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set-phasers-to-whump · 1 year

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understanding

prompt: no anesthetic

whumpee: illya kuryakin

fandom: the man from uncle

bingo number four babey let's goooo :) anyway this is i think my first time writing from waverly's pov so it might be a bit wonky (i am not british but did my best lol). hope you like it tho!

Alexander Waverly is not a field agent. He’s a handler. A point of contact, a controller, a leader, operating under different names and in different places but predominantly from behind a desk or, at the very least, from a place with some sense of security. A place where he, his agency, his country, has control.

Car chases and bullets and dirty, bloody fighting are not his area of expertise. This is where his agents come in.

Or, at least, this is where his agents usually come in. Today, he himself has been pulled into the messy sphere of field work.

What it had come down to was a shortage of personnel - Solo had been called back to America for a CIA training camp, and Teller was away at a three-week-long intensive Russian language course.

But international troubles don’t stop just because two thirds of one’s international espionage team are unavailable. They’d needed two agents to tackle an apparently minor issue in Paris. He and Kuryakin, being, so to speak, the only ones in the office, had therefore shipped themselves off to the French capital.

Alexander’s role was supposed to be minimal. Keeping guard of the only entrance while Kuryakin did all the heavy lifting, the breaking and entering, the collection of three vials of poison.

It should have been quick and simple. In and out. A storage closet in the basement of a once grand but now rundown block of flats. Locks that even Alexander himself could have picked in seconds.

He’d given Kuryakin fifteen minutes. Kuryakin had said, “I will only need five.”

Five minutes had come and gone. Alexander had glanced between the building and their car, just visible around a nearby corner. He hadn’t been worried. Five minutes is hardly any time at all. Perhaps Kuryakin had simply underestimated how long it would take him to reach his destination.

And then there had been a gunshot. And then another one.

Alexander stands on the desolate sidewalk and pushes a button on his two-way radio.

“Agent Kuryakin, report.”

Nothing.

He takes an abortive step towards the building, lightly touching his gun through his jacket. He’s never used a gun outside of shooting ranges and emergency trainings. Absurdly, he wonders whether he will remember how to fire it.

It turns out that he doesn’t need to worry about this. The door swings open with a horrible squeak of metal, and Kuryakin steps out, a splatter of blood across his face and one arm wrapped around his midsection. His gun is nowhere to be seen - tucked away already or lost - and he is limping. There’s a slight grimace on his face.

Alexander stares at him for a second. “What -” he asks, but then cannot decide what to ask first.

“I have the poison,” Kuryakin says.

“Well, that’s very wonderful,” Alexander replies. “But have you perhaps been injured?”

Kuryakin raises a shoulder in an approximation of a shrug. “Is not too bad. Will only need a few stitches.”

He says this quite casually, as though needing stitches is the most normal thing in the world. Alexander is about to ask, are you planning on doing them yourself or shall we risk going to a hospital, but before he can ask the question (the answer to which he admittedly already knows), Kuryakin is starting off towards the car.

“Come on,” he says. “We need to leave.”

Sure enough, Alexander hears sirens in the distance. He’d rather avoid trouble with the Parisian police, and so he hurries after Kuryakin at a trot and slides in behind the wheel of the car.

They take a long and winding route through the city as per regulations, and every ten seconds or so Alexander glances across the front seat at Kuryakin, as though in between those intervals he might suddenly lose consciousness.

He doesn’t. In fact, he seems largely…fine. He’s silent - which is normal - and he’s leaning his head against the window but his eyes are open. His arm is still wrapped around his torso.

He’s been shot, Alexander thinks. Shot. Maybe they were waiting for him inside. Maybe they’d gotten in through some hidden entrance that UNCLE hadn’t known about. Maybe…

The car thumps over a large pothole just as Alexander is steering it into the parking lot of the hotel. Kuryakin hisses in a sharp breath. Alexander turns to look at him, but Kuryakin is still looking out of the window. All Alexander can see is the back of his head.

He parks, and they step out into the chill air of the parking lot. Their hotel is mid-sized, neither cheap nor expensive, and located on the outskirts of the city. Entirely unremarkable and inconspicuous. The perfect location to spend a single night.

He had not been the only person to think this. They’d only been able to book a single room on short notice. Admittedly, it’s rather large, considering the hotel’s quality. Two queen-sized beds and a sofa and a bathroom that is rather more spacious than it needs to be.

Kuryakin is on his way into that bathroom now. Alexander looks after him and wonders how much blood he has lost. His clothes are all black, so there is no way of knowing. Based on the slight stumble to his experienced agent’s step and the unnatural pallor to his cheeks, though, it must be quite a bit.

He’s worried. He isn’t used to seeing this side of things. It’s one thing to read about them in reports - he doesn’t want to recall how many times he’s read some variation of ‘performed minor field surgery on Agent Kuryakin’ - but it’s quite another to experience them firsthand. He knows, logically, that Kuryakin can handle himself. Still…

There’s a loud clattering sound from the bathroom. Alexander moves across the room and cautiously pushes open the unlocked door.

Kuryakin is standing there, palms braced against the countertop, breathing deeply. The contents of a first-aid kit are scattered across the tiles, and blood is dripping to the floor in the absence of Kuryakin’s hand being pressed into the wound.

Kuryakin looks up at the mirror and sees him. He turns around very slowly, leaning on the counter for balance. He doesn’t say anything.

Alexander is at a loss. He hadn’t been prepared for this. Doesn’t know what to do - what Kuryakin wants him to do.

And then Kuryakin’s legs buckle underneath him, and it��s only a combination of a desperate grab at the edge of the counter behind him and Alexander rushing forwards and pushing him back up that prevents him from collapsing to the floor.

“I need…” Kuryakin starts, and his voice is thick and dizzy. “To sit.”

Alexander can help with this, at least. Keeping a hand on Kuryakin’s arm in case he loses his balance, he helps guide his agent to sit down heavily on the closed lid of the toilet.

“What now?” he asks, feeling not entirely in charge of the situation.

“Supplies.”

“What supplies?”

Kuryakin looks at him. Alexander supposes he should know exactly which things are needed, but can only guess and does not want to be wrong.

“Needle. Thread. Alcohol. Cotton ball. The…” he shakes his head slowly. “Пинцет.”

Alexander nods. Tweezers. He gathers these and all the other requisite materials from the floor, all the while breathing deeply and telling himself that everything will be fine, that Kuryakin knows what he is doing and would tell him if things were so serious as to necessitate a hospital.

When he returns to the agent, he finds him in the midst of removing his shirt, and sees the wound for the first time.

It’s in his right side. The skin around it is smeared with bright red blood and the bullet hole itself is dark and small.

Kuryakin looks down at it. “Not so bad,” he reports.

Alexander finds this difficult to believe. “You’ve been shot,” he points out, setting the supplies down on the counter beside Kuryakin.

“Not the first time.”

He does have a point there.

“Be that as it may…. Do you need anything else?”

Kuryakin looks up at him. The two of them are rarely in such a position - Kuryakin is almost inhumanly tall and is rarely sitting. Looking at him like this, now, Alexander thinks he has never seen his agent look quite so…vulnerable is perhaps not the correct word, but there’s an element of it there. Anxiety, too. Shame.

Ah. Alexander gets it. As much as he can, anyway. The KGB is not exactly renowned for treating its employees kindly. He cannot imagine that that handler of his would gather medical supplies off the floor for him, offer up help. Cannot imagine that he’d take kindly to his prized agent bleeding all over a hotel floor. To the idea that, powerful as he may be, underneath all of that, Kuryakin is human and breakable.

Kuryakin hasn’t answered him. He reaches out for the bottle of rubbing alcohol with a bloody but steady hand and soaks a cotton ball. Alexander watches as he cleans the wound, barely even acknowledging the pain the alcohol must cause.

He then reaches for the tweezers. It’s a horrible angle, Alexander realizes immediately. Tight and uncomfortable to work with.

The points of the tweezers poke into the skin beside the bullet wound, and Kuryakin sucks in a breath, looking down and trying to move his hand to get a better view of his side.

Alexander doesn’t quite know what makes him do it. Certainly it isn’t experience, or any kind of desire to do it. But before he quite knows the words that are coming out of his mouth, he’s saying, “let me help. That looks an awful angle.”

Kuryakin freezes and looks up at him. There’s a sheen of sweat on his face and his eyes are steely but there’s that same strange vulnerability underneath.

“But -” he says, and then stops. “You -”

He falls silent, apparently unable to think of a response. All the while more blood is leaking down his side, spattering onto the tiles.

“Let me help. Just tell me what to do. Think of me as an extra set of hands.”

Kuryakin is still just looking at him. Alexander understands, he does, but the man is actively bleeding from a bullet wound, so his patience is not exactly thick.

He reaches out and takes the tweezers from Kuryakin’s hand. Fortunately, there is no protest, no resistance.

He can figure out how to do this first part fairly easily. Fish the bullet out. Simple as that.

God, it must hurt, he thinks. He wonders how his agents cope with this on the regular. Bathroom stitchings-up with no anesthetics, minimal painkillers, limited real medical knowledge, and often no recourse if things go wrong.

It must be exhausting.

He manages to remove the bullet. It’s easier than he’d feared. His fingers are bloody when he drops the metal thing, small and inert, into the stopped-up sink.

“What now?”

“Need to clean it. Just water.”

Okay. He can do that, too. Kuryakin leans back slightly, and Alexander pours water over the wound, washing away the blood from inside and outside, irrevocably staining a few hotel towels in the process.

“And now?”

“Dry it. Then stitches.”

This is the part he’d been dreading just to watch. But he can’t very well back out now, and besides, he has sewn before. It will be just like that. Except with flesh instead of fabric.

He takes a deep breath, threads the needle. It takes him several tries, though his hands barely shake.

“I can do it, if…”

“No, it’s quite alright. I do know how to sew, after all. Granted, my stitches may not be the prettiest things, but…they’ll hold.”

Kuryakin nods. “They are never pretty. It is okay.”

And with this vote of confidence, Alexander begins.

The first stitch is the worst one. He’s so worried about making a mistake, about injuring Kuryakin further, that he almost cannot bring himself to make that first move. At last, though, he does.

It’s horrible. Pushing a needle through skin and pulling it out on the other side. Watching the thread weave its way across the black wound as though this is simply a hole in a pair of trousers. It makes him feel faintly sick.

Kuryakin, though, barely reacts. His muscles tense, but he doesn’t make a sound. Alexander wonders how many times he has done this. Wonders whether you can really get used to something so painful, so alien to the body.

He ties off the thread at long last and looks at his handiwork. The line of stitches is rather straighter than he’d thought it would be.

“I should clean it again, yes?” he finds himself asking, as though he has suddenly become an expert by virtue of a few pulls of a needle.

“Yes,” Kuryakin says. “And you should put a bandage. Antibiotic, if we have this.”

Alexander cleans the fresh stitches, wipes away the last traces of blood as gently as he can, as if to make amends for the pain he knows he must have caused.

He does manage to find an antibiotic cream amidst the scattered medical supplies, and at last the wound is bandaged and Alexander’s time as a nurse is finished.

He gives Kuryakin a hand up, asks whether he wants any painkillers. He’s met with a polite rejection and wonders how on earth Kuryakin can manage with nothing to help him against this most raw form of pain.

He supposes his agent must simply be used to it, and finds himself wondering what it had been like the first time he’d been shot. Wonders whether this instance is something one always remembers or something that simply blends into a long career of pain.

He’s pulled out of his musings by Kuryakin’s voice: “Thank you.”

It’s the smallest two words, but Alexander can feel the force, the sincerity behind them. These words, said now, to him, are incredibly significant.

“You’re welcome,” he replies, and hopes that Kuryakin, like him, understands.

thanks for reading! sorry if there are any mistakes i don't feel like editing any more lol. anyways i hope you liked it, love you <3

#bad things happen bingo #no anesthetic #the man from uncle #illya kuryakin #field medicine #stitches #cared for #my writing #i say things #this was an interesting one to write. waverly is fun but difficult.

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bradandchris · 2 years

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“It wasn’t the most ridiculous thing out there. Far from it.”

Brad then reminded Becky so far, the plan for human survival was a cave full of seeds in Iceland and some bunkers in New Zealand built by paranoid rich people with guns. He then restruck the pose.

“Now, what exactly did Becky have to say about the ‘outfit’ again? You know what, it doesn’t matter as no one needs to compete with zero coordination.”

Brad then turned to face Becky directly. “People go to jail for not having an emergency plan. What’s really messed up is nothing exists at the top level for all of us. Why was the human species as a whole so whacked anyway?”

Becky offered to get the next round of margaritas and motioned for Brad to rejoin his place in the cabana. Chris piped in to make them doubles then asked everyone where they should take that conversation. It was a pool day, the snarky could be tabled.

Brad thought it should go to Boise. Chris thought to shuffle it off to Buffalo citing his own disappointment in it’s obviousness. Becky didn’t know where to put it but thought enough to store it in Namibia. It was dry and sparsely populated so would preserve well.

She then guessed a doomsay plan could pass through countless generations unnoticed and undisturbed like Ring Around the Rosie. The coding on that was a bit whacked as the message did not make the impact it could have given it’s significance and pertinence to current global epidemics.

