#Plastic fantastic boy

[doctorslippery]

A very popular power set, especially with Disney-Marvel.

11 out of the 18 are Marvel.

#mr fantastic #plastic man #elongated man #mr gum #elastigirl #superstretch #shape #rubberband man #ms marvel #flatman #elastic lad #rubber maid #thin man #elastic boy #elasti-girl #eel #2-d

[web-spinning]

I still live in abject horror and cower in fear of the idea of you dropping the rest of those mercs accidentally killing their SO stories. Scout’s still freaking haunts me.

I will, one day I will.

I actually have Spy on my request list, you know what that means.

P a i n.

#the fantastic doctor plastic #gotta torture them bois

[lovebugism]

could I request maybe shy!reader trying to play dnd with eddie but she's suuuuuuper nervous and confused and internally panicking about him not liking her anymore if she can't get into it?? Or if you wanna change it up please do!! love you!!

love you! hope you like it! — you get insecure about not liking d&d when a girl joins hellfire (shy!fem!r, hurt/comfort ish, established relationship, 1.4k)

The Hellfire room is void of the boyish bodies that usually fill it. The abandoned classroom, turned freak sanctuary, is now littered with pieces the rogues, clerics, and bards left behind — in half-empty soda cans and crumbled-up bags of potato chips.

While Eddie packs up his binder, filled to the brim with miscellaneous papers, you wander around the long table with a trashcan in hand. The wild-haired boy squints when you chuck Dustin’s crushed Pepsi in the bin. “You don’t have to do that, you know?”

“It’s okay,” you shrug. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie huffs through his nose, feeling too exhausted now to argue. He slides his binder into his bag and watches you rake Gareth’s chip crumbs into the trashcan. The urge to stop you becomes unignorable then. 

“Okay, well, you know what? I mind—” the boy retorts, striding the very short distance to you and snatching the bin from your grip. He smiles a crooked grin and continues in a fantastical accent. “—‘Cause the Dungeon Master’s queen shouldn’t have to clean up after a bunch of lowborns, alright?”

You roll your eyes with a subdued giggle. “Someone’s gotta do it, Eds,” you insist as you reach for the plastic container he took. You exhale sharply when he hides it further behind him, pulling it further out of your way. “I wanna be of some use around here!”

Eddie’s face twists. “Don’t say that.”

You cower beneath his stare. “Well… It’s not like I actually play or anything. I just kinda… sit around… And watch you guys do everything…”

“Well, why would you play?” he laughs. “You don’t even like D&D.”

Something in the way he says it makes you ache. You’ve always felt distantly horrible about it — failing to take interest in something he holds so close to his heart. Hearing him reiterate that fact twists the knife lodged in your chest.

“That doesn’t bother you?” you wonder, impossibly shy. “That I don’t play?”

Eddie shrugs and sits the bin down again. “Why would that bother me?” he scoffs.

“I don’t know… ‘Cause you like it. And it’s your favorite thing to do in the whole world.”

“Well… Maybe not my favorite thing,” he croons with a mischievous glint in his eye.

Your nose scrunches in disdain. His laughter fills the empty room as his ringed hands spread warm along your sides. “I just feel bad,” you confess, gaze averted to the scuffed tile beneath your feet. “You know, that I can’t get into or whatever.”

Eddie meets your subtle pout with an unbothered grin. “There’s nothing to feel bad about. People like different things, babe. That’s life,” he assures you, squeezing softly at your sides. “I mean, it’s no different than me hating The Smiths, right? I still let you play their cassettes in the van, and you still sit in on all my campaigns— and that, sweetheart, is the meaning of true love…”

Unswayed, you jerk softly back when he leans down to kiss you. You frown up at him with your arms crossed between your bodies. “But Rory loves D&D. And she’s super pretty…”

Aurora Edwards was the newest edition to the Hellfire gang. She goes by Rory for short, though, ‘cause she’s cool like that and everything. Her dyed blonde hair is as wild as Eddie’s, cut into a makeshift mullet that sits sort of shaggy on her head — intentionally messy in a way only she can pull off. 

She likes cool music and cool clothes and cool hobbies — because everything she does seems to have some sort of subverted flair to it. She’s smart and she’s nerdy and she’s beautiful. None of which seem fair. You’ve been stirring with feelings of inadequacy since you met her. 

And Eddie doesn’t seem to get any of it. His brows furrow at your words, like none of them have any sort of meaning to him.

“She’s way more your type than I am,” you blurt.

A laugh sputters from his plush mouth. “You think my love for you is contingent on some stupid game?” he chuckles.

The way he says it makes you shrink. You feel sort of stupid about it now. “I don’t know…”

“Well, then, I have done a very shit job of being your boyfriend.”

Your chest stings. “No, you haven’t, Eddie—”

“Mm,” he hums, half playful, as he tilts his pretty head to his shoulder. “I have, though. ‘Cause if you think some other girl liking Dungeons and Dragons is gonna make me love you any less, then I have done something horribly, horribly wrong.”

You bite back a smile at his words, pursing your lips to the side of your mouth until the beam becomes impossible to ignore.

“‘Cause you’re kinda stuck with me, turns out,” the boy continues. “Unfortunately for you.”

“Unfortunately?” you echo with a scoff.

“Yeah. ‘Cause if some other schmuck comes around who likes listening to The Smiths and sitting in the sunshine, he’s gonna have to go through me.”

You breathe sharply through your nose in place of a laugh. “I don’t want another guy, Eds…” you confess, going shy all over again.

His nose scrunches as he plays coy. “Even if he doesn’t smoke?” he wonders in a sheepish murmur.

“Even if he doesn’t smoke.”

“Good,” he beams, pulling you into him by your belt loops. His breath fans over your jaw in a minty-nicotine concoction as he ducks his face closer to yours. “‘Cause I don’t want anyone else, either, alright? Even if they are almost as good as me at D&D… Actually, it’s kinda a turn-off, now that I’m thinking about it…”

“Is it?”

“Yeah… ‘Cause, like, I love teaching you about it and everything.”

“Even when I have no idea what you’re talking about?”

“Especially when you have no idea what I’m talking about,” he laughs, smiling so hard his cheeks speckle pink. “‘Cause you know how much I like it, so… You let me talk all the shit I want.”

“’S just because you’re so pretty when you talk about things you like,” you confess.

His face twists. “Am I?”

“Well, you’re pretty all the time, but…”

“You flatter me,” he huffs and pulls you closer. He smirks and goes quieter when he says, “And flattery goes a long way with me.”

“Does it?” you hum with a sunshine-coated giggle.

Eddie doesn’t answer you with words. He just presses his lips to your mouth and hopes you get the gist. His tongue swipes against yours, soft and sudden, as he guides you towards the table. You run into a rogue chair before he can get you on top of it. It screeches against the linoleum tile. 

With his face in your hands, you giggle against his mouth. His denim-clad knee slips between your thighs.

The door squeaks softly open then. Rory enters, swift and unthinking. You and Eddie pull apart — one looking much more horrified than the other — as the blonde girl stands frozen in the doorway. Drowning in her sweatshirt and baggy jeans, she points a lanky finger towards the table.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, voice gritty and deep. “I just left my girlfriend’s jacket here, and she doesn’t know I stole it, so… She’d definitely kill me if I forgot it.”

“That’s okay. Come in,” Eddie shrugs with a tightlipped smile, nodding his head in a silent invitation. When Rory plucks the coat from the back of her chair, he says, “Tell Jess I said hi, yeah?”

The girl scoffs as she heads back towards the door again, leaving just as quickly as she came. “She still hates you, you know that, right?” she laughs. ‘Cause Jess was a cheerleader — pretty and sometimes kind, but dreadfully conservative. Her uptight nature often clashed with Eddie’s much more chaotic one. 

“Well, tell her to get in line,” Eddie chuckles.

Before Rory leaves the room, she glances at the two of you over her shoulder. She winks with an eye smudged with black liner. “Have fun, you two,” she croons in a pretty voice before shutting the door behind her.

You stand, still and silent in place, wringing your anxious hands into a knot. Feeling like a total idiot, you refuse to meet Eddie’s gaze. You know he’s got a smug look on his face. You can hear the smirk in his voice when he says, “See? Not my type at all.”

#published by bug #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #stranger things imagine #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #st drabbles #eddie spaghetti drabble

[nanaminis]

“i think forever would be nice with you.”

synop. kunigami wants to be with you for life.

tags. fem!reader (called ma’am once), fluff fluff fluff, uh a bit of angst if u really really really squint, reader is a tease and kind of a pessimist (or maybe a realistic idk up to u), kunigami is head over heels, dont ask when this would happen in canon bc idk, not proofread

note. ngl im tired asf... if this is incoherent, im sorry. the ending is vv awkward, mb. uhhhh man idk what else to say kunigami is the sweetest boy alive. this is inspired by one of those timtok slideshows, the one thing that app has done good forme

you flop back on the sand, chest heaving up and down from trying (and failing) to race kunigami. sweat rolls down the side of your face and neck, and you can feel the gritty sand clinging to your bare feet and legs.

“tired?” he plops down on the sand beside you and reaches for your hand. his larger, thicker fingers intertwine with yours, and he gives your hand a gentle squeeze, as if to comfort you after your shameful loss.

“very,” you huff out. your lungs burn as you gulp down air. “how do you— how do you do this every week?”

he shrugs. “habit. started when i was kid, found it fun, so i kept doing it. helps me stay in shape whenever i don’t wanna go to the gym or just need some time alone.”

his free finger doodles the face of a polar bear in the sand. you smile — it’s cute how he knows how to draw that from memory.

your eyes roll to look at him. his face is shiny with sweat, and the pale moonlight softens his features, giving kunigami almost a boyish look.

there’s no one else here. just you, kunigami, and the sounds of the waves lapping against each other and the shore. the beach is clean, too. not a crumpled beer can or a plastic wrapper in sight.

“does anyone else even know this place exists?” there’s that familiar teasing lilt in your voice, but he knows you’re serious.

he scratches the back of his head. “nah. i mean, there’s the occasional fisherman or maybe some elderly couple, but i don’t think anyone our age knows about this.”

“huh.”

a pause, and the warm breeze blows across your skin, dusting the sand away.

you grin. “so you’re just gonna gatekeep this for eternity, huh?”

“what? no!” you can practically feel his cheeks heating up from here. “i didn’t wanna ruin it by bringing the wrong people here, y’know? they might trash it or somethin’.”

“and what if i trash it?”

“you won’t.” kunigami’s reply is instant, the words shooting out of his mouth and into the night’s atmosphere. “you’re special.”

whatever goofy reply you had on your tongue instantly melts, and you’re pretty sure your heart skips a beat or two. how can he say such romantic things so... so casually?

“i, uh...” he sighs and goes back to tracing shapes in the sand, his hand still holding on tightly to yours. “you wouldn’t do something like that. even if you did, i’ll be right there to clean it up.”

you push yourself up so that you’re sitting criss-cross. your entire body is facing him now. “but what if we break up? or you move away?”

“i won’t. we won’t.”

your brows knit together. “rensuke, you don’t know that.”

something is bound to happen. something always happens. nothing good lasts forever, right? he’s in blue lock, dedicating weeks at a time to train and play in tournaments to be the world’s best striker — at some point, he’s going to have to choose. you or his football career.

even to yourself, you sound pessimistic. but you just have to be honest with yourself. life isn’t a fairytale, despite kunigami being your knight in shining armor.

“i want forever with you.”

his gaze meets yours, determination burning in auburn irises. “i’m not gonna sit here and lie to you or be embarrassed about it, ‘cause it’s true.”

you blink, and it feels like all the air has been sucked out of your lungs.

kunigami, your boyfriend of two years, wants forever with you.

it’s ridiculous, fantastical, a hundred other synonymous terms. both of you are seventeen — you have decades and decades ahead of you to decide when you want and who you’re going to spend forever with.

and he chose you.

his adam’s apple bobs, but his gaze doesn’t waver. “do you want forever with me?” his grip on your hand tightens.

“yeah.”

you don’t have to think about it. there’s nothing to think about it. it’s dumb and unrealistic, sure, but when has kunigami ever broken a promise? when has he ever lied to you?

it doesn’t take decades of being together to know that kunigami loves you with all of his heart, and you love him just the same.

your lips curl into a smile, and you can’t tell whether your vision is getting blurry from happy or sad tears. “i want forever with you.”

“okay.” he adjusts himself so that, now, both of you are facing each other. his shins touch yours, and his other hand grabs yours.

“‘okay’? that’s it? after you basically just proposed to me?” you raise an eyebrow. “with no ring, either! you could’ve gotten me a ring pop.”

kunigami chuckles, the tension seeping out of his bulky form. “sorry. i’ll get you a ring pop on the way back.”

“two ring pops, actually, and they better be the right flavor.”

“yes, ma’am.”

#﹒writing #blue lock #blue lock fluff #bllk #bllk fluff #blue lock kunigami #bllk kunigami #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #kunigami rensuke #kunigami x reader #kunigami x you #kunigami rensuke x reader #kunigami rensuke x you

[babybluebex]

Omg the way you write perv Eddie is so HOT PLS 🫣 can you maybe elaborate on how that phone call went afterwards..does Eddie from them on continue to act like readers boyfriend..maybe makes her do him little pervy favours with the excuse of him being her “boyfriend”

yes yes i can totally elaborate on the phone call... 😈 cw innocent!reader, dubcon, male masturbation, daddy kink, some degradation, corruption, names (princess, baby, slut, good girl)

You waited all night for Eddie to call. You eschewed hanging out with your friends so that you didn’t miss Eddie’s call (you didn’t really hate being left out, since your friends liked to make fun of you in a way that sometimes felt a little too mean to be something that friends did), and you sat in the living room and watched television while you waited for him to call. 

Except Eddie never did call. You were up until 2am, figuring that maybe he got busy— you knew very little about him, but you figured he probably had things to do that would deter him from calling too soon after school, but, by the time the television channel decided to turn off for the night and turned to static, you knew that that certainly wasn’t what had happened. 

Did Eddie ever even intend to call you? Was his promise empty? Did he even want to be your boyfriend? He seemed like he did, with how quickly he agreed to it, but your heart still hurt at the idea that maybe he didn’t like you the way you liked him. Eddie was your first boyfriend, not that that was something you could revel in with your parents; they wouldn’t like the fact that someone like Eddie, rough and uncouth, metal and Satanic, was your boyfriend. If your parents had their way, you would be dating some boy from their country club, with pressed khaki pants and polo shirts and boat shoes, but you had never found that type of boy attractive or even nice. But Eddie was handsome, and he was nice to you; he was already a better boyfriend than any boy your parents wanted you to date.

FInally, at almost 3 in the morning, as you sat in bed and sniffled as you cried, the phone on your bedside table began to ring. Your hand shot out to answer it, hoping that the phone in the kitchen hadn’t woken up your parents, and you were quick to press the plastic receiver to your face. “Hello?” you asked, your voice wobbling. 

“Is that my princess?” Eddie’s voice came, light and easy, and you sniffled. 

“Hi, Eds,” you mumbled, and you sniffled again. You felt all clogged up from crying, and your sniffle felt empty as you wiped at your face. “H-How are you?” 

“I’m fantastic,” Eddie said, and you could almost hear his smile. “My band had a gig tonight and we made a lot of tips, so I’m in a good mood.”

“Oh,” you said softly. “I’m glad you had a good, um, gig.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment, and you heard a metallic flick before he spoke again. “Are you crying?” he asked. “You sound upset.” 

“Yeah,” you whimpered. “I-I thought you had forgotten to call.” 

“Oh, sweetheart,” Eddie cooed. “I’d never forget my princess, I just got busy. I’m sorry. You really shouldn’t cry over me, though, I’m not worth it.” 

“F’course you are,” you told him earnestly. “You’re my boyfriend, Eds, you are worth it.” 

“Right,” Eddie said. “Boyfriend, all because you let me look at your tits… You’ve got good tits, princess, don’t ever let anyone tell you differently.” 

“Thank you,” you said, and you couldn’t control the flush that heated up your skin. “I like your eyes.” 

“You’re cute,” Eddie told you. “My sweet princess, I wish you were here with me right now.” 

“Yeah?” you asked. “Why?” 

“‘Cause I’m all alone,” Eddie started. “My blood’s running all hot from the show, and I wish I could fuck you silly.” 

You cringed. “I don’t like that word,” you said softly. 

“What?” Eddie asked. “Fuck?”

“It’s just a bad word,” you mumbled. “So is tits.” 

“Oh, baby, but fuck is my favorite word,” Eddie said. “Do you not curse or anything?” 

“No,” you said. “I don’t like the way it sounds.” 

“Princess,” Eddie said softly, almost like he was fussing at you. “I’ll try to stop, but I like to curse, so you can’t get too mad at me when I slip up and do it around you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” you agreed, even if it made your tummy feel weird.

"Hey, baby?" Eddie started. "You wanna help me do something?” 

“Yeah!” you said, sitting up in bed and tugging the phone a little closer to you. “What can I do?” 

“Tell me what you’re wearing,” Eddie said, and you wrinkled your nose in confusion. 

“Why?” you asked. 

“I told you, it’s gonna help me,” Eddie said, and you heard some rustling from his side of the phone, almost like he was moving something around. “Don’t leave anything out. Describe it to me.” 

“Umm…” you started, and you looked down at yourself. “A sweatshirt. It’s blue, like, um, a dark blue; it’s too big on me, because it’s my dad’s.” 

“Mhm,” Eddie hummed, and he added, “What else, princess?” 

“Sweatpants,” you said. “They’re pink.” 

“Are you wearing a bra?” Eddie asked, and you shook your head, even though he couldn’t see you. 

“No,” you said, and Eddie made a weird noise, almost like he was in pain. “Are you okay?” 

“M’fine, baby,” Eddie said. “Just keep going. Are you wearing panties?” 

“Duh, Eds,” you giggled, and Eddie made that weird noise again. “They’re white and they’ve got these little pink hearts on them.” 

“Do they have a bow on them?” Eddie asked. 

“Yeah,” you said. “It’s really small, but it’s there.” 

“Cute,” Eddie said, but he sounded strange, a little choked up, like he was trying not to cry. “Anything else?” 

“No,” you told him. “Is this helping?” 

“Oh, baby, you have no idea,” Eddie said. On his side of the phone, there were more weird noises, a sort of rhythmic sound that almost could have been a slapping if you thought about it hard enough. “Talk about your panties more.”

“I told you what they look like,” you said. “Umm, what else do you wanna know?” 

“Are they tight?” Eddie asked. “Do they hug your pretty butt, or are they more loose?” 

“I mean,” you shrugged. “They fit right, so they’re not tight or whatever, but they’re not loose either.”

“Wish I could see…” Eddie mumbled, and he hissed in a tight breath. “God, princess, m’gonna… Tell me about your pussy, please.”

You knew what that was, thanks to your friends, and you pressed your thighs together as your blush settled between your legs. At least, you thought it was your blush; it was hot, just like in your cheeks, but your pussy, as Eddie called it, throbbed a little with the heat. “It feels all tingly,” you mumbled. “Like, it feels funny.”

“Like a good funny?” Eddie asked. “Good tingles?” 

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Does that help you, Eds?” 

“Call me Daddy,” Eddie told you in his short, clipped words. “Just for a second, baby, keep talking about the tingles but call me Daddy.” 

“Umm, okay,” you said slowly. “It feels kinda warm? Like I’m blushing down there. Is that normal, Daddy?” 

“Yes, princess, that’s normal,” Eddie told you. “Fuck, baby, keep going, tell me all about those tingles.”

“I like them,” you said softly. 

“Oh, yeah?” Eddie asked. “I bet they feel good, don’t they?” 

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Feel really good, Daddy.” 

“Fuck!” Eddie exclaimed. “My little slut, my good girl…”

“I’m not a slut, Eddie,” you told him firmly. Your feelings were bruised by the fact that he would even think to call you that, and the tingling of tears hit your nose and eyes. “Don’t call me that.” 

“M’sorry, princess,” Eddie said. “I couldn’t help it, please don’t be mad at me. And remember what I asked you to call me, just for a second longer, just a little more…” The strange slapping got louder and faster, and your tingles in your belly and thighs only grew at the sound of it.

