I didn't get to see you this weekend-"

"Wait, yeah, it's Monday, aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"I'm taking my lunch break early, I'm in the break room."

It was the first time he'd called you at work; an admission of need, he truly was missing you, and that was a wonderful thing, filling your head with many feelings you shouldn't have been having. Of course, you thought. Of course you miss me after you say you need space. Fucking hypocrite.

I love you.

The three words shocked you, so bare and raw that you shuddered. Why now, why in this random restaurant on this very important day were you feeling it, thinking it?

As Tina walked to the table, you sat up straighter, taking in a sharp breath to try and steady yourself.

"Baby I wanna see you, come meet me at my place," San said through the phone, his voice still soft but drawling a bit with what must be want, or some other sort of thick emotion.

"Sannie, you have work," you laughed, smiling at your friend as she slunk into the booth across from you.

"I'll tell them I'm not feeling well, they'll let me go. Boss loves me, you know," he chuckled.

"Yeah, and maybe you wanna keep that good standing with him by not lying about being sick," you replied.

"Meet me at my place at one," he said with finality.

"Okay, fine," you replied, ending the call without signing off, without saying goodbye, without uttering those three words that couples usually said to each other.

You may have just thought them, but they'd still never left your lips.

"What was that?" Tina asked, sipping at the huge cup of soda in front of her. You reached forward for the cup of water she'd ordered for you, taking in a gulp and crunching down on the cube of ice that accompanied it.

"San, he says he's gonna take the rest of the day off work cause he wants to see me," you chuckled.

"Ooh la la, how romantic," Tina laughed back. "So being an official couple has only added to your desire to spend time together then?"

"He just misses me cause he hasn't fucked me in more than a week," you replied, flatter than intended.

"God, it sounds like you don't like that," she said.

"Oh no, just, I don't know," you said, suddenly stumbling over your words.

"Things are good between you right, you like it being official and all?"

"Yeah, it's been good," you said, but the lilting, fake tone was obvious to her.

"Dude, something's up with you. Yesterday I could have sworn you were mad at me, but you didn't say anything. Is it me, is it San, or is it the musical?"

"None of the above," you spat out, quickly trying to cover your tracks. You didn't want to tell her the truth, that you were mad about her tardiness. Why? You couldn't explain why now, all of the sudden, you couldn't be honest with her. It had never been like this in five years; you searched your own mind for reasons, wishing desperately there was some easy way to explain your behavior. But then a flash of a memory appeared almost like a saint, and you thanked it graciously.

"It's my family," you said, sighing as if you were finally letting go of the true stress you'd been feeling. "Micah really wants me to come home, you know, and I promised it would be late this month or early next, and well, only a few more days left in this one."

"Is your Dad really doing that badly?"

"I don't really know, only that little bit that Micah told me but I mean, he's always been doing bad, he's always been sick, what am I supposed to assume? And to say she doesn't want me away from them, to actually say it and put into words the thing I've been fearing this whole time-" You cut yourself off dramatically, suddenly shaken by the fact that while this had been something you said to cover up last night's anger, it too had clearly been weighing on you, simmering in the back of your mind.

"It was so shitty of her to say that, I'm sorry she did," Tina said, grabbing your hands in hers. "You don't have to visit just because she said she wants you to. You aren't obligated to."

"I wish I was someone who actually wanted to, though. I wish I could will that desire into existence."

You both sat in silence for a moment, the air hanging heavy with both worry and excitement.

"Are you gonna meet up with San later?" she asked.

"Yeah, but first I really need-" You were cut off by Tina's name being called, your orders finally ready at the counter. "Yes, food, I need food," you sighed, stomach rumbling.

"Baby," San sighed as he finally wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tight in the open door frame of his apartment's front door. You chuckled and shuffled inside with him, straining to reach away and shut the door, finally blanketing you in privacy. His hands were all over you, his body caging you in with all his warmth and sweetness, and soon all your worries of the day, all the personal quibbles and anticipatory anxiety, had washed away. He was in a work suit, hair coiffed, glasses on. As he finally let you pull away you remembered his shirt that first night, this same shade of white, the one he'd ruined by popping all the buttons and ripping it off.

The mug falling, too, now came back to you. The harsh sound of the crash, the way he hadn't given a fuck about it. Still, you could illicit that same feeling in him; even he, perfectly responsible and organized San, could throw caution to the wind when it came to you.

Miss work just to be with you. Because he missed you.

"I missed you too," you sighed into him, pulling at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling just as badly as you had that first night. You'd been so focused the last week on prepping for this meeting that you'd barely had a sexual thought; now that you were in his space it all was crashing in, the need to be satisfied, the need to be connected to him in the way that felt best. Your kiss was sloppy, messy; your tongue was flying over his, over his lips, and you were pulling at his shirt with the same reckless abandon as back then, not caring if you were damaging it. It wasn't like he cared; you both were overcome with the fact that even after so long together, this electricity still remained, this fervent need that could take you over in a matter of moments of being together.

Five words you'd spoken, collectively, but your clothes were already coming off, your feet already stumbling to his bedroom. He managed his buttons this time just fine, throwing his shirt on the floor of his living room as you stumbled through it. He had grabbed you, would have been dragging you to his room if it weren't for the way you were running to keep up; he needed you, now, needed to taste you and forget that anything else mattered.

The musical might take off, and might take you away from him. It already had, this past week, the first weekend he hadn't seen you since you'd started seeing each other. But he didn't want to think of it right now, didn't want to ponder all the ways that a successful career might strip you from him.

In his room he sat you on his bed, swiftly taking off his belt and unzipping his pants, pulling them down and off along with his socks. He pulled his under shirt over his head with one hand, suddenly completely naked to you; his cock stood hard and leaking already, and the turn of events had been so quick that you'd barely had a chance to breathe. You gaped at him, at how utterly, stunningly perfect his body was, how his muscles bulged in all the right places, how his hands moved with such grace that it almost scared you.

Only a moment had passed, but it felt like an eternity; he was on you now, pulling at the shirt you wore, unfastening the back of the bra he so rarely found you in. He tugged at your skirt, in too much of a haze of your naked body to register the zipper; you undid it yourself, opening your lips to his and letting him in, relishing the heat of his hands on you and the utter neediness that was radiating off of him at every turn. His mouth moved to your cheek, holding onto your back and kissing down to your neck, biting lightly, reverently. It had started to be like his more, now that you were official; and maybe you didn't hate it as much as you thought you should, how this level of respect and awe had crept into his lust for you. You moaned at the stinging sensation, and he swiped his tongue over the bite in comfort, relishing the taste of your skin. It had been too long since he'd last had you like this; his mind was a complete mess of lust.

"Take off your skirt, dear," he said with heavy eyes and a smirk, picking himself up to give you the space you needed.