“It was from the Middle Ages so certainly credit could be given there. Did we need to attach trauma to children? It is safe to say there were no guns pointed at anyone.”

Becky went on to state the plague and assumed apocalypse remained daunting. To clear the way for the rest of their pool day while the larger whole got it’s act together, she suggested a temporary placeholder in lieu of a true master plan for the survival of the human species.

“It would need to be super simple and as close to universal as possible. Maybe a song is a good idea. Could we at least say, ‘Don’t panic.’ or ‘Florida is underwater. Think Nepal, not Naples.’

Becky took a sip of a now nearly toasted margarita.

“Of course, people would freak anyway, especially after discovering there was no master plan. It may though give us a moment of clarity before the madness where one out of 8 billion of us might just come up with a resolution.”

Becky further dove in the point explaining the problem even with her suggestions around all this lies exactly where it does in general, surfacing the best idea.

“The car alarm, censor/chat bots, a war on drugs, phone trees, microbeads in soap, beef hamburgers and the electric chair were lauded as genius at one juncture. The fact is the list is infinite, and we know better now. The more hoopla made over something, the more it felt like there was reason to question it.”

Becky then mentioned all the gimmicks around AI. “We really do not know what we are stepping into or better said, already have. For some time, no regulation existed around any of it. AI also did not automatically keep records in the same capacity as with previous technological advances. This was scary.”

All three were already well aware Brad and Chris’ issues with Tumblr stemmed out of bots and a culture difficult to interpret other than hellbent on efficiency and profit ironically at any cost to its own customers.

In an unrealized interruption, Brad interjected his shock, “I so did not associate the censorship with AI until now. That’s…. OMG. I mean… Look at the damage being done to the gay community alone. I didn’t place it. That hardly makes it any less real or hard hitting.”

Becky assured Brad in his reaction and offered some perspective as to what Brad and Chris faced. “There is not sufficient law, social construct, personal protection or compensation around AI. Overall, corporations and those of resource thus far have chosen censorship, ignorance, and to look out for themselves.”

She paused to readjust her composure into a near stand on her knees.

“That IS fear culture. Process exceeds person across the board here, and in the grand scheme everyone loses. You are literally taking the brunt here with your blog bradandchris.com.”

Seeing things materialize for the two, Becky switched gears quickly. “I say keep going. The Oregon Trail didn’t pop up out of nowhere. If you look around, you are not the only gays on the block either. Start your own thing or grind away just as the bots do to you. Eventually people pick up mirroring which is why we all do it where conversations can’t or do not happen for whatever reason.”

Becky scanned the pool looking for their server before returning her attention to Brad and Chris.

“To mirrors, why don’t you start Twittering? Musk is also weary of AI. You might find a home there. It would not hurt to try.”

Brad and Chris appreciated options and the former nodded in affirmation. The each knew they were not helpless, but not unaware any move required significant resources or losses.

As to her suggestion as to where to temporarily store the conversation of a need for master plan for a global emergency, Becky affirmed her choice in Africa. Humanity began on the very same soil, and the entire continent was bothering enough to take time for introspection.

She lived in South Africa for several years as a medical refugee from the United States Her insurance didn’t cover her condition and she needed to go somewhere cheap as well multicultural that came in English with a beach. It was that or Belize.

Chris who’d been quietly sunning at the edge of the cabana suddenly came to life. “Is that where ‘Please Belize’ came from? I’ve heard you say that and caught myself saying it. It’s mad addicting. I’ve tried to keep it to myself as I didn’t know what it meant. I forget to ask every time you are around. The last thing I need to do is offend more people out of the blue.”

Chris sat up to allow for his hands and arms to go full on Price is Right showcase. “I look really good in blue. Just look at my tiny swimmers.”

Becky nodded in affirmation took the last slip of the margarita in hand and motioned for the pool server that came into view to head their way. Satisfied they made contact and on their way over, she called Mars a ‘hellhole’ and reframed Twitter as a definite ‘maybe.’

She then mentioned she got her job assisting for Ralph Lauren after meeting him at the beach in Cape Town. That’s why she came back to the States. Her her stint abroad may also explain some oddities about her.

To bring everything full circle before the server arrived, Becky indicated her regret for using the Oregon Trail as an example. It wasn’t what she intended to say though she could not remember what that was. She pointed out while understandable as a selection, Boise left out half the population inclusive of herself, and that she didn’t know what a ‘shuffle’ was. It did not ring as something particularly evolutionary or bring much to her in terms of inspiration. It did remind her of apples for unknown reasons.

At the end of the day and to rest her case, it was fun to say Namibia.

“Namibia.”

Becky was so on her game.

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casspurrjoybell-29 · 8 months

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Frayed Ties - Chapter 3 - Part 2

*Warning Adult Content*

"So anyway, I wasn't very popular, and I was small and I barely knew which end of a sword to hold. I honestly think I might not have survived. But then Simon, who has his family's reputation, who was nearly full grown by the time he was sixteen, who'd been learning to fight since before he could walk... Fucking Simon tells them to knock it off and focus on more important things and they do. And he didn't even want me to suck his dick."

"You probably would have told the whole camp about it in vivid detail."

"Not true. I only tell you that shit," Hamish objected. "Anyway, that's the story of how me and Simon became friends. I don't get to tell the full version very often."

"Do you really wish you had more opportunity to tell people about how much of an idiot you were?"

"In the past. That was past me. Present me is completely fine with laughing at past me."

"How about I punch you in the dick and then in a few minutes time we can bond over how much of an asshole past me was?"

"Oh, yeah, 'cause in a few minutes time present you won't be an asshole."

"I'm not an asshole."

"Yeah?" Hamish turned back to look at Danya. "What do you think, pup? Is he an asshole?"

"Uh..." Danya's eyes went wide and his arms tensed around Simon's waist. "No, sir, of course not."

Hamish scoffed.

"I'm sure that's absolutely your honest assessment. You don't have to call me sir when nobody else is around either, by the way. We like to keep things casual but you know. Gotta maintain a certain appearance in public."

"I understand. Perception is important."

Danya was silent for a moment.

"I apologise if this is too bold... but is the intention that I will be given to Hamish, in an informal sense? I realise I'm more to his... tastes."

Hamish laughed.

Simon didn't.

The silence between them stretched for just a little too long.

"No," Simon said flatly. "The situation is more complicated than you understand, which is fine, because I intended it to be. Don't worry about it."

"Simon, that's not fair," Hamish cut in. "Of course he's going to worry about this stuff."

"No, it's fine," Danya said quickly. "Really. I only wanted to know so that I could behave appropriately. It's not his job to worry about me."

Simon was silent for a long moment before he finally let out a sigh.

When he spoke, his voice was gentler this time.

"I'm not going to give you to anyone else. Last night, when Hamish offered to take you, it was because he knew I wanted some time alone."

"I'm sorry that I was disruptive. I will take that criticism on board."

Hamish laughed and smoothed sweat-damp curls away from his face.

"Ugh, it's hot. Danya, aren't you hot in that?"

Danya looked down at his robe.

It covered just about everything other than his head, hands, and feet, and the fabric was fairly thick.

"No. Mages are better at regulating their body temperature than humans."

"That sounds nice," Simon commented. "I'm already getting gross and sweaty."

"Maybe I could…" Danya held his hand out in front of him and focussed on cold, wiggling his fingers as he felt heat being drawn out of them.

He pressed his palm against the back of Simon's neck.

Simon made a startled sound and jerked away from Danya's touch, bringing his own hand up to cover his neck.

"What the fuck was that?"

"His hand," Hamish said. Danya's stomach clenched and he felt like he was going to be sick.

He'd messed up, again, in the same way he always did.

He was too bold, too independent, too presumptuous.

He was no different from Fanner, really... they both knew their faults but neither of them could keep themselves from repeating them.

"Well, it felt weird," Simon said. "Like ice."

He needed to apologise.

He could barely breathe.

Even when he tried his best he kept slipping up because he was a fraud.

He could never be what he pretended.

"Sorry," Danya managed.

He sounded like a child.

Simon rubbed his hand against the back of his neck again and twisted back to glance at Danya.

"It's fine. You just caught me by surprise."

Danya's throat ached.

He wished he could bury his face against Simon's back without it being weird.

"Here."

Simon reached his hand back and held it out for Danya.

"Necks are a bit sensitive."

Danya took his hand and for a moment all he could do was hold it in his own and savour the contact.

He didn't deserve it but he did need it.

He took a steadily breath and slowly, carefully began to draw heat away from Simon's skin.

"Huh," Simon said, his fingers wiggling curiously against Danya's. "It feels strange but nice."

Danya's chest swelled with pride even though it was barely a compliment.

It was the first thing he had done that Simon had even vaguely approved of.

"Let me feel," Hamish said, reaching out for Danya's other hand.

Simon didn't show any signs of objection, so Danya let him take it.

He shut his eyes as he focussed on drawing heat away from the two men's skin.

It wasn't long before Simon swatted Hamish away and claimed Danya's other hand for himself as well.

He lifted his shirt and wrapped both of Danya's arms back around him, pressing one of Danya's palms against his stomach and the other against his chest. A few minutes ago Danya would have been perfectly happy if Simon had told him he would be serving Hamish instead.

Now he could feel the damp warmth of Simon's bare skin under his fingers, the steady pulse of his heartbeat and energy flowing strong between them and he wanted nothing more than to wholly give himself over to this man and nobody else.

It took almost more self control than he possessed to keep his hands still and focus on the task he had been given.

He would never be a perfect slave or even a particularly good one but perhaps if he could find enough moments like this where he could make himself useful he could at least be an adequate one.

They kept a steady pace for most of the day but as the sun sunk lower towards the horizon they pushed the horses harder to make it to their destination before dark.

Empty scrub turned to farmer's fields once more and then gave way to streets packed more and more densely with crumbling, long abandoned pre-war houses.

The sun was setting by the time they reached the centre of the city where tall, inhabited buildings still stood.

There was nobody on the streets but Danya could feel the press of human life at the edge of his mind.

"Lainton's infested with vampires," Hamish explained as they followed the road around a collapsed building. "Simon and I are going to be working to fix that once we finish getting his new unit together but first we have to do diplomatic stuff with the mayor."

"Hopefully it goes better than our last diplomatic obligation."

Simon's gaze traced the outline of the building next to them, his body straight and rigid.

Hamish laughed.

"Well, it could hardly be worse."

"You have too much faith in me."

Their destination was a beautiful old sandstone building that stood far shorter than the buildings surrounding it.

The heavy columns along its front and the ornate carvings around the windows suggested it had been old even before the war.

The newer buildings were far more utilitarian in their simplicity.

As servants took the horses away, a slightly portly older man stepped down from the stoop to greet them.

His gaze held on Danya for a moment before cutting back to Simon as he forced a smile onto his face.

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charleslebatman · 11 months

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Now we will shock all those who think that we are only for gossip and private lives of drivers.

Newey gave an interview after which I have "WTF who agreed to this"

In 2026 he predicts the cars will be faster in Monaco than in Monza! After the new engine regulations, there may be problems at circuits like Silverstone, Monza or Baku, but Monaco will be perfect for the new generation of engines 😵‍💫

Who came up with it anyway? All the circuits they have recently added to the calendar are mostly straights and some corners. Sometimes I think they're doing everything they can to destroy the sport.

Link to the article for the curious.

https://www.formulapassion.it/motorsport/formula-1/monaco-piu-forti-monza-2026

As the bio says, you can talk about absolutely anything here. I don't specialize in gossip at all. We can even talk about art if you like, we can talk about the art works Alexandra posts on her account. Like I said, I think it's really cool that she has an account like this. ☺️

It's a nice change from the other wags who bombard us with failed photoshoots or partnerships to show off their boyfriend's wealth. 💀 My account is open to everyone. Fans who don't necessarily like all the engineering and who just like the conduit of race. Little gossips. Absolutely everything. I can't do all the work myself, so people need to ask on other topics too if gossips are bothering us. Just to clarify that in relation to the beginning of the question.

For the rest, I really believe that all these organizers are totally lost in the turn F1 is taking. The gulfs that are being created between all the teams are finally causing the whole notion of sport to be lost. That's why I think that today, when people are told that F1 is a sport, they find it hard to believe. Everything that should help performance’s in fact censored under the pretexts of safety, money and organization. Of course, money is the watchword in this sport. But it would be wrong to put all the blame on it. I think the engineers directors are moving too fast in terms of engineering, but some censor themselves cause of the FIA that doesn’t know how to make the rules. Then the FIA or whatever are trying to maintain a level playing field that's lost in advance. The proof is in their sanction on Redbull. They're performing so well that almost everyone has forgotten that they were given a wind tunnel time penalty.

I'm sorry to say that many circuits haven't evolved in centuries. And the new ones are a bore, camouflaged by the spectacle of the stars.

There's so much more I could say about what I'd like to see for the future of the sport. But that would be too utopian and would touch on the whole history of motor sport. So I'll keep quiet. But on the other hand, I don't see how things are going to improve unless we radically change the rules.

My essay is over! 😭😂

#f1

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just-some-sad-kiddo · 2 years

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The annual neighborhood Independence Day potluck wasn’t at Deb’s house this year, it was at the new playground that they finally put up six months after we left. I felt out of place there. Nobody I knew was there and why would they be? I was only ever friends with Jorgie in that neighborhood.