“What’re you doing, Daddy?” you asked. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Eddie told you. “How do you know what a slut is?”

“I heard my friends say it,” you mumbled. “They used to call me something like that…”

“What would they call you, baby?” Eddie asked. “Something bad?”

“They would call me a, umm…” you started, trying to remember. “I don’t know. It started with a P.” 

“Prude?” Eddie said, and you nodded quickly. 

“Yeah!” you said. “But I don’t know what it means.” 

“It’s a mean name,” Eddie told you, and you frowned. “It’s one of those mean names that I said they’d call you if they knew that you showed me your tits. Well, maybe not that one, but they were making fun of you.” 

“For what?” you asked. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong, was I?”

“A prude is someone who doesn’t have sex,” Eddie told you, and you felt your heart sink down into your tummy. “They were making fun of you ‘cause you’re so innocent.” 

“Sorry,” you mumbled. 

“For what, princess?” Eddie asked. “I like that you’re so innocent, it’s cute.” 

“You think I’m cute?” you asked, and Eddie grunted. 

“So cute, baby,” he said softly. “Fuck, baby, I…” For a moment, there was a rustling on the phone again, and Eddie made that weird pained noise again before you heard him breathing heavily, like he had just run a mile. “Fuck, baby. Oh my God… I made such a mess, fuck me.”

“Oh no!” you pouted. “What happened?” 

“Nothing, baby, don’t worry about it,” Eddie told you. “Thank you, though, I appreciate your help.” 

“Of course,” you giggled. “Anything for you, Daddy.”

“Fuck, I like the way you say that,” Eddie said softly. “Keep calling me that. Like, how I call you ‘princess’, you can call me ‘Daddy’. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” you agreed. “That sounds good to me.” 

“Good, good,” Eddie said. “Hey, baby, I’ve gotta go and clean up my mess, but thank you for helping me.”

“Anything for you, Daddy,” you said, and Eddie chuckled. 

“I’ll see you at school,” he said, and the line went dead. 

#bex answers #anon ask #bex's drabbles #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #perv!eddie #perv!eddie munson #perv!eddie munson x reader #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #tw innocent reader

[dorayakichan]

can I req a Joker fic where reader was with dom & vinny & we met him ( im not sure what chapter it was but it was the one where Joker made his first appearance & where he smacked the crap out of that boxer)

Joker x gn!reader first time meeting

A/N: Hi anon! So sorry for the late reply I was busy with exams so it took some time for me to find the free time to do this. It's actually shorter than I had planned in the beginning and it feels like it needs a part 2. I'd be happy to do one if so. And hope you enjoy it!!!

“I’m only helping you for three hours today then I’m out of here. Just so you know.”  Vinny told Dom as you approached the two boys you had seen at a distance while getting out of the new cake shop a friend had told you about at school.

“Helping him for what?” You who had gone unnoticed by the two young boys until then asked, making them both jump at the sound of your voice right behind them.

“OH MY GOD! YOU SCARED US! Why do your footsteps resemble that of a ghost? And why are you here?” Dom, who looked at least better than in the morning at class, asked.

“I was not scared.” Vinny who didn’t waste a second after hearing Dom finish added. It took everything inside of you not to point out the fact that he had flinched the most when hearing your voice. “I asked you first but whatever, I was here to buy cake.” You lifted the plastic bag with the cake inside.

“Oh, where? I want one too!” Dom's eyes lit up having forgotten about his sickness as you and Vinny glanced at each other sighing. “Wait…Look, are they holding some kind of event there?” Dom pointed at a huge crowd of people just slightly further from where you three were standing.

“Let’s go watch for a minute.” He ran not even waiting for any of you to respond. “Was he totally lying about being sick?” “I can’t tell anymore.” you honestly answered Vinny's question pressing your lips together, staring at Dom’s back with a disapproving look.

As you approached you could see a guy with white gloves trying to hit another one who had a red headgear and boxing gloves on. As the white one’s time finished the red gloved guy explained the rules waiting for the next opponent.

It all became quiet when an extremely tall guy with an orange shirt went inside the circle people had left open for the 1 minute match to happen. “I want a proper fight for one minute.” His smoky voice reined through the hushed sounds of the people around you penetrating right through your ears. You attempted to see more of his features as you pushed Dom and Vinny to have a better look. From your point of view, you could only see the deep scar on the side of his mouth and the white patch on his eye.

“What are you doing? Come at me! I will show you what a real fight is.” The red gloved guy said as the orange shirt guy put on the white gloves. He aimed at him with one strong punch as the other guy avoided it. He was not prepared for the punch to change direction and hit him straight on the side making his headgear rotate on his head. All this in just a few seconds!

“WOW!” You exclaimed. 

The red gloved guy adjusted his headgear and went for a punch right at his face. Which the orange shirt guy took, without flinching and just minutes after that threw a powerful punch at him throwing him on the ground.

“That was insane. He was fantastic. Woah!” Through the crowd, your voice was the only one that made the orange guy’s head jerk and glance straight at you for some seconds. “Hey doesn’t it seem like we’ve seen him before?” Dom wondered, making you realize that in fact you had seen him before but you could not pinpoint exactly where. As you were still in a daze observing the orange shirt guy, you heard Dom call you.

“Hey guys! We’ve got trouble. Jay says his bike is gone!” “What??” you and Vinny both shouted at the same time. “What do you mean?” “I don’t know, just follow me.” Dom who as always did whatever he wanted ran leaving you both no choice but to follow suit behind. Before leaving you turned your head one last time.

The orange shirt guy was staring at you with an unreadable facial expression. It was just a moment. A stolen glance yet it felt like an eternity. As you followed both Vinny and Dom to where Jay was, all you could think about was those seconds. It felt as if the world had stopped moving, the people disappearing from your view as all you could do was gaze at him and he at you.

Something had sparked that night and you would soon find out what that was and the whirlwind of disasters it would bring to both of you. 

#windbreaker #windbreaker webtoon #windbreaker x reader #windbreaker fanfic #windbreaker joker #windbreaker joker x reader #windbreaker manhwa

[topguncortez]

“oh, sweetheart- come here.” And "They're lying to you." If I can have two? If not either one will be fine with Jake please x

Your legs felt like cement bricks had been tied to them as you trudged up the steps to your house. You weren't sure what possessed you to work back to back closing shifts at the Hard Deck, but at the time, the influx of cash sounded great. But your tired feet and aching back were disagreeing with you.

There was only one light on in the house as you pushed the front door open. Your heart melted in your chest at the sight of your boyfriend Jake, and your little boy Cash, curled up together on the couch, and what looked liked the ending credits to Cars on the TV. But, as quickly as the warmth filled your heart, it was replaced by anger.

Biting your cheek, you walked over to the couch, and gently placed your hand on Jake's shoulder. He startled awake, looking up at you with bleary tired eyes, his arm around Cash tightening for a moment, before he realized it was just you.

"You're home?" His voice was thick with sleep. You nodded your head and Jake looked down at the sleeping boy next to him, "Shit. I meant to put him in his bed, but he just looked so comfortable here and I-"

"It's alright," You whispered, "You weren't even supposed to keep him overnight."

"I don't mind," Jake said.

"Yeah, but I do," You huffed and reached down to grab your sleeping three year old child. Cash stirred as you lifted him into your arms, but laid his head back down on your shoulder as you rubbed his back. Jake turned off the TV, and grabbed Cash's Bluey blanket, following you up the stairs towards the little boy's room. Jake never intruded on bed time, letting you put your son to bed, and he would either wait in the living room, but he could feel the stress rolling off your body tonight.

Once you tucked Cash into bed and kissed him goodnight, you grabbed Jake's hand and lead him out to the back porch. You didn't like talking about Cash's father when he was within ear shot, even if the little boy was in bed. Jake sat down in one of the plastic backyard chairs as you began to pace, your hands shaking.

"He's such a. . . I saw him, at the fucking Hard Deck and when I asked if he was going to pick up Cash, he said yes, and then he just what? No shows?" You shook your head, anger cursing through your body.

Jake sucked in a breath, "Bradley texted me, but I assumed that he-"

"Bradley texted you?" You stopped pacing and turned towards him, "He texted you? But not me? The mother of his-" You cut yourself off, chuckling, "And he has the nerve to call me a bad mother for working nights at Hard Deck or the Hospital."

Jake clenched his jaw, "He's lying to you. You know that."

Tears clouded your vision as you looked up at the night sky. As much as you wanted to believe Jake's words, sometimes, you couldn't help but to believe what Bradley had said. He had said them in anger, after you had left a sick and sleeping Cash with Jake after you had struggled all day to get someone to cover your shift. But you couldn't help but wonder, if maybe, sometimes, you weren't being the best mom you could be.

"Oh sweetheart, c'mere," Jake stood up from his chair, and wrapped you up in a tight hug. You laid your cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath his skin, "You are a fantastic mom to Cash. Bradley is just being stupid. I don't mind taking care of Cash, I love taking care of him. If you need a babysitter, I'm always one call away, you know that."

You looked up at Jake and sniffled, "Thank you. I really appreciate you stepping up and being there for us."

"Momma raised a gentleman," Jake flashed you that thousand watt smile of his, making your heart flutter. You leaned your head back against his chest, and just let him hold you underneath the moonlight sky.

#Jake seresin #Jake seresin blurb #Jake seresin imagine #Jake seresin fan fic #Jake seresin x reader #Jake seresin x you #Jake hangman seresin #hangman seresin #hangman #hangman blurb #hangman x reader #hangman fan fic #hangman imagine #hangman x you #top gun maverick blurb #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick fan fic #top gun maverick fan fiction #top gun blurb #top gun imagine #top gun fan fic #top gun fan fiction

[the-torchwood-archive]

Plant Life by Trevor Baxendale.

Something I find interesting about this story is how often I see people misinterpreting Jack's behaviour in it, especially at the end. They want some sort of relief from him. Some sort of intimate moment. But honestly, I like how it ends. There's no space for intimacy because he's angry with himself. Angry that he missed the signs of an alien invasion because he was too preoccupied with wanting to be soft with Ianto.

Almost letting the world end because you want to protect the person you love. To me that's better than a tender moment. It's very Torchwood. It certainly won't be the last time.

Full text is under the cut. This was a quick transcription, so let me know if I've missed anything.

Gwen skipped lightly through the Hub portal as it ground slowly open. It wasn’t something she did very often. There was usually something to worry about – a midnight text to alert her to an attempted alien invasion or some kind of extra-dimensional incursion through the Rift – and any step taken in the underground headquarters of Torchwood could be a step closer to death.

But not today. Today was different. Today was normal. Properly normal. And nothing was going to stop it being normal.

“Good afternoon,” yelled Captain Jack.

Gwen smiled to herself as she jogged up the steps to his office.

He was sitting back with his boots up on the desktop, a wide, gleaming white smile splitting his face in half, “Nice of you to show up for work today, Mrs Williams,” he continued. “That’s if you actually had doing any work in mind. You could just float around the place looking all love-struck and everything if  you’d prefer. It says in the rulebook you can to that in lieu of a honeymoon.”

“Cooper,” said Gwen, still grinning, “I’m keeping my name. Rhys has agreed.”

“Oh, he has, has he?”

“Yeah. Said it wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t Gwen Cooper anymore. Besides,” Gwen raised her left hand and waggled her fingers, “this says I’m a Mrs.”

“And what does that say?” Jack pointed a finger at the thing under her left arm.

She looked down as if surprised, “This? It doesn’t say anything. It’s a plant.”

“A plant.”

“Yeah. Spider plant. For the flat. I picked it up from the market this morning on the way in. Do you like it?”

She held out the spindly little plant for Jack to see. He straightened up, a slight look of repulsion on his movie star face, “Not keen on spiders.”

Gwen laughed, following him out of the office and down towards Tosh’s desk space. Toshiko was staring intently at the phalanx of glowing computer screens that constituted her workstation.

“Morning, Gwen,” she said without looking up. Reflections of the monitors flickered in her glasses, “How’s married life?”

“Fantastic,” Gwen told her, gleefully spinning Tosh around in her chair. She skipped after Jack, “I never knew you were scared of spiders.”

“I’m not. I said I wasn’t keen on them. We had a falling out on Janus Prime, spiders and me.”

“Well, this is just a plant, that’s all. No worries,” Gwen plonked the potted plant down on her desk and bounced into her seat.

Jack frowned, “I hope all this post-nuptial bliss wears off soon. I'll have to have a work with Rhys, get him to start leaving his dirty socks on the floor and toe-nail clippings in the bed.”

“Oh, he does that already,” sighed Gwen, “Like I said, no worries.”

“I’m nauseous.”

“I’m in need of coffee,” Gwen rapped on her desktop, “Where’s Ianto? A Monday Morning Special is required.”

“Tea boy’s in the Hot House,” said Owen as he emerged from the depths of the autopsy room.

“Don’t call him that,” Gwen chided, “What’s he doing in there?”

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

“My turn to water the plants,” explained Ianto. He was carefully pouring a plastic cup full of water into the soil of a pot plant, his face a picture of care and concentration. Ianto Jones approached every one of his duties with the same level of precision and commitment, whether it was making a cup of coffee or aiming a stungun at a weevil.

The Hot House was the team’s quiet area, a small place of tranquillity in the often frenetic environment of the Hub. It was warm and secluded, located in an angular glass pod overlooking the rest of the base.

Gwen turned away from her view of Jack and caught a glimpse of Ianto’s pinstripe through the foliage, “I thought this was Owen’s thing?”

“Well, I imagine he’s got other things on his mind right now,” Ianto responded, “What with being dead and everything.” He straightened up, observing his handiwork with a high achiever’s critical eye, “Besides, if it’s in the Hub, it’s my thing.”

Gwen walked along the rack of plants, letting her fingers play through the leaves, “These are all alien then, are they?”

Ianto shrugged, “Some of them are, certainly. Spores or seeds that have drifted in through the Rift. We plant them and see if they grow. Most die. There are some plants in the universe which don’t photosynthesise – and they find carbon dioxide poisonous. Others need specifically controlled environments,” he tapped the glass of a large blue bottle, “and ultraviolet light. Some only thrive in absolute darkness.” He knocked on the lid of a large black box. It was completely sealed and impossible to see into, “There’s something growing in here, allegedly.”

“How can you be sure?”

“We can’t. I call it Schrodinger’s plant.”

Gwen stooped to look at a small purple flower embedded in rich peaty soil on the next bench, “What’s this one called? It’s beautiful.”

“Nose Biter,” Ianto said flatly, “It’s carnivorous.”

Gwen jerked back as the jagged petals twitched.

“Not all plants are alien in origin,” Ianto continued as if conducting a tour, “Some come through the Rift from the future and the past. This one is from the Silurian era.” He indicated a large, bushy fern.

Gwen pulled an appropriately impressed face, although she had no idea what he was talking about. She looked at the specimen that Ianto had been watering so carefully when she came in, “And what about that one?”

“Ah, that’s my favourite.”

It was rather plain. Just a thin green stalk and a single, rather nondescript leaf. “Riight,” said Gwen.

“It’s really come on in the last few days,” Ianto explained, “It was practically dead last week. Owen as all for throwing it out, but I believe in giving everyone a chance.”

“Everyone?”

“Thing. Every thing.”

Gwen straightened up, bored. “It’s very nice.”

“All it needed was a drop of water. And a bit of patience.”

“Lovely,” Gwen turned her full beam smile on Ianto. “Any danger of a coffee this morning?”

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

Owen didn’t sleep anymore and spent most of his time pottering around the Hub. Captain Jack spent all of his time at the Hub; in fact, his sleeping quarters were located beneath his office, accessed via a salvaged submarine hatch set in the floor. Owen used to think it was just eccentric, but now he understood what it was like to have no life at all outside Torchwood. Or no life at all, full stop.

Nethertheless, no matter how early Owen checked, Jack was always up and washed and dressed before him and ready to greet the day with that big grin, “Morning!” Jack called from his office as Owen stalked up from the calls. He’d been inspecting the Weevil containment locks, just for something to do. He waved at Jack, who signalled back with a cheery flick of The Times. Somewhere above them a pterodactyl flapped lazily around the roof vault.

“Jack! Owen!” Ianto’s voice rang out from somewhere above them. Startled, Owen looked to see Ianto at the top of the spiral staircase leading to the Hot House. He was in his shirtsleeves, but still with a waistcoat and tie – what passed for early morning casual with Ianto.

“Hey, Ianto,” Jack yelled, “What gives?”

“New bud! New bud!” he cried, and then darted back into the Hot House.

Owen and Jack found him peering intensely at his plant – it had already become Ianto’s plant – and pointing, “Look! Just there. It’s a new bug. Isn’t that fantastic?”

They examined the plant. Sure enough, juts by the leaf, there was a tiny, shiny green bulge.

“I wonder where it came from,” Jack mused, “How far across the universe and how many centuries it’s travelled to get here and survive.”

“It’s doing well,” Owen concluded, “I’d almost given up on it.”

“You had given up on it,” Ianto said.

“Maybe I could run some tests,” Owen suggested, “Cross-check the cell patterns with the stuff in the archive. May tell us something.”

“There’s no need to waste your time on that,” Ianto said, “It’s here and it’s alive. That’s all that matters, surely?”

“It’s something to do,” Owen insisted.

Jack said, “Why don’t you check the archives anyway, see if you can find something that fits the description. Ianto can help. It’s going to be a quiet day after all. Tosh is off out and I’m tidying up some stuff with UNIT.”

But Ianto wasn’t listening. He was very gently pouring water into the pot around the base of the plant, watching the soil soaking it up.

Owen shrugged and headed for the exit, “At the double,” he sighed.

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

“Do you think it likes coffee?” Gwen asked.

Ianto shook his head, “I doubt it. Too many toxins. At the moment all it needs is water.”

“At the moment?”

“And love and understanding, of course.” Ianto added with a smile.

Gwen laughed gently, “You must have green fingers.”

“Hi there,” said Jack, strolling into the Hot House, “Thought I’d find you here. Everyone wants to know how Ianto’s plant is doing.”

“There’s another leaf coming through,” Ianto said proudly.

“Never a dull moment in Torchwood,” Jack said.

“It’s sort of cute, don’t you think?” smiled Gwen.

“That depends,” Jack replied, “on how much it takes Ianto away from his normal duties. Such as coffee.”

“Good point,” Gwen nodded.

“I’ll get you coffee in a moment,” Ianto assured them. There was a hint of abruptness in his tone that made Gwen and Jack pull a face at each other.

“I’ll get on with my work,” Gwen whispered, heading for the door.

“Yeah,” said Jack, “Me too.”

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

“Have you thought of a name for it yet?” Toshiko asked, powering her workstation down for the night.

Ianto school his head, “No pet names.”

“It seems silly not calling it anything,” Tosh insisted gently, “We ought to give it a name.”

“Owen’s been checking through the botanical archives to see if he can find a match,” Ianto said, yawning, “We’ll know what it is if he finds one.”

“You look tired.”

Ianto stretched, leaning back on the old settee, “I could do with some sleep, that’s true.”

“You’re spending all your time here,” Tosh said, “Nothing unusual there, I know. But you looked bushed. Jack won’t thank you for being too tired to work. It may be quiet now, but you know how it is around here. Anything could happen at any time. We need to be ready.”

Ianto dragged a hand down his face, “I know, I know. I’ll go home soon. I’ll just check on the plant first.” He heaved himself up and headed for the Hot House.

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

“Well, I don’t really see any harm in it,” Gwen said the next day. They were in the boardroom, Jack playing thoughtfully with a pencil. Gwen sitting on the next, Tosh next to her. Owen was leaning against the double doors.

“You think it’s a hobby?” Jack asked, unimpressed.

“Well, I don’t know much about hobbies.”

“Hobbies are for men,” Owen commented.

“Ianto doesn’t have any hobbies,” Jack said.

“He’s very fond of that old stopwatch,” Gwen said, her eyes full of innocence.

“That’s not a hobby,” Jack insisted.

“It’s only a plant,” Toshiko ventured, “What harm can there be?”

“He’s obsessed with the thing,” Jack said, his voice hardening.

“The plant isn’t poisonous, carnivorous, mobile, or intelligent,” Toshiko continued, “For all intents and purposes, just a plant. I repeat: what harm can there be?”