"Shut up," you laughed, lifting your hips to pull it down to your thighs, then lifting your feet to pull it off entirely. He was back on you in seconds, spreading your legs and moving his mouth to your thighs, struggling in vain to tease you at all. He couldn't wait, not today; this wasn't a scene, wasn't something vaguely planned out or discussed before. This was everything that he'd been missing, everything he needed to do for his own satisfaction. You had finally let him have these moments, and they felt so good; he ran his tongue up your slit, met with the tanginess and sweetness, the combination he'd never get enough of. His tongue was hot and strong against you, making you melt instantly; he didn't usually do this, didn't lick you right away. His grip on your thighs was lethal, and you moaned at the severity of the feelings, so intense and sudden, making your head light.

"Fuck, Sannie," you whined above, his tongue making a sudden hard pass over your clit, almost painful in how strong the pleasure was. He made small circles now, consistent in speed and pressure, and soon your thighs were squeezing the side of his head, your body tensing involuntarily. It was the intensity of the feelings that was making you this way; your moans grew, high pitched and pornographic, and before you could stop yourself you were grabbing hard onto his hair and coming in his mouth, your whole body locked up in pleasure, your legs barely shaking. It was that sort of orgasm; it was the kind so sudden and fast and harsh that your body didn't know what to do but completely lock up.

It took many breaths for you to come down, many moments passing as you both panted in silence. It took you a while to register it, but his heavy breathing and lack of movement towards you was strange; finally you sat yourself up and looked at his kneeling form on the floor beside the bed.

"You came?" you asked, seeing the mess on his thighs.

"Yeah," he whispered, cringing at himself.

"Holy fuck," you laughed, covering your mouth when his shameful eyes looked up at you. "No it's hot Sannie, it's really hot, don't fucking look like that," you said, crawling towards him. You sat yourself on his lap, the wetness of the cum on his thighs now painting the underside of yours. You kissed him, held onto his neck and took in the scent of sex around you. Then you reached a hand down between your legs, swiped some of the mixture of sweat and slick and cum onto your finger, and put it in your mouth.

"You're fucking crazy," he laughed, shaking his head.

"How long till you can get hard again?" you smiled.

"Not long if you keep doing shit like that," he chuckled, lifting you both and settling onto the bed again, kissing you deeply. There was stickiness between your legs, a sensation that should have so bothered you, but the taste of you on his tongue made you forget all, made you understand why he had come already. It made you feel heady, made you forget everything; soon your hips were bucking into each other, and his cock was hardening in the slipperiness of your slit that he was rubbing it in. You were both already moaning, desperately clawing at and kissing each other, a real sense of otherworldliness taking over the day. The fact that it was day, that it was only the afternoon, was something you'd forgotten entirely; this felt like the wee hours of the night, the hours that sang with mystery and secrets and pleasure.

He slipped inside you, the stretch shocking, his size never something you could quite get used to. Nowadays it felt like you were a glove made for him, like he was the key unlocking you. His slow strokes drew waves of pleasure from you, making you moan into his open mouth; his kisses didn't cease, his arms around your back, your bodies closer than they possibly could be. It was an intoxicating feeling to have him this attached to you, your body relaxed in his arms, your cunt opening wide for his taking. Nothing, ever, had quite felt like this; nothing with him, or with anyone else. Was this what making love felt like? Was this the sort of sex that serious couples talked about as special? Your mind started to wander, started to almost panic; why, why must you do this? you asked yourself. It was just sex, after all, and he was just a guy you'd met a year ago, a guy you liked fucking, liked talking to, liked fighting with.

You liked the fighting, possibly more than you liked this, no matter how good it felt.

"I'm not gonna last long baby, you feel so good," San sighed above you, finally pulling back from your mouth. You moaned in response, mind drifting back to the feeling of him inside you, of your walls clenching down. That was where your mind should be, and you sighed internally in relief, sinking into the pleasure once again. You bucked your hips against his gently, changing the angle and trying to get him even deeper; he read the movements perfectly, adjusting the angle he was thrusting at, and suddenly he was hitting your cervix, making you cry out. This was what you loved, the way it felt like he was tearing you open from inside, the softness and severity all at once, the significance of the feeling bringing you fully into the moment.

"Fuck, fuck, I love you," he groaned as he suddenly came undone, as you felt his cum filling you, the warmth almost overbearing.

No.

No, no, no, no, no. It was all that kept playing in your mind, over and over again until you could register no other word. You fucking idiot, not like this, not now, not when you're coming inside me, no!

His groans turned to grunts as he rode himself through it, but your mind was stuck, your body too, frozen completely at the fact that you couldn't say the words back, no matter if you felt the same, no matter if you'd thought them earlier that very day and had held them in the front of your mind since.

He'd said it before, you knew that. But this was the first time he'd said it like this, with intense emotion behind it, but it was the wrong emotion, it was the wrong time, and your mind reeled, tears pricked in your eyes, and fear and panic washed through you too. It wasn't supposed to feel like this, was it? Like the words were suffocating your heart, rather than unleashing it; like he had metaphorically slapped you across the face and chocked you.

You'd much preferred when he just slapped and chocked you, literally.

"You okay?" He had crumpled on top of you, and the warmth of his chest on yours did feel comforting, and so too did the uneven sound of is worried tone.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, so completely unconvincing, but somehow he dropped it, somehow he didn't push.

He'd wanted a nice day with you, and couldn't bring himself to ask you why you hadn't said those words in return. He was beating himself up, wishing he could turn back time. But that wasn't how life worked, and he was a realistic and rational person, so he sighed into the sour air, holding you close while he softened inside you, hoping beyond hope that he hadn't somehow completely fucked himself.

If only he'd said those damn words in Korean.

next part ->

taglist: @pyeongstarr @hwaromi @hi00000234567 @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starhwa1024

@completelyjae @midnightrebel1028 @pautiny27 @snapcracklen

sending you all kisses xoxoxo

[in1-nutshell]

Can i request a Spiderman buddy who's fun and chill to hang out with 2012 tmnt in personality and abilities wise? Like buddy can be a mentor of sorts to teach and guide them while also learning how to have fun.

Some more turtles!

Hope you enjoy!

Spidey Buddy meets the Turtles

SFW, Platonic, Familial, Spidey reader

TMNT 2012

Spidey had been protecting the citizens of New York for roughly a year and a half.

It was a bit of a rough start while getting used to his new powers and dealing with new villains.

But overall, it wasn’t too bad!

Until recently Spidey thought he had seen everything.

He should have known better than say that in this city…

Thanks to some word on the street, some mutant ninja creatures were staring to pop up around the area.

Time to investigate!

Spidey is scaling up a building after hearing some arguing. Spidey: “I swear, if I don’t get leads on this rooftop and another couple fighting… Maybe this is a sign from the universe to get some well-deserved hot dogs. Please let it be some pigeons… please let it be some pigeons…” Spidey pokes his head up. There are four turtle mutants arguing about the best way to enter a building. Spidey: “…Why does the universe hate me… I just wanted some dogs…” Pigeon Pete suddenly descends from the sky. Spidey: “…what… the…”

And that’s how Spidey met the turtles.