It wasn’t all bad. I ate a few bites of food and they actually had live music. Like, this potluck was a whole production instead of just a little gathering at someone’s house.

I shouldn’t be that upset, I don’t even care for this “holiday.” I just... feel so nostalgic. I hate that feeling. I don’t understand how people find it pleasant.

While we were driving home from the potluck, I told Eris not to do something that she was doing. Of course, Athena had to jump in and also tell Eris not to do the thing. I seriously need her to stop trying to “amplify” whatever I’m telling Eri s to do because that only ever leads to Eris crying and Mom telling us to “just leave her alone.” It’s the lizard shit all over again. So, I told Athena this, and she almost threw a fit. I also watched her open her phone and go into some notes or journaling app and write a passage called “I hate my siblings.” I know I should just ignore it because she’s, like, thirteen, but whatever. She can still annoy the shit out of me even if she’s thirteen.

I know I haven’t been the most compassionate older brother, but when you’re forced to step up and be the one that ensures everyone is safe and doing what they’re supposed to, there isn’t room for compassion. Not when you’re a kid, at least. I didn’t have the opportunity to be the good older brother that I could’ve been. I think Athena is justified in her feelings, I just wish she understood that my frustration is not a personal attack on her, just the result of many years of trying to be a parent and failing because what I needed was to be a child.

I hope that if I can foster children in the future, I actually have the emotional regulation that is needed of me.

Mema and Papa came over as well as Jade and everyone went to swim in the pool. I stayed home and only came to the pool when it was food time.

I ended up going to Juno’s for the rest of the night. His Mom’s boyfriend, Cooper, made some stir fry which he offered to us. I thought it was pretty good, but Juno mentioned the other night that he doesn’t really like rice.

We got to talking about how we used to play pretend as kids, and it got me thinking about how I would always play the youngest sibling in whatever game we were doing. I would always get some massively unrealistic injury and would want people to pay attention to and take care of me. This happened a lot. I wonder what this says about my parents.

I suggested that we watch another slasher film or something, so we put on the 2016 sequel to the Blair Witch Project, “Blair Witch.” They were real creative with that one. Anyways, it sucked. We ended up ordering some Wendy’s and watching a Jacksepticeye horror game video.

After that, we hung out on Juno’s roof and looked at the fireworks people were setting off nearby. We also watched a bunch of teenagers setting off various fireworks on a playground across the street. They were being pretty stupid and unsafe. Not just to themselves, but to the playground as well. We were sure something was going to catch fire, but nothing did.

We walked down to City Park and found a different group of teenagers lighting up much cooler fireworks and they were doing it safely in the road instead of on top of a bunch of woodchips.

After that, I was pretty tired, so I told Juno I was calling it. We said our goodbyes and i messaged him later that night to make sure he made it home safe.

#easybreezy

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sepublic · 3 years

Text

Belos’ Day of Unity

This episode confirmed a HUGE detail for us, and it’s that the Day of Unity involves merging the human and Demon Realms together! This better explains why Belos wants the Portal… If he just wanted to access the human world, he could do that with regular Titan’s Blood alone, but he needs something on a level that can maintain a lasting, open connection between the two! Not only that…

But as Boscha so ‘kindly’ reminds us later this episode, Luz’s glyphs don’t work in the human world! Magic is a gift from the isles… And with the association of wild magic as ‘elemental’, how Luz’s glyphs take an elemental form… How they were the first form of magic, learned from observing the isles themselves and whatnot-

It seems wild magic, at least as how Belos defines and hates it, takes a lot of cues and even draws power from the Boiling Isles! From the Demon Realm itself… Which, is interesting because;

Belos clearly wants to control magic. He sees it as something witches have to more or less earn back… But ideally, they have to earn it from him entirely! Bile magic is something Belos can control, it’s confined to people’s bodies and he has the coven bindings to do so- Belos can control bodies, he can override that autonomy, and it comes from a source he can regulate. You can even see it with staffs, especially the one that Hunter has!

Staffs can be taken away, they can be broken and drained. They’re external, but in a way that Belos can easily separate a witch from… And with Hunter, this takes on a whole new twisted meaning, because Hunter’s staff is (or rather was) his ONLY source and means of magic…

And as someone who created that staff no doubt, Belos can easily tamper with and restrict the spells that Hunter can access with it, no doubt- I wouldn’t be surprised if Belos could turn off Hunter’s staff at will! It’s his to give and take as he pleases, and given Belos’ unwillingness to create more Palismen, we still see plenty of carefulness with staffs as an external source of magic as well. Belos might intend to replace magical staffs with his own version that he can control!

But wild magic and glyphs? They come from the isles, they come from the very land itself… And Belos CAN’T restrict the very fabric of the reality he lives in. Glyphs are an outside-context problem, you don’t need a bile sac to wield them; And they completely bypass the issues of coven bindings. You can’t restrict glyphs, the way you can’t restrict knowledge- It’s always bound to slip through Belos’ grasp, no matter how hard he tries. And once a secret is out, it tends to spread like wildfire…

Belos can’t just apply some massive coven binding to the Demon Realm entirely… Can he?

That’s of course where the Day of Unity comes in. Where OUR world comes in… If magic, specifically the wild magic that fuels glyphs, is sourced directly from the Demon Realm itself… And our world has no magic, glyphs are useless there?

Belos might intend to neutralize the Demon Realm’s magic entirely, by fusing it with the human world! And/or, with how the human world seems more vast than the Demon Realm (the Boiling Isles is only the size of Vermont), the magic inherent to it will be spread so thin that it’ll be too weak to utilize.

And that’s… As Luz might put it, fiendishly clever! Belos recognizes his limits. He knows he can’t control the knowledge of glyphs, the memory of them- And even if he could, people can still learn directly from the isles itself, from the Demon Realm itself- The Light Glyph can be found in the stars! So long as the original source exists to learn from, nothing is truly stopping someone from paying attention and finding it on their own, potentially by accident!

If Belos can’t truly, physically control this magic and restrain it- Then it’s a liability, especially since it can grant coven-bound witches access to full magic again, and allow them to turn the tides. It makes Belos and his system redundant… So he has to remove the original source of wild magic, WITHOUT destroying his own world and of course himself in the process!

In comes our world. With the Demon Realm’s magic neutralized and/or diffused, the only source will come from the bile in witch’s bodies, which Belos CAN restrict. Sure, some witches might escape here or there, slip through the cracks and have unbound children… But that’s nothing compared to the threat of glyphs, which anyone can learn at any time!

And if Belos plans to somewhat conquer the human world, at least to defend and maintain his own utopia- It works out again! Because our technology is based on knowledge, nothing is stopping the witches of Belos’ society from learning and adapting to our own technology, repurposing it for themselves. We already see technology exist to some degree anyway, such as in the Abomitons, and Belos’ own creations! It’d be easy for witches to repurpose our own technology for themselves.

But humans? We can’t cast magic. We have no bile sacs… And even glyphs, the one form of magic we COULD wield, would be rendered powerless by our own world! Sure, there might be a few witches here or there that would come to our side, that would oppose Belos’ conquest and imperialism…

But those select few wouldn’t make up for the vast differences in numbers, nor could they have kids who’d grow up at a fast enough rate. Magic can replicate technology’s uses in its own way –scrolls can access a magical version of the internet- and I wouldn’t be surprised if the Day of Unity will also empower Belos as some kind of all-powerful, magical god who could easily handle what us puny humans throw at him, anyway.

Aside from a much smaller population… Again, it seems magic is a good way for Belos to ensure his own power and conquest over our world, too- Or at least to keep us out of his own borders. Perhaps Belos only intends to rule his select portion of the Demon Realm within Connecticut, and bar out everyone else to their own devices, occasionally checking in to make sure we don’t ‘invade’ his own bubble.

Maybe Belos doesn’t even intend to transport the entire Demon Realm, just the Boiling Isles itself, to the human world… Which of course isolates witches from that source of wild magic even more.

There is an issue of course- And that gets down to how witches create magical bile. With how magic is a gift from the isles, it’s possible witches are simply able to convert the innate magic of the atoms and molecules around them in their digestive system, and turn that into bile- Meaning without this ‘magical radiation’, eventually a witch will run out of magic bile and be depleted, should they stay in the human world without any access to the Demon Realm.

Does Belos know, or even care? Maybe this is his way of also removing magic entirely… Or as I said, with how magic will be spread thin when our worlds fuse; Perhaps it will exist in enough of a capacity in this fused realm, that biological witches can still harvest this magical radiation and produce bile.

Or, based on how King described it in The Unauthorized History of the Boiling Isles, witches just naturally produce their own magical radiation in the form of bile- They don’t need to be connected to the Demon Realm to do, they are their own sustainable source!

Either way, Belos’ plan makes a disturbing amount of sense… It’s the final nail in the coffin as a way for him to physically control magic, and it’s the outright death and eradication of wild magic as well! He has no interest in conquering our world, not necessarily- Just in bringing his over so he can kill off the final source of magic that manages to elude his control.

Any imperialism may come as a natural byproduct of this type of crossover, but it’s not what Belos specifically intends from the fusion- So in a way, he wasn’t lying when he said that it wasn’t his plan to conquer the human world.

Belos didn’t say it’d NEVER be his plan… Just that this specific goal doesn’t involve that, not necessarily. Plus, he’d argue that any conquest would come fully as a means of self-defense, which… Would not be wrong either, because there’d definitely be humans who’d reject the society that Belos would bring in, and seek to eradicate and/or control it for themselves too!

Once the Day of Unity’s crossover ensues, it seems the only magical liability that Belos would have to worry about is… Unbound biological witches, witches who DO have a bile sac, but aren’t under Belos’ control! Hence why he stresses to his coven heads;

“The larger your covens grow, the more power we have to unite our realms, where the worthy shall inherit a utopia free of wild magic.”

It’s possible Belos plans to use his coven bindings as a means of powering whatever magic he needs to pull this crossover off- I’ve speculated before on the demon realm’s solar system forming a glyph combo to do this, but it’s not out of the question that Belos would need a little extra power for such a massive event.

Perhaps Belos intends to drain the unused magic of every bound witch- After all, about 8/9ths of every bound witch’s magic is sealed away, presumably unused… So to Belos and his coven heads, they’re not really depriving anyone of anything by draining that unused magic?

Especially if witches’ magic can still replenish over time anyway (unless you’re cursed), plus spreading the individual cost that each witch will have to fork over for the Day of Unity, across more witches, is arguably the moral thing to do anyway!

Hence why coven bindings are necessary, not just to fuel the Day of Unity, but to also remove the final liability that Belos would need to deal with. Ideally, Belos wants every witch bound before the Day of Unity, so he won’t have to worry about any biological witch when the crossover occurs…

But at the same time, I doubt it’s strictly necessary- So even if it’s ideal, Belos is obviously going to go ahead with his crossover if there are still unbound witches. He can still deal with them later… They might have a bigger world to escape out into, which is why he stresses this be done sooner, rather than later, when witches are more confined to a smaller space and easier to find- But Belos still ultimately wins, one way or the other.

Belos’ plan and Day of Unity is unimaginably grandiose, horrifying, and worst of all… Makes so much sense, it connects everything together in a reasonable way! Though it only makes sense from a viewer’s speculative perspective, and in-universe from the perspective of Belos, for the kinds of goals he’s looking for of course.

From a general and moral perspective this plan is completely nuts and terrible, but in terms of what Belos is actually trying to accomplish, a society where magical is truly bound… (Albeit not an actual ‘utopia’ like he claims), I hate to say it but this works perfectly, and that’s terrifying! Unfortunately, it seems this fucker does know EXACTLY what he’s doing, very much! And Belos is batshit nuts.

And there’s a good chance that somebody in this meeting is very understandably not enthused with Belos’ plan, even outright intimidated, and determined to stop it as a result...

#the owl house #the owl house belos #emperor belos #speculation #analysis #day of unity #covens #theory #coven system

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mhathotfic · 3 years

Note

Can I request bakugou whose little stims a lot and needs reassurance?

I started this one as soon as I got it because it made me happy to get it. I did a little wiggle and everything. This one is heavily projecting from me because I’m constantly fidgeting and stimming and I always feel like people stare when I do and it makes me self conscious about it sometimes

Warnings: non-sexual depiction of cg/l relationship, my personal hc of Bakugou using an unconventional nickname

Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x reader

-Ha I strangely feel shy about this now, but this man would be so devoted to his partner and makes me feel so warm when I think about it

-I’ve said before that his logic when in a relationship is basically all or nothing, so if you give him your trust and believe him when he says he would never break it

-He’ll give you everything he can and put you on a pedestal, you’d always be his number one priority and he expects the same energy back or why bother?