Jack swivelled around to face Owen, “Have you come up with anything on the database?”

“Nothing. The Torchwood botanical records go back over 100 years. There’s nothing on the computer, the microfiche, the ledgers or diaries that fits the description. We don’t even know what it is. We don’t even know,” he added meaningfully, “if it’s alien.”

“What do you mean?” asked Gwen, “I thought all the plants in the Hot House were extraterrestrial in origin, or at least from another timezone.”

“So we think,” Owen replied, “What proof do we have in this particular case? I should point out that there’s nothing that fits the description of the plant in any Earth records either, but I’ve only been looking for three days and it’s a big job.”

“We could take a cell sample,” Toshiko said, “Put it under the microscope.”

“Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t done that already,” Jack cut in.

Toshiko looked momentarily fazed, unused to being reprimanded, even mildly. Jack had spoken softly, but he wasn’t smiling, “I – I just didn’t think it was necessary,” she said, “We’ve been busy with other things. I don’t see what the problem is – Ianto’s looking after his plant, that’s all.”

“She’s got a point, Jack.” Gwen agreed.

Jack sighted and threw his pencil down on the table top, signalling that the meeting was over, “Okay, back to work, people. I’m getting paranoid in my old age. Scat.”

They filed out, but he called Gwen back just before she left, “How did Rhys like the spider plant?” he asked.

She laughed, “Never even noticed it.”

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

The plant was looking very healthy. It was a good couple of centimetres taller, and possibly straighter, with two full leaves and the start of a new one. It wasn’t all that big, or even very special looking, but it now dominated the Hot House.

This was partially due to the fact that nearly all the other plants had gone.

Ianto had moved them out of the Hot House one by one. They were stacked on the steps of the spiral staircase and Toshiko had to climb very carefully through the foliage to reach the door to the pod. Inside, more plants had been moved to the floor on the far side, away from Ianto’s own little flower, and many of the racks had been completely cleared.

“Ianto…what’s happened up here?”

“Nothing,” Ianto grunted, straightening after placing the heavy glass bell jar containing who-knew-what by the door, “I’m just making a bit of space.”

“For what?”

“For the plant. It’s getting crowded. It can’t grow properly without light and space.”

Toshiko stepped into the Hot House, which now seemed very bare. Her voice echoed slightly against the glass walls as she spoke, “Does Owen know you’ve done this?”

“Owen?” Ianto repeated, “What’s his got to do with him?”

“Well, he sort of…kept this place going, didn’t he?”

“Owen’s got other things on his mind right now. As I think I have already pointed out.”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“Jack says you’re obsessed with this plant thing,” Toshiko said carefully.

Ianto smiled, “He’s jealous.”

“Possible. You are giving it a lot of attention though. And it’s just a plant, after all.”

“He worries too much, and so do you. That’s your problem, Tosh. Too much worrying. Sometimes you’ve just got to do what’s right and ignore everything else.”

Toshiko was a little taken aback. She had never heard Ianto speak like this. He didn’t sound hostile, but there was something wrong. She took a deep breath and said, “I thought it was time we took a sample for investigation.”

He looked at her, and saw she was holding a microscope slide.

“You can’t,” he said.

“I only need a tiny piece,” Toshiko said, “I want to have a look at its cellular make-up.”

“You can’t,” Ianto repeated.

He said it simply, and with a smile, but Toshiko didn’t doubt him for a second, “All right,” she relented, “But I’ll have to tell Jack. He asked specifically. At the very least the plant needs to be catalogued, and we can’t do that without a cell sample.”

She left the Hot House, still holding the empty slide, while Ianto carefully added a few more drops of water to the plant’s soil.

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

“Hey,” Jack said from the doorway, “Need a break?”

“No thanks. I’m good here.”

“Kinda weird, though,” Jack said, leaning back against the glass that overlooked the rest of the Hub, He took a sip from his mug of coffee, “I mean, you sitting there like that. Doing nothing.”

“I’m not doing nothing,” Ianto stated. He didn’t look at Jack. His attention was fixed on the plant. It was all that was left in the Hot House now, with the exception of the swivel chair Ianto was sitting on, right in front of it.

“Right,” Jack agreed slowly, “I guess I missed that.”

“Yes,” agreed Ianto, “I guess you did.”

“The others are getting pretty worried about you.”

“There’s no need for anyone to worry. We’re fine.”

“We?”

“I’m fine. I’m fine, really.” Ianto looked up at Jack, “Really.”

“Okay,” Jack said. He sipped his coffee again and grimaced, “Thing is, we’re all drinking lousy coffee here now. This stuff is disgusting. Tastes like Sontaran dysentery. And believe me, that’s something you don’t want to taste twice.”

“There’s more to life than coffee.”

“What, really?”

“That’s all you think I’m good for, isn’t it, Jack? Making coffee.”

Jack grinned, “Well, I can think of a couple other things you’re good for.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Jack moved further into the room, keeping his hands in his pockets, casual, “Ianto, this has gone far enough. You need a break. You haven’t slept in two days. You haven’t shaved either. And you know what I  think of beard rash.”

“Bring me a razor and I’ll shave.”

“Sure. How about a change of clothes too? Because frankly, Ianto, you ain’t as fragrant as you used to be.”

“I’m not leaving. More important things to do in here.”

“Just for ten minutes, then. A comfort break?”

“Don’t need one. Haven’t drunk anything in the last twenty-four hours.”

Something crunched under Jack’s boot and he noticed some tiny pieces of broken glass glinting on the floor behind Ianto’s chair. He stepped carefully over them and leaned on the back of the chair. It creaked slightly but Ianto didn’t move. Jack took a deep breath, “Don’t you think this is all a bit…unusual?” Receiving no reply, Jack squatted down at the side of the chair, speaking softly, “Ianto…I need a cell sample from the plant. We have to check it out, see what makes it tick. I mean, we know it doesn’t actually tick. We just want to find out what it is, what it’s doing.”

“It’s growing. It’s a plant. What else would it do?”

“Well, we don’t know. That’s why we’d like to check it out,” Jack held up a slim rectangle of glass, “I’ve got a slide right here. Let me take a sample and I can get out of here, leave you and the plant alone together. How does that sound?”

No answer.

“Toshiko’s got the equipment ready to do. All she needs is a sample. How about it?”

Still no answer.

Jack moved towards the plant, extending his hand with the microscope slide. Ianto grabbed Jack’s wrist, fast as a rattlesnake. His knuckles were white, but his eyes were red – bloodshot, but wide and alert.

“Don’t touch it,” he hissed, “You can’t touch it!”

Jack tried to pull away, but Ianto held him in a surprisingly strong grip. They struggled against each other for a few seconds until Jack wrenched his arm free, “Goddamnit, Ianto, I’m not fighting you over a plant!”

“Then don’t fight me!” Ianto cried hotly, “Just leave me alone and everything will be fine. Can’t you see that?”

Jack stood up, breathing heavily, “What’s up with your arm?”

“What?” Ianto looked down at his arm, where the shirt cuff had been pulled away to reveal a series of sticking plasters on the white flesh, “Nothing. I had an accident, that’s all. I was moving one of the specimens and the jar broke. Cut my arm. It’s nothing.”

Jack glanced down at the fragments of glass on the floor, “You need to be more careful.”

“I’ll brush it up later.”

“I wasn’t talking about the glass.”

Jack tossed the slide down onto the floor and walked out.

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

There was no natural light in the Hub. The Torchwood base was located deep below ground, and there were no windows. It was sometimes impossible to tell the difference between day and night, and this made it very easy to lose track of time. To counteract this, and maintain some vague kind of biological clock, Jack found it useful to dim the lights in the evening, and then turn them right back up in the morning. Ianto had once likened it to life on a submarine. Jack had winked and told him that he’d once spent many weeks onboard a German U-Boat in World War Two, “Technically I was a prisoner of war, but we were submerged for a long time and, well, sailors are sailors the world over.”

That had been in the early days, when Ianto blushed easily, “They’re called submariners,” he’d muttered, “Not sailors.”

Jack smiled at the memory. There was always a hint of the pedant about Ianto. Underneath that soft exterior, there was steel. Very very people got to know that. Those that did usually regretted it.

“He’ll be okay,” Gwen said quietly, joining him by the circular window in his office which overlooked the Hub. It was gone midnight and the vase chamber was in semi-darkness. On the far side they could see the glow of the lights in the Hot House, and Ianto, still sitting there watching his plant, “We’ll find a way.”

“Sure. We could just storm in and drag him out if we wanted to,” Jack sighed, “That’s what Owen wants.”

“Since when did you take any notice of what Owen wants?”

“There has to be a better way, Gwen. I don’t want to hurt him”

“He’ll fall asleep eventually. He has to. That’s what the police do in siege situations. Wait long enough and they’ll just…nod off.”

“Ianto won’t. He’s tougher than he looks. And that plant’s got a grip on him. I don’t know how, but I’m going to bread that grip, Gwen. That I promise.”

“He’s moving,” Gwen said suddenly.

Ianto was little more than a silhouette, but he had got up from his chair.

They both ran out of the office, Jack leaping down the steps to the lower level while Gwen clattered along behind him. Eventually she grabbed his arm and pulled him to a halt, “Wait!” she hissed, “Don’t rush! He’ll hear us!”

Owen emerged from the cells, looked at Jack and Gwen, glanced up at the Hot House. He realised immediately something was up and shot a questioning look at Gwen.

She raised a finger to her lips, signalling caution.

Jack was already moving up the spiral staircase, as quick and silent as a jungle cat. Gwen followed, trying to match him. Automatically, she reached behind her hip for her pistol, only then remembering that it was on her desk. She glanced behind her, past Owen, and saw Tosh heading towards them as well, pausing only to collect her PDA.

In the Hot House, Ianto was bent over his plant. His shirtsleeve was rolled up past his elbow, and his forearm was extended. The plasters had been removed. There were deep cuts in the flesh, and the blood stood out stark and red against the white skin, running down his wrist. His fist was clenched so the blood came freely, trickling into the soil of the plant pot.

Jack stood in the doorway, transfixed by the sight. He felt as if he was intruding on an intensely private communion. Ianto was oblivious, his full concentration on the plant. As Jack watched, a thing proboscis emerged from the plant stem, extending like the tongue of a hummingbird towards Ianto’s arm. It burrowed into the wound, pulsing slightly as it lapped up the blood.

“Bastard!” Jack had seen more than enough, hurling himself across the room, wrenching Ianto away from the plant. Blood jetted into the air as he spun away, collapsing into the waiting arms of Owen and Gwen. They lowered him gently to the floor.

The plant actually hissed.

Jack swept it off the shelf with enough force to send it crashing into the far wall. The pot burst against the glass in a shower of dirt. The plant hit the floor, white roots writhing in the air, groping like a hundred fingers for the scattered soil. Two quick strides took Jack to where it lay. He raised his boot and crushed the plant flat, screwing his feel down until it left a smear of green and red across the floor.

Instantly, Ianto fell slack. His head lolled as Gwen tried to sit him up. Owen was already putting a field dressing on his arm, “Okay, Ianto, you’re all right. We’ve got you. You’re going to be fine.”

Toshiko scanned the remains of the plant with her PDA, “No life signs,” she reported, “Whatever it was, it’s head. And not before time, I have to say.”

Jack’s lip curled in disgust, “What the hell was it?”

“A plant,” Owen said, “Some time of telepathic species, perhaps, using mind control of the local fauna for protection. It used Ianto to look after it, protect it, feed it. He was nothing more than a slave.”

“He’s all right now, though,” Gwen assured him, “The moment you killed it, I felt him relax, like a puppet with its strings cut. He’s free of the influence.”

Jack turned to leave, “Get this place cleaned up. Get Ianto cleaned up. This room feels dirty now.”

Gwen rested a hand on his arm, “Don’t be hard on yourself. No one knew what to do for the best.”

“Except the plant?”

“It’s gone. We’re still here. Ianto’s still here.”

“What if we hadn’t been alert? What if it had reproduced, spread seeds, got out of the Hub? Imagine a whole planet with those things growing in every park and hedgerow. The human race could have been reduced to mindless slaves doing nothing but feeding blood sucking plants,” He shrugged, then looked back up at his people, This is our life, guys. This is Torchwood. We can’t relax. We can’t hesitate. We have to be ready.”

#torchwood #jack harkness #ianto jones #owen harper #toshiko sato #gwen cooper #plant life #short story

[hanibalistic]

THERE WAS THIS BOY | STRAY KIDS.

genre | fluff with brief angst

synopsis | have you ever been in love? do you want to talk about this boy?

word count | 13.2k+

warning | mentions of bullying, injury, blood / brief mention of health (skin) issues / brief allusion to sex

note | follow me for a tutorial on how to make the most uncoordinated moodboard / wanted to practice writing fluff so here is something short and sweet

There was this boy who lived in the apartment complex you always deliver food to.

Seeing you after soccer practice has become a weekly routine for him, courtesy to his next-door neighbor for ordering takeout dinner from the restaurant you worked at least once a week. Sometimes he would only see you once; other times, if he was lucky, he would see you more than once a week, and you would have more than one order to deliver. He noticed your constant presence around the apartment complex before he began mustering the courage to talk to you, which he ended up not needing to do so because you accidentally bumped into him when you turned a corner, which led to an introduction.

Because of your flashing silhouette, Chan could usually tell if you were present around the area. You were constantly running, the scorch of your sneakers a familiar sound to his ears, and somehow the food and drinks in your hands never ran out of place despite your hyperactive movements. The first time you bumped into him was because you hadn't anticipated his presence, and you had been running across the hallways at full speed. But, as he looked upon the open halls of the apartment building from the ground floor, he saw no signs of you anywhere.

Clutching the shoelaces of his practice sneakers and letting them hit as they dangled from his grip, Chan tried to mask the disappointment from his face just as the elevator door opened. When he saw nobody waiting outside, he resumed the saddened pout that lingered on his face from realizing you may not be around today. He hasn't seen you all week, and he has missed you dearly! Looking on the bright side, which Chan was good at doing, he's got a lot of stories to tell you, as well as a big surprise he has kept from you for a while. But he couldn't do any of that if you weren't here!

With dejection at his feet, he stumbled out of the elevator and into the apartment hall. The silence in the air, matched with the slowing steps of his feet that sounded like a ticking clock, made him feel ridiculous that he was praying for your miraculous emergence. But Chan liked to hold onto the last stand of hope, he was good at doing that, and to him, you were good at answering that hope, usually with the rapid screeching of your sneakers. Perking up, he turned around at the pitter-patter sounds of your steps just in time to catch you pop out from around the corner.

You recognized his faraway figure and did not attempt to decrease your speed. You ran towards him, a plastic bag of food in one hand—you have a job to do! The soft grin on your face widened when, after Chan realized you planned to get past him, he playfully got into a goalkeeper stance. His eyes were serious, though; he had seen you move before, and he wasn't exaggerating when he told his friends he could only catch sight of your shadows sometimes. Maybe it was your fantastic work ethic or phenomenal laziness, but the constant, high athletism your body could perform made it such a waste that you were focused on making food deliveries instead of joining a national sports team.

Staring at your increasingly approaching figure, Chan was ready to grab onto your shoulders when you hopped up to kick the wall to the side. It gave you momentum to jump over his head, which he dodged to avoid being hit by the heel of your shoes, but it only served as an opportunity for you to step feathery light on the back of his neck and land on the ground behind. He rubbed the spot where your shoes landed and immediately turned to find you standing in front of an apartment, ringing the doorbell. He chuckled lowly, watching your polite smile as you handed the customer their food.

"Are you sure you don't want to join the track team?" Chan asked lightheartedly when you began approaching him, shoving money inside your pocket.

You scrunched your nose up and shook your head. Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you typed something into the notes app before showing it to him.

"Doing sports is for high school. I gotta focus on studying and working to pay for my tuition."

He pulled away from the screen with a vague frown, then he held up his dirty practice sneakers and waved them at your face. "I'm still doing sports.”

You pursed your lips into a smile, but your shoulders moved like you were laughing. Chan watched you. An endless hunger rumbled inside the seams of his chest; he wanted to hear what your voice sounded like. He wouldn't force you to talk to him, though, especially after you told him that your body tended to refrain from verbally communicating with anyone you didn't feel close to. It was less of a conscious choice but a law your mind imposed.

"Oh! Also, I want to tell you,” he began moving his hands hesitantly to sign out words that matched his voice, "I have been taking sign language classes for over two months now.”

It took you a long beat to register that Chan was signing the words to you. He was a little slow with the words, perhaps nervous about making mistakes, but you understood him with no problem. Your eyes widened in excitement as you clapped with your phone in your hand. Then, as you were about to type your reaction with your phone, he stopped you by gently moving your phone away from before your face.

"You don't have to keep typing," he said. "I can read what you say. If I don't know something, I'll ask!”

Suspiciously, you rubbed the tip of your nose and squinted at him. This came as a complete surprise to you. You have been chatting with Chan through texts and papers. You never thought he was taking sign language classes under your nose. He has not once spoken of it, and he never mentioned having relatives who used it either. 

Bringing your hands down to your chin, your chest hummed with low anticipation before you, slowly to accommodate him, signed, "You know I can still hear you, right? You don't have to do it.”

"Oh! Yeah, I–well, sometimes I don't remember." He laughed with his heart full. "It's okay, though. Doing it helps me practice!”

"That's true." You nodded in agreement. "Why did you suddenly want to learn sign language?”

Chan shifted his weight. He wasn't thinking too deeply about your question. Hence he gave a straightforward answer. "I wanted to talk to you.”

You let out a huff of hair in replacement for a chuckle. "You didn't have to learn a new language to do that.”

"Yeah," he signed. "But I want to know what you know.”

He wanted to know what you know, to learn what you learn, and to talk how you talk. He would even call himself infatuated with how much he wanted to consume himself through your teeth and drown himself in your existence. Chan wanted to see what you see, to think what you think, to feel what you feel, and to stand where you stand. The first step to do that, he thought, was to utilize communication the way you use it, so he did. He found a way to talk to you. He was always going to learn how to understand you.

When you didn't reply, Chan was left feeling stoic and awkward. He rubbed the back of his neck at your furrowed brows and asked, "Did I say something?”

You almost looked angry when you ignored him and stomped away, but really, you just weren't used to someone committing so much of their time and effort just to be able to talk to you. You could feel a door inside you opening—it has been opened for a while with Chan. He even held it open for you these months, waiting patiently for you to take the first step.

"Hey! I'm sorry if I said something weird!" Chan yelled down the hall, hoping his apologetic voice would reach you.

You stopped in your tracks and looked ahead. The door was opening. It was opening wide, and it may never close again. Spinning on your heels, you couldn't help but smile when you saw Chan standing timidly at his spot. Your legs jogged into a sprint, your body bolting toward him at high speed before you abruptly stopped. Chan shot his arms out to catch you by the waist, but you prevented your fake fall by clamping your hands on his shoulders.

He didn't register it when you moved your head to his ears. For the first time, you spoke to him with a voice he could never forget.

"Goodnight, Chan.”

There was this boy who lived in the apartment complex you always deliver food to, and you let him hear your voice for the first time.

There was this boy you've been dating for two and a half years.

The train announced its arrival in ten minutes. Minho listened to the static in the station speakers, and as he stared at you with his chin hidden under his scarf, he realized for the first time how much he didn't want you to move out of the city. He hadn’t said anything when you told him about it. At that time, he genuinely did not think ill of you moving away to finish off the remaining two years of college. Two years felt measly to him, and you planned to visit each other during the holidays, so there was nothing to worry about.

Until now—the speakers announced the train’s arrival in ten minutes, which would feel like seconds to him. Your hand luggage was trapped between two pairs of shoes so Minho could hold both of your hands as you waited for departure.

“You don’t look very excited,” you mumbled with a faint giggle after you observed the increasing furrow of his brows every time he felt the train tracks rumble.

He shifted his gaze from the rail to you. “You know me very well.”

“Just admit it,” you rolled your eyes at his monotonous voice, “you’re going to miss me.”

He pulled a face; the corner of his lips stretched into a sneer, and his eyes rolled back briefly. The mere idea of displaying such an emotion appalled him, not because he was against it but because cheesy, affectionate things made him uncomfortable. He was never a fanatic of verbal confessions, physical intimacy, or grand romantic gestures. Honking his car when a high school couple, holding hands, was walking across the road as his favorite pastime, and he visibly mimics a barfing motion if he ever witnesses public proposals. 