Granted many of them were sore with how they got found out, but they quickly got over that.

It was nice to have another friend around.

A vigilante friend!

Spidey doesn’t know what nearly caused him to have a stroke when he was invited to the lair.

The fact that these teens had two other human friends or the fact that their sensei was a giant rat.

Nope, it’s both.

Spidey has both April and Casey during his arm wrapped in webs. Casey: “Let us go!” Spidey promptly sets them both on the couch. Spidey: “Now sit and think on what you did wrong.” April: “We were just trying to help!” Spidey: “What help? Casey’s only weapon is a hockey stick and sheer determination to piss me off.” Casey: “Pretty swe—MMM!?” Spidey webbed his mouth shut. Spidey turns back to April. Spidey: “And don’t get me started on you O’Neil. You have no powers and whatever stunt you tried that nearly got you decapitated.” April: “That’s called my training. Splinter has been teaching me.” Spidey: “…” A few minutes later… Splinter is sitting under the tree meditating. Spidey drops down the tree upside down with narrowed lenses. Spidey: “Please tell me you did NOT tell April she was ready for patrol with the training she has.” Splinter: “She is ready.” Spidey: “NO SHE’S NOT!”

Yeah, Spidey has a bit of a bone to pick with April, Casey, and Splinter.

He does respect them and all, but it’s the dumb and impulsive stuff that gets under his skin.

Though to be fair, the turtles are in a league of their own.

Starting with Leo and Raph.

He has lost count of the number of times he has webbed them apart.

Whether on patrol or in the lair, Spidey is getting sick of it.

In the moments when Spidey isn’t wrangling the two brothers down, he gets along great.

Leo now has a fellow nerd to watch Space Heroes and not degrade him!

The two have had countless rants about characters during reruns.

Spidey also helps Leo ease up with the whole leader position.

Raph had gotten a great training partner.

Not only was Spidey quick and hard to punch, but he was incredibly strong!

The red turtle won’t admit it… but he is so grateful for his new friend for making sure the roaches in the lair were gone.

How he did it?

Raph really doesn’t want to know.

Leo and Raph are sparring in the dojo with Spidey watching from a few feet away.  Everything seems normal. …Until some harsher words are put out and some more advance movements. Spidey: “Hey! Calm down over there. Its still a friendly spar.” Leo: “Tell that to the brute in front of me!” Raph: “Brute!? I’ll show you brute!” Raph goes to throw a punch to the face, but his fist gets stopped by a web. Faster than he could react, Raph and Leo are webbed to the ceiling. Spidey is just looking at them with arms crossed. Spidey: “Now, while I would get you guys a ‘Get along shirt’, this is much better. Make up in 20 minutes and I’ll let you guys down.” Leo: “Hey!” Spidey: “See ya!” Raph: “Spidey! Get back here!” Spidey: “I wonder if that hot dog stand is open at this time?”

Donnie and Mikey were easily the best duo that Spidey got along with.

With Mikey’s high energy and pranks, Spidey found someone who could help him work on his spidey sense better.

He had to admit it, the orange turtle was scarily skilled when he want to be.

Spidey really wants to help him hone in on that aspect but there was so much you could do when someone doesn’t want to do the activities.

Now Donnie?

Might as well be Spidey’s best friend.

Science nerds meeting together?

YES!

Both of them are prohibited in the lab after 9 pm.

Last time that happened they didn’t come out until 8pm… a week later…

Spidey, Mikey, and Donnie are talking in the kitchen with a mug of coffee in hand. Spidey: “And that’s how I swing around without falling on my face.” Donnie nods. Mikey: “But when do your webs run out dude?” Spidey: “Run out?” Mikey: “Yeah!” Spidey: “…Mikey these are organically made.” Donnie and Mikey: “What?” Spidey: “My own body makes it.” Spidey shows them the hole in his wrist where the webs come from. Mikey: “So cool!” Donnie: “Why didn’t you tell me sooner!? I thought you only used the web cartilages?” Spidey shrugs. Spidey: “That’s just a personal project Donnie. I don’t actually use them.” Mikey: “Wow! Its like your one of us!” Spidey: “… I’m going to need you guys to sit down when I tell you this.”

[puckinghockeygirl]

They Know

All Too Well Series, Chapter Three

Content Warning: foul language, angst, crying,

Song Inspo: Apocalypse by Cigarettes After Sex; exile by Taylor Swift, ft. Bon Iver

Word Count: 3.8k

Author's Note: Okay, so this turned out way longer than I meant...I may have gotten carried away. I hope you all enjoy, though! Also, if you guys have anything you want to see from Nico and Maia, like blurbs, imagines, asks, etc, feel free to send them in my asks! I'm always looking for more funs stuff to write. Feel free to request for other players too, I love getting to practice writing for people I haven't written for yet.

Maia was late. 

She was so, sooo late. 

She probably looked insane: coffee in one hand, gear bag in another, phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. 

“Lacey I promise I’m on my way. I’m so sorry. I slept through my alarm but I swear I’m coming.”

Maia’s best friend groaned on the other end of the line. “Maia!”

“I know! I know, I’m sorry, I’m coming. I have your gear bag, I’m right around the corner, I’ll be–oof!”

It was like hitting a brick wall. Maia slammed to a stop, flailing, coffee cup crushed against her chest. She stumbled back and hit the ground hard. 

“Maia?” Lacey’s voice on the other line was frantic, and Maia could imagine her friend pacing back and forth, grass crunching under her feet, soccer ball under her arm. “Maia? Are you okay?”

“Ugh. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be there in a minute Lacey. I’ll call you right back.” Maia groaned, her shirt soaked with iced coffee as she looked up. 

The boy she’d run into looked about her age–18, probably. He, too, was holding a coffee, and Maia was grateful as she realized that the impeccable suit he was wearing was still dry. 

Who wore a suit at nine in the morning? On a Saturday, no less?

Her cheeks flamed as the boy stared curiously and offered a hand to her, which she graciously took. His hands were rough and calloused, at odds with his whole appearance. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said bashfully. Her eyes welled up as she watched the boy struggle for words. She was going to get screamed at, wasn’t she? His suit screamed money, and she knew that she–in a ratty band shirt she’d gotten from her mother, ripped jeans, and coffee undoubtedly soaking into her bra–did not. 

“Your shirt.”

The boy’s voice was melodic. Which, really, just wasn’t fair. He didn’t get to be attractive, have a suit, and sound nice. There was an accent to his words though, one Maia recognized immediately. 

She felt herself perk up. “Bist du Schweizer?” You’re Swiss?