-So of course their stims are something he’s come to love

-Some of them aren’t always helpful, like when they chewy on things they shouldn’t like their hands or hair, but for the most part it helps them with self regulation so he does his best to recognize the good from the bad

-Anything he’s noticed causing harm he’s offered replacements to like a paci for the biting issues and fidget toys to help with the anxious hand shakes that he knows they’re self conscious about

-He also tries his best to reassure that their stimming isn’t weird or embarrassing

-Genuinely can’t stand the fact that someone else taught them that they had to hide it and be ashamed of their stims so associating it with more positive things is his goal

-Sometimes he slips up and accidentally uses a tone a little too harsh when talking about it and unintentionally gives the impression that he’s annoyed with them, but he’s quick to fix it

-By that I mean new stuffies to squeeze and love because they’re good if you like the squishy feeling and soft textures

-And he isn’t the best with putting his feelings into words but he tries to make sure that they know Daddy was being mean and he’s sorry about it

“Gunpowder, look I’m not the best with this stuff, but I’m trying and well here” he sighed pressing the new plush into their arms. He was just the slightest bit relieved when they perked at the crinkle. Tentatively squeezing as if testing it, then slowly kneading at it with eyes fixed on the new toy.

A good start, but they were still feeling hurt by him, he could tell. “Listen I know I was being mean and-”.

“Daddy’s not a meanie, he’s just a big dummy”. Ok. He technically deserves that and he’s gonna let it slide this once, but they’re still pushing it.

“… You’re lucky you’re cute, just I’m sorry ok? I shouldn’t have raised my voice at you, and I know this thing doesn’t fix it but I need you to understand that I’m gonna do better and you deserve better than that”.

He watched them for a moment, observing their fiddling with the new stuffed bear before they decided to resettle themselves so they could lean on him instead.

“Pinkie promise?”.

“Yeah, yeah. I promise”.

“No! You gotta pinkie promise it! You can’t ever break a pinkie promise so you gotta!”.

He rolled his eyes with a snort, but offered his little finger to them anyways. Smiling at the happy squeal as they wrapped theirs with his to seal the promise.

Happily tapping their fingers against his apology gift and asking a million questions about the new sensory item and swinging their feet back and forth.

#katsuki bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou x reader #sfw cg/l #cg/l #bnha littlespace #mha littlespace

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linkspooky · 3 years

Note

How do you feel about Kotaro Shimura?

Sad, mostly?

I think Kotaro should be called out for everything he did and held accountable as an abuser, but he’s also definitely a victim of abuse. This is just a personal opinion, but a lot of people will see Nana Shimura as a victim of circumstances but then not see Kotaro as a victim because physical abuse is seen as more of a problem then abandonment and neglect. That’s just an impression I get from watching fandom reactions in general. Even though, Nana is the one that created the circumstances that Kotaro is struggling through.

Kotaro is still a bad dad, but he also shows signs of carrying his scars of abandonment all the way until adulthood. If anything I would compare him to thirteen year old Toya, not because I think Toya is also an abuser, but they both show such extreme signs of neglect and abandonment.

In all three cases, physical abuse, emotional abuse, neglect / abandonment, a child will not develop into an emotionally healthy adult, because a parent is responsible for a child’s physical and emotional development. Children cannot take care of themselves, raise themselves, or be expected to be reasonable, understanding, or act like miniature adults.

“Mommy has a good reason for abandoning you...” just doesn’t really cut it for them.

So like, to vastly oversimplify. Why does Toya act the way he does? It’s because he feels like he has no parents.

Toya’s unable to regulate his behavior (his emotions / his fire), because his parents never taught him to. His parents, did not do much actual parenting as a child. Kids have good or bad behaviors, but it’s the parents job to actually help them sort through it, and regulate their behaviors.

Toya’s problem is that he had a dad and suddenly he didn’t. Enji went from focusing everything on Toya, to cutting off spending any time with him at all. It was such a dramatic change that Toya feels abandoned, but he doesn’t know why, and the idea that he internalizes is that he wans’t good enough. He wasn’t a good enough child, he keeps internalizing that idea and blaming himself for it. If he was a good enough child, his father’s love would have never gone away. However, Toya sees “being good enough” as “being a good enough hero” because that’s the idea Enji taught him.

Toya has internalized this idea that he’s a bad child, that he’s a failure, and his way of fighting against this is continually trying to prove that he’s not by training to increase the strength of his quirk.

However, the thing is. Neither Enji nor Rei ever tried to correct the idea that Toya was a failure. Because, Toya was the scapegoat of the house.

If you were to parallel it to the Tenko household. The real reason the household was distressed was Kotaro, however, rather than anyone directly standing up to Kotaro who is creating the problem, who is the abuser in this situation, it’s easier to blame the victim. It’s Tenko’s behavior, that’s causing the abuse. If only Tenko did not provoke Kotaro that way, so everyone tries to silence Tenko, and he’s scapegoated as the cause of distress in the house because he’s... upset his father is constantly abusing him.

The real problem in the house was Enji. Enji was the cause of the houise’s disruption. Toya’s behavior actually doesn’t matter.

If Toya wasn’t reacting to the abuse then someone else would. It’s not because Toya had such a negative reaction to being neglected, it’s because Enji’s reasons for having kids wasn’t to take care of them and raise them to be fully developed people, but to have a tool to live vicariously through and carry on his legacy.

Toya’s not wrong for reacting the way he did. However, rather than directly confront the real cause of the family’s distress it’s much easier to just blame Toya for his behavior. Both parents insist it’s Toya’s fault, that Toya is too stubborn, that Toya’s the one who won’t give up on his dream therefore it’s his fault.

Do I expect Rei to heroically stand up to Endeavor in this situation? No, not at all. Endeavor had the power here, and she was a victim too. However, at the same time it alseo means that Toya just didn’t have any parents. Self-harming behavior that would have been corrected by actual parenting, just, wasn’t. It is actually lowkey horrifying that Toya was neglected to this point, idk to me it’s like letting a kid starve to death when they keep crying how hungry they are. Then going, well, why didn’t he feed himself?

Anyway, I went so long on this tangent because I wanted to show how deep the scars of abandonment can run. Toya interanlized that it was his fault that he was abandoned, that he was to blame, and his parents words said otherwise, but their actions showed it. By refusing to deal with him, and labeling him as the problem child in the household, they basically just made Toya feel that he was somehow, doing something wrong, that he was the one making their love go away. That’s how a child would understand it, because a child can’t reason through things like an adult would. All Toya sees are his own feelings, his need for attention, his feelings of abandonment.

So, going back to Kotaro.

He had a mom, and then suddenly he didn’t. He had the unconditional love and support a child needs, and then it was just taken away.

There is no way that Kotaro can understand his mother’s feelings or reasons for abandoning him, nor should he be expected to. Just like when Toya was thirteen all he understood was the abadnonment he felt. If Toya can carry these feelings well into adulthood, then so logicaly, can Kotaro. These scars don’t go away easily. Yes, Kotaro had the option of seeking out professional help, but the fact that he didn’t seek treatment doesn’t mean he was never abused in the first place, and it certainly doesn’t mean he was more responsible for his abuse than his mother was.

Kotaro, just like Toya internalized the feelings that he was the fault he was being abandoned. He just wasn’t good enough of a child, for his mother to stick around and fight for him. His mother was a good hero to everyone else, but a bad mother to him. I don’t think any reasoning justifies that or explains that away, because the decision to bring a child into the world is something the adults are wholly responsible for. Kotaro didn’t ask to be born, that’s something his mother chose, she chose to became a mother, and then she equally chose not to raise him. Kotaro acts that way, because he, like Toya, just did not have parents.

There’s a reason Shigaraki and Dabi’s stories are so closely linked, like, being a good hero doesn’t change what Nana did to Kotaro, and what Enji did to Toya. The problem was Enji chose his job, he chose being a hero, he chose wanting to have a son to fulfill his heroic legacy over and over again rather than simply showing up and fulfilling his responsibility towards his family. Enji is obviously, much worse than Nana, but they both failed to parent a child in a very basic way. I don’t think there is a good excuse for abandoning a child to that extent, and there’s no reason to justify it, so both Toya and Kotaro were right for feeling completely abandoned by their parents. They were never their parents top priority.

Of course Kotaro goes on to repeat that abuse which is what makes him a more complicated character. Kotaro wasn’t raised as a healthy child, so as an adult he can’t regulate his own feelings over the past. His wounds are still there and he’s poorly coping.

Effectively, he does the same thing his mother did. He blamed Tenko. He made Tenko feel like he was the problem. Kotaro feels like he’s the reason his mother abandoned him, he simply was not good enough. Kotaro made it so Tenko felt like he was the reason his household was destroyed, it was because he was not a good enough child. Kotaro’s actions are probably because he’s internalzied the idea that he was worthless, and someone who deserved to be abandoned but his worst impact on the world was repeating that same action and making Tenko feel that way as well.

That he was someone who didn’t deserve to be saved. Because he was such a bad kid, always making his family suffer like that. And that’s wat I find so sad.

#Anonymous #mha meta #metasks #shimura tenko #shimura kotaro

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crispin-kreme · 3 years

Text

how to mend a broken heart ; kim sunoo

part 5/7 of the series

synopsis: every one is born with a heart that glows and it is visible amongst themselves. kim sunoo has the brightest heart and so do you. but a conflict arises between sunoo's life, making the heart lose its glow. gradually, sunoo has become numb to pain once his heart lost his glow. will you be able to ignite his heart again or lose him forever?

genre: angst, slight fluff, best friends to lovers au

pairings: student! kim sunoo x gn! reader

warnings: grammatical errors, car accident, and blood

notes: look who finally updated- im gonna finish this series in a bit because it just hit me that my classes are nearing (im starting on july 21 ew) so yea yall get the gist. sorry for not updating in a long time but anyways- enjoy! also thanks to @atsuwiee for helping out with the plot! <3

sunoo was probably born with the brightest heart amongst his classmates. he kept the brightest smile and he lets out the brightest laughter. being friends with him was easy. considering you both grew up in the same neighborhood and you both study in the same school.

he was a social butterfly and you were absolutely the quite opposite but you still managed to get yourself a small group of friends. your heart grew in an average level. you were happy and at times you were sad. unlike sunoo, you bet that his heart grows brighter than yours.

with sunoo’s bright outbursts of energy, you can’t help yourself fall in love with him. the way he smiles and his eyes quickly resembles a fox, the way he laughs at your lame jokes, and the way he talks gracefully about his day. oh you were a hopeless romantic over him. on the other hand, sunoo loved you from afar as well. he simply admires every thing about you. he loves you as well.

“y/n! how was your day?” sunoo says as he walks beside you “its okay.” you simply replied. both of you were exiting the school gates, school has finally ended for this day. both of you then just decided to take a quick stroll around town. “okay? what do you mean by ‘okay’?” he asks. “sunoo, i don’t have to explain that. its alright. my day went well.” you said with a soft smile placed onto your lips. sunoo smiled “good then!” he replied.

you looked at sunoo and asked “how about you? how was your day?” sunoo shrugged “boring as usual.” he rolls his eyes “why did the teacher even separate us into two different classes?! we were always in the same class, right? it’s so boring without you.” sunoo ranted and frowned “we literally live in the same neighborhood. you can come to my house anytime.” you pointed out. sunoo’s mouth became agape “...right.” he says.

sunoo quickly checked his phone and suddenly gasped “oh no- i was supposed to go to my groupmates’ house today!” he exclaimes. “eh- what for?” you asked “for a project. don’t worry, i think their house isn’t far from here.” sunoo explained. “okay- i’ll take a detour now. take care, y/n! call me when you get home.” he tells you before running away in a rush for a school work.

you sighed as you were left alone on the sidewalk. “gosh- i’m hungry...” you mumbled to yourself. the sun was almost down but that didn’t stop you from going to a convinience store and grabbing a snack as dark came.

as you arrived home, you threw yourself on your bed. it was about 7 in the evening already. you were still alone and your parents weren’t home yet so you decided to call sunoo since you arrived home.

he didn’t pick up. it was only a voicemail.

again and again and again. sunoo didn’t pick up.

you sighed as you faced your ceiling “maybe he’s tired...” you muttered under your breath. you did your night routine before you could even go to bed. you see your heart beating- still glowing so you didn’t really have a problem with anything.

all you didn’t know, as you fall asleep. sunoo is slowly being rushed to the hospital. with his blood stained face and an unbearable pain on his head, its no surprise that he might not even get through this night due to the accident.

the glow of sunoo’s heart started to dim.

hours into your sleep, someone calls you. you stirred in your sleep as you grabbed your phone under your pillow. you just assumed it was sunoo since he’s the only person who can call you at this ungodly hour. you picked up only to hear a woman crying over the phone. you immediately jolted up as you recognized the voice.

“mrs. kim?” you responded to sunoo’s mother. “y/n? i’m so sorry to call you this late.” his mother says apologetically “its alright.” you politely replied. “its alright. what’s wrong, mrs. kim?” you asked in curiousity and concern “well... its about sunoo.” his mother stated.

the news made you feel uneasy. you felt your world stop.

its been a week since the accident. sunoo wasn’t coming to school nor sunoo was contacting you. when you tried to visit sunoo, he forbid you to do so. his texts became shorter and blunt as well as his attitude. you checked the glow of your heart and it was still glowing at a normal rate. you wonder how sunoo’s heart is glowing right now.

sunoo’s heart completely lost its glow. sad to say, his condition made him numb to any pain. he wanted to be isolated. after that car accident, it was discovered that sunoo has turned deaf due to the severe head trauma he experienced during the accident. ever since he got discharged, he never showed up to school and contacts you at a seldom rate.

truly, he wanted to be isolated because of his condition. he feared that you will never love him back because he is now completely deaf. he could still talk but he still needs to learn some sign languages at the moment.

you didn’t hesitate to storm into his house (with the notice of his parents of course. you let them know that you were going to visit him). you made your way quickly into his house and in front of his bedroom. you knocked aggresively. you were a bit furious on why he didn’t want you to visit him thus, you being aggresive.