You always thought it was ironic. It could be hypocrisy or ignorance that led to his opinion, but the truth remained that as much as he hated romance, he was also filled to the brim with it.

“Never,” Minho said, swinging your joint hands. "It’s not like you’re going to be gone forever. We are literally seeing each other again during spring break, which is only a few months later.”

“I bet you circled the date on your calendar and everything.”

“Please worry about getting your degree,” he said with squinted eyes as he playfully pulled you toward him. You stumbled, your face coming in close to his as he smiled. “Study hard. Don’t forget to take breaks. Talk to me if you need anything, and don’t let anyone make fun of you.” 

Not being around you was going to be a hassle for Minho. Even though you could take good care of yourself, he often interfered with your daily routine with his own snippets of kindness. Bringing you food, restocking your shampoos, gossiping about your family, driving you home, calling the administration office after they messed up your transfer applications, and almost kicking the door of your landlord’s apartment because they skimped on maintenance. You didn’t have to ask for them; he was your boyfriend, after all. And it would be hard not being able to do those for you anymore conveniently. 

“I’m serious. Don’t let people push you around,” he repeated firmly after you laughed at his final advice. He searched for your eyes when you nodded, and a smile gradually grew on his face. “Bite them if they won’t listen. You’re good at that.”

You giggled as you shoved his chest. Minho thought he would miss that too—being shoved around with the company of your laughter. Sometimes you would startle him after showering by drawing pictures on the fogged mirrors; he still has pictures of them in his gallery. He remembered bumping his head on the sink because he was scrambling to grab his phone outside the bathroom, and you had to treat the wound on his forehead while he sat stupidly on the covered toilet seat. Sometimes you would bite him, which he heard was a partner thing to do, but he couldn’t do the biting because he had to play the role of being eaten. He never entirely understood that one. 

The station speaker rang, signaling the arrival of the train. You looked behind you as the wind picked up. When you saw the headlights of the moving car, you whipped your head back to look at Minho. You brought his hand up to your chin and began pushing at the sleeve of his jacket. He let you, still unsure of what you were planning to do. 

“I’ll call you when I get there!” you said hastily. “I love you. I’ll miss you.” 

“I expect you to–ow!” 

He pulled his hand to his chest after flipping it a few times. You giggled as you grabbed your luggage and hurried into the opened doors. You dropped the luggage on the floor near it, standing despite the rows of vacant seats around. Minho widened his eyes as the automated doors began to slide shut. He managed a short wave when he saw you do the same from behind the misty window. They were misty, or maybe his eyes were. He wasn’t sure. His head was in the clouds when the train moved with you in it, and his thumb rubbed the sore spot on the side of his palm.

When he looked down, he saw that you had bitten him. You had bitten hard, enough to leave marks of your teeth on his skin. A gentle laughter escaped his lips in the form of a shaky shiver as he traced the juncture of them, still faintly wet with your saliva, and each touch of his finger was a hapless scream into the void about how he would miss you dearly and that you did well not allowing him a verbal farewell. But most importantly, he was right. You were good at biting.

There was this boy you've been dating for two and a half years, and you were good at leaving yourself places he couldn’t forget. 

There was this boy you have been hooking up with, he broke up with his previous partner not too long ago. 

You made a mental note that you wouldn’t let Changbin convince you to stay for breakfast the next time. Next time you wake up before the sun could fully rise, you will forget the warmth of his bare chest and take your leave. It was a promise you have been serving to yourself on a platter you ignored, but not next time! No matter how delicious his sunny-side-up eggs were, how well he could make a cup of morning coffee, or how delightful you always felt eating breakfast with him in his shabby apartment—next time, you leave his home to save yourself.

“Can you get me eggs from the fridge?” he asked over the stove, his hand moving to crank the fire out. A sudden grimace glossed over his face after a thought, and then he tapped his head. “Actually, I don’t know if I have any left. If there isn’t any, then just grab whatever we can eat.”

You rubbed your nose with a yawn as you made your way to the old refrigerator left behind by the last tenant. A bunch of messy documents remained stuck to its surface with a middle school magnet he got from attending his niece’s graduation ceremony; you remembered asking him about them once, and he could be telling the truth when he said he had no idea how he planned to deal with them. Opening the fridge, you pulled a face at the leftover parade happening in every small cabinet before snatching two eggs off the side rack. You slammed the door shut, earning a stern whine from Changbin. 

“That fridge is on its last breath, and I can’t afford to buy a new one, so please be so gentle with it,” he said when you were near to drop the eggs on the counter carefully. He thanked you as he reached out to grab one. Before he turned toward the pan being heated on the stove, he stepped back to peck your lips. “Thank you.”

You meekly returned his smile. The second he turned his back on you, your shoulders slumped into a distrusting frenzy. You were good at avoiding these affectionate gestures, which he loved to do. By moving around all the time, always having something happening with your hands, and constantly snacking or drinking, you were more or less able to avoid lighthearted intimacy with him. And you had to avoid them because you cannot delude this fleeting relationship into commitment. 

You were a rebound. That was all there was.

It was ridiculous to let a despicable, loud-mouthed cashier working at the supermarket you frequented gossip about you to yourself enough that he convinced you to start worrying about your relationship with Changbin. But that cashier was potent, your starvation for love was impressionable, and as much as it hurt to admit, gossips tend to hold some amount of truth, which was that Changbin recently broke up with a partner of his caliber, and you were just someone he met at a college party. 

You were the rebound; the middle point between a past and a true love; the scapegoat used for self-improvement; the experimental medicine a few steps behind the successful cure. Changbin was never going to love you. That was all there was, so you shouldn’t let yourself dive too far into the ocean in case the water starts running dry. 

“My niece has been asking for you,” Changbin mentioned fondly after he cracked the eggs into the pan. It began sizzling moments later. “She has not stopped whining about seeing you since last Christmas.” 

You hopped onto the kitchen counter next to the stove, carefully keeping a distance from the fire. Kicking your legs, you smiled and responded, “You should have never told me what she wanted as presents.” 

“Well, someone has to buy something for me to slap my name on it,” he joked. “I have a reputation to uphold in case she grows up to earn big bucks. I plan that she grows so appreciative of my presence in her childhood that she pardons all my student loans.”

“That,” you rolled your eyes and scoffed incredulously into a chuckle, “that’s not a plausible plan at all.”

He laughed over the sizzling noises. It sounded familiar and heartbreaking; you loved the way he laughed, and you would not have it conveniently forever. Turning away from his face, you glanced at the floor, where your feet obstructed the view by playing around the sliding cabinet. You opened it, pushed it close with the heel, and pried it open again with the sole of your feet. The drawer was wobbly and old; it was another piece of furniture the last tenant left behind that Changbin gladly took ownership of.

“Really, though, she is never gonna stop whining until she sees you again,” he said after a moment of silence. “I can’t keep telling her you’ve just been extremely busy with school and work, and that we didn’t break up.”

Your feet slipped from the edge of the sliding drawer just as you pulled it open. It was partially the fault of the drawer, but your shock from processing what he said also caused you to double over. Noticing the uncontrollable lean of your torso, Changbin immediately let go of the handle and gripped his hand over your thigh, steadying you back on the kitchen counter. He glared at you with confusion, which turned clueless when you returned to him eyes with unreadable fright.

“What was that?” he asked, his hand unconsciously squeezing your thigh as an attempt to calm you down. 

“I–I don’t know, I was just–“ you cleared your throat and shook your head–“I’m sorry. What do you mean we didn’t break up?”

There was a suspicious squint in his eyes, and then a hesitant smirk showed up on his rosy lips. “What do you mean ‘what do you mean?’ Did we break up without me knowing?”

“No, we didn’t. I was just…” You pursed your lips together before placing a hand on his, holding it. “I didn’t know we were dating.”

He stared at you, his thoughts crashing into loopholes in a self-inflicted maze that had no exit. He must have been moving too fast. He definitely was! He never even asked you to label this relationship officially; he has been unconsciously introducing himself as your boyfriend to everyone that he convinced himself it was true. It was a terrible, outrageous mistake; he must have scared you. 

“Oh god, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to–“

“No, it’s fine! It’s okay! I never thought otherwise, anyway!”

“What?” 

Changbin was staring at you again, but this time, he looked more dissatisfied and disappointed than clueless and confused. If you watched the way the lines of his forehead formed, you could even consider him an angry man for a second. He turned off the stove, ridding the air of the comfortable white noises, and moved to stand before you. His hands supported his weight on the edge of the kitchen counter on either side of your knees, effectively trapping you between his body. 

“What do you mean you never thought otherwise?” he asked, brows furrowed and voice low with a scruffy croak hidden somewhere in the corner. “Actually, what are we, exactly?”

You didn’t know what to say, but you forced an answer out of your mouth. “We’re hooking up, aren’t we?”

His breath hitched. For the same thing, he would argue that you two shared something much more significant. For the same reason—the fact that his skin remembers the taste of your nails and your body visible with stains of his saliva—he would argue that you two were much more than you said to be. He never thought you thought this way. He didn’t know where it went wrong. 

Removing himself from the kitchen counter, he turned around with a hand in his hair. “I didn’t know you think so lightly of me.”

“I don’t!” you exclaimed within a blink of an eye. “Changbin, I don’t! I didn’t think that would hurt you, considering I’m just a rebound!”

“What rebound?” 

You jumped at his sharp tone. Pulling at your fingers, you nudged your shoulder up to your cheek in a poor attempt to shrink into yourself. “Me. Someone told me you broke up with someone a while ago and how much that gutted you, so I should watch out.”

“Who–“ He took a deep breath with closed eyes. Curling his fists by his side, he raised his brows and opened his eyes, which were much more gentle than before. “Who told you that?”

“This boy at the supermarket I go to. You might know him. His name is Han Ji–“

“I do know him. Thank you for telling me.” Changbin held up a hand to stop you from continuing. There was humor in this situation; no wonder his friend acted avoidant after he talked about you. Slowly moving closer to you again, he placed his hands on his hips, then shifted to put them on your knees reluctantly instead. He looked honest when he spoke. “[Name], you’re not a rebound.”

“But he said the breakup destroyed you.”

“It did, which is why it happened a while ago. I needed time to move on from it.” He nodded with a soft smile. He squeezed your knees, scrunching his nose to appear less tense. “I wouldn’t kiss you if I didn’t love you.” 

He wouldn’t have let you sleep with him if he didn’t love you either. He wouldn’t have brought you to see his family during the holidays, and be so restless and fidgety when he misunderstood your perception of this relationship, and miss you first thing in the morning after he woke up, and yearned to perfect the art of cooking a sunny-side up egg if he didn’t love you. He wouldn’t be standing here, vulnerable and maybe a little lost, telling you he loves you if he didn’t. 

You played with your fingers still, flicking your nails against each other. “What if you change your mind?” 

He tapped the tip of your nose. “What if I don’t?” 

What if all that would happen was that he searches for your silhouette everywhere? What if he saw your shadow in every corner of his usual streets? What if he just yearned for a glimpse of you in the sun’s shadow, cascading over his kitchen through the opened window, almost as if you lived in his home with him? This was a bet you ought to be willing to take. You must insert the coin before the slot machine starts moving because love is not a promise. Love is not a guarantee. You ought to be brave, be bold, and take a leap of faith. It may be a fall to your death, or it may be a soar to the sky. But sometimes, taking a leap of faith may just be hopping off the kitchen counter into the arms of a boy in love with you. 

“There, I got you,” Changbin beamed with his arms around your body. He set you on the floor carefully, his eyes not once leaving your face. “I always got you.”

There was this boy you have been hooking up with, and you could never imagine how much he loves you. 

There was this boy in your art class.

Hyunjin has always been in full support of your in-progress fashion career despite the fact that you were taking art classes in college to learn how to draw. From helping you fix your design drafts to standing in for you as a life-sized mannequin, even to strutting on the makeshift runaway set out by the theater students for the annual student fashion show wearing the clothes you specifically made for him, Hyunjin has always been in full support of your dream to become a fashion designer.

"Do you mind?”

Hyunjin snapped out of his trance to squint his eyes at you holding out a measuring tape across your chest. You took his measurements once in a while, sometimes even after you had already sewed your designs for him to try on because you liked to double-check and to have everything in record. It wasn't the most thorough thing to do. It would even be pointless, to put it harshly. But he never particularly minded. He liked having you near him.

He faked a grimace and carried an unserious complaint in his voice when he spoke, "Actually, I do mind. I have minded over the last two years, but I never said anything.”

You ignored him. The second you heard the whiny tone roll out the tip of his tongue like the red carpet he was used to walking over, you dove in and began leveling him with the measuring tape. Hyunjin scoffed through a smile flattened from his previously humorous grimace, and he relaxed his limbs to let you do as you wish. Words flew out your lips in mutters of numbers, reminding yourself of his size and comparing the data to what you have recorded in the past while Hyunjin stood there in silence.

He watched you carefully, but not without an affectionate haze that blinded him enough to grin through the pins and needles you occasionally stab him through the fabrics. You paid no attention to him, just as he preferred it, and there a facade of vague disinterest was propped just beneath his chin in preparation for your direct gaze. More than reciprocation, he was afraid of being seen, being known, being broken out of the distant pedestal his peers put on his fortunate features and being rejected for it.

"Your shoulders have gotten broader," you whispered near his neck, causing him to freeze. 

Hyunjin hadn't realized you had moved to stand behind him until you removed the tape draped over his shoulder and walked to stand before him again. You were frowning in thought, allowing him to let out the breath he sucked in when he felt yours stranded on the back of his neck, chilling a soft finger trail down his spine. That was the closest anybody had gotten to touching his skin with their lips, and ironically, he didn't think he could handle it well if you kissed him, even though he had reserved that experience for you and nobody else.

"Can you try this on?" you asked as you moved over to a tall chair where you placed a paper bag. You reached inside and pulled out a jacket, holding it out to him. "I wanna see if it fits.”

Hyunjin received it gladly. He would be grateful for any opportunity to occupy his mind, turn it away from the gruesome feeling of his body being unraveled by a mere shard of your breath. Putting both his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, as he tried to shake it in place, he frowned at the faint tightness surrounding his shoulders. He could still wear the jacket, but it felt uncomfortable and restricting.

You rubbed your knuckles nervously with a palm, observing Hyunjin's unspoken reaction. He has always been too nice to tell you the truth, which was ironic as someone whose academic career involved receiving and providing critique to improve. 

But just between him and his mind, it has never been about his kindness and only that he cherished everything you made for the world, yourself, or for him. To Hyunjin, your original vision was already the best version of anything. Abominations woven by your fingertips would have special meanings—there must be a reason why such mistakes exist; make him a shirt cut full of holes, and he'd thank you for a beautiful monstrosity.

"It's a bit small, isn't it?" you pointed out as you reached in to fix the collar. 

"Yeah, but I can still wear it," Hyunjin said.

You grabbed the two flaps under the jacket collar and attempted to button it up. The buttons smacked open once you managed to clasp them together, to which Hyunjin breathed out a lighthearted chuckle in response to your sullen state. He let you attempt it a few more times, not bringing up the shrinking of his shoulders to accommodate your exerted force, before you gave up after the third failed attempt.

"Hmm..." you slid your hands from the button to under the jacket, stopping at his chest where you pressed your palms flat against him, "let me think..." 

The shape of your hands and the warmth of it against his chest, over the thin fabric of his white shirt, Hyunjin got tattooed right where they currently resided. He wondered how your hands would feel on his naked chest. He wondered if he could keep you there, and he was aware of what his desire for this to be permanent meant. He has always known, and he felt like a jagged breath being drawn into your lungs when you looked up to ask him a muffled question.

He grabbed you by your elbows and pulled you close to him, his actions a needed contradiction to his thoughts. He leaned his face down—kiss them, he thought. Kiss them good; kiss them like how everyone wanted him to kiss them; kiss them to tattoo their lips in your brain; just kiss them. 

"Hyunjin...?" 

He stopped. A space in his brain got shoved aside to savor the print of your palm against his cheek, and you asked him, with concerned eyes, if he was feeling okay. He wasn't, but he was. He felt like turning into one of the gleaming specks in your eyes. He felt like experiencing how your eyes shift when he tells you he loves you.

"I..." he gulped, clearing his senses. You would never. You and your gentle creativity would never return his feelings. "I'm okay, just feeling a little light-headed. Thanks for catching me.”

There was this boy in your art class who modeled for you, and he was afraid you would recognize his love for you. 

There was this boy who worked the closing shift with you at the supermarket.

Jisung had his hands clasped together in a praying manner, and he was pouting at you with pleading eyes that would fade the second you agreed to join him on his troublesome rendezvous. He was phenomenal at this—thinking up a weird idea every other shift that would, without fail, get you both into trouble. He always covered for you because none of the disasters that came with were your fault. But at this point, you learned never to let Jisung convince you (and himself) to do anything he wanted to try out. You never listened, though. Your desire to be around him all the time greatly overshadowed your caution to be a good employee.

"What are you planning?" you asked as you eyed the shopping cart before him.

You two were supposed to collect all the shopping carts from the parking lot and line them up outside the supermarket for locking. After pushing the first carts out of the lot, Jisung deviated from the task and brought a shopping cart to the edge of a slope leading to the underground floor. You glanced at the directional words painted on the wall, leading drivers to choose between left and right, then back at the shopping cart stopped just before the tip of the slope. You grimaced, already able to guess what he planned.

"I have a plan!" he exclaimed.

"You're going to sit on the cart and run yourself down the slope?" you asked monotonously, gesturing downward.

Jisung's posture flattened into a straight line, and he deadpanned at you with distaste. "You didn't have to guess it right on the first try.”

"Oh–my bad," you muttered with a chuckle. "Do you want me to ask you again?”

"No," he scoffed as he rocked back and forth on his shoe heel. He let his furrowed brows relax into a friendly smile sooner than he wanted; he seemed incapable of anything other than joy whenever he was around you. "You can make it up to me by getting in the cart!”

You took a hesitant step back, your head shaking in disagreement. You didn't know how badly you could be injured if he pushed the cart down the slope with you in it. The falling wasn't the most significant issue. It was the impact of the front of the cart hitting the wall. You could not anticipate the recoil intensity and would hate risking your currently unharmed body for a split second of thrill.

"This isn't a good idea, Jisung," you told him. "We're gonna get in trouble again, and we already pissed the manager off with the soda cans incident.”

Jisung thought it was a good idea to make a waterfall out of shaken soda cans he didn't buy out of pocket from the supermarket last time. He reasoned that champagne glasses were boring and overdone, and that people needed to understand the real joy in life and make a monument out of those things instead. In that case, the real joy in life was coca cola's fizzling and bubble taste.

He had been so excited about it, yet all he accomplished was make a mess and pop a vein on your manager's forehead. He didn't even manage to create a waterfall because he fell straight into the soda can structure while trying to open the last can on the very top.

Jisung had spent the night feeling sticky all over his skin as you helped him by mopping the floor. But, beyond feeling uncomfortable, he remembered most the way you rubbed the liquid off his drenched body with tissue papers, and while you grumbled under your breath about how stupid he was, you couldn't help but let a few smiles fall on your lips. He may not have impressed you, but at least he made you laugh. He always thought about it. He thought everything he ever did was to make you laugh.

"He was mad at us because of property damage," Jisung argued, waving his hands animatedly. "He can't legally get mad at us this time because the only damage that could happen would be on us!”

"So you know this will injure us?”

"I don't. I'm just saying it could!”

"And we are still doing this," you squinted suspiciously at him, “why?"

He blinked innocently as if he wasn't sure why you asked him such a question. Everything comes with potentially harmful consequences, were you supposed to never do anything? He understood the need to be cautious, but he wasn't asking you to jump off a bridge with him, even if there was an off-chance where you asked him to do it, he would do it with you. This was light-hearted fun. Rolling down a parking lot slope in a shopping cart was the same thing to him as building a waterfall foundation out of soda cans—it was something thrilling to do. It was something memorable to do with you, and years later, if you two no longer exist in each other's daily routine, he would look at a shopping cart and think of you.