The boy looked shocked. “Sprichst du Schwiizerdütsch? Wie bitte?” You speak Swiss? How?

“Mini Muetter isch Schwiizerin! ” My mother’s Swiss! 

She watched the boy grin like she’d just made his day as he started speaking rapid-fire Swiss-German at her. 

“I haven’t met anyone in the US who speaks Swiss-German,” he told her. “Your shirt is Swiss too. My mother used to love that band.”

“Mine too! It’s hers, actually. She gave it to me!”

Maia watched the boy from as he took in her shirt again. “It’s going to be stained.”

“Oh!” She crossed her arms over her chest, the coffee and fabric sticking to her uncomfortably. “That’s okay. I’m sorry for running into you. I was in a rush, but that’s not an excuse.”

The boy bit his lip, glancing at her shirt then back to her. “I will pay for it.”

Maia paused, her hand halfway to Lacey’s gear bag. “You–what?”

“I will pay for it,” he repeated. “The cleaning. It is a good shirt.”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary, really–”

“Can I give you my information? For if you change your mind?”

Was he…no. Couldn’t be. 

Right?

Was this boy trying to…flirt?

Maia blushed deeply, so deeply her ears burned.

I mean, it couldn't hurt…right?

Maia unlocked her phone and held it out to the boy.

 The boy merely grinned at her, so big Maia thought she might be able to see all of his teeth. He took the phone from her and began typing hurriedly, putting in his number. It was all completely normal until he lifted the phone up and took a picture of himself, still smiling widely, for his contact picture. 

Maia laughed in disbelief. The boy handed her phone back to her. 

“A picture,” he said, still in his native tongue. “In case you forget.”

Oh, she wouldn’t be forgetting this. 

Maia gave him a grin that rivalled his own and glanced down at the contact. 

Nico Hischier. 

And then, where someone would put the company the person worked with, he had simply typed COFFEE. 

Maia laughed and tucked her phone into her back pocket. “It was nice to meet you, Nico Hischier.” She shook her head at him, still in disbelief at the whole interaction. “I’m Maia. Maia Kessler.”

Nico was still smiling, but it was smaller now, a smirk that made Maia red again. “Goodbye, Maia.”

Maia laughed, saluted him, and sprinted on, Lacey’s gear bag thumping against her back. It didn’t feel so heavy now, she noticed. 

It should be noted: had Maia known what was coming, had she known what would become of her and this boy, if given the choice to do this moment over…

She wouldn’t change anything.

***

Two days after Jack saw Nico cry in the parking garage, Nico missed morning skate. 

This itself was a red flag. Nico never missed the morning skate, especially not the day of a game. He was the captain–he didn’t miss, even when he was sick. Jack remembered one time when he’d seen Nico puke into a trashcan in the locker room, wipe his mouth, and head out onto the ice. 

Needless to say, Jack had avoided Nico as much as possible at that practice. 

Still, this didn’t make sense. When Jack asked Keefe, he’d simply said something about not feeling well, but that he was expected to play that night against Ottawa. Jack was trying to sort it all out during practice, playing like he normally did during their little scrimmage when he was pinned against the boards, the puck between his skate and the wall, and Timo’s stick digging into his back as the two of them jammed at the puck, somehow managing to miss every time. 

Wait. How was Timo–

“What do you know?”

Timo’s voice was so quiet, Jack was surprised he could hear it over the sounds of the rink. Jack jolted, momentarily stunned, before Timo lightly shoved him back into motion. Jack shook his head, the puck still trapped against the boards. “I–what? What do I know about what?”

“Nico’s not here,” Timo told him flatly. 

“Yeah, I see that. What does that have to do with me?”

Timo put his full weight onto Jack, and Jack let out an oomph! squished so tightly it was hard to move. 

One of the coaches blew the whistle as the puck refused to come loose, ending the play, and both players relaxed, skating over to the bench for a drink. Timo’s eyes followed Jack the whole way, just a step behind him. 

When it was just the two of them over by the bench, he asked again. 

“What do you know?”

“I don’t know anything, what are you talking about–”

“You left at the same time as Nico on Monday, right?”

“...Yes?” Jack dragged the word out, still confused. “And?”

“Did he seem off?” Timo pushed. “Weird?”

“...No.”

Timo straightened, eyes narrowing. “You hesitated.”

“No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. What aren’t you saying?”

“Listen, man, I don’t really think it’s any of our business what’s going on with Nico, okay? He’s a big boy. He can handle himself.”

Clearly, Jack shouldn’t have said that. Timo leaned closer to Jack, but before he could get any words out, another whistle blew. Jack had never skated away so fast in his life. 

The hell was that?

***

Luke Hughes knew he was an easy target. 

Not physically, of course. He was six-two, almost two hundred pounds. No matter how skinny, his size was normally enough to scare people away. His face, however? Well, that screamed an easy target. 

This had never been more clear to him than when he was cornered by Timo in the parking garage. He’d just thrown his bag into his trunk, slamming the gate down, when Timo just appeared. 

“Holy–have you been there the whole time?!”

Timo’s neutral expression didn’t change as he merely stared at Luke and deadpanned, “Not important.”

“Okay? Dude, what are you doing?”

“Did you ride home from practice with Jack on Monday?”

Uh-oh. 

“Yes.” Luke straightened, unsure where to put his hands now that he had nothing to hold, and settled for crossing his arms over his chest. “Why?”

“You know why.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yes, you do–”

“Dude, this is ridiculous.” Luke ran his hands over his face. “What Nico did or didn’t do is his business.”

“So he did something? Something off?”

Okay, Luke sucked at this–whatever this was. 

“Okay, look.” Timo stared Luke down. “I’m worried about Cap, okay? I’ve known him for a long time, and he’s going through something right now, and now he’s not at practice. And you and I both know that he never misses practice. So if he’s missing, something’s wrong. I called him, like, five times earlier and it went straight to voicemail every time. It didn’t even ring. Something is wrong. So, Luke, I am asking you, as your teammate, as your friend, as Nico’s friend, to tell me what happened on Monday.”

Luke stared into Timo’s eyes. 

Timo stared right back. 

Luke went to move. 

Timo moved with him. 

They continued this stalemate for another thirty seconds before Luke let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through his hair and stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “Jack’s gonna kill me.”

“I’ll deal with Jack. What happened?”

“Jack had just finished putting his stuff in the car on Monday, and I’d already gotten in the car. Nico was sitting in his car with the engine off and the door still open, just staring at his steering wheel.”

Sensing that wasn’t the whole story, Timo prodded Luke along. “And?”

Another sigh. “Jack asked him if he was okay, because obviously, he was acting weird. Like, I’d never seen him like this. But Nico didn’t even answer. He acted like Jack wasn’t even there. He just slammed the door to the car shut and peeled out of the garage like somebody was chasing him.”

Timo kept staring. Ten seconds, then twenty. 