“open the door, fucker!” you raised your voice. sunoo was curled up in bed, not knowing you were there in front of his door. “i’m coming in you ‘lil shit.” you announced as you barged in his door. you saw sunoo curled up in bed, not noticing your presence. you closed the door and stood in front of him.

sunoo suddenly jolted up upon seeing your presence “y-y/n!” he stutters. sunoo needed to explain faster so that you could communicate with him. “before you talk. i have something to say.” he says. you sit down beside him on his bed. sunoo fixes his posture and looks at you straight in the eye.

“i- y/n, i-i’m deaf.” sunoo said. your eyes widened. “...so please. just type your response in the notes. i couldn’t hear you. i’m so sorry.” he explained, as he tries to regulate his voice. you were still in shock so you nodded and grabbed your phone. you typed in your response.

so this is why you’ve been avoiding me ever since the accident?

sunoo read your response and nodded in reply.

why? you thought that i would dislike you for it?

“yes...” he replied with his head low. “i-i really thought of that.” he added. still, you could see how sunoo was a bit blunt. but sunoo’s heart started to glow little by little, he could feel some warmth.

you listened to him carefully. sunoo’s tears started to form and fall down. “i- i love you, y/n! when i knew i lost my hearing, i feared that you’ll never feel the same way for me.” he explained. sunoo’s heart started glowing brightly again.

“its ridiculous to love someone who can’t hear, right?” he asked rhetorically as he wiped his tears. you couldn’t help but tear up too now that he confessed to you. you brought his face up to your sight and cupped his face.

sunoo reads your lips.

‘i love you too.’ is what you said and sooner later you had to type it in. but sunoo understood you.

“how-“ sunoo gets cut off as you kissed his lips. he wiped your tears “stop crying...” sunoo says as he tried to smile. “i love you so much.” he adds.

your heart glowed brightly like the sun so as sunoo’s. he feels your warmth again, he feels happy.

finally, even without hearing your voice, his broken heart is now mended.

would you like to proceed?

yes/go back

#enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen angst #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #kim sunoo #enhypen x gender neutral reader #enhypen oneshots #enhypen oneshot #why do i feel like this is shitty omg

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goldentournesol · 4 years

Text

Mon Cher

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

Part 2 of Mon Lapin

The one where Spencer and Reader finally go on a date after pining over each other for too long. (Reader owns a French bakery)

Length: 2.6k

A/N: tooth-rotting, cheesy FLUFF! thank you to everyone who requested a part 2, i wasn’t going to write it but y’all--i think this might be my favorite thing that i’ve written so far!

masterlist

Spencer knew that across many cultures, pink lilies represented love, admiration, and compassion. All things he wished to convey to Y/N, so it really wasn’t difficult to pick a bouquet of pink lilies for her. His heart thumped against his ribcage as he neared the bakery where he told her he’d meet her. He hoped he wasn’t too forward with her yesterday, but he was getting antsy. Despite seeing her a couple times a week when he was in town, it was never enough just to chat casually. He wanted to lose himself in conversations with her. With all his ambition for knowledge, he couldn’t think of a subject he wished to memorize more than everything she is.

He cleared his throat and made sure his tie was as straight as it possibly could be before pushing the glass door of her bakery, the chime of the small bell reaching the corners of the store. His eyes swept across the familiar scenery, but she wasn’t there. He approached the counter nervously.

“Hey, Marissa. Is Y/N here yet?” He asked her coworker and she beamed upon seeing him.

“Hey! She should be here any minute. I kind of forced her to go home to get ready and all, it’s really hard getting her out of the bakery!” She laughed and Spencer nodded, smiling, grateful for the extra minutes he needed to compose himself.

He found Y/N’s dedication to her job endearing. He glanced down at the bouquet and adjusted the flowers in an attempt to find something to do with his hands instead of tapping nervously against the counter. Why was he so nervous? She wouldn’t have agreed to the date if she wasn’t interested. Well, then again, he didn’t really give her an option. Was that the wrong decision?

Just before he could spiral into his thoughts any deeper, the bell chimed again, causing him to turn to face the door. The air evaded his lungs as soon as his eyes settled on her, an occurrence Spencer didn’t think happened in real life. He’s read about it, sure, but he never thought he’d ever experience it. She strolled in, a dark emerald dress flowing with her movement. Spencer had to remind himself what the function of the respiratory system was when she approached him.

“Spencer?” She spoke softly, realizing that he hadn’t said anything. He blinked, snapping out of his daze with a prominent blush.

“Y-yes. Hi, sorry, um,” he paused, a bashful, sheepish grin overtaking his face, “you look beautiful, Y/N.” She mirrored his smile, cheeks reddening as she glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Merci, mon lapin. [my bunny] You look just as dashing as ever. I see you remembered the lilies.” She sent him a sly smile. He had forgotten about the bouquet in his hand under her intense gaze. He nodded, his arm extending the flowers to her. She graciously accepted them and immediately buried her nose in the center of the bouquet, emerging with a smile that could make Spencer’s knees buckle if he wasn’t careful.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. Give me one moment.” She scurried off into the kitchen of the bakery and returned with the largest cup she could find. She settled the flowers in their new home before picking one out of the bunch and securing it to one of the bobby pins near her left ear. Spencer was positive he resembled a love-sick puppy as he took in the sight. Marissa was pretending to wipe down a table in the background, but really she was fawning over the two lovebirds.

“Shall we?” Spencer managed to speak, gesturing towards the door.

He tried to contain his grin as he stared at her ethereality. She smiled up at him and nodded, taking one last look at Marissa before she left. Her coworker sent her a teasing look and waved goodbye. Spencer offered his arm to Y/N as they stepped into the chilly air. She gladly took it and beamed up at him. He tried not to focus on the way his arm felt tingly with hers around it.

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this, Spencer.” She spoke and he nodded.

“Me too, Y/N. So, I wasn’t sure what you liked so I settled for a reservation at an Italian restaurant. Would that be okay?” He tried to swallow his nerves.

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” It didn’t really matter, she knew she’d go wherever this man asked her to go.

The nervous energy in the air was lighthearted and it made her feel like she was a teenager going on a date for the first time again. They caught each other up on their lives as they walked. Both of Y/N’s hands ended up around Spencer’s arm and he found himself relishing in her warm touch as well as every little squeeze she gave when she got excited about something she was saying. He wanted to pay attention to the direction they were walking in, but it was too damn hard with the way the lamp lights reflected in her irises. He’d almost walked right past the restaurant.

“Oh, we’re here.” He laughed lightly, leading her to the entrance and they were seated immediately.

Dinner went smoothly. She’d known that he was an interesting man, but he made it so easy for her to get lost in him, what he was saying, his eyes- oh man, those eyes. She knew all about eyes being the windows to the soul, but she didn’t know how one man’s eyes could possibly convey so much emotion. She watched him talk about his work family and his real family, although not in great detail. They were so captivated by each other, the waiters had to make noises with either their throats or mouths to get their attention.

Once they were out of the restaurant, they continued walking down the same street, still deep in conversation about a topic probably wouldn’t interest anyone else. Spencer hadn’t really planned the night out, he didn’t know what exactly she would like, so he decided he’d let the leaves fall where they may. All he did know was when she giggled, his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks and she let out a loud gasp.

“Oh! You know what I just remembered?” Spencer stared at her curiously, “There’s a tiny theater up ahead that plays some really cool foreign films, you probably know about it. I know the owner, she texts me whenever they add a French movie. Tonight they’re playing one of my favorites, Les Parapluies de Cherbourg! [The Umbrellas of Cherbourg] Oh, you would love it! Would you like to go? It’s totally fine if you have something else planned, though.” Spencer grinned at her excited nature and nodded eagerly.

“Are you kidding? I always have to beg my friends to come see foreign films with me, I’d love to go.” Spencer couldn’t believe this was happening. They arrived at the theater soon and she was disheartened to hear that they didn’t have subtitles for the movie.

“It’s okay! I don’t mind if there aren’t any subtitles.” Spencer said once he saw the smile dissipate from her face. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he’d already seen the movie before anyway. The gleam in her eye was much too precious when she spoke of the film.

“Are you sure? I can probably whisper-translate to you, uh, i-if you’d like.” She stated somewhat shyly, a blush creeping up to her cheeks.

“I’d like that.” Spencer smiled as he realized that the roles were usually reversed and he’d usually be the one whisper-translating a movie to someone.

And so they sat in the small theater, arms tangled in each other over the arm of the chair between them. She had one hand on his bicep as he leaned the top half of his body closer to her. They were probably sitting closer than they normally would have sat, but she used the excuse of whisper-translating to her advantage. She felt a strand of his caramel hair tickle the tip of her nose as her lips whispered in his ear. Spencer fought to regulate his breathing every time she came near. He was glad he’d seen the movie before because he was sure that if this had been his first time seeing it, he’d have absolutely no clue what was going on. She also fought to resist the urge to press her lips to his clean shaven jaw--and basically everywhere else.

The movie ended before they knew it and they could finally see each other in the gentle light of the theater. Spencer turned his face to send her a grateful smile just to find her face inches away from his. His eyes involuntarily flickered down to her lips. The same lips that were by his ear a few moments ago. She smiled back softly and they enjoyed the closeness for a short moment before Spencer shyly broke eye contact. They broke apart, both blushing from head to toe. Both far too shy to initiate anything. He cleared his throat before standing from his seat. Y/N followed him out of the theater.

“So, did you like it?” She asked as they stepped out, noticing that the streets were a lot darker and quieter than they had been prior to entering. It must have been late.

“Yeah, I loved it.” Spencer said, almost breathlessly, but he wasn’t talking about the movie, of course. She grinned with triumph and courageously slipped her hand into his as they walked back in the direction they came from. He took it one step further and laced their fingers together. She swooned over his smile.

An aggressive gust of wind suddenly washed over the two of them on the sidewalk, which made them instinctively close their eyes to brace themselves against the dust in the air. She only opened her eyes as she felt the lily in her hair slip out of its secure place from in between the prongs of the bobby pin.

“No!” She gasped and Spencer quickly -and ungracefully- leapt to catch it before it flew too far. She laughed as he turned to face her with a pleasantly surprised expression, almost in disbelief that he actually caught it. He approached her again and gently returned the lily to its rightful spot just above her ear. He moved a stray strand from her face and she gazed up at him with a certain type of adoration. His hands moved to cup the plumpness of her cheeks as they relished in each other's tender gazes. She let her hands rest right under his ribs and pulled him impossibly closer.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, his breath washing over her face. He felt the skin under his fingertips warm up.

“Merci, mon cher.” [my dear] She whispered back, a definite level-up from mon lapin. That he did know the meaning of.

Spencer grinned slightly before finally leaning down to close the gap between both their lips. It was gentle and sweet, neither of them rushing it. To many onlookers, they were just a young couple sharing a kiss on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. To them, it was a silent declaration. A statement that conveyed more emotion than any of the thousands of words that existed in all the languages they spoke between them could. Y/N found herself following through after Spencer reluctantly pulled away for air. She stopped herself, blushing profusely at her involuntary movements. He only grinned wider in response before stepping back and grabbing her hand again.

“Let me walk you home.” He told her as they began walking again.

“Actually...the night doesn’t have to end yet, if you don’t want it to, I mean.” She smiled up at him.

“I don’t want it to, what do you have in mind? Everything’s closed down.” Spencer pointed out.

“Um, I might know a place.” She said in a teasing manner with a slight smirk, “The owner and I go way back.” She giggled.

“Oh really now?” Spencer played along, laughing.

“Mhm, we’re practically like this.” She laughed as she crossed one finger over the other on her free hand to represent a bond.

She unlocked the door to her bakery and pulled him in, closing the door again behind him. Before Spencer could even register what was happening, she had grabbed a hold on his tie to gently guide his face back to hers and enveloping his lips with her own. Spencer responded immediately by wrapping both arms around her waist securely. The kiss was significantly more passionate than the first, but just as sweet. She pulled apart first and bit her lip sheepishly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She admitted and Spencer stood in a daze.

She giggled and moved away to turn the lights on, but only some. The soft light illuminated the empty bakery and he realized then just how beautiful the place really was. Or maybe he thought everything would look ten times more beautiful after a kiss like the one he’d just received. The thought had extended to her, of course. Spencer didn’t think it was possible that she could look any more beautiful. But there she was, in all her glory, proving him wrong as each second passes.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.” She hooked her pointer finger around his and dragged him to the kitchen. He was in awe as he took in the sight of all of the kitchen appliances. It wasn’t a large kitchen, but it was oddly spacious and organized.