"I thought it would be fun," he replied with an honest smile.

Your heart wavered. Even if you didn't harbor the feelings you did for him, you would have caved in with the mere glance into his eyes anyway. Jisung always had this effect on people; he was the entertainer, the jokester, the mood-maker. He has yet to be fired because customers came back for him, either to chat or out of friendly loyalty.

More than that, though, to you, he made time enjoyable to drag through. He stuck his neck out for you to grab onto so he could pull you out of your hollow shell to find that the world was a place made for you to be alive on. Sometimes it was racing each other with a handful of items needed for restocking. Other times, he was twirling you by your hand under the dim lights and surrounded by a ridiculous song blasting through the supermarket speakers. Tonight, it was falling off a slope in a shopping cart.

"Hold onto the cart," you mumbled.

Jisung beamed as he grabbed onto the cart handle. Carefully, you swung your legs over the edge and plopped inside the space. You leaned against the cart's back and pulled your legs to your chest to make space for him. After confirming that you had settled on your seat, Jisung let go of the handle and walked to the side of the shopping cart. You watched him as he placed a leg on the support pole below and hopped up using it. The cart shook at the force, and, unfortunately, its front wheels tipped over the ledge of the slope.

"What–" you paused to register the moving car before whipping your head back to look at Jisung–"oh my god, Ji–“

The cart rolled faster than either of you could react to it. Jisung grabbed the shopping cart edge and doubled forward to lean his weight against it while you shot your hands out, hoping to hold onto his arms to steady him. Before you could even blink, your body jolted at the crashing impact. The cart tipped to the side where Jisung was, making you squeal as you began falling out. He noticed it before you did because he discovered he had lost his footing on the pole. Gathering all his senses, he leaned his torso forward to cage you in his arms before you both fell onto the floor, the shopping cart landing on his legs instead of your curled-up body.

Your heart almost beat out of your chest, and it would have if you retained enough senses to understand the proximity of your faces. Your body shifted along with each heave of his chest; you would never know how he managed to hold onto you bridal style, but his circling his arm under your knees saved you from being crushed under the metal cart. Getting off of him, you first looked at the damage done, and you gasped when you saw Jisung's bleeding knee.

"Jisung, you're bleeding!" you said as you got up to pull the shopping cart off his feet.

He could somehow feel it. The liquid trickling down his skin was a vivid feeling. Pulling himself up with a groan, he held back a faint whine upon seeing the bleeding scratch around his knee. The edge of the shopping cart must have nicked him when you two fell. It all happened so quickly, he barely felt it. All he could remember was the weight of your body pressing down on him, shielded from the ground. Placing his hands around his leg, he applied some pressure to the skin, accidentally forcing more blood out of the wound.

You gasped at the sight and slapped his hands away, to which he responded with an incredulous laugh.

"Why are you hitting me? I'm hurt! I'm injured! I'm bleeding!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.

"I told you this was a bad idea," you said. "I'm going to go get something to help you with. Stay here.”

Jisung was forced into silence by your frustrated tone. He anticipated getting hurt; truthfully, the knee injury didn't bother him that badly. He grew up with clumsy scratches all over his body, after all. It was your public display of dissappointment that guilted him into this shrunken shell. You looked upset, saddened, and even annoyed that his knee was bleeding. Jisung couldn't delude himself with the thought that you cared about him enough to hate his injury to neglect your obvious distaste for what happened. It felt earth-shattering to him.

"Wait!" He stood up, his leg buckling at the spike of pain, but he kept going. "I'm sorry! I really thought this would be fun–ah, oh?”

The itchy sensation present in his nose made him reach a hand up. He smeared blood across his cupid's bow once, and the next second, more rolled down from his nose. Brows furrowing in confusion, he arched his neck and pinched the bridge of his nose. You could only stare at him in shock, your legs stuttering to bring yourself to him while your lips unconsciously began to quirk up.

"Where did this nosebleed even come from?" he yelled with a few stomps of his feet. "My face didn't even touch the floor–ow! My knee!"

You brought your hand up to your lips to fail at covering a fit of giggles. Nothing about this was funny, which made everything about it so. The ridiculous way Jisung acted in response to his injuries made it even more hilarious. What would have been a bratty tantrum was made funny by his presence because that was the kind of boy he was. He was the entertainer, the jokester, the mood-maker.

Jisung lowered his head when he heard your glorious laughter. It was the same one he heard when you wiped the soda stick off his skin or when he held your hands as he guided you to dance across the cashier aisles. This was what he yearned for. This was all anything has been about for him. New sparkles in his eyes birthed through your shivering reflection; in your joy, he existed infinitely. This was all he has ever wanted, and this was all anything has ever been about—him being in love with you.

Letting go of his nose and lowering his head, he stared at you affectionately with fiddling fingers. "[Name]." The blood rolled past his lips, dripping down his chin. He cared not of it. "Can I go out with you someday?”

He smiled honestly at you when you approached him. You tugged at the sleeve of your sweatshirt, pulled it over your palm, and wiped the blood on his face.

"You're ridiculous. Your nose is bleeding," you whispered.

"Sorry," he said. "I just really like you.”

You giggled. Jisung wished he would sew himself into the air you breathe out of your mouth, to become part of the noises you make when you felt happy. 

There was this boy who worked the closing shift with you at the supermarket, and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

There was this boy who has been living with you since you started college.

“Get out of here if you’re not going to help! Useless!” Felix exclaimed with flailing arms as he chased the high school students up the stairway. He sneered when they ran up the stairs giggling. Putting a hand on the stair railing, he shouted upward, “That’s what I thought! Get a move on before I change your pronouns to ‘was were’!”

After the sight of those pesky teenagers faded, Felix quickly descended the stairs to where you were and crouched next to you. He collected all the pieces of papers you had scattered on the ground after being bumped into, bumped them together into a straight stack, and positioned them in one arm. He reached out to grab your white cane before shuffling over to you, his free hand tentatively hovering over yours as he moved his head in front of your face. He always made cautious announcements of his presence; he remembered you telling him you could still faintly see lines and colors, and he didn’t want to scare you with his sudden appearance.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asked, letting his palm rest above your hand for an acknowledging second before he held it to pull you up with him. “Here, let’s get back on our feet.”

“Thank you, Felix.” You smiled as you leaned into his support. You steadied yourself by finding a footing on the ground, not afraid of stumbling now that Felix held onto your hand. “I’m sorry for the trouble.”

“Nonsense!” he protested as he carefully tugged you along with him to the estate lobby. Your strides were more confident with him around, but he didn’t notice it because he was busy getting all heated and fussy over the group of high schoolers who waited around your fallen body just now. “The real trouble here is those damn kids. How long have they been bothering you?”

You shook your head at his question. “They haven’t been. They didn’t do anything to me. I fell on my own, and they just happened to be around when that happened.”

Felix scoffed. He knew you were putting a good word for them because you, much like himself, didn’t own a heart capable of tarnishing another. Between you and him, though, he was more willing to give someone a well-deserved kick or two and not feel guilty about it afterward, especially if that particular someone was causing harm to someone he cared deeply about. Whether or not those kids deliberately tripped you, he didn’t like that they stuck around to watch you struggle. They should get out of the way if they had no plans to help you. No matter what you tell him, he will keep harboring a negative impression of them, but he wouldn’t do anything if he saw them again. Not because he was nice, but because you were.

“I have a few friends who also live here,” he said once the elevator arrived at your floor. He held the door open as he guided you outside. “If you don’t mind, I will tell them to keep an eye out just in case they see you around or if you need help with anything.”

You hummed in agreement. Ever since the outreach program helped you get into college and obtain a rental apartment, you have meant to meet some new friends. You figured you would struggle with schoolwork already, so to get the best of this opportunity, you wanted to fulfill the social aspect of the ideal college life. Felix was your roommate and, thereby, your first college friend, or acquaintance. You weren’t sure if he saw you as a friend yet. If he were willing to introduce you to the people he knew, you would gladly take the offer. Considering the kind of person Felix was, you doubted his friends would be anything short of a happy meal.

“Okay, we’re here. Give me a second. I’ll open the door.”

Clutching the white cane in your hand, you waited by the side for him to open the door. He inserted the key into the lock on the first try, much unlike the usual days when it would take him a few seconds of struggling to fit the key in place. You always heard the rustling from outside and knew he was home. The lock clicked, and Felix opened the door before returning to you. He stopped his palm at the small of your back as you walked, hovering carefully, and he squeezed through the small space between you and the doorframe to get inside first.

"There we go," he said, kicking his shoes off to a corner. He giggled quietly in amusement at the aggressive way you shoved your shoes aside with the tip of your white cane, and then you rested the cane against the wall near the door at its usual place. He was going to help you with them. "How was class today? I forgot to ask you!”

"Oh–it was good!" You clapped your hands and turned in his direction. Hopefully, he hasn't moved from where he last spoke. You were proceeding according to where his voice was coming from. "I caught up on some reading at the library. This boy who was going to the fine arts building led me there on his way. He was really nice.”

"That's nice. Did you get his name?" Felix hummed in contentment.

"No, I didn't," you said between soft giggles. "But he was wearing something weird and flashy, I assume. I could feel the fabric.”

He turned on the lights to illuminate the dull living room and frowned at the opened bags of chips and soda cans on the table. He remembered you were catching up on assignments at the table yesterday night. You must have forgotten to throw them out after. Quietly, he moved over to the table, dropped your notes on a clean corner, and began cleaning things up. He slid the soda cans over his arms and crumbled the chip bags. You perked up at the plastic noises, stayed in thought momentarily, then gasped, remembering the mess you made on the table.

"Oh, wait! I can clean it up myself," you urged as you stumbled over to the table. "I can help!" 

You stopped when his presence loomed over you, and through an extreme fog, you could make out the blond of his hair and some red of his jacket. Felix watched you stare at his neck before slowly looking up at him, your brows furrowed with a certain plead. You never said anything about your possible grievances over needing care, and he never assumed you had any. You have been picking up after yourself just fine, save for certain moments when you needed help, which everyone would require once in a while. But in case you had grievances, he wished you would know he didn't mind helping you. He didn't want you to think he saw you lightly in any way.

"That would be lovely. My hands are too small to hold anything, I swear," he said with a defeated chuckle. "Can you hold out your hand? I'll give you the chip bags.”

You did so willingly and tried to get a feel of his hands again when he transferred the empty plastic bags to you. You didn't think they were as outstandingly small as he made them out to be, especially not in comparison to yours. Or perhaps your opinion of it was influenced by the fact that whenever he touched you, he was helping you to somewhere, and you wouldn't have cared what his hand felt like as you walked with his voice sounding in your ears.

His voice was where the end of your heartstring sat, not just because his voice was securely deep but also because it was one of the only ways you could confidently know him in. You could barely make him out with your eyes, and it was too awkward to touch or smell him, so the best way to feel him was through his voice and how yours mixed with it in the air.

"Are you going to get fried chicken for takeout again?" he asked as he stepped on the trashcan near the kitchen counter. He waited for you to drop the chip bags in before letting go. "I think we should! I walked by this morning, and I saw a new promotional poster! They are drizzling cheese sauce all over the drumsticks, and they're selling it at a discounted price because it's new on the menu.”

You raised your brows. You were used to ordering the same thing at every restaurant as someone who felt uncomfortable trying new things. Sometimes, even if the new thing was good, you felt inclined to stick with what you knew anyway for, perhaps, nostalgic purpose. But Felix sounded so thrilled over it that you didn't have the heart to let him down, so you agreed. 

"Let's order that, then," you said. "I'll treat you. You helped me a lot today.”

He strangled out a protest with his throat and then snorted to dismiss your offer. But you stood your ground, reaching your arms out slightly to wave in disagreement. He might not think a big deal of helping you pick your belongings from the floor, walking you back home, choosing to clean up after you, and defending you to disrespectful high school kids, but it all meant something to you. Every kind gesture meant something.

"How about this–" you snapped your fingers–"you can make it up to me by letting me touch your face.”

"Huh?" Felix broke into clueless laughter. He tilted his head, a finger unconsciously pointing at himself, and he pulled a face even though you couldn't see him. "[Name], if you wanted to touch me, you could've just asked.”

You gasped, embarrassed. His assumption was not your intention, but hearing him joke about it out loud caught you off guard. "I did just ask!" you exclaimed, then you waved your arms in a criss-cross motion before your chest. "Also, no! I didn't mean it like that! I just–I don't know what you look like!”

"I know. I was joking," he muttered with an amused smile. Taking a step closer to you, he reached for your hand and placed it on his cheeks. He hesitated at first; he didn't know if you started from the top of the head or the bottom of his chin when you wanted to get a feel of someone's appearance. "Here. Examine away.”

You scrunched your nose as the only protest to his unfunny joke, and then you began your search for his facial structure.

Being touched so gently was not remarkable to him, but somehow, he felt the amusement fading from his face the more ground your fingers covered. The cushion of your hands touched each crevice of his bones. Your fingertips ran like raindrops over his eyes and his lashes; the back of your knuckles glided smooth and firm over his cheekbones; your thumbs a ghostly whisper as they stripped his lips bare of all its desire for romance; your palms an opened leash he gutted himself to tighten around his neck.

"Your skin..." you dragged your fingers carefully under his eyes, "do you have freckles, Felix?" 

He sucked in a nervous breath when you leaned in as if to see better. "I do. Can you feel them on my face?" 

"Barely. Freckles are mostly flat, I think. Part of the skin, like blemishes," you replied as you reached around to his ears and down his jaw. "You have a nice bone structure.”

"Thanks," he chuckled. "I wouldn't know anything about that, really.”

You laughed with him, your fingers still trailing. He wondered if you saw him differently than everyone else did, differently than he did. He wondered if touching his face would be more aggravating than observing it. It might be. It should be for him. If he closed his eyes and felt for the upward quirk of your mouth and your laugh lines, instead of watching the way your teeth flashed as you smiled, he would feel a certain kind of cruelty, a kind of sickness, like he would staple his skin to your face to feel its ever-changing joy.

He wanted to laugh. His brain begged him to turn this into something less than what his heart felt—the possibility of being in love. But Felix couldn't stop. His heart pounded in a pattern as muffled as your eyesight—he wasn't sure where his kindness for you began and where his affection for you ended. 

Being touched so gently was not remarkable to him, but being touched so intimately was. Being touched to be remembered, being touched to be memorized, being touched to acknowledge the growing affection his skin developed for the shape of your hands were remarkable to him.

"Thank you for helping me today, Felix," you said, your warmth abruptly leaving his features. Giggling, you gestured at him with a wave. "And for letting me invade your privacy like that.”

There was this boy who has been living with you since you started college, and he would let you do to him anything you wanted.

There was a boy who was your childhood best friend.

Seungmin needed to take a breather. He had never been beaten up like this—blood running down his nose, a split wound hidden on his forehead, and a reddened, swollen bottom lip. He thought he was going to die; he knew he was going to die, but he jumped to shield you from the grotesque louts with his fragile body anyway.

Your eyes shifted to the side when you felt his weight fall from on top of your back, and then they widened when you saw how uncharacteristically dirty your best friend's face was. It made you scramble out of your curled position onto your knees, treading past the rocky ground to where he lay catching his breath, and you loomed over him with panicking hands. He flinched when you touched his face, causing you to move away with a hasty apology. That sudden sting served as a wake-up call for him to gather himself and get off the ground.

Seungmin's head hammered with a muffled ring in his ears. He smacked the heel of his palm to his temple, trying to knock the pitchy hum out of his head, but all that for him was a shaky migraine. Groaning inwardly, he pursed his lips at the bitter taste of realization that he, indeed, was out of shape. The odds of winning a street fight were already against him when he first found you in the alleyway, and it stacked up higher when he got pushed on all fours. His muscles hurt all over—not even his father has ever hurt him like this.

"Are you okay?" he asked scruffily, looking at you as he rubbed the back of his neck. 

You were, physically. Seungmin may not have defended you from those smelly louts from school, but he did protect you. Most of what was supposed to be done to you was done to him because of his persistent cover of your body. You ran your hands over your body slowly; you didn’t hurt anywhere, which may be a sign of victorious heroism to him. To you, though, it was a burden. His heroism was a burden, a hassle, something that was better off not happening. 

It broke you to know that you thought this of him, but he was never supposed to be here. An honor roll student; the student council president; understanding and kind but not without wits and a specific type of humor; tall and well put together—Seungmin was never supposed to meddle in rotten business as such. This was not his place. It was yours. 

"Why are you here, Seungmin?" you asked as you reached for your school bag for some tissues, disregarding a need for gratitude.

"I was going to walk home with you," he replied with a shrug. "Why else?"

"Well, I thought you had a student council meeting today," you muttered, handing him the tissue. He rolled it into a semi-stick shape and shoved it in his bleeding nose while you pressed a clean one on the blood from his hair. "I didn't know you were going home on regular hours."

He scoffed. "You did know. I told you yesterday through text.”

"I haven't read it.”

"Well, you should," he said as he eyed you pointedly. He pinched his nose, feeling silly that he was trying to carry a serious conversation when he looked the least from that. "I don't appreciate you avoiding me, [Name].”

You pulled a face in disagreement. "I wasn’t."

Oh, but you were. As someone who has always been the one to make space for you in his schedule, because the truth was that he had more errands to attend to than you did, Seungmin would know you were avoiding him. You have never joined extracurricular activities or enrolled in night tutor classes, so naturally, it didn't make sense not to spend a measly five minutes with him. You also only made friends with him and one mutual friend he introduced you to, meaning you would have no plans outside the ones you made with him, which were getting scarce even now. Seungmin would know if you were avoiding him. The only thing he has to ask you of was the reason.

“I don’t believe you,” he muttered without looking at you. “To think I didn’t even get a thank you.”

“Because you shouldn’t be here!” you exclaimed through gritted teeth, focusing on the unseen injury on his forehead.

"Why? Because this–" he pulled away and gestured to his face–"would have happened to you?"

You sneered. This wasn't rocket science. You were being bullied. In the last year of high school, too, unfortunately. It wasn’t hard to deduce, but your distaste for his ability to voice whatever truth came to mind was especially strong at this moment because you knew the next thing would be an interrogation on why you didn’t ask him for help. As the student council president, he has a level of influence over the student body. You should have asked him for help; he would have stepped on everyone’s daily routine to defend you.

Taking your frustration on him, you shoved your hand against his head and threw the bloodied tissue paper on the ground. You clicked your tongue, glaring at him, and threw a baseless accusation, "You should have left!”

The angrier you got, the easier it was for the frustrated tears to fall.

He has no idea how embarrassing this was! You have spent years living in his shadow, being tended to by him as children. You were the clumsy one; he was the responsible one! You fell off stairs and tripped in the rain; he has band-aids in his mini crossbody bag and a set of coaxing words prepared. He proceeded to grow up to be exactly how it was predicted. He was smart, took up even more significant responsibilities, and was on his way to remarkable things. While you fell off from the generous predictions of your life, kicking your teenage years off with average grades and a complete lack of social skills and ending it by being a punching bag until the last year of high school.

But you were handling it! Seungmin’s increasingly busy schedule made it easier for you to hide such tragedies from him. You never received his help, and you survived these four years, albeit with two black eyes and a limping ego! To you, this was the noble thing to do—to suffer alone and handle it alone. He wouldn’t understand.

Trying to find something to do as a distraction, you grabbed the tissue you threw on the floor and tried to wipe the blood on his face. Your throat let out a teary croak when you saw the black soil stained on top, and you threw it away again. A suppressed screech sounded from the core of your throat, and you rambled with malice, a finger pointing at the mirror of his eyes. "Look at you! You look beaten! You–you look stupid! You’re stupid! You're bleeding, and you smell! You look disgusting!"

It was all supposed to be you; being in pain, dirty, bloody, injured. It was all supposed to be you. Seungmin didn't say anything when you pulled at your uniform sleeve and used it to clean his face. It was even a little hilarious to him that you cared about the dirt on the tissue paper but not much about the snot and tears you were wiping onto the sleeve fabric that was mixed with his dry blood. Your cries echoed in the chamber of his mind, bouncing off the pulled-back walls where his memories hid to keep away from your agony; his mind knew if he made sense of your pain, he would hurt him so badly that he might die.

“You should have left me here,” you said. “You should have left me alone.