Luke’s eye twitched. “He was crying, okay? Or, like, he was about to, when he closed the door. His eyes were all red and watery.”

“Shit.”

“What does that even mean?” Luke asked his teammate.

“Do you and Jack still have that spare key to his apartment?”

Oh, Luke did not like where this was going.

***

Maia had no business being this nervous for a date. 

She’d been on dates before. This wasn’t her first. Some had been good, some had been bad, some her date hadn’t even shown up for. So why was she in the bathroom in her underwear, hair and makeup done, looking frantically between the two dresses she held in her hands like one would answer all of her prayers. 

“Blue or red?” She screamed at Lacey, who was two rooms away in the kitchen. 

She heard Lacey groan. “Ugh, neither! I told you to look in my closet. Your dresses suck.”

“Hey!”

“I told you to go shopping with me and Ally last time we went, but noooo, you were too good for the deals.”

“Too good? I was trying to get into college!” Maia looked back to her dresses again. “Please help me!”

Lacey snorted, her footsteps padding over towards Maia–

But her movement was interrupted by three polite, punctual knocks on the apartment door. 

Maia froze, glancing at the clock on the bathroom wall, peering through the open bathroom door at Lacey. “Oh my god, he’s on time.”

“Okay, that’s a plus.” Lacey grinned, her blonde curls bouncing as she shook her head at Maia, who nearly burned herself as she unplugged the curling iron and began wrapping up the cord. “Hold on, I’ll get him.”

“Lace, I don’t have any clothes on!”

“Well, I don’t think he’ll complain.”

“Lacey!”

She snickered. “Kidding, kidding. I’ll stall him. Go grab that white strappy dress I wore for my team banquet last month.”

Maia, whose brain was clearly just following directions at this point and unable to think for itself, scurried into her friend’s room and slammed the door shut behind her. She went through Lacey’s closet like a tornado, scouring her racks before she finally found the white dress she was talking about. She threw it on, stealing–borrowing–a pair of her friend’s heels while she was at it, hearing the sound of Lacey’s voice and the melody of Nico’s as she looked in the mirror one last time. 

“Okay,” she told herself. “This is easy. You’ve done first dates before. You look hot. Let’s do it.” She tucked her brown waves behind her ears, squared her shoulders, and stepped into the living room. 

The first thing, she realized, was that she was glad she wasn’t overdressed. Nico was wearing a white button down and slacks, his hair gelled down, dress shoes practically sparkling. Maia felt herself blush–dammit, not again, she told herself–as she noticed Nico’s hands practically strangling a bouquet of red roses. 

No, not roses, Maia realized; rosebuds, still tightly closed, a striking red, no less beautiful than the actual blossoms. They were beautiful–beautiful and strange, because Maia wasn’t sure she’d ever seen a bouquet of flowers that hadn’t bloomed yet. 

She stepped closer to Nico, who was staring, mouth parted, at Maia. She watched him closely, waiting for his eyes to move to a less appropriate part of her body, but they never did. They just stared at her face, a blush high on his own cheeks, as she heard him breathe softly, “Mein Gott.”

Well, didn’t that do wonders for her confidence. 

Nico handed her the flowers gently, speaking in English now as he gave her a soft greeting and smiled. “Here,” he told her. “For you.”

Maia took them, the buds still aromatic despite not being open. “Thank you,” she told him, trying to tone down her excitement. 

“Oh, how lovely.” Lacey took the flowers from Maia before she could blink. “Why don’t I put these in some water and you two head out? Nico, was it?” At the nod of confirmation, Lacey grinned. “Nico, have her home before midnight. She’s a busy girl. Needs her rest.” Her voice dropped and so did her smile as she leaned closer to him. “And she tells me everything. So I suggest you don’t do anything untoward.” She studied him closely, her gaze flicking up and down his body before meeting his eyes again. “I play soccer–football, as you’d call it. Which means I have an excellent kick.” She leaned back, plastering a smile back onto her face. “Have a good night, you two!” She flounced back into the kitchen, leaving Nico and Maia both staring after her. 

Maia shook her head and guided Nico out the door. “Sorry about her,” she told him. “We’ve been friends since primary school. I’m not sure she knows a language other than aggression when it comes to me dealing with guys.”

Nico laughed. “She is a good friend,” he told her, his accent wrapping thickly around his words, the syrupy sound making her grin. “I know the kind. I have some of my own.”

The date went so fast, though Maia knew they had been out for hours by the time they returned back to her apartment. The night flew by, a blur of food, laughter, and flushed faces. There was something about Nico Hischier–Maia couldn’t put her finger on it, but he was different than any first date she’d ever had. It wasn’t that he held open doors, which he did, or that he pushed in her chair at the fancy restaurant they attended, wasn’t that he was a professional hockey player like he’d said, or that, when their waitress slid him her number at the end of the night, Maia had watched him rip it up and promptly dump the pieces into his water glass. 

(That, she admitted, made her a little weaker in the knees than she liked to admit.)

No, it was the fact that he was just so…interested. He listened to her. He really listened, like every word she said was important, whether she was talking about her childhood, her dreams as an athletic trainer, or about how she hated broccoli since she was little and nothing had ever managed to change that. He listened, and when Maia had asked him questions, there had been no condescension or brushing her off. When Maia asked if he would explain hockey to her sometime, he’d lit up like a Christmas tree at what seemed like an opportunity to spend more time with her. How, on the drive back, he’d heard Maia quietly humming to the song on the radio, and had turned it up, smiling softly as she’d grinned at him and sang along. 

He just noticed things. He just knew things. 

When they came to a stop at Maia’s apartment door, Nico looked almost disappointed, a slight frown on his face as Maia stuck a key into the lock. She leaned against the door, looking up at him.

“I had a really good time,” she whispered. 

“Me, too,” Nico told her. “Thank you for letting me take you out.”

Maia laughed. “Any time, Nico Hischier.”

Nico smiled. “Really? So, if I asked you to come over to my apartment to watch hockey next time, you’d say yes?”

“Only if you promise to explain it to me,” she told him. “I don’t know very much.”

“That’s okay,” he told her. “I can teach you.”

Maia smiled again, her face red for the millionth time that night. She wasn’t sure why she’d bothered with blush when this had been happening to her nonstop. “I’d like that, Nico.”

At some point during their conversation, they’d gotten unbearably close. Maia could feel the heat emanating from Nico, could smell his cologne, something like wood and vanilla, as he leaned closer. 

Maia tilted her head up to look at him again. He was so close. She could feel his breath. 

“Can I kiss you?” He whispered. 

Maia closed her eyes, so giddy she wasn’t sure what to do with herself. “Please.”

Maia was nervous, just for a second, as Nico inched closer. Was she a good kisser? She’d only had a few boyfriends, and they’d seem satisfied enough, but then again, she was single right now. Maybe she was bad? 