She smiled wide at his reaction, “This is quite literally where the magic happens. Ooo! Come look, I made these right before I left, Marissa must have taken them out of the oven before she locked up. They’re for tomorrow.” She pulled him to a tall bakery rack and he spotted his favorite treat, pain au chocolat. She took one off the tray and gave it to him. It was still warm on the bottom. He couldn’t hold his excited grin back as he took a hefty bite out of it. She giggled as she watched him close his eyes dramatically.

“I’m truly at a loss for words, Y/N. They’re so good. How do you get them right every time?” He asked with fascination and she propped herself on the counter of the kitchen, taking one for herself.

“Well, it took time and effort to perfect the recipe, Dr. Reid.” She giggled, biting into it. “I can show you how to make them one day. Maybe our next date?” She looked at him hopefully and he nodded eagerly.

“Yes! You can finally show me how to make pain au chocolat.” He tried to imitate her accent, he really tried. She burst out laughing at his cuteness.

“Pain au cho-co-lat.” She emphasized, separating the syllables.

“That’s what I said! Pain au chocolat!” He laughed, although the pronunciation was still slightly off.

“Alright, close enough.” She giggled again as she pulled him closer, locking her legs at the ankle behind his waist. They’d have plenty of time to perfect his accent later.

“Embrasse-moi, mon cher.” [Kiss me, my dear] She whispered.

Right then, he thanked himself for having the foresight to brush up on the language enough to do exactly what she asked.

Half-eaten pains au chocolat were long forgotten.

Mon Lapin (part 1)

#spencer x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #dr spencer reid #spencer reid masterlist #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfic #cm

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jettingtothemoon · 3 years

Note

can you do 75, 93, and 100 with Sokka? THAT WOULD BE AMAZING!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! - ✌ anon

➳ pairing: sokka x f!reader ➳ genre: fluff, a smidge of angst ➳ warnings: injury, kissing, suggestive? ➳ word count: 1679 ➳ rating: pg-15 ➳ summary: in which your daily training with sokka goes a little wrong. ➳ prompts: 75 - ‘i’ll just kiss you until you feel better, then.’, 93 - ‘you’re so cute when you’re struggling.’, 100 - ‘i’m scared okay? i- i’m afraid of losing you.’

Sokka was very adamant that the two of you needed to train twice as hard as everyone else, as two non-benders, if you were ever going to stand a chance against the Fire Nation. He truly was a warrior at heart and you really did love him for it, but sometimes he pushed you a little too hard.

“Come on y/n! You can do it. Climb like you mean it!”

Today, your over-enthusiastic boyfriend had you climbing a small cliff face. Of course, he had come up with the idea when presented with the issue of every bender in your team being able to whisk themselves up to wherever they needed to be in a matter of seconds. The two fo you, however, were not so lucky and had to train your bodies so that you could climb to such height.

It was a useful skill to have, that was true, but the likelihood of you ever actually needing it was somewhat slim. Of course, Sokka still saw it as an essential development that could be the difference between life and death in one of the battles to come.

“Sokka, we’ve been at this all day. Can’t I please come down now?”

The boy hummed, finger pressed to his chin as if he were thinking, before shaking his head and yelling up at you, “No, you can’t. Keep climbing until you reach the top.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes as you reached up for the next part of the rock.

From below, Sokka watched with pride as you climbed. Despite being a girl, you were quite capable. Suki’s influence no doubt. The two of you had shown Sokka what it really meant to be a girl, that girls could just as strong as men if they wanted to be. It was safe to say that he was in awe of both of you. Although, that didn’t stop him from woking you to the bone.

Your fingers hurt by the time you could see the top, not that it was that high. You’d climbed higher before. In fact, you had already climbed this very cliff face several times in the past few hours and every time you climbed it again it seemed just that little bit higher.

When you reached the top, you stood with your hands placed on your hips, wiping the sweat from your forehead. A victory pose of sorts as you realised in the feeling of finally being done with training for the day.

You leaned forward and cupped your hands around your mouth, shouting down at your obnoxious boyfriend. He was a nuisance, but he was your nuisance.

“Your turn!”

He looked up at you with a smug grin. “I’ll be there in less than a minute, watch me!”

Just like that, he was clambering up the side of the small cliff. You chuckled, watching as he puffed all the air out of his lungs only to quickly suck it back in, a strange way to regulate his breathing but it seemed to work for him.

He was determined to show you that he wasn’t tired, that he could keep going even after such a long day. For the most part, he was determined and would push past any hardship or obstacle that got in his way. However, it was usually Sokka that would complain and moan about his exhaustion after a long day of training. Well, when it was the others who are pushing him to his limits.

When he was in charge, like today, he never quite had to push himself too far. You had climbed the cliff twice as many times as him at least, all due to him insisting that it was more important for you to build up your stamina since he was already an ace at climbing. A lie, but you knew better than to complain. After all, it really would benefit you to train but, that being said, it would have benefitted him to work a little harder today too.

He looked almost like a spider as he climbed, long limbs moving far too quickly as he scrambled up.

“Sokka, you should slow down. You need to look at what you’re grabbing,” You warned, hoping he would heed your warning.

Of course, however, he didn’t. Why would he listen to you when he had this in the bag? He was going to impress you and beat his best time. Or, at least, that’s what he thought.

It all happened so suddenly really, although it also seemed to pass in slow motion at the same time when Sokka grabbed onto an unstable rock. It crumbled and broke apart from the cliff, his hand falling as it lost the grip that had been supporting him. In a panic, he fell backwards and soon he was plummeting down.

“Sokka!”

When he came to, Sokka found himself in his tent. He went to sit up only for the stabbing pain in his ribs to force him back down.

“Careful, I only just bandaged your wounds.” Katara scowled at her brother, clearly unimpressed that he had managed to cause himself so much harm thanks to his carelessness.

“Where’s y/n?”

The waterbender sighed, “Outside worrying about you. I’ll go get her, she can look after you now since you’re awake.”

You rushed into the tent the second Katara told you he was awake, only to find him forcing himself through the pain it caused him to sit up. Before he could blink you were by his side, hand resting gently on his bandaged back as you helped him.

“You okay? That was quite a fall. If Katara wasn’t here-”

“I’m fine, just a- a scratch,” He insisted, hissing once again as you lightly pushed a finger to the bruise on the side of his head.

You raised a brow. “Fine? You’ve been out cold for hours, and here I was thinking the fall would have knocked some sense into you.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. I know, I should have listened to you and taken it slow, it’s my fault. I’m sorry, okay?”

With a hum, you nodded. You were just worried, not angry. Well, maybe you were a little angry at him but not as much as Katara.

When he breathed a sigh of relief, you pushed your finger a little harder into the bruise, causing him to whine in pain and swat your hand away, before walking over to the other side of the tent.

“It’s going to be cold tonight, put this on.” You threw him a new shirt, one without stains of his own blood, to wear since Katara had taken the other one to wash it.

What was funny was that Sokka couldn’t even raise his arms high enough to pull it over his head and, instead, ended up carefully twisting his body this way and that to try and find a way to do it that wouldn’t hurt.

You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, cooing, “You’re so cute when you’re struggling.”

He stopped trying altogether and scowled at you. “Are you going to help me or not?”

With a giggle, you reached out and helped him put it on, pulling his arms through it carefully so that you wouldn’t cause him any more pain.

“There, better?”

He hummed but soon seemed to change his mind. “It might stop hurting if you kiss it better.”

You chuckled again at his weak attempt to flirt but gave in nonetheless. “I’ll just have to kiss you until you feel better then.”

You started with the bruise on his head, pressing your lips to it ever so lightly. Then, your fingers lifted the material of his shirt so that you could place a gentle kiss against his bandaged torso.

When you were done with that, you were not surprised to find Sokka with his lips puckered as he waited for you. Sighing at his silliness, you shook your head but gave him what he wanted regardless.

Your lips connected for a brief, sweet moment and his hand came up to cup the back of your head. When you parted, he smiled widely. “I don’t think that was enough, I think I need more.”

The cheek of this boy even when he was pretty badly injured would never fail to amaze you. He could so easily push aside any pain and ignore any danger just to try and cheer you up. He could see the look in your eyes, he knew something was off from the moment you walked in.

As much as that cheeky grin and playful personality helped, however, this time it just wasn’t enough.

You looked away, gathering your thoughts as the conversation quickly turned from light to heavy.

His hand reached out, fingers gently turning you back to face him as he tilted his head. “What is it?”

“I just- I was really worried today,” he was silent, waiting for you to go on, “You were lucky; if Aang didn’t jump in to slow the impact, you could have died. Don’t you get that? You could have died today.”

His expression softened and he reached out for your hand, holding it in his own. “I know, I’m sorry. But it’s fine because Aang was there to catch me, just about, and Katara was there to bandage me up and-”

“You don’t get it Sokka. You could have died. Not fighting the Fire Nation, just falling from a cliff. Why did you have to be so careless? You knew that you could have fallen but you acted recklessly anyway!”

You pulled your hand away from him and turned away once again, anger bubbling inside you. It all slipped away, however, when he mumbled one more quiet apology.

“Sorry. I just- I’m scared, okay? I- I’m afraid of losing you.”

His head rested against your shoulder as he wrapped his arms around you, holding your warmth close. “I’m sorry, I know it must have scared you. I didn’t mean to get hurt, I won’t be so careless again.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

#sokka x reader #sokka angst #sokka fluff #atla #avatar the last airbender #sokka avatar #anon #sokka avatar the last airbender #✌#request #✌ anon

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rebsrebsrebsrebs · 4 years

Note

Hey, Rebs. I take medication that fucks up my appetite something bad and I am often reminded by Screen Buddy Beel that I need to eat. Sometimes I only force something down cuz I feel like it would make him happy. Anyway, can we have headcanons for the boys with a GN!MC who has trouble feeding themselves? :(

Hi anon!!

I wanna say first that I absolutely feel you. I struggle with my depression and a handful of other illnesses daily. Sometimes it's hard to drag myself out of bed to eat, or shower, or anything. A lot of times I'll ask my friends to tell me to eat or I'll remember that Beel would want me to eat well, so I go get something, like anything. I ate six marshmallows for dinner the other day because it's all I could muster the energy for. Eating literally anything is better than eating nothing. You need calories to be the amazing you that you are! Keep doing your best to eat something! I believe in you and so does Beel!

That said, here's the brothers trying to get MC to eat after noticing that they aren't eating on their own

Lucifer

He won't admit it, but having been less involved with the affairs of humans as both an archangel and a demon lord, he has to do some research to make sure he knows what humans need to be cared for

The goal is to keep them alive for the year, and that means more than just protecting them from lesser demons

Three square meals a day, unlimited access to water, they wouldn't lack for enrichment between school and his brothers' nonsense

(yes he's thinking of them like a pet he has to care for)

He isn't prepared for them not to eat on their own though.

Once he notices that they have difficulty feeding themself, he will remind them of it regularly, just as he reminds them to do their tasks

And makes their attendance at mealtimes mandatory

And makes sure they eat their lunch, or delegates it to one of the more trustworthy brothers

Boy's gonna rule and regulate and remind you into eating enough like the taskmaster he is

Mammon

Humans gotta eat right? Mammon's pretty sure MC has to eat lunch. At least. Right??

He's got an idea

One of the best parts of a photo shoot for Mammon (besides being the center of attention, of course) is the craft services table

The food at these things is good

And that's the excuse he's gonna use to try and ply MC to eat something when he drags them on one of his photo shoots

"This is some of the best Devildom food you're gonna get for free - Devilish doesn't skimp!"

Also it's a combo of giving MC something nice (good food) while also making money (modeling gig) so what's not to love?

If they try to politely decline he will insist anyway

He's their guardian demon and he's gonna take care of 'em dammit!!

Never gonna admit it tho

Do it in the spirit of the exchange program, yeah?

"Ain't it good? Told ya so!" as if that's why he's smiling

If his tactic works, he'll drag MC around to even more shoots and events.

He can't watch over them all the time much as he tries to so he makes sure that at least when they're together, MC eats something.

Leviathan

Game time is snack time, obviously. It's an important part of the ritual

(side note, I bet he has specific snacks he plays for specific games, but that's another post)

Levi presents his Henry with gamer snacks for two and a large pizza for them to share

He's honestly a little hurt when much 'sharing' doesn't get done

Does MC not like what he got? He could've sworn they ate something last time. Maybe.

Didn't they?

Oh no what if he got something they said they don't like and he forgot. Oh fuck he feels like such a bad friend.

But they aren't saying anything and that makes him feel worse

"If - if you don't like what I got you can just say it!!! I can take it!!"

MC explains that they just don't feel like eating, but he doesn't accept that so easily

"You have to! Henry and the Lord of Shadows shared every meal possible together on their long journey across the Almederian Wastes!"

"Levi, I'm just not hungry. It isn't that deep."

"....it's that deep to me :<"

Please eat a slice of pizza so he knows you're still friends, MC

Satan

He's the one who's actually going to ask MC why they don't eat as often as he thinks humans ought.

He probably thinks that demon food is just too gross for them, which… might not be incorrect.

When they explain it to him, he will take their reasons and start searching for logical solutions.

Their medication takes away their appetite, is there something else they could try that would achieve the same medicinal effect but not affect appetite?

Or if they can't find the motivation or the will, who or what could motivate them? Do they need meals brought to them?