“To get beat up? To die?” he argued softly. “Never.”

Seungmin forced a knot down his throat. The metallic taste in his mouth grew into a lump of a tumor, stranded at the tip of his tongue, where he screamed in response to you asking him to let you rot alone. You didn't know how he felt, even though this friendship lasted beyond ten years. 

You could not suffer without him. You could not ache without him. There was no more danger in the world than a silly boy in love with his childhood best friend. You cannot die without him; you didn't know how he would distort his body, feeling his bones snap into brutal places to fit inside your coffin. He would lay himself down into Earth's ground with you, his body desiccating next to you, and grow into a tree where its roots were built as one with you. The tree would get cut down centuries later, and your branches turned into papers used to write a magnificent love story, filled with affection he has all once felt and contained for you. You could not die without him. You could not love without him. 

"I will never leave you," he repeated. 

You saw your reflection in his eyes; when you were drowned in their browns, you became more than who you thought you were. Your hand dropped to your lap; he wanted you to strangle his neck with it. Seungmin would never leave you, and you knew why. You did know why. Because he was the responsible one, because you would do the same for him, because there was no version of this story where he would turn around the corner and leave you with violence as the answer. 

There was a boy who was your childhood best friend, and he would fight to die with you.

There was this boy. His name was Yang Jeongin.

The lights were out before midnight struck toward the day of the college entrance exam. It was to prepare for the testing with a whole night's sleep! Instead of sleeping in your own bed, you closed your eyes on a mattress laid out just next to Jeongin's bed on the floor. Unlike what your friend kept arguing about, the mattress wasn't at all uncomfortable to lay atop. What was actually uncomfortable and sleep-eliminating were the hot weather and the skin irritation that suddenly decided to appear.

You have always known Jeongin's parents live a frugal lifestyle, and their ideals bled into how he operated daily despite how financially generous they were willing to be with him. He rarely bought anything he didn't need, like clothes and games. Sometimes, he saved money on things he needed by cheaping out on food and hair conditioners. With that, one frustrating thing Jeongin couldn't bother to spend money on was electricity, specifically the use of air conditioning on a hot and humid summer night.

You heaved a deep exhale and furrowed your brows as you touched your inner thigh under the blanket. There was an itch developing there, which you tried your mightiest not to scratch it gone. When your fingertips made contact with the spot, you flinched away at the light bumps of hives nesting around the area and removed your legs from the blanket warmth. The chill wind blowing from the window helped you relieve the pain momentarily before it was gone.

Your inner thigh was not the only place developing a hive-like itch. The way Jeongin's sleep shirt rubbed against your back as you moved, the pattern printed on the uncovered mattress that sparked friction on your skin, and the humidity snuck between the hair that occasionally tousled across your face were all the causes for an unexplainable itch. You pursed your lips into a thin, silent line and frustratedly kicked off the blanket to keep the fabric away from your legs entirely.

"Are you okay?" Jeongin asked after hearing your soft whine, but he kept his back turned from you. 

You were not, but if you told him about your current skin condition, he would close the window and turn on the air-conditioner for you. His parents had already cooked you two decent meals today; you arrived at Jeongin's home during the afternoon for lunch and to study together, then you had dinner before studying more. They also let you use their shower and drink from their fridge, which to you felt like a huge financial sacrifice because you've repeatedly listened to Jeongin complain about how expensive good body wash was these days. You didn't want to make him turn on the air conditioner for you over something a good night's sleep could eliminate.

"Yeah. I'm just nervous about tomorrow," you said. 

"We've studied so much. You're going to be fine." Jeongin laughed airily. It hit just below his chin and was almost inaudible. "Just go to sleep. You don't want to doze off in the middle of the exam."

You scoffed. "I'm not going to.”

It would be impossible to fall asleep during a college entrance exam, regardless of how much rest you got the night before. The sheer pressure to pay attention to each question and the constant reminders of each clock tick that this exam determines the rest of your life were too big of a responsibility to run away from, let alone sleeping through it. But, at the rate these itches spread across your body, you thought you might just lay your head on the desk tomorrow and get some shut-eye anyway.

Jeongin could hear the sound of you scratching your skin. They went on and off without a specific pattern, but they happened within quick intervals—you were scratching somewhere, and then suddenly, you were not. He could also hear your quickened breath, paired with the constant shifting of your body across the blanket. He held back an annoyed exhale as he snapped his eyes open to meet the opened window. For the first time, he acknowledged the uncomfortable humidity in the air, mixed with a suffocating heat that would surely trigger your skin irritation.

Your parents speculated it was the result of allergies, and the doctor they took you to see approved that assumption. You never found out your triggers, though, and it was moving like there wasn't anything specific. You were just allergic to atmospheres that made you uncomfortable, be it extreme heat or festering cold, cotton pants or polyester shirts.

Jeongin always knew about it. His parents were the ones who found out over-the-counter allergy pills worked to relieve you of the itch, and since then, he has done in-depth research into anything related to such a health phenomenon. An interesting fact about him that he liked to tell others was that he could, on the fly, answer any questions about allergic reactions. He became obsessed with it because he wanted to help you, but really it was because it caused you a lot of pain. He was restless about it; whenever he recalled how you cried because you began bleeding from the scratches, he ached and scraped his to-do list to take another deep dive into the internet.

He wasn't sure why your pain made him feel such despair that he was running the map of a very niche topic. But he wanted you to feel better, to stop suffering from it.

You stopped itching at your jaw when Jeongin abruptly shot up on his bed. He turned on the night light sitting on his nightstand and peered down at you. You were staring up at him with squinted eyes, not used to the light, but even then, he could tell you were frustrated to the point of tears by the mere shift of your arched brows. He curled his fists lightly, the ache turning into fleeting anger before his chest started to hurt again. Leaving his spot, he went to close the window and turned on the air conditioner. 

"Wait, Jeongin–" you got onto your knees in protest–"you don't have to do that.”

He ignored you as he rummaged through his desk drawer. He pulled out a plastic container of allergy pills and a tube of cream he got in a pharmacy some time ago, then he approached you. Kneeling on the floor next to you, he urged you to receive the pills and watched you intently as he waited for you to pop them into your mouth, his water bottle in his free hand. When you were done, he brushed the blanket off to the edge of the mattress and sat near your legs, the tube of cream ready in his hands.

"I bought this cream a while ago. I heard it's good with alleviating rashes," he said as he popped the lid open. He took a brief sniff of the cream. It smelt medicinal and nothing more. "Where do you itch?" 

"Jeongin, I can do it myself.”

"Every time you touch it, you end up scratching it," he said softly. "Where do you itch?”

You were speechless. You weren't sure if you wanted to feel annoyed that he ignored all of your protests against helping you out or endeared that he went out of his way to buy you medicine for something you've never asked for help with. You glanced at the desk, where he didn't even close the drawer fully before coming to your aid, and back at Jeongin, who waited patiently with the medicinal cream in his hand. You shivered; he looked exhausted, and he should be after pulling so many all-nighters to study. Yet, he knelt before you, asking for nothing but your permission to help.

"A few places," you muttered. 

His touch was soft and made cold through the cream, but your skin remained heated from the tender way he nursed your broken body. He applied the scream on your forearm, under your jaw, and near your collarbones. And then there was a sudden shift in the air, stumped beneath the dim night light, when you told him your chest and your inner thigh were feeling suffocated.

Jeongin tried not to think about it. If he felt too strongly about it—reaching his hand beneath your shirt and pushing at your leg for further access—he thought his feelings for you may unknowingly bleed into the pressure of his fingers. But even with a blank mind and unfocused eyes, he could never rid the sensation of your soft, once private skin. The only thing that kept the endearing butterflies from turning to obsessive parasites was the reminder that you were in pain, that he was applying medicine on your skin to keep you from suffering through the night. 

Neither of you spoke a word during. At some point, his touch, plastered with the medicine, became permanent and regular. At some point, him taking care of you became constant and unthinking.

After he was done, he dropped the tub of cream on his nightstand and turned off the light. He laid down next to you instead of returning to his bed, forcing you to make space for him.

"Turn around," he said, pushing at your shoulders lightly.

Your voice strangled with confusion, but you complied. After turning your back to him, you felt his figure inch towards you until his chest hit your back. He snuck his arms around your body and searched for your hands to hold, effectively spooning you. His arms felt stronger than you recognized; he had been working out recently. You just never noticed any physical changes. But they were stronger and more secure as he hugged you to him and imprisoned your triggering hands from worsening your itches.

"Go to sleep," he mumbled. "I'll wake up later to reapply some more cream for you."

You protested, your voice barely a whisper, "But you need sleep."

"[Name]," he dropped his face to the back of your neck and curled up in a spot between you and the pillow, “sleep."

You wanted to tell him not to bother, to go back to his bed, but you found yourself falling asleep in his arms. His chest heaves felt too much like gentle caresses, and instead of on your lap, his head lay atop yours on a single pillow, which meant the same thing to you even with the ghostly touches of his lips on the skin of your neck, hauntingly there. You weren't sure what this was about, but you thought he must be in love with you to do this.

"Thank you, Jeongin," you whispered in a drowsy haze, "for taking care of me."

There was this boy named Yang Jeongin, and you thought he told you he loved you in your sleep.

#stray kids imagines #skz imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x gender neutral reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #skz x you #skz x y/n #skz x reader #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #chan imagines #changbin imagines #minho imagines #lee know imagines #hyunjin imagines #felix imagines #jeongin imagines #seungmin imagines #jisung imagines

[yukkiimrew]

ᵀʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵃⁿ ᴵⁿᵗᵉʳᵃᶜᵗⁱᵛᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ! ᴹᵉᵃⁿⁱⁿᵍ ᵗʰⁱˢ ⁱˢ ᵃ ʷʰᵒˡᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵐᵘⁱˡᵗᵖᵉ ᵖᵃʳᵗˢ! ʸᵒᵘ ᶜᵃⁿ ˢᵉⁿᵈ ʳᵉqᵘᵉˢᵗˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵃˢ ᵃ ᵈʳᵃᵇᵇˡᵉ!!

Smooth and passion were your goals in sword dancing, you moved like a swan mixed with a goddess based on the reviews from people who watched your little project. 

Those types of words always brought a smile to your face, kind words, and sometimes flirty comments were something you never heard growing up due to being the weird kid in the village.

But you moved ran away at the ripe age of 17, life became hard at Toyko but you fell in love with the art and music, but you remember the one thing you loved the most…Sword dancing! 

It was so beautiful it could make a grown man cry, the way the artist had so much grace made you want to try and look where you ended. You had your own studio and boy, it did a fantastic job!  Money soon poured in, and it helped pay bills and such.

On a busy night when the casts were too busy setting things up and getting ready, a tall and built man arrived very early. The show didn't start until 7:30 pm and it´s 5:02 pm! 

But you ignored it soon after but god, he was the hottest man alive! Messy hair, an awesome scar on his lip, and the only ¨scar¨ was on you was the time you cut yourself with a plastic sword! (How lame!!) You had your staff sit him in a chair and entertain him while getting ready/setting up. 

Lights and music started to play, and the audience plus the hot dilf all stared at the stage. Swords clinging to the floor, back dancers followed the rhythm. You were the main star, creating a beautiful illusion for the audience! Swords in your hands, waving and moving as the beats thump. Sudden this mysterious man and you locked eyes, his green eyes going wide and so were yours.

Your cheeks felt red, and your heart was pounding like it was you two, just together. It felt warm but cozy! You needed to know the man´s name immediately!

I mean this is the first time you felt like this, besides meeting family members. But a part of you stop you, would you listen or not? But never mind that you clicked at this encounter and continued this magical dance.

.

.

.

#toji fushigro x reader #fushiguro toji #toji zenin #jjk toji #toji smut #toji x you #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #fushiguro #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk fluff #fluff #dilf toji #jujutsu kaisen toji #jujutsu toji #mrew.txt! #toji !! #fluff jkk #jujutsu kaisen #toji #yuuji #twist it #bop #sword dancing

[mountttmase]

A Mountain To Climb - Chapter Eleven

Note - this was my favourite chapter to write so I hope you love it 🥰 I’d love to know you thoughts so please do let me know and thank you all so much for all your support on this series it’s honestly blown my mind 🩷

Pairing - Mason Mount x Reader

Word count - 4.6k

Warnings - series will contain fluff, smut & angst

Masterlist

You were on the hunt for a specific lip liner and you were pretty sure you knew where it was. The bag Mason had dropped off all those weeks ago still sat by your door as you were unable to bring yourself to unpack it. You were meeting Sophia for a quick coffee as you’d taken Thursday and Friday off of work so you could treat yourself to a long weekend and she’d been messaging you about meeting up all week as she was going back to Germany for a few days.

In the end you told yourself to get over it, taking the bag into your room and unpacking it quickly as your makeup bag was on the bottom. You were almost there when your hand grabbed a plastic package and you took it out with a confused expression on your face. Your name was printed in the front with nothing else so you ripped into it quickly, curiosity getting the better of you as you couldn’t face going out and not knowing what it was.

You knew exactly what it was before you’d even got it out of the bag, the blue colour familiar to you instantly and you let out a small laugh as you held it up to reveal Masons name and number on the back of the Chelsea shirt he’d promised you. A small piece of paper was attached to the front by some tape and you carefully removed it before reading it.

Sorry it’s late, I tried getting you one with Kepa’s name on the back but was told it’s impossible so you’ll unfortunately have to put up with mine. I can’t wait to see you wear it next time you’re at the Bridge.

Lots of love

Mason xxx

You let out a short sharp breath after you’d finished reading before reading it again and then a third time. He’d clearly snuck this in the night you went to Bens and your eyes stung when you held it up again.

‘Stop crying’ you whispered to yourself with a laugh, placing the shirt down on your bed before hunting for the thing you went into your bag for in the first place. You knew you’d be late now but you rushed as quickly as you could to meet Sophia. You found her inside her favourite cafe with a small suitcase next to her and you quickly ordered before joining her.

She thankfully kept the conversation Mason free and even though you’d never discussed it with her you gathered she knew something had happed as her and Kai told each other everything and the more she avoided the topic the more you wanted to talk about him until you finally cave and asked.

‘If you don’t know then it’s fine, but do you know how Mason is?’ You asked quietly and she gave you a small smile to let you know it was okay. ‘I’ve tried to not look into anything but I just wanted to check he’s doing alright’

‘Honestly? He not been fantastic. I haven’t really heard from him but Kai said he seemed a bit brighter yesterday. In fact a loads of them are having a boys night tonight so I’m kinda glad I’ll be out of the country so I won’t have to deal with Kai’ she laughed as she rolled her eyes before her phone started ringing. It turned out to be the taxi she’d ordered for the airport and after a quick goodbye she was gone.

Rather than head straight home, you went to the park nearby and sat with your thoughts for the first time in a long time. You knew you wanted to speak to Mason but you had no idea how to go about it. In the end you pulled out your phone and typed up a message for him but you couldn’t seem to get the words right. Finally giving up and going home after about half an hour of trying.

Friday morning you’d set aside for a lie in. You didn’t get them very often but you’d been looking forward to it for weeks. Waking up on your own without the sound of your alarm felt like heaven and when you checked to see the time it was coming up to half nine which made you smile.

The five missed calls and a few texts from an unknown number made you curious though and you quickly read over the texts to see what was happening.

Your heart sunk as you read over what Ben had said, an uncomfortable churning in your tummy at the thought of him wanting you around in his drunken state and you just wanted to wrap him up and tell him he’s alright. You contemplated calling Ben but you knew you’d probably talk yourself out of it so you sent him a quick text and got yourself ready to go as fast as you could.

It was just over an hour later when you text Ben to let him know you were outside and he was soon pulling the door open, giving you a small smile at the sight of you.

‘Thank you for coming’ he whispered, holding the door open for you and you were shocked at the scene in front of you. Cups and rubbish strewn across the floor, different bits of furniture moved about and the whole place just felt like a giant mess. ‘Don’t worry about all this, Masons gonna call a cleaner when he gets up’ he told you and you gave him a curious look. ‘You can go wake him up if you want’

‘It’s fine I’ll wait. You can head off Ben, thanks for getting a hold of me’

‘It’s fine. Thanks for being here, I know he’ll appreciate it’ he nodded before he was out the door.

You couldn’t face sitting here in all this junk so you made your way to his kitchen and rummaged around to find some bin bags so you could make a start on tidying up. Once the hallway was put to rights you made a start on the living room and soon enough you were five bags deep and at the end of the roll. Figuring he must have some more in the cupboard you stood on a chair to so you could look higher up but they were just out of reach still, casing you to reach up onto you tiptoes and just as you placed a finger on them you lost your balance and tumbled to the floor, landing awkwardly on your wrist as you yelped out in pain.

‘Shit shit shit’ you whispered and ten seconds after you heard someone running down the stairs. You didn’t have time to think about seeing Mason properly for the first time in a month before he was standing in his kitchen doorway, dressed only in his boxers as he tried to fathom what was going on in-front of him.

‘Y/n? What are you doing here? Are you alright, what happened?’

‘I was trying to clean up’ you told him as he crouched down next to you. ‘I couldn’t reach the bags and I fell off the chair’

‘Are you hurt?’

‘My wrist is a bit’ you whispered as he placed your good arm around his shoulder and scooped you up before carrying you to his sofa. ‘I said my wrist, Mason. That doesn’t stop me from walking’ you squealed but he didn’t listen to you, just carefully placed you on the seat before running back off to the kitchen.

He came back moments later with a bag of frozen peas that he’d wrapped in a towel and after placing a cushion on your lap he popped your wrist onto it gently before laying the peas on top.

‘Just keep this here a sec yeah? I won’t be long’ he told you before going upstairs. You laid you head back and shut your eyes, taking some deep breaths as the pain eased ever so slightly. You were so in your own head you didn’t realise he was back until he was sitting next to you, now dressed in shorts and a hoodie as he placed some bandages on the coffee table. ‘Can I see?’ he whispered and you nodded as he gently removed the bag away from your hand.

Your wrist was a little swollen but you could wriggle your fingers without any pain which seemed to satisfy him but he insisted on wrapping it up for you, gently apologising every time you hissed or yelped in pain.

‘Are you sure nothing else hurts?’ He asked, securing the bandage at the end but you could only nod your head as you knew your voice would wobble. Once he was happy with his handy work he placed your hand back onto the cushion and looked up into your eyes. You knew they were glassy and he’d be able to read you straight away so you moved towards him and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, pulling him into a hug you knew the pair of you so desperately needed.

He was shocked at first, but it didn’t take long for him to pull you closer and slot his head into your neck. The pair of you didn’t utter a word to each other as you sat there in a tight embrace, your good hand reaching up into his hair so you could scratch over his scalp lightly and you felt him melt into you even more. The only noise in the room was the sound of each others breathing until you built up the courage to pull back and look at him, his own eyes now full of tears making your heart break even more. You took a big gulp before speaking, your voice quite and wobbly.

‘I think we should talk’ you whispered and he nodded sadly. ‘There’s some stuff I need to tell you that I want you to know. You know I said It’ll explain a lot’ you you him with a little laugh and he gave you a sad smile.

‘Only if you’re sure’

‘I’m sure’ you told him and he shuffled down on the seat, placing a cushion down flat so it looked like a pillow.

‘Will you lay down with me? My heads thumping’ He told you nervously and you gave him a small smile before nodding. The pair of you laid down with your heads on the cushion, your hands automatically resting on his chest and as much as he tried to hide a smile, you could tell he was happy that you’d initiated some physical contact and he tentatively placed his arm around you waist. Even though you had a sweatshirt on you could feel him lightly tracing shapes on your back which settled you instantly. You wanted to tell him you missed him but you were trying to hold it together so you could talk to him.

‘I only ever speak to Freya about this stuff, I’ve never really got it all out in one go’ you muttered, warning him just in case you muddled your words but you could tell by his eyes that you were in safe hands.

‘It’s okay. Just take your time and if you don’t wanna tell me then you don’t have to’ he whispered and it took everything inside of you not to lean over and kiss him.

‘Do you remember that day we went for a walk?’

‘The day where you wore a red jumper and I accidentally insulted you?’ He joked and you let out a little laugh.