But then Nico’s lips met hers, and Maia wasn’t thinking anymore.

***

Someone had snitched. 

That was Luke’s first thought as he and Timo rolled up to Nico’s apartment, the hall a whole hell of a lot more crowded than it should have been. The hall was filled with hockey players, an amount only seen when Nico hosted team dinners occasionally. They milled about, some talking in low, hushed voices, other silent, staring holes at the apartment door. The group looked up as Timo and Luke approached. 

“Dude, for real?” Luke asked. “Who snitched?”

It was unsurprising, really, when Jack emerged from the group, his hand raised meekly.

Luke gaped. “Dude!”

“You snitched first!”

“Yeah, I told Timo, not the entire team!”

“I didn’t tell the entire team!” Jack snapped. “Just Nemo!”

The group parted to reveal Nemec, who looked a bit ashamed as he looked at the floor, then back up to Luke and Timo.

“I told many people,” he deadpanned.

Luke let out a strangled sigh and ran a hand down his face. “This is such a disaster. Why the hell is everyone else here? Don’t you all have anything better to do? Pregame rituals? Meals? Naps? Anything?”

“I’ve seen Nico like this before,” Jesper piped up from beside the door. “Trust me, nothing is more important right now.”

Okay, maybe he had a point.

Luke pulled the spare key from his pocket. “Let me be clear–this is not us accosting our captain. We’re concerned. We just want to know what’s wrong. We want to help.”

“Like an intervention,” Nemo said solemnly, nodding. 

Luke gaped. “No!” He told him. “Not like an intervention! Nothing like that! We’re just checking on him, okay? As soon as we know he’s alive, we leave.”

There was some grumbling and muttering, but the team eventually agreed. 

Luke rolled his eyes as he knocked on the door a few times, calling for Nico as the group behind him stood in solemn silence. After a few minutes, and no signs of life–no shuffling, no yelling telling them to go away, no sign of their captain–Luke groaned, regret already flooding through his body as he shoved the key into the lock and turned it.

The first thing he noticed was the empty bottle of bourbon on the countertop, and Luke knew that whatever was about to happen was not going to be enjoyable. He hoped, god, did he hope, that Nico was just nursing a hangover. That he was fine, just trying to sleep off the booze, but that hope was quickly crushed. 

Nico was sitting on the couch across from the wall of windows, staring into the sunlight like he didn’t have a massive hangover (or maybe he just enjoyed the pain), unmoving. 

Or, he seemed unmoving at first. 

But Luke creeped closer, wincing at the sound of a floorboard creaking under his foot, but it didn’t matter, because Nico didn’t turn. It was only as Luke moved closer, step by step, inch by inch, that he realized Nico was moving. 

His whole body was shaking, shoulders trembling, chest heaving, as he stared out the window, crying.

He knew the exact moment that somebody else realized it, because Jesper snapped at everybody and told them that if they hadn’t been on the team five years ago that they needed to leave. There was a grumble of complaints, but Luke watched Timo hit the group with such a fierce glare that he watched some of them pale before immediately leaving the apartment. 

When all was said and done, only Luke, Jack, Timo, and Jesper remained, staring at Nico. 

Jesper sat down next to Nico. The captain looked at his friend with red, wet eyes. 

“C’mon, man.”

Nico turned away. “Leave, Bratter.”

“No.” It was Timo who spoke this time. “You missed practice, man. We’re worried about you.”

Nico gestured to himself. “Clearly, I’m fine.”

Jack eyed him. “This is you fine?”

Nico glared at him, but Jack didn’t back down. It was a stare-down. Luke wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but Nico was the one who broke first. 

He let out a harsh laugh. “Alright. Fine. Everybody so concerned about me?” He gestured at the different forms of seating in the living room. “Go ahead. Take a seat.”

In the tense silence, they did. 

Nico couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as they spoke. He just kept looking out the window, the sun burning into his retinas, forcing him awake. 

“Everybody good? Good.” He clasped his hands together so tightly Luke watched his knuckles whiten. 

“Let me tell you about how I fell in love. And then let me tell you how I fucking ruined it.”

Author's Note: The angst is so real. Why do I do this to myself? Why must everybody be so sad? Real talk, though, thank you to everyone who is supporting this fic! It has been so fun to write so far, and I'm so excited to be fleshing out the relationships and characters further.

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Short-Term Catharsis | Bell & Alex Mason

Summary: Bell wants to know why Mason doesn’t like him. He ends up learning a lot more than that.

Word Count: 892

Warning: mental breakdown, panic attack, force cuddle, can be interpreted as platonic or romantic honestly but i was going for platonic, implied death, mentions of house fires, implied brainwashing

A/N: im liiiiterally mason trust

Requests are open!

It didn’t take being a genius for Bell to notice how Mason was ignoring him.

Ignoring was a generous word, really.

Cigarettes shared with everybody but him.

The distance he kept on missions.

How he refused most forms of conversation, though Bell wasn’t the most talkative at the best of times, even he could tell when somebody was trying to disengage.

It had all come to a point, the weeks worth of built up annoyance in Bell at the situation, at Mason’s blatant ignorance, his refusal to acknowledge him.

He’d been trying harder. So fucking hard, for even a word of approval, a nod of it, he was a dog beneath the table begging for anything he could get his filthy mouth on.

And yet he was refused, each time.

There was a difference between being strict, giving confirmation that he was doing something right amidst the vast things he could be doing wrong, and being cruel, completely indifferent, if not hateful.

He was fed up.

It was almost pathetic, how much he craved that validation from someone older than him, more experienced, he knew it was pathetic, too, yet he still found himself marching to Mason’s old little room in the back of the safehouse, embarrassment and shame curdling beneath his anger.

His gloved hand closed around the door, twisting, yanking it open as the cold air of Mason’s room hit him, an old AC unit could easily be heard in the background, as he walked in.

Bell expected to find the man playing with his arsenal of weapons, treating his injuries from their last mission, or anything other than what he discovered instead.

Shedded of his usual exterior, or rather skinned of it, Alex sat on the edge of his bed, hands buried in his dark, dark brown hair, elbows resting on his knees.

It wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong with him.

“Fuck off.”

He yelled, though it was hardly a yell with how scratchy his voice was. His subtle accent was easily detectable as he was going through something. Too tired to hide it.

A gift from his father he could never get rid of.

“Not until you tell me what your problem is.”

Bell stated bluntly, anger dulled down only the barest amount, the knife still sharp.

Mason paused, glancing up, weary eyes stained with what Bell would’ve assumed was tears—if the man even could cry, eyelashes wet and clumped together, hair disheveled, and looked at Bell, really looked, something like fear and disgust lying in his gaze.

“You wanna know my fuckin’ problem?” He asked, voice quieter than usual, eyes narrowing in anger as his face looked almost angrily confused, slowly standing up.