Rather than forcing them to eat when they don't want to, he's going to try and find ways to make it so that they do want to eat and then let the eating part take care of itself

MC can expect books at their bedroom door and links in their inbox as Satan shares his research with them

Overall the most practical choice if MC wants a solution to their lack of appetite, if one is to be found

Asmodeus

Makes some assumptions when he sees that MC isn't really eating during lunch

"Darling, I understand that humans have odd beauty standards, but you have to know that restriction diets like that are so bad for you."

Eating enough is key to maintaining health and happiness!!

In addition to having many rants about how having enough sleep is necessary, he also basically has pre-readied talks about self-confidence, hydration, eating enough, bathing/showering, and getting enough time outside

And he wants MC to be as healthy and happy as possible, whatever that means for them

Asmo is locked and loaded with an arsenal of compliments about MC's looks and figure and everything he loves about them, when they explain that that isn't actually the problem

It takes him a second to parse that their lack of appetite isn't because they had just eaten, that they literally just don't feel hungry, so they forget to eat

"Well… you need to eat anyway! Here!"

You cannot convince me that Asmo doesn't have a little mini-fridge for his wines and cupcakes that he likes the most to keep Beel away from them

He will present MC with a cupcake and a glass of wine while they hang out

"Yes, you have to have both, they pair so well and it would be a crime if you didn't. I would cry! You wouldn't want to make someone as pretty as me cry, would you?"

Beelzebub

Aww :(

Sharing food time with people he loves is Beel's ultimate joy, so if he brings MC something and they don't want to chow down, it kinda hurts.

He will sulk and be confused

Also, he hasn't lacked an appetite in the longest time, so he can't relate - not until he does that body switch with Asmo, but even then, he's so hungry that he likely can't remember it

MC will probably explain it themself when they see Beel so upset.

"It isn't you - I really appreciate that you think of me enough to bring me something you like. I just don't always have an appetite."

Beel will ask a lot of questions

Are they sick? Are they hurt? Is he bringing them stuff they don't like? Is Devildom food too much for humans?

He will increase the amount of snacks he has on his person, just in case MC ever does develop an appetite, that it could be quickly sated.

Will offer them tastes of what he's eating, since a meal is technically just a lot of little bites, right?

And a lot of little bites of the amount of food Beel eats is a plentiful meal by human standards

Also, will pick MC up and take them to mealtime if necessary, he already does this to Belphie, so he'll just have one of them over each shoulder and plop them in their seats at the dinner table

Belphegor

His strategy is to keep MC hanging around him and Beel so that Beel's plan can go into effect

Probably has also struggled with eating enough, especially in his earlier demon days when he straight up couldn't pull himself out of bed

So whatever is causing MC's struggle with eating, he relates

Beel can and will bring MC and Belphie to food, as well as bringing food to MC and Belphie

Being friends or lovers with the twins is just a guarantee that MC will never purposefully go hungry

I'm sorry Belphie's is so short it really is just 'hey beel we have a food thing, help plz'

masterlist

#rebs writes #obey me headcanons #obey me imagines #tw disordered eating #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie #obey me #obey me!#Anonymous

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack, smut. explicit.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch, oral (f receiving), fingering, enough sweetness you’ll get cavities.

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~8400

part iii.

JUNGKOOK’S HOTEL ROOM Sunday, 3 May, 2020. 12:20 AM (LA), 4:20 PM (Seoul).

There’s nothing quite like the feeling after a show. How it crowds cavities behind his molars and sets his heart off on a marathon, exhilaration colouring his cheeks and stealing his voice. It’s something he’ll never get tired of - all the best parts of this journey presented on a silver platter.

Still, he thinks talking to you might be a close second.

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” you chide, playfully, with a mouthful of granola. It crunch crunch crunches in his ears, blocking the sound of his own laughter, ringing and half out of breath.

“I said I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy. Things have just been—” Crazy? Out of this world? Some kind of wonderful? “—hectic.” He all but throws himself across his bed, the luxurious hotel sheets soft against his still overheated cheek. It feels nice but steals the strength of his voice, muffling his words as he continues, like a runaway train with no destination in mind.

You laugh at him as you always do, mirth sprinkled over teasing like little treasures to be found among the vowels and consonants. “It’s fine , Jay.” The name - not his name - rolls off your tongue, dragged out by the giggles you can’t help. “I know you’re a busy guy. Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done, Jungkook thinks. You’ve been on his mind every day, in between the practices and the performances. A silhouette shaped like you - not that he knows how you’re shaped - existing in the recesses of his thoughts.

“Anyway, I finally stopped losing SR so it’s not all bad...”

He doesn’t register what you’re saying. Not at first, anyway. But when he does? He’s belligerent, the loudest shriek rocketing out of his chest as he dissolves into laughter. So you were a little bit better than him. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, sandbag.”

Your mockery shouldn’t have the dumbest smile spreading like wildfire but it does, the expression eating up every ounce of his exhausted self. He can’t fight it, glee working itself every which way until he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his jaw aches.

“You’re mean,” he manages in between the teeth-numbing joy, chest heaving.

He’s certain you don’t mean it the way he takes it. “And yet you love it.”

God, if only you knew.

He wants to tell you so badly - wants to shout it from the rooftops until he’s blue in the face and without a voice. He thinks he’d have a chance, maybe, if your passed secrets at midnight and tender goodnights were any indication.

But he can’t, because he’s him and you’re, well, you, and really, it’s just his fault.

“Did you die?” You steal him out of his reverie, tearing him wholly from inside that overthinking head of his. It’s one of the things you’re best at (other than keeping him alive in Overwatch).

He sighs and it’s a wistful sound, softer than any other that’s passed between you since getting on the phone fifteen minutes ago. “I’m good, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? I thought I might’ve lost you for a second.”

The playfulness has returned, rounding syllables in a way that’s very distinctly you.

“Yes, Mom .”

“Watch it or you’re grounded, young man!”

“Do you even know how old I am?” Probably not, because he doesn’t know that about you either.

For all of the secrets you’ve shared, these very basic pieces of information are ones you’ve never exchanged. They’ve always been held tightly to the chest, held hostage behind sharp gates of enamel. There was too much at stake when it came to these identifiers.

Sure, you’d told him about your greatest fear - losing one of your parents without being able to say goodbye - and sure, he’d told you his - not being good enough and letting the people he loves down even when he’s trying as hard as he can - but your ages? Where you grew up? Your real names? That was out of the question.

“Are you about to tell me you’re sixteen? Have I been friends with a high school student this whole time?” You’re chuckling at your own genius. He really doesn't think you’re that funny - low hanging fruit and all that - but he likes the way it sounds, curling out of your mouth like smoke.

“I’m actually twelve . Geez, get it right.”

You gasp, scandalized and as if you really believe him. It makes him choke on his own spit and he has to roll over onto his stomach, effectively trapping his phone between his chest and the bed as he struggles to regulate his breathing.

“I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

It’s a joke. Obviously , it’s a joke. He shouldn’t take it seriously.

And yet he’s fueled with the need to rebuff it, speaking before he has a chance to stop it, the words coming in a flurry. It’s a verbal snowstorm, locking the conversation in place - like Mei’s ultimate except he’s trapped in it, too. “I have something to tell you.” There’s no going back now.

For once, you’re not tearing holes in his confidence - not that you ever do with any sort of animosity. Your relationship was equal parts give and take, honey and vinegar coexisting in perfect harmony.

When Jungkook doesn’t immediately continue, you give him a little push. “Spit it out, Jay.”

“My name isn’t Jay.” A small, insecure part of him worries that that’s enough to shatter the careful friendship you’ve crafted. You - Jinny, the ineffable - remain surprisingly silent. He’s not sure whether that’s encouraging or disheartening. “I… haven’t really been honest with you.”

Already he can feel the nervous energy in his limbs, anxiety replacing the high he’d been on only an hour ago.

“I’m…” How does he start? “I’m not just… some guy.” Okay, that sounds bad. He’s backtracking. “I mean, I’m a guy. I’m normal.” This is going so poorly. His breath catches in his throat, teeth worrying incessantly over the soft cherry Chapsticked contour of his bottom lip. “I’m just not, y’know, your average guy. I’m actually like, uh...”

Jungkook has never stuttered this much in his entire goddamn life.

“My name’s Jeon Jungkook and I’m the golden maknae of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

It comes in such a rush that you probably don’t hear it clearly. He’s introduced himself this same way for over half a decade and even it sounds strange to his ears.

When you don’t respond after what feels like an eternity, he’s left to his own devices, filling the silence with the erratic beating of his heart.

“Jinny?” It comes smaller than he means it to, uncertain and filled with hesitation. Still, nothing. He wants to toss himself off the 37th floor balcony so he doesn’t have to feel this way. “Can you say something?”

Your voice is far more measured than his own. You’re trying to be serious, he thinks. “I… kind of - sort of - already knew?”

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I mean, the other members don’t exactly knock before they barge into your room screaming your name.” A beat. He can hear the laughter that’s threatening to knock your words into submission. “ And you posted a cover of a song I sent you.”

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit .

That was definitely his fault. It’d just been so good - living in his head and in his heart rent-free. “ Never Not’s a good song!” He retorts, like that’s an appropriate rebuttal.

“I know, doofus.”

“You’re the doofus!”

The two of you were back, glazing over the revelation like it was nothing more than a little bump in the road.

“Thank you for telling me, though.” He imagines you’re smiling - can practically hear it in your voice. Somehow, it feels different. Sunnier than usual, blinding in its intensity. “I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“Would you have been mad if I didn’t?” Though he asks, he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course not.”

“Really?”

You’re only a little exasperated when you reassure him. “Of course not. You’re still you - no matter what you do.”

Whatever best case scenario he’d imagined doesn’t hold a candle to this. He’s a million miles over the moon. You must be able to tell because he can hear you stifling sound, trails of laughter buzzing around in his ears like hummingbirds.

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean ‘what now’ ? Didn’t you hear what I just said?” There’s no venom in your words. “You’re still you, Jay.”

“It’s Jungkook.” There’s that unabashed need to hear his name. He hopes it isn’t too obvious.

“I know but that’s gonna be hard to get used to.”

“Is your real name Jinny?” He’s always wondered.

“It’s Yoojin. Jinny’s just my nickname.”

“Well, Jinny—” He says it dragged out and silly. “—want to come to one of our shows?”

“I live in Seoul.”

“So what?”

The second time sounds exactly like the first. He snorts. “I live in Seoul .”

"I’ll fly you to Osaka.”

It’s the first time he’s heard you genuinely shocked. It strips the usual mischief from your tone, draping it in lily white and baby’s breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more. At least, not in a very long time.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

It sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

KYOCERA DOME OSAKA Thursday, 23 July, 2020. 10 PM.

Does he smell bad? Should he have showered first? Would you be grossed out?

These are all the thoughts running through his mind, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail. They revolve in a neverending merry-go-round, creasing worry into his brow and dropping his mouth into a little O-shaped pout.

“You ready, Jungkookie?” Jimin’s doing what he does best - draping himself across his maknae’s shoulders without a care in the world.

“Are you nervous?” Hobi’s swiping through his phone, dark hair a stylishly dishevelled mess around his angelic face. He’s still got traces of makeup around his eyes and his clip-on earrings glint under fluorescent light.

A hand lands hard on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. “Of course he is.” Namjoon can read him like a book, shooting Jungkook his signature smile in the same instance he receives one.

“I’m not nervous!” The youngest chirps in a voice that warbles like a baby bird.

Everyone laughs at that and he can feel his ears burning around the edge of his baseball cap. It creeps over the shell and down his neck, descending blossoms of colour into the collar of his shirt.

“Shouldn’t you get going?” It’s Yoongi that reminds him of the time, the rapper only barely cracking an eye open as he taps the face of his steel-cased Audemars Piguet. He’s right.

Jungkook jolts out of his seat, scrambling to his feet - all four thousand dollars of his designer boots - and nearly knocks Jimin off the back of the couch he’d been precariously balanced on. The overeager bunny shouts an apology that’s lost amongst even louder laughter as he tears out of the room.

He’s going to be late .

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast in his life - darting past bicycling seniors and tourists with all the grace of a boy in love. He somehow manages to find the entrance of the BIC CAMERA store without much hassle, rooting himself just left of the door when his phone screen registers 10:30 PM.

A little triumphant whoop! presses into the sponge-like material of his facemask in the same moment he catches sight of a waving hand.

He’s not sure whether it’s the mask or the sight of you that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Hi.” You sound exactly like you always have and yet six months of hearing your voice somehow doesn't prepare him for it. It hits him like a ton of bricks, crashing his resolve into the soles of his feet. There’s something about you that makes him squint - like staring directly at the sun. His heart stutters in his chest. He thinks, dimly, he can hear bells in the distance. It’s probably from a food stall, but he doesn’t care.

It’s the first meeting he’s always dreamed of, wrapped up in an adorable pink Cooky headband.

He’s scooping you into his arms before he can think better of it, twirling you around like the princess you are. It probably isn’t appropriate - you’ve only just met - but he can’t resist. You feel so good in his arms, weightless and yet entirely grounding.

The fact that you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, easily reciprocating his onslaught of affection, doesn't go unnoticed. He tucks away this knowledge into the sleeve of his shirt for safekeeping.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. You’re back on your two feet, black military boots of your own on solid ground once again.