‘That’s the one’ you chuckled ‘you told me about your family and stuff and I felt so embarrassed about mine that I lied. My life was nothing like yours growing up’

‘That’s okay, I never want you to feel embarrassed about anything like that. I know not everyone grew up like I did’ he reassured you and you gave him a thankful smile before your hand moved up to his jaw, stroking over his stubble lightly out of habit and you watched him give you and adoring look. Even though you were comfortable as you were, you didn’t feel close enough to him so you shuffled forward, tangling your legs in between his as if the touch if his body on yours would give you the courage to speak.

‘Well it was just the three of us growing up. I never had any siblings or loads of extended family like it was literally just my parents and me. That’s all I ever knew. Then, when I was 12 I came home from school one day and my dad was gone. I didn’t think anything of it at first cause he was always the last one in but when it got to bed time and he still wasn’t there I asked what was going on and my mum told me he didn’t live with us anymore. She didn’t tell me why for a while but in the end I found out he’d been having an affair and he left us to start a new life with his other family’ you told him calmly and you felt him sigh next to you.

‘I’m so sorry, that sounds awful’ he whispered and you gave him a sad smile.

‘Yeah it wasn’t great, when you’re that old stuff like that sticks you know? Things were never the same after that. My mum didn’t help, I think I reminded her too much of him and she didn’t like being around me that much’

‘Well that’s her loss’ he mumbled before placing a quick kiss on your forehead which made you shiver.

‘Then, when I was 14 I got my first boyfriend. His name was Max and he was a boy in my class I’d had a crush on for ages. We were together all the time and I think it really pissed Freya and Maddie off at first’

‘Who’s Maddie?’ He asked, his brows furrowing in confusion.

‘My other best friend’

‘I didn’t know you had another one’

‘You’ll find out why’ you laughed and this time he laughed along with you. ‘Me and Max we’re together for seven years in total, his family was basically like mine and when I turned 17 they let me move in for a while so we could save up and get our own place. We had all these plans for our future…’ you trailed off and he pulled you in even tighter is that was possible.

‘Y/n please don’t get upset, you don’t have to do this’

‘No I’m fine. Honestly’ you told him, and with one final deep breath you finished your story. ‘It was my birthday and we’d all gone out to this club in London, I came out from the loo and could hear Millie giggling from behind the door that lead outside. I was curious so I followed the sound thinking I could tease her about whoever she was with but that’s when I heard Max’s voice. She was asking when he was gonna finally break up with me so they could be together properly and he told her soon. I didn’t give him the chance and ended it there and then. Turns out it had been going on for a year and I haven’t spoken to the two of them since’

‘Come here’ he whispered, and you didn’t realise you were crying until your head hit his neck and you felt the warm tears press onto your skin. The arm that you were laying on reached up so he could stroke your head whilst his other hand traveled under your top, stroking the bare skin of your back as he tried to offer you some comfort. ‘That sucks y/n I’m so fucking sorry’ he whispered into your hair and you nodded into his neck before pulling back ever so slightly.

‘I know it’s not an excuse, but when stuff like that happens to you twice you start to think it was your fault. Like everything I touch I seem to ruin’

‘None of that was your fault. People are shit sometimes and I’m so sorry that’s happened to you but please don’t blame yourself’

‘It’s why I didn’t want to let anyone else in, I didn’t want to feel like that again’ you hiccuped as he stroked up and down your back gently.

‘I know sweetheart’ he whispered, kissing your forehead and you felt yourself relax at his touch again. ‘I get it okay. I really do. Thank you for telling me’

‘Feels kinda nice to get it off my chest’ you whispered, already feeling lighter about not having to hide any part of yourself from him anymore and he smiled at you warmly. ‘I’m not done yet though’

‘Oh?’

‘That day you came over with my bag, and I shouted at you? Well I was on the phone to Freya when you knocked. She called me to ask if I was okay since she’d figured I’d seen something’

‘Seen what?’ He asked, his face scrunched up with confusion and all you wanted was to kiss his worry lines away.

‘Max and Millie got engaged. I saw it on instagram just before I answered the door’ you told him and you felt him sigh under your fingers. ‘I was so angry. Angry at them, angry about what I’d done to you and I just lost it. I know it’s not right but-‘

‘You don’t have to explain, y/n. I completely get it. I should of knocked a bit earlier I was standing outside your door for about ten minutes, I’m surprised no one complained about me’ he laughed and you couldn’t help but laugh along with him.

‘I’m not angry about it anymore. Why should I be? They both did a horrible thing and they’re welcome to each other. I guess I’m just annoyed they got their happy ending and I haven’t got mine’ you told him and he was smiling at you almost softly. ‘But I am sorry for what I did to you, and I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you at my house. You didn’t deserve any of that and you were right. Just because they were shit to me doesn’t mean I get to do it to you. I really am so sorry Mase’

‘I mean I shouted at you too’ he admitted and you watched the guilt wash over his face. ‘Im really sorry, I can’t believe I said all that’

‘I understand. I know I’m frustrating and I was awful to you. I only said all that stuff cause I knew it would hurt you and then maybe you could move on from me. I don’t want you to just brush it away like it’s fine cause I know it’s not’

‘I’m not, I just don’t want you to beat yourself up about it. I know you’ve felt bad about things but I’ve been feeling pretty awful about what I said too. We can’t change it but I’d love it if we could move on from it’

‘Yeah? I’d really like that’ you smiled and he gave you a sad smile back.

‘I’m sorry you saw me the other night and thought I was on a date too. I’ve been a bit of a grump for weeks and Bens sister was in town so a few of us went out but I get how you got to that conclusion and it wasn’t nice to see but I’d never do that to you’

‘I know’ you smiled, caressing his cheek to let it know everything was fine and by the way he settled into your touch he looked like he believed it.

‘I didn’t mean any of it at all, I just thought we were finally there you know? That i’d worn you down’ he laughed.

‘That we’d finally climbed the mountain?’ You whispered and he looked at you in confusion . ‘That day after Bens when we came back here and I napped on your sofa? I heard you on the phone saying you felt like you had a mountain to climb with me’ you told him with a smile and he laughed as he tried to hide his face.

‘I mean yeah, It did feel a bit like that. It knew it was going to be hard work, and I needed to be patient and keep going but once I got to the top I knew the view would be worth it and I’d get to see things that no one else would see’ he whispered and your whole body erupted in goosebumps at his sweet words

‘And how’s it looking from up there’ you joked as he tickled your back lightly.

‘Beautiful. So fucking beautiful you have no idea’ he breathed, his eyes flickering all over your face and you felt your chest grow warm as he looked at you with loving eyes.

‘I think I might’ you whispered, as the tears that were threatening to fall overflowed from your eyes and before you knew it your lips were on his.

You were both needy for each other, but you kept your kisses soft, knowing full well you’d have ample time to make up for the lost weeks. His tongue invaded your mouth almost instantly as it brushed up against your own and you could feel his heart hammering in his chest under your fingertips which made you smile knowing he was just as nervous as you.

You’d never had a kiss like this before and when he eventually pulled away the pair of you laid there out of breath and looking at each other full of shock.

‘Can I just check? You did come here to tell me that you want this right? Cause if you’re about to end everything after you just kissed me like that then I will go absolutely crazy’ he told you and you burst out laughing at his serious face.

‘I want this, I promise. I’m not gonna lie and say it’ll all be easy from here like I know I’ve still got stuff to work on but I don’t wanna do it on my own anymore. I like you, a lot more than I’ve ever really liked anyone and I just really don’t wanna loose you’

‘You’ve got me’ he whispered, a tiny smile flickering over his face to match yours. ‘You’ve had me from the second I walked out of my hotel room and found you outside’ he laughed and you cringed at the memory. ‘I thought you were a deranged fan at first’

‘Who says I wasn’t? Maybe this whole thing was just a ploy to make you mine’ you laughed and he tickled your back gently as you both laughed.

‘Well I’ll happily be yours’ he whispered and you felt your heart thud in your chest as he looked at you. ‘I want us to stick together and work through this, yeah? That doesn’t mean we have to put labels on anything just yet but I want you to know I’m here for you and when you’re ready to take the next step I’ll be ready too’

‘Why?’ You laughed, almost astounded at the way he spoke about you and cared for you. ‘I’ve been awful to you when you think about it’

‘Maybe I like a challenge’ he winked and you laughed whilst rolling your eyes. ‘I guess I thought we’d come so far from where we first started that I wasn’t willing to give up without a little bit of a fight and if that means giving you time then so be it. Yeah, I won’t lie it was a rocky start and I did wonder what’s the point sometimes but I’ve felt this pull to you from day one. Remember that first night we stayed at Bens? I couldn’t sleep for ages I just laid there and watched you and thought about how lucky I was that you’d come into my life. You’re smart, and cheeky and you’re kind when you want to be’ he winked and you rolled your eyes as he kissed your cheek ‘you’re also the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen’

‘I think you’re pretty too’ you giggled and he laughed as a deep blush crept over his cheeks.

‘If you’d let me, I’d like to be your happy ending’ he whispered almost shyly and you lent over to kiss his nose.

‘I’d like that a lot’ you whispered back, gripping onto him and you both giggled like little kids.

‘You got plans for the rest of the day?’ He asked, fingers still dancing over your back.

‘No, I was planning on sitting around and doing nothing’ you laughed. ‘Would you care to join me?’

‘The thought of doing nothing with you sounds better than doing anything with someone else’ he winked and you fake gagged as he tapped you on the bum in fake annoyance. ‘How did you get in by the way?’

‘Chilly text me, said you kept asking for me last night and asked if I could come over’

‘Of course he did’ Mason blushed as he tried to remember what he’d said last night.

‘You look like shit by the way, how much did you drink?’ You asked, gently stroking the bags under his eyes before you placed a soft kiss on the end of his nose.

‘Enough’ he laughed as you stroked his cheek, closing his eyes as he was enjoying the gentle feel of your fingers on his skin.

‘Why don’t I make you something to eat? Then we can have a nap?’ you asked and he nodded up at you shyly.

‘You’re the best’ he sighed pulling you into him even tighter as he pressed a few kisses against your neck. ‘But we can order something, I don’t want you hurting your hand anymore than it already is’ he told you leaning down to leave a gentle kiss over the bandage.

‘You’re lucky I don’t sue’ you winked before he pulled you up so he could grab his phone to see what he could order.

‘Oh yeah? What do you want? I’ll give it to you right now’ he laughed and you pointed to you cheek in hopes he would kiss it. It didn’t take much for him to lean over and place a delicate kiss to your cheek before gently gripping your chin so you were facing him. You watched his eyes flicker all over your face before they landed on your lips and he bought you in for a kiss just as soft. ‘That one’s free’ he winked before opening up his phone, leaving you looking down at him with a smile. Thankful that today had gone the way you’d hoped.

Tagged: @alwaysclassyeagle @ricsaigaslec @cinderellawithashoe @vip-access @majx00 @chelseagirl98 @mountpulisic @chaotic-taco-collector-blog

#mason mount #mason mount fanfic #mason mount fan fiction #mason mount series #mason mount concept #mason mount blurb #mason mount fluff #mason mount imagine #mason mount story #mason mount smut #mason mount angst #mason mount x reader #mason mount x y/n #footballer x reader #footballer x y/n #a mountain to climb series

[fandomnerd9602]

The spider gang left the Spider headquarters and they’re visiting Spider M!reader and pregnant Barbie twin boys) world and surprised that spider M!reader has a huge mansion and a base like Hawkman from Black Adam. Like Spider M!reader is paid to be a hero

Spideypool: this is your place?!

Noir: we had the sneaking suspicion you lived in some pink dollhouse

Gwen: how did you afford all this?

Y/N: Mattel money. Barbie and I didn’t merchandise our likeness for free

Barbie: what can we say? Life in plastic is fantastic. Now you guys gonna help us with the nursery?

#marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fluff #mcu #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #marvel incorrect quotes #incorrect marvel quotes #barbie mattel #barbie movie #barbie #spider man reader #spider man #across the spiderverse #beyond the spiderverse #margot robbie #barbie x reader #barbie imagine #barbie margot robbie #spider society

[sara-wishes]

S8er boi. - 여상

Skater!Yeosang x Female!Reader

genre: fluff, enemy to lovers.

warnings: rude y/n (only at the beginning), poor skater vocabulary, mention of scratches, a swear word (?), sorry not sorry but studying biology sucks, angelic yeo.

word count: 3.3k

now listening to: S8er boi by Avril Lavigne

a/n: happy birthday to yeosang! if you enjoy this work, pls consider reblogging :D also, i added everyone who interacted with my previous post for this fanfic to the taglist, since I changed the requirement after posting it.

The headache was already present in your system.

You couldn’t tell if it was from having locked yourself up five hours ago to study non-stop, or from the noisy and irritating rolling of skate wheels.

The culprit to blame for the incessant clattering, none other than Yeosang.

The boy next door, who had accompanied you all throughout your life, as your neighbor and as your classmate. Not that you knew much about him or you shared an irreplaceable bond with him. You were acquaintances, who had talked to each other from time to time. And perhaps, just perhaps, you had developed the smallest, tiniest and insignificant crush over the greek sculptured boy. 

Nonetheless, if someone were to ask you about your opinion on him, of course, you would retort that he is to you nothing more, but an endless nuisance, and that you considered him to be the ultimate archenemy of all your grades.

Although he indeed was ‘the boy next door’ for you, he liked being referred to as the ‘skater boy next door’. Who was too passionate about skating, to ever stop trying new tricks, right under where your window happened to be located. The only parchment of the street he had deemed good enough to practice on. Unfortunately, summer was nearing your town, and the luxury of keeping the window shut was not one which you could afford indulging in.

So, you were stuck with the bothersome rumbling of plastic over concrete.

The hours of studying were finally getting to you. As the diligent student you were, you had been bottled up inside your room. Reading, memorizing and hammering into your brain your biology sessions, hating every single moment of the five hours in a row, in which you had been torturing yourself. The fog in your mind didn’t make it any easier to keep going. 

You were officially burned out. No other time like before your finals to reach your human limitations. But still, even if you were incredibly bothered by this fact, you tried to blankly read and re-read the now familiar pages of the book, making this your last, desperate attempt.

Regardless of your tries, you were slowly getting more irritated at your inability, after 20 minutes of useless staring at a filled notebook, letting your nerves get the better of you. The annoying hobby of the previously ignored boy, finally affecting you too negatively to restrain yourself. Blinded by your powerless state, you were even convinced he was doing it just to spite you and you were putting an end to at least one of your impediments.

While you took your time to angrily load with irritation each of your moments as you got up from your seat at your desk, you pondered that, maybe, you shouldn’t be letting your pent up anger out on the skater boy, but you were too tired and done for to take a moment to think things through.

Leaning your head out the window, and waiting for your vision to adjust to the sunlight, your target became distinguishable. The blonde, unaware of your eyes on him, still practicing his tricks.

“Hey, you! Could you stop for three minutes? People are trying to study here!”

The innocent boy looked up at you with big maltese eyes, startled at the unexpected voice coming from above his position. ‘Fantastic.’ Now you didn’t only feel miserable with yourself, but guilty at having called out the boy’s harmless doings. Perhaps this enmity was one sided after all.

“Sorry, am I making too much noise?” He shyly and politely asked you.

“Well… Yeah.” You honestly felt like a Karen, complaining to a manager over the incorrect order in a restaurant.

“Oh, sorry…, again. Y/N right?” His voice got smaller at your glare and his form shrunk at your tone, making you feel as if you were kicking a puppy. At this thought, you scoffed out loud, making the boy tilt his head naively. You really were the villain in this story, huh?

Coming back from your cloud, after self deprecating just a little more for the day, you nodded at his question, actually surprised at his knowledge of your name. 

Without a doubt the most beautiful guy in the world remembered your name, the name of the most basic and common girl to ever grace the earth. You sure felt kind of special at this. A silly thought and sentiment, but you had had enough pestering all day to not take the indirect compliment.

You really were regretting having ever complained to him. And even though you couldn't even blame the blonde anymore as hard as you tried, he continued explaining himself. 

“I figured you would stop studying at some point of the day.” His deep timbre conjured his sentence, with no malice or offensive intent.

Oh. Oh. So you were the stupid girl who was feeling remorse over your actions, and he was getting cocky? The anger that had slightly subsided, arose once again even stronger than before. At least that was how you were taking that incredibly blunt statement. The patience left in you taunted by it, made you want to go down to the alley and break that damned skate of his.

“Well Yeosang, I figured you would stop skating at some point of the day.” You’d give him back a taste of his own medicine. 

At that, the blonde shut up and stood still, just blankly staring at you. And even if you thought he had never looked as handsome before, not his visuals nor his damaged puppy face would make you forget how pissed you were at him right now. Tired of his silence, you decided to finish the job.

“Are you gonna’ stop or do I have to go down there and break that thing in half?” You bitterly made him snap out of it, using your head to gesture to the bored skate that he carried in his hand.

“Hey, h-hey, I’ll stop, don’t be like that.” He rushedly assured you.

“Thought so.”

With that, you retreated back into your room. Back to studying, to pretending not to be worn out from all the pressure, time and dedication you put into it.

At least, that was your plan. As soon as you tried to duck back indoors, you heard Yeosang’s angelic voice call you out (was every single thing about him just angelic and otherworldly?).

“Wait! Wait! Please.”

Annoyed out of your skin and huffing, you decided to indulge the skater just this time.

“What.” More than as a question, it came out as a statement, only adding to the furious rudeness.

“Why don’t you come down?” He timidly suggested.

“So you can make me lose more of my time? No, thank you.” Was your retort, sarcasm dripping from every word. He must be losing it if he thought he had a shot at convincing you.

“No.. It’s just- you can't spend all day cooped up inside. It isn’t healthy. Besides, I’m sure you’re burned out from all that hard work. A bit of fresh air and skating can do you no wrong.”

Taken aback from his honest and sincere worry, instead of answering back with a witty remark, you let yourself ease a bit into the conversation. You were getting tired from all the tension and anger that were in no way helping your headache. Maybe he did have a shot at convincing you. So you could only think that, maybe, he was more observant than the rest of his friends gave him credit for, and found his realization of your state admirable.

“You noticed.” Answering with a calmer voice, the frown that had adorned your face for the entirety of the word exchange, now gone. However, even at your more relaxed state, he still felt the need to be watchful and careful of his wording, cautious as to not let his previous mistakes repeat.

“Don’t take it the wrong way but, you’re usually so kind with me and my friends. Even if just from passing. It just didn’t seem like you were the one speaking right now.”

Perplexed at his statement, you allowed yourself to drift from the conversation to your own head, leaving the boy hanging. 

He… noticed you? Not only that, but he thought you were kind? You couldn’t believe what he was saying. He was the kind one. One of the kindest souls you had encountered. He was the one dealing with a pissed-off neighbor incredibly politely and with the grace of a swan. You were the one who should be praising him and awarding his kindness. 

Yeosang was like a sun, always making sure his friends shined as much as him and no one felt out of place or kept out of the loop. You were not stalking him or anything of the sort, but everyone who knew just a bit about Yeosang, was aware of how far he’d go to make sure his friends and close ones felt appreciated. He was the definition of kindness. So much so, that just with that comment he had managed to lift your spirits quicker than you could’ve ever imagined. Just like the work of magic. 

Remembering you were still in a conversation with the boy in question -who, at your unresponsiveness had begun fiddling with the ends of his board-, you answered his previous question. 

“Okay.”

“O-okay?”

“You notice me being worn out from class, but you can’t tell what I’m talking about? You still are as oblivious as always, Sangie.” Maybe you were being too cruel on the poor clueless boy. Maybe you were taking too many liberties and speaking too casually to the one you only shared the same classroom and apartment block with. Maybe. But you were feeling happier thanks to him, and maybe you were in to have a little fun, after looking at your biology book for about 3 hours straight with a blank mind and no results.

After having decided for the more enjoyable choice, you retreated back into your bedroom. You closed the damned book with a slam, turned off your heated up monitor and without even grabbing your keys, you sprinted down the stairs of your apartment and hopped over the side of the road Yeosang was calmly waiting for you.

“So, what do you suggest?” You expectantly blinked at his form.