Bell swallowed, resisting the urge to back down on his ground.

“My problem—you don’t even—you don’t know—“

He yelled, hand going back in his hair, raking stressfully through it, eyes darting all around, everywhere except for Bell.

“They did the same to me, the Russians, fucked me up. Then brought me here—Jesus, I can’t—“

He muttered, beginning to pace around the room, eyes wider, almost manic, panicking, as Bell felt a bit of his own panic bubble up. That little voice inside whispered he needed to leave, but the devil on his shoulder told him to stay, listen.

“What don’t I know? What are you—?”

He was pacing more, breathing harder, until finally, he interrupted Bell mid-sentence.

“It—it’s fucked! They knew, and they shoved me on this team. Knew I’d see him, hear him, and they put me here with you!”

A pause. And finally, he met Bell’s eyes, and finally, Bell understood. There wasn’t disgust for only Bell in his eyes, it was disgust for himself, the parts of himself that he saw in him, the irredeemable qualities.

“It’s like looking in a mirror. I don’t wanna—I can’t. You—“

His breathing turned to rasping gasps, as he leaned against a wall, pressing a hand over his face, sobbing into it, hiccuping, deep sobs that shook his body. His chest heaved with each one, breaths being short little gasps.

Bell moved to support him, feelings twisted up and tied in a knot, watching Mason’s knee buckle beneath him, barely catching him as the heavier man toppled to the floor, followed by the other, Bell on top of him.

A little grunt came from Bell at the impact of his ribs against the floor, the other half of his body being cushioned by landing on Mason, who pushed himself to sit against the wall somewhat.

“You—you’re a good kid. ‘M sorry, you’re..you’re good.”

He choked out, cradling Bell, who’d been dragged up along with him, finding that he didn’t mind it as much. It wasn’t the confrontation he’d wanted.

But maybe it was the confrontation he’d needed.

His head was filled to the brim with confused questions, new things he didn’t want to think about, theories for tomorrow, everything could happen tomorrow, he thought, as he settled into the warm embrace, letting the catharsis of a few tears slip out, the fabric of his mask soaking a darker color.

As Mason sobbed into his shoulder, and Bell leaned in just a bit to the man’s chest, something warm born from a house fire, he enjoyed it just a bit, finding that the temporary moment of comforting warmth overshadowed his eventual charred corpse.

[eshithepetty]

So. It's been said before that Mob has this compulsive thing where he looks at his hand when he's thinking about his powers. But I've wanted for a While now to compile exactly when and how much he does this, so!! Here's exactly a post for that ^^

Starting with the very 1st episode of Season 1, here he looks at his hand while Reigen's spiel about him not using his powers to use against others plays in his head. At this point in the story, we don't really understand the full gravity of these words, and what they mean to Mob - really, they sound more like the obvious usual advice that a psychic mentor would give. But from Mob's percentage rising (tho most people won't know what the percentage means at this point in the story), as well as him generally sitting on this advice, we can tell that a nerve has been struck.

Then comes season 1 episode 3. This is technically the same exact shot, but I still decided to include it both because it's still technically a different instance, and also, because of the new information we learn in this episode, we can look at this shot with a different context. Namely, that we now know what Mob's percentage means, and that his powers are connected to his emotions, which is why he stifles both in fear of hurting people as Reigen warned him of. It turns from impersonal advice to a Very personal and real concern. Though the biggest reason for why he fears his powers is still unknown at this point... (though we are made aware of the other reason - fear of social ostracization).

Ough... here comes season 1 episode 5. The shot of him looking at his hand, the one that makes it abundantly clear exactly what he is imagining and thinking back to when he does this. He's remembering the literal blood on his hands... fuck me.

Then are these shots from the same episode. The hands are covered by a towel, so this one is less obvious, but by his sight line and the conversation that he just had with Ritsu - about the incident, and what he did to him - it's obvious that's where his eyes are set. And now compared to episode 3, we know exactly why he hates and fears his powers so much. Why he thinks these hands are dangerous...

Season 1 episode 10, another repeat shot - this time from the psychically induced flashback he suffers at the hands of Muto. I still think the 100% rejection scene is so underrated - imagine being forced to relive the most traumatic event of your life, especially considering he usually avoids thinking about it.. god, the way he just screams and sobs is so upsetting.. though I do wonder what exactly Muto saw when Mob reversed the illusion on him.

This one's from season 1 episode 11, and it's a lot more innocuous than the rest - he's just checking that his psychic powers indeed don't work in this cursed room. But it's still him looking at his hand and thinking about his powers, so I decided to include it. (though I will say, there is a fanfic opportunity somewhere in here about combining the fact that, apparently, there exist curses that can surpress psychic powers, and Mob's desire to do just that... maybe one day I will get to it)

Now we jump to season 2! Episode 3. God, this is still one of the most intriguing scenes of this show to me... here, along with the fear of potentially having to hurt his clients, Mob is thinking a lot of things - among them, for the first time considering not only that he can hurt innocent people with these hands, but also innocent spirits. And the fact that he had been exorcising spirits, essentially killing these beings that are as close to him as living humans are, for years... I just love this episode. And as one commenter on Youtube pointed out, in season 2 episode 1, he made a promise to himself to consider his feelings more - and his feelings are innately tied to his powers. Thus, opening his eyes to his feelings also made him open his mind to the ethics of how he is using his powers, and whether following Reigen along on all these jobs without thought is truly what he should be doing. This is a big part of why I fully support him deciding to not work for Reigen post-finale - he needs to figure out how he feels about his powers without using them as tools to get profit (well. Not so much profit for him, and there's certainly value he gained from this job besides that - such as being able to at least use and express his powers somewhat, along with the relationship he gained with Reigen - but point still stands. It's healthy for him to be able to think these things through without that). Plus, I personally like to imagine he grows more sympathetic to spirits as he grows up and isn't anymore too keen on him destroying them being his job. But ramble aside...

Here comes mogami arc! Season 2 episode 5. As the subtitles say, in contrast to all other times he's been agonising over being too powerful, here, he's regretful over not being strong enough (plus, I like how Mogami has basically redefined what strength means for Mob in this fabricated world. Where in the real one, strength for Mob means sticking it to your morals and being able to resolve things peacefully, here it's... kinda the opposite..). Also, what's interesting here is that he still looks to his hand here, despite having all his memories of his powers and the incident erased from his mind. I guess it's just that deep-seated...

Same episode. This one is kind of debatable, but he certainly looks like he's rising his hand to look at it. Thus, I'm including it. Plus, it has thematic relevance to the incident. As he is saying here, in this world, he truly hasn't done anything malicious or dangerous that could warrant people treating him as the enemy, yet here they are. I could imagine, that, somewhere in the back of his mind, he is feeling like he's forgetting something...

Season 2 episode 10. Here he just woke up and immediately whooped ass with his powers. Also more innocuous, he's just confused, but still looking at his hand, so. Here it remains.

Season 2 episode 12 - this one's also kind of a oddball, since for once, he's not really thinking about his powers, but rather Serizawa's, and what they reveal about the man's feelings- but I thought it was close enough at him looking at his hand. Besides, I think it's sweet that this is one of the first times he uses his powers to empathise, to connect with someone (we see him do so again while trying to take in Toichiro's powers, as well as in the Alien arc, notably), so I'm including it for its thematic relevance.

Now onto season 3 episode 1! There's a really good post explaining this one (as well as the ghost family scene instance) here, but to summarise, here, Mob is thinking back to his powers and instances of him hurting people - making mistakes - and how he never learns. Never changes. Not enough... just like with the 100% sadness scene, it's just so sad that he thinks this one instance of his powers getting the best of him has ruined him for life. That he can't afford to make mistakes... buddy, you're 14 years old. A child. Making mistakes is part of growing up, part of being human :( But I'm guesing he doesn't always see himself as fully human does he ...

And then. Season 3 episode 10. Ough... This is just all his worst fears becoming reality. He's hurt Hanazawa, again. He's hurting his loved ones, again. He's monstrous and dangerous, again... All these years of repression have just led him back to square one and below - to bloodied hands once more. But this was inevitable. He couldn't have continued looking at those hands and fearing them.. he needed to face himself. Look that trauma in the eyes. And say: that's not all I am. I did that, those hands are mine, I am capable of hurting, but it's not all I am. I am capable of changing.... and he does!! Reverting once doesn't erase all the good he has achieved and all the growth he has experienced. But fact remains, that before you heal the wound you heal the wound, you need to clean it first. And it will hurt... but he gets there. He gets there.

So to finish on a lighter note! The ending of season 3!! This one makes me so happy, because, as opposed to all these other scenes where he's looking to his hand with turmoil and anguish in his heart, here, it's the opposite! He's smiling!! He's confident!! He's becoming surer of himself every day!!! He no longer sees his powers as a curse!!!! It's a promise, that eventually, he manages to deal with all the trauma and achieve a happy ending. It's just his hand, and his hands can hold instead of harm. It's just so sweet. I love him and his character development so, so much.... <3

In conclusion: he looks at his hand a total of 14 times - 12, if we exclude repeat shots. And I just think it's fascinating, how we can follow his development throughout these instances. So I hope that this was interesting for you to read as well, and that you all have good days out there <3 Toodles :)

[dreamsy990]

drew some of my fav ody designs! wasnt originally meant to be also replicating the styles but thats sort of just how my brain works. except i didnt copy the lineart styles of anyone here so its DEFINITELY a bit uncanny for a couple of these (LOOKING AT YOU QINNY IM SO SORRY) but whatever

the designs featured here (from left to right) belong to: me, @gigizetz, @neal-illustrator, @irunaki, @bigidiotenergytm, @qinnyanimation, and @foopsie-daisy

[cursedvessels]

Anna nods at Tylio’s request, shutting down the phone and tucking it back into her pocket. She smiles softly as Tylio continues, shooting her brother reassuring glances. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t worried too, but she wanted to make sure Finn didn’t have a meltdown. At least he seems to be stabilizing a bit with his medication.

We're going to be fine.

Despite her fears, those words somehow felt relieving coming from Tylio. His optimism was contagious given how bleak the situation was and how calm he was being. She offers a timid smile and nods in agreement. Staying put was probably the best course of action even though she didn't particularly like feeling so trapped. She's trying not to think of it that way, not to panic. Finn's a bit sensitive to others' emotions, so if she starts to freak out she know it won't help. Deep breaths.

Finn's watching Tylio with wide eyes now, nodding slowly as he explains the plan. His hand balls into a fist against his lap, nerves exuded through the tight grip. We're going to be fine...There's a lake nearby...Ten minute walk. All of these things were surprisingly ideal circumstances despite the rain pouring outside. Although, the slightest thunder rumble or flash of lightning has Finn jumping, going right back to the state of dread and full body tension. At least he isn't fully panicked. That's a plus. Still, his head is throbbing from the pain of tensing his muscles so hard. He sinks back into his seat, trying to settle his racing thoughts as he pulls out his sketchbook.

While Finn begins furiously sketching in his notebook, Anna takes a moment to find a blanket now that Tylio's soaked from standing out in the rain.

"That could be nice," Anna agrees easily, a smile reforming on her face when her eyes meet his. "Sounds like we can still salvage the trip, then." She glances to her brother, who isn't really paying attention anymore, but at least he's settled. Then, she's getting up and moving to pass the blanket to Tylio.

"Here. The last thing we need is for you to catch a chill from standing out in the rain. Did you bring a change of clothes?"

As it turned out, Anna's phone was as useless as his own. Well...almost. There was a bar, one bar, that kept coming and going. "Okay", he gave a curt nod of his head, masking the disappointment he felt because that was useful to absolutely no one right now. "Turn it off for now, save the battery. We'll try again later." He did the same with his own phone, before he continued: "The good news is, we have plenty of stuff with us, so we're going to be fine. I think we need to stay put for now and wait out the rain. There's a chance someone might drive by, we'll flag them over."

Though this was a lot of setbacks at once, he was still relatively optimistic. Because it was true, they had brought pretty much everything. Food, water, sleeping bags to stay warm. Although he probably should have worn a raincoat, because he was losing some body heat from standing in the rain earlier. But it was fine. Chances were, someone would drive by. If the storm passed and no one had driven by yet, he decided he would try to look for a high point and use one of their phones again. If that didn't work, well...he'd looked at the map earlier. They were pretty far out but there was a roadside diner about 12 miles away. It was a long walk, probably around 4 hours but if it was necessary, they could leave behind a message on the van, grab some of their camping gear and turn it into a hiking trip.

It wasn't ideal. Which was why he didn't mention it for the time being. He was still holding out hope that a truck would drive by. They might have to wait a few hours, but they were not in any danger of running out of supplies. They were just a bit stuck. But maybe they didn't have to be bored. "Let's see what else is in the area", he suggested, grabbing the map once more and spreading it out across the small folding table. It was part distraction, part genuine interest in their surroundings.

They were in kind of a wooded area, very sparsely inhabited but the nature around here was beautiful. "I know we didn't plan to stop here, but there's a lake nearby", he pointed out on the map, a faint smile returning to his face as he looked at Anna and Finn. "Only a ten minute walk. Once the rain stops, we could go take a look." He paused for a moment, rubbing his chin. "Maybe we should take turns, though, in case someone passes by."

[skyburger]

whos your favorite of the crusaders from part 3... i think i love baofu the most tbh

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

"my education is my highest priority" everything returns to vocaloid

[seventh-district]

several days and 15 thousand words later, i am relieved to report that the suffocating urge to Write Something has been sated and no longer has me in a chokehold