Standing so close, he can smell your perfume. Its notes of vanilla and cola and something powdery, reminiscent of babies and home. You’re smaller than he imagined, with narrow shoulders and wide hips. Like him, you look to be about 95% leg, faded blue denim hugging your thighs and falling loosely around the tops of your Doc Martens. Your top is long-sleeved but semi-sheer and he can make out what he thinks are inkings over your skin, little trails in greyscale and colour that draw his stare.

Stop being weird , he tells himself when he finally manages to refocus, tearing his gaze from the jasmine branches that traverse your limbs and training it on your eyes instead.

Bad idea, Jungkook.

He’s lost in the colour of your irises - an impossibly dark brown that twinkles under the awning lights - and the heart-shaped turn of your jaw. He’s all too distracted by the high contours of your cheeks, the turn of your button nose, the dusty pink that fills the shape of your mouth and fades prettily against your skin.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” The way your lips move should be a chargeable offence. They coax into a smirk that’s equal parts soft and vexing, singular dimple presenting itself with the motion.

God, he’s so in over his head. He can feel it in his bones.

So he laughs - because that’s what he does when he’s unnerved - and the sound is a pack of hyenas. It’s Lion King on Broadway, sweeping above the already boisterous cacophony of the entertainment district.

“Your laugh is even better in person.” You’ve said better and not worse and even though he’s a little self-conscious - a decidedly not Jungkook-like thing to be - he preens from the praise.

“Yeah?” Can you see the hearts in his eyes? He imagines they’ve replaced his pupils.

“Yeah. But don’t let that get to your head, mister.”

“Already has - sorry.”

You laugh in sync and it’s music to his ears - the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

The two of you fall into your routine in a way that feels effortless, the back and forth banter rivalling that of best friends.

You tease him mercilessly, picking up on all his little idiosyncrasies - how he stands at stop lights, pigeon-toed and adorable; how he jams his hands into the back pocket of his jeans in tandem with the tips of his ears burning bright red; how his laugh sometimes trips over itself and splinters like a kid going through puberty. He doesn’t mind any of it, truthfully, because it means you’re paying attention to him just as much as he is you.

Because he sees all of your little habits too - watches them unfold before his eyes in technicolour. You bite your own lip when you think you’ve said something particularly funny. You wiggle your head on your shoulders like a bobblehead when he says something snappy, equally biting remarks softened by the way you bob up and down. You don’t step on cracks, even if it means you’re straining those strangely long legs of yours to carry yourself a few inches further.

You don’t have any patience - something he’s known since the beginning - but that he realizes with a front row seat when you’re shoving a takoyaki into his face. There’s steam curling off it and the smell is intoxicating but he can practically feel the roof of his mouth burning when you’re relentlessly offering it to him. You’re not even deterred by the fact that he’s got a facemask on.

“Open up!”

Jungkook wants to say no - should say no, for the sake of his own health - but he accepts it anyway.

It sears white hot pain the moment it lands on his tongue, teeth buzzing uncomfortably as he bites into the dough. He’s sucking air in through his teeth, the cold barely doing anything to alleviate the sting. He probably looks stupid as hell.

Of course, you’re laughing at him, lips curled in on themselves as you try to choke back the sound.

“Too hot?” You coo, feigning surprise. You do feel a little bad - he can see it in the flex of your jaw, how your bamboo stick-wielding hand lingers in the space between you. “My bad.”

He chews once, twice - tries to keep it to a minimum because holy shit , does it hurt - before swallowing. It burns on the way down. “You eat one now.” He’s pushing the tray towards you, long fingers curled around yours as he all but tries to make you face plant into the plate.

“I don’t like squid,” you deadpan, lying through those neat white teeth of yours. You’d literally made takoyaki at home a few weeks ago. He’d dared you to put an entire wasabi ball into one and you’d done it.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

So it goes for the rest of the night, trading insults over street food. You share an ice cream-filled melon pan - well, he orders one and you eat all of it but a bite - and you scroll through your phone as he inhales a bowl of ramen. He catches you taking a picture of him when he’s halfway through slurping noodles into his mouth like a Hoover. You look a little sheepish when he swallows and levels you with a look that screams unimpressed.

“Is this okay?” You’re a little uncertain and it’s the cutest thing he’s seen all night, teeth catching your bottom lip. He wonders, briefly, what it’d be like to do that to you instead.

You beam when he reassures you. “Of course.”

“I won’t post it anywhere.”

He wants to tell you that’s okay, too, but he knows he shouldn’t. Instead, he simply returns your smile and goes about finishing his bowl of broth. You take a few more photos - of his face when he’s full-belied and satisfied, of the street where people mingle and mix, of the stupidly big moving crab sign across the way.

He wonders if you can feel it too - the connection that crackles between you like a livewire.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you return your attention to him in the same instant he’s glossing over the shape of your lips, the turn of your nose. “I’ll pay you back.”

Before he realizes what’s happening, your hand is on his. You don’t do very much, simply allowing your palm to rest over his, fingers curled around the seam of his thumb. It’s so much smaller - complete with neatly manicured lilac nails - that he stares down at it for a beat too long.

You start to pull away - he sees it happening almost in slow motion - when he flips his own, catching your wrist in his grasp. “No need,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you. He’s still too focused on the way your hands fit together like two puzzle pieces.

“We’ll see about that,” you return, equally as soft.

Everything feels a little fuzzy, like you’re wrapped up in cotton candy and cloud nine.

You must feel it too.

But then you’re standing and you’re not holding his hand any longer and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it all over again. It leaves him heartsick, reaching for your figure that’s already too far away.

“We should head back - I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Damn him and his poor planning skills. He should’ve booked you something later in the day. Why had he thought the 9 AM departure was the best idea?

“Right.” He lifts himself off of the wooden bench, returning his facemask to its rightful place as he closes the distance between you in four easy strides. He tries to ignore the way you smile at him when you’re back together, matching pace through the somehow still-packed streets.

There’s no playful ribbing now. The schoolyard mockery is replaced with a comfortable silence that sinks into his bones and brushes his hand against yours every time you have to squeeze past a gaggle of people that just won’t move. It’s familiar without being boring, satisfying the big fat crush that lives in his heart.

It settles even further when you do the same, head gentle against the curve of his shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” He finally asks when the familiar silhouette of the Conrad Hotel comes into view, your driver rolling to a complete stop right in front of the impressive glass structure.

You hum something that sounds like yes as he pays and thanks the driver in the softest Japanese before he ushers you out of the back of the cab. You’re smiling at him, heavy-lidded and with a tenderness he doesn’t expect. You must be tired.

“More than I’ve ever had.” There’s a certain truth to your words, whether it’s from your sleepy state or something else. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminds you, guiding you past the concierge with a palm on the small of your back. It’s intimate in a way he’s not really sure is appropriate but you don’t seem to mind, all too happy to be herded around like a baby duckling.

“Stop saying that.” There’s no weight behind your words - only sandman’s dust and starry-eyed affection. Jungkook’s heart plays a staccato rhythm in his chest as he steps into the lift behind you, crowded against the far right wall. Mozart would be proud.

Trapped in the small six by six area, his breath seems too loud. The roar of his pulse in his ears is deafening. He barely hears his own words when they stumble out of their own accord.

“I like you.”

Your laugh is the sweetest he’s ever heard. “I know.”

“You do?” He rounds on you in the same breath, your body mirroring his subconsciously.

“Of course I do.” You’re so confident he absorbs a little bit of it, stepping closer when you do. “I’m your safe place - and you’re mine, too.”

His hands are shaking when they crowd your face, thumbs gentle over the jut of your chin. “Can I kiss you?” Spoken like a child asking for a Christmas gift, full of wonder and hope.

“Hm.” The vibration of your sigh is felt through his fingers all the way down to his toes.

He decides for you, closing the distance with a roll of his shoulders.

Kissing you is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined. It’s better than his wildest dreams. It’s soft and sweet and done with the utmost care, like you’ll break if he isn’t careful. You taste as good as you smell - the citrusy tang of your lip gloss reminding him of Lotte World lemonade and picnics on the Han River.

“I’m sorry.” It’s an unnecessary apology that gets lost against your lips - because he isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess .”

When you speak, it’s kissing in its most basic form, mouth brushing over his with each enunciation. He wonders what it’d be like to have you sing a song for him like this. He decides he wants to find out as soon as possible. Needs it like he needs air - or more of you. Either or.

“Thanks.”

You laugh together and kiss again and again, repeating the motion like overeager high school students behind the bleachers. He grazes your forehead, pressing sweetness into the tops of your eyelids and you return the favour, sweeping delight over the sharp turn of his jaw and over skin not hidden by the collar of his button-down.

You’re so involved that you hardly notice when the lift doors slide open, revealing the empty hallway of the 33rd floor. You break away first, though it’s not without some resistance - both his and yours. He wants to keep you here with him as long as he can, because it feels like where you belong .

“I’ll see you.” A last kiss - lingering, longing, littered with words neither of you say.

And then you’re gone.

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, 5 September, 2020. 2:45 PM.

You live in a nondescript apartment in a nondescript neighbourhood with trimmed hedges and a crisp white exterior. There’s a doormat - grey, a little frayed at the edges, polka-dotted - and nothing else. No sign on your door, just the number 134 stamped on the right-hand side, half a foot away from the window that looks into the open-air hallway.

You answer the door on the first knock, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you’d been lingering just behind the frame, waiting for his arrival. Your hair’s shiny and freshly washed, damp at the ends where you haven’t wicked all the moisture away. You look comfortable - if not a little overexcited - bouncing from sock-clad foot to sock-clad foot in your low slung sweatpants and oversized tee shirt. He can see half a dozen plants just behind your bobbing head, his gaze bouncing between pretty ceramic and terracotta pots.

“I half expected you to live in a PC bang,” Jungkook states, drole and with that trademark grin of his, nose scrunched and eyes waning.

You counter him easily. “You haven’t even been inside. Maybe it’s all a front.”

He snickers at the thought, stepping over the threshold once you’ve taken a step back. It smells like cinnamon and sugar - he wonders if you’ve been baking - and he peers curiously around the apartment.

“It’s a candle,” you supply before he has a chance to ask, reading the question in his stare.

“You mean you didn’t bake me a cake?”

You offer an extended scoff in place of an answer, rolling your eyes as he unlaces his boots. “What for? Your birthday’s already passed.”

“It might not have.”

“It literally has. I know your birthday.”

Right. Because he’s him and that’s sort of common knowledge.

He chuckles to himself as he sets his boots aside, right beside where yours sit, near identical. He doesn’t need to say anything when he hears you sniff, Rilakkuma-tipped sock nudging his hand away from where it threatens to upend the piece of footwear.

“I had them before I met you.”

“Right.” It’s too easy to tease you - just as it’s too easy to rib him. This is how the two of you are. Schoolchildren with big crushes and near zero emotional maturity.

“Do you want a tour or are you just gonna be some weirdo with a foot fetish?”

He meets your stare then, both of your expressions ice cold. If looks could kill .

You crack before he does, though your laughter melds together like a perfect harmony, ricocheting off the art-covered walls.

“Fine, fine. Show me around.”

So you do - with gusto and great pride. It rolls off you in waves, tangible in the cascade of your hair over your shoulder and the way you beam up at him. You’re like a kid at show-and-tell.

You guide him into the living area - a small space with a comfortable, worn-in grey couch and probably more throw pillows and blankets than is strictly speaking necessary. There are framed pieces on the wall and it’s the contents that surprise him. There’s Mercy playing pool, bent over the table in a revealing Playboy bunny one piece; there’s D.Va in a hoodie and little else, bottles of soju littering both the back and foreground.

Where the walls are bare, there’s other stuff taking up the space. Artfully positioned floating shelves house succulents and cacti. A well-cared for Monstera sits in a far corner, taking up more space than it probably should. Nestled among its soil are little Animal Crossing Amiibos - Cyrus and Reese, to be exact. There’s an all-white cabinet with a glass front and some of the most random stuff he’s ever seen: limited edition Gunpla, a Taiko Drum, and your framed university degree (for accounting, to his great surprise).

“Is that a Widow bobblehead?” He spies it last, sitting on the cabinet that houses an impressive array of gaming consoles. You even have a VR headset, the cords neatly looped together and tucked away beside a maneki neko-shaped piggy bank.

“Maybe.”

“You really are a dork.”

“Says the bigger dork? Really?”

He could dispute that - easily - but he doesn’t, instead shrugging it off as he flops onto the couch, feet immediately kicking themselves up.

“What’re you doing?” You join him even as you ask. He’s a little disappointed by the polite amount of space you leave - just enough that you’re not touching.

“I’m tired.”

“I haven’t finished the tour.”

“Tour schmore .”

You scowl at him and it’s so charming that he wishes you were just a little closer. He’d kiss that look right off your face if it were up to him.

“What do you want to do then?” Where the stuffed animal comes from, he’s not sure. It’s more than a little ratty, soft brown fur faded from what looks like years and years of love. You hold it tight, clutched to your chest as you recline against the far arm.

“Watch the Runaway and Lunatic-Hai show matches?”

You level him with a look that very much tells him he is the bigger nerd. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s been wanting to