Abruptly and out of nowhere, he began chuckling adorably at your sudden enthusiasm and outburst of energy. At this, you couldn’t contain your own smile, not that you were trying to. It was amazing how fast he had been able to lift your mood. Partly to how honest and good-natured his words had been, as insignificant they could seem to any other, they weren't to you. And partly to you taking a moment  to assess how childish and simple-minded your previous attitude at the boy had been.

When he finally took a breath after his fit of adorable chuckles -which made his smile smaller and all the cuter-, he let out his thoughts and the reason as to why he had felt the sudden humor. “You’re eager.”

“Yes! Now teach me how to skate!” Even if your crankiness was gone, your mindset was difficult to get rid of. The stubbornness of getting things right when you dedicate yourself to them and the ‘don’t lose your time’ attitude you always wore on your sleeve, were also present now, when your current fixation was learning how to skate with Yeosang’s guidance.

The sun was setting, but now seemed like the perfect instance to try and successfully ride without scraping your knees. You felt confident, after all, how difficult could rolling on top of a skate be? Maybe after you got the hang of maneuvering around with it, you would even go and try some simple tricks.

Although you felt hesitant at first, since you believed to be skillful enough to manage without it, Yeosang convinced you to let him show you a bit of the theory involving skating. How to position your knees, where to stand on the board, how to turn and push yourself easier…, the basics.

Thanks to Yeosang, you learned all the theory needed (Not much, thanks to god, otherwise you would’ve already passed out from all the ‘studying’.)

“Okay, now you ride it.” Without hesitation, you jumped on the board, avoiding Yeosang’s helping hands to get on top of it. You felt optimistic enough to slide across the street without the boy’s help. It could not be that difficult. 

That’s what you thought at first.

Going on a straight line was the easy part. You forwarded your body with the help of your foot, managing to beeline towards your initial destination for the most part.

When the moment to turn arrived, is when things started to go south. Not only were you unable to properly direct the board to take on the curve, but the momentum of the previous linear movement wasn’t helping either.

The stiffness of the board threw you off balance and made you lose your footing. Before you could even realize what was happening, you were barreling towards the floor.

From your position, facing the other side of the street, you couldn’t see Yeosang, but you heard his gasp as you fell. 

Planting your hands in the ground, you stupidly fell over them, your knees also taking the impact and scraping themselves in the process.

“Y/N!” Yeosang shouted for you, running to your aid.

“Ow…oww…” You whined at the painful scratches. Yeosang skidded across the pavement, not caring about damaging his pants or his own knees. 

“Are you okay?!” He worriedly questioned your state, kneeling to your level. 

“Yeah, yes- I just hurt myself a little. I’m okay.” Brushing off the dust and dirt from your knees, you reassured him you were fine, just a minor wound. Regardless, he took out of his back pocket a box of Peppa Pig bandaids, selecting a few of his liking. Incredulous, you stared at him.

“Are those for me?”

“Yeah, we can’t let it get infected. Who do you prefer, George Pig or Pedro Pony?” Not believing your eyes, this time you were the one to start chuckling. He could be so childish and so mature at the same time. Yeosang was truly a wild ride. But, obviously, you had an evident answer to his question.

“Pedro Pony, of course. He's my hero.” At your confident answer, Yeosang did not hesitate another second and proceeded to take his water bottle -that had been waiting by a corner on the alley-, pouring a good amount of the liquid over your wounds and patting down the excess with a tissue. The Pedro Pony bandaids coming next. After securing them on your skin, he got up and lent you a hand to help you off the ground.

“Thank you. I really thought I got it.” You sheepishly broke the comfortable silence.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. But, I have an idea. Do you trust me?” He looked at you through his lashes, standing just a few centimeters away from you.

For a moment, you pondered. This was the longest amount of time you had talked to him ever before. Sure, you did kind of fancy the boy, but maybe you could take the opportunity to tease him a little. Either way, he had made you feel incredibly comfortable in record time, giving you the opportunity to run away from your duties just when you most needed it. You could honestly say, you trusted him to teach you skating, and a bit more than just that.

“Sure.” When your answer came out as positive, he smiled brightly. Almost blindingly. Possibly the most beautiful smile you had ever witnessed had been his in that exact moment.

The blonde signaled you to hop on the skateboard again, just a little bit over the front. Maybe you should have expected it when he directed you to settle that way, but it came as a surprise when Yeosang climbed on behind you. He began circling his arms around your hip, but the kind male, gently asked for consent before completely embracing you. 

“Can I?”

“Yeah.” Due to your proximity, both your answers came as a mere whisper, only audible for each other. His arms finally settled around your form, instantly warming you, from the electric touch of his fingertips near your belly, to the top of your shoulders, where he leaned his chin to be able to see. Your ears became a vibrant red without you even realizing. 

The boy began pushing you both forward, starting slow, taking the turns you had not been able to before. But when you both had settled into a comfortable position and tempo, he thought he could speed things up.

A bit more harshly, provoking a small rattle on the surface of the skate, he pushed you both with his foot, planting it strongly on the ground. The pace began increasing, the wind making your hair wild, slipping through your locks and caressing your face. The freedom you had been yearning for just minutes before, was now finally yours to enjoy and savor.

“Woohoo!” You couldn’t help yourself. You really needed this and you were going to make the most out of it. Letting out a freeing laugh from the pits of your chest, Yeosang joined you in your joy. Unbeknownst to you, he was immensely euphoric to have been the one to free you from your shackles, taking the glee trapped inside you, letting it resurface.

Even hours after the sun had settled behind the horizon, you two still skated, laughed and talked about everything and anything, building a moment that you both would treasure and hold dear next to your heart. 

Sadly, you had to come down from your cloud at some point, returning to reality. And you could stress no more the liberating hours.

“Yeosang. Thank you so much for this. All of it.” You snapped the boy out of his daydream, the same one you had been engrossed in just moments ago. He slightly raised his left eyebrow at your remark, curious as to what you meant. And smiling due to his antics, you decided against answering his silent question.

“You have nothing to thank me for, everyone needs this from time to time. I am glad I was the one to help you.” When he finally understood the meaning behind your words, he sincerely retorted. But he deduced this was your way of telling, the moment was coming to an end.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” He tried to elongate the moment as much as possible, feeling the same way as you did about your parting.

“Yeosang. We live right here. Like, two meters away from this alley. I think I’ll do just fine. But, thank you again, either way.” Smiling at him, you begrudgingly rose from your sitting spot. And waving at him, you made your exit around the corner. “See you around, S8er boi!” You shouted over the other side of the street, unable to see Yeosang’s reaction at that point.

If you had already admitted to yourself that you had a crush on the boy before, you now had confirmed it was much more than that. And perhaps, if someone were to ask about your opinion on him, this time, you would consider telling them Avril Lavigne could try to take away from you this skater boy, but never succeed. 

With this thought in mind and a new perspective of Yeosang in your heart, you were ready to take on more of your studying. But, mayhaps, the universe was against you studying at all today. Your apartment keys missing from your pocket -forgotten on your desk at the prospect of skating with your crush- and a blossoming smile on your lips -ecstatic at the thought of spending more time with the boy of your dreams-.

taglist: @anew-inception, @harmonized-disarray, @imalittlebitlovedrunk, @dea-nimus, @landsharkfandomtrash, @alice0blog, @baizhuu, @bunnyiix, @cookiechristie, @alex-90000, @corpser2002-blog. (names not on bold could not be found).

#skater boy yeosang #yeosang x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez fluff #ateez #fanfic #fluff #kpop fanfic #ateez yeosang #kang yeosang #yeosang ateez #yeosang x reader fluff #ateez imagines #yeosang imagines #yeosang fanfic

[welcometololaland]

SNIPPET OF ALTA - CHAPTER 1 (TO BE POSTED 1 OCTOBER)

“Damon Green,” Marjan continues, looking over at the group and rapping her fingernails against the plastic tabletop. “He’s in my chemistry class. Seems like an asshole.”

“Definitely,” Carlos agrees. “His mom wrote that song about a tractor being sexy? It’s a hit around here.”

Marjan snorts a dry laugh. “You’ll have to play it for me one time. Will it be played at prom?”

“Who knows,” Carlos retorts. “I won’t be there.”

“Why not? You could ask Damon,” Marjan teases, and Carlos tries his best to cover his panic with a cautious smile. He’s never told anyone that he’s ninety-nine percent sure he's gay. Carlos is seventeen and has never even kissed a boy, yet he spirals about being outed on a regular basis. It’s a secret that he keeps very tightly locked up.

“No thanks,” he replies. “I’d rather eat my own arm.”

Marjan wrinkles her nose. “Okay, what about me? As friends, obviously.”

“Not that you wouldn’t be a fantastic date, but I’d be worried about ruining whatever scrap of credibility you have left after hanging out with me at lunch.”

“So benevolent,” Marjan smirks. “Hey, what's the deal with TK Strand?”

“His dad makes ten million a picture,” Carlos says carefully. “You’ve probably seen him all over the TV in big-budget Westerns or action films. He does all of his own stunts and everything.”

“Cool,” Marjan nods. “The son of an action hero. I imagine that’s popular with the ladies.”

“TK is popular with everyone,” Carlos admits. “Although, sometimes I wonder whether there’s something he’s hiding.”

“You think?” Marjan asks, eyeing TK shrewdly in Carlos’ peripherals. “Looks like a regular high school jock to me.”

Carlos shrugs. “Every school has a poor little rich kid,” he murmurs. “He’s ours.”

#ALTA #ALTA snippet #ALTA chapter 1 #911 lone star #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star fic #lola writes #marjan marwani

[anarcoqueer1994]

Still on a Steve likes Barbie kick and I'm going to keep putting that into the universe.

When Steve was 5 years old, he used to go to the store whenever his parents were in town, where they would buy him toys to make up for the fact that they were never there. It was back when they would still pretend they cared, feigning love between long bouts of absenteeism and moments of his fathers violent temper. He could get any 'boy' toy he wanted. Over the trips, he had gotten baseball stuff, a Fisher Price Farm set, a toy plane, Matchbox and Hot Wheel Cars; honestly, he had any toy a boy could want. But he wanted something else.

He would always pass the pink aisles filled with toys that were supposed to be for girls, and he was enthralled with one toy in particular. Nestled between the baby dolls and the easy bake ovens were pretty Barbie dolls with fantastic outfits and soft brushable hair. And he wanted one so badly. He would always ask for one and every time he was met with harsh words from his father. "Steven, don't be a pansy. Boys don't like Barbies unless they are sissies. Are you a sissy, Steven? Do you want your friends at school to find out?"

Steve always shakes his head, dejected. He then goes and picks out a boy toy, a toy his dad won't be mad at him about. But one day, something changes. One of the nice women who worked at the store, Mrs. Munson, had watched as Steve continuously was shot down by his father . She felt bad for him, so that day, as she checks them out, she slips a Growing Hair Barbie into the bag discretly along with the Lincoln Logs, before handing little Steve the bag, winking kindly at him as she does.

And Steve immediately goes home and runs up to his room, hiding the packaging under his bed before playing with the doll. He loved her hair and dress, and everything about her. She was glamorous and beautiful, everything Steve wanted.

He would sneak her with him everywhere, even slipping her in his backpack when he would go to the playground. Today was one of those days, going to the park with his nanny, as his parents were in Chicago. He would run and hide behind a tree, out of sight from his nanny, where he could play quietly with the doll.

He is so wrapped up in his game that he doesn't notice someone walking up next to them until they sit down on the ground beside them. Steve looks over to see a boy from his school in the grade above him. Panic fills his face as he tries to hide the doll. Even back then, his father instilled shame in him whenever he was doing something that wasn't traditionally masculine.

But boy smiles at him, one tooth missing from where the baby tooth fell out. "Hi, I'm Eddie. Can me and my dragon," he motions to the plastic figure in his hand, "play with you? Your doll looks cool and maybe can be a princess. Or knight, or a knight princess." Eddie starts to ramble.

Steve scrunches up him nose, confused that the other boy isn't making fun of him. "Wait, you wanna play with me and my Barbie, even though I'm a boy?"

"Yea! It gets lonely playing by myself and you looked like you were having fun!"

"Oh." Steve looks down, unsure how to feel. He really wants to play but what if the other boy just is playing a joke on him. "My dad says Barbie is a girls toy."

Eddie laughs. "My dad says that junk too, but my mommy says toys are for everyone, no matter what. We can play with whatever. So can we play, um...I forgot to ask your name?"

Steve can't help but smile at the kind words. "Sure! And I'm Steve. Oh and Barbie is definitely a princess knight and she is going slay your dragon!" He giggles.

The boys spend the rest of the afternoon playing together until his nanny calls for him. On the bench near her, he sees the lady from the store and watches as Eddie leaves with her.

They play again the next few times they are at the playground, always hiding the Barbie from the nanny so he doesn't get in trouble. But Steve loves it, making up adventures for Steve’s Barbie and Eddie’s dragon. Steve thinks Eddie could be his best friend.

One day, though, his parents are actually in town, and they make a show of taking him to go and play instead of the nanny. He doesn't think anything of it. They do this all the time to show other people they care. Steve and Eddie fall into their regular routine, but Mr. Harrington seems far more observant of Steve than the nanny, always acutely aware of Steve's actions so he can meet sure his son does not embarrass him.

He can see Steve's legs sticking out from behind the tree and the legs of another boy. He decides to walk closer to "check on" (read: make sure he isn't hanging out with the wrong kids). Steve does not notice until he is being yanked up by the back of his collar, fear filling his eyes as he looks at Eddie. He drops the doll out of panic.

"Steven Michael Harrington, what the fuck are you playing with?" His voice is low but stern.

"I...I..." Steve begins to stutter, a tear forms in his eye.

"You're not that stupid boy, answer me." His father is still speaking with gridded teeth.

"A Barbie, sir." He whispers.

"Where did you that?" His dad presses

"I...." Steve looks around, doesn't want to get Eddie’s mom in trouble, and is unsure what to say as he stands in front of his father scared.

"I gave it to him. It's mine." Eddie lies before Steve can say anything, watching what is happening, seeing the same fear in Steve’s face that he has felt when his dad has one too many drinks.

Steve goes to speak, but before he can, Mr. Harrington is pulling Steve away, leaving the doll abandoned on the ground. He yells out "Do not talk to my son anymore." Steve tries to protest, but his dad just grips his hand tighter around his wrist, shutting him up.

Eddie goes home with the doll that night, knowing Steve won't be allowed to talk to him anymore. He spends the night crying on his mother's lap, as Steve cries alone in his room over the loss of his first friend and his special doll.

~~

Years passed, and they don't talk, Steve too scare when he was younger to disappoint his dad, and by the time he is old enough to stand up for himself, he thinks iits too late. Things change, the Harrington parents being around less and less, Eddie’s mother passing, and his uncle Wayne taking him in. Steve grows into the all-American boy his father wanted him to be, and Eddie leans more and more into letting his freak flag fly.

But then the upside-down happens, and Steve grows some .ore, and then there was Spring break, and he is running with Eddie’s near lifeless body out of there, barely getting him to the hospital in time. But Eddie recovers, and they grow close again.

Everyone around them can see their mutual crush, but it is Eddie who makes the first move. Nearly 5 months after Vecna, Steve finds a shoe box wrapped in newspaper on his front porch. The note attached reads

"Would you still be my princess-knight? Maybe we can try our play dates again, except maybe we make it a real date?-Eddie"

When Steve opens the box, inside is his original Barbie from all those years ago with a pretty pink rose. Eddie had kept it all this time. He can feel a tear rolling down his cheek. Eddie cared enough to keep her.

It doesn’t take long before Steve is heading to Eddie's, ready to show him how appreciative he is.

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #ficlet #barbie #steve liles barbie

[actualbird]

yknow, i really love the SR cards where the main plot is basically just NXX Boy Goes And Does A Thing, And He SUCKS AT IT!!!

vyn has SR Mercury In Retrograde where he does a fantastic job being absolute ass at household plumbing. marius has SR Overtone where he gets an A++++++ for being the last guy you wanna lend your guitar to, because hes really bad at playing the dang guitar. and at first i didn't know what artem's card was that followed this pattern but sam @samsspambox blessedly informed me that it's SR Thin Veil, the paywalled SR i dont have yet. and in that card story artem fucking SUCKS at PUPPETS

(sidenote: i generally weep at paywalled top-up cards but the concept of basically having to pay for artem's cringe is So Very funny to me)

but now here is where the injustice becomes apparent.....vyn, marius, and artem each have an SR Epic Fail: The Card Story

BUT WHERE IS LUKE'S?????????

to avoid any misunderstandings, here are the traits of what, to me, makes up an "SR Epic Fail":

one Main Thing is the thing our beloved nxx boy will suck at and what and it's also generally Main Focus of the whole card story (which then later leads to a sweeter core message about vulnerability and love and being okay with not being perfect etc)

our boy has to suck In The Moment. not in a flashback, not in a referenced past anecdote, no no. i want to have to tap through the entire excruciating scene/s of him failing at whatever hes doing

the story format has to be in a contained card story and not a recurring-but-brief theme in a personal story

with this criteria in place, it is IMMEDIATELY apparent that luke is the only one without an SR Epic Fail. the closest story instances would be the following:

SSR Through The Heavens (the skateboard card) since he fails at being a normal not-hypervigilant human being and also the NSB makes fun of him with memes, but this doesnt count because it wasn't the Main Focus of the story, there was a whole lot of other stuff going on and the Main Focus was the skateboarding which he did awesome at

some past anecdotes and flashbacks in SR How I Remember You (the luke blindfold card) about how luke sucks at drawing and sucks at charades, but this doesnt count because the drawing was just referenced in a few sentences and the charades fail was a brief flashback. it's also not the Main Focus of the story as well

his general inability/difficulty with cooking that is a recurring theme across his personal stories doesnt count because it's not a card, and thus isnt eligible

this is terrible. this is horrid. i love luke and i want a card thats all about him messing up at a minor activity. i want a full SR Luke Fucks Up At Cooking where the focus is what it says on the tin

i can even see the story so clearly in my mind's eye. it'd be so easy. maybe luke tries to make gingerbread man cookies but accidentally ends up with a gingerbread massacre.

luke mentions hes gonna bake and mc is excited about it because it seems he put a lot of thought and research and prep into it, maybe it actually starts with a scene of them shopping for ingredients together, and theyre both looking forward to luke's baking! but when it actually happens hes like "oh sorry a case came up, dont come over to my place anymore!!" which is sus

mc comes over anyway the next day to pick up some stuff she forgot and luke is there acting awfully nervous and his whole BUILDING smells of burnt gingerbread but there are no gingerbread treats to be found. luke keeps evading until mc finds The Massacre in a plastic container box haphazardly shoved into one of the kitchen cupboards

and it's an absolute baked-goods crime scene in there. none of the gingerbread men look like they were ever even men or homonids of any kind to begin with, it instead looks like all the dough just came together in the oven to create an amorphous Blob with the odd "limb" sticking out here and there. what luke has created is a gingerbread abomination.

mc stares at the gingebread abyss, and it stares back.

upon further investigation, mc even finds slight burn marks around the oven's door too and luke has his face in his hands, his shame is IMMENSE, just about as immense as the aroma of gingerbread treats everywhere. he was hiding it because he was worried that he got her so hyped up for the whole thing that it'd be SUCH a disappointment to her that he fucked it up!

and mc is like "hey no it's okay, as long as it tastes good, it doesnt matter how bad it looks!" and then she breaks off a piece from the gingerbread monstrosity and eats faster than luke can warn her "NO NO DONT DO IT---"

it tastes like shit

anyway they go out to get desserts from cafe instead and mc reassures luke that she obviously still loves him even if he created a baked treats atrocity and broke the genevabread convention. she tells him that if hes having trouble or if he fails, his instinct shouldnt be to hide it all and avoid her but to let her know and so she can help out, because she wants to be there for the wins and for the losses, for the good days and the bad. luke then goes all blushy grateful happy and they kiss and love is real.

the end. the post-story text conversation can go something along the lines of

luke: okay so i figured out why my gingerbread men went nuclear

mc: oh? why?

luke: i....misread "tsp" as "tbsp".........every time

mc: HAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA

luke:

#tears of themis #lukerosa #luke pearce #tot rosa #xia yan #sam im so sorry for the amount of times i ping u with an @ u are simply the best artem primary source of all time and i love that so much #tot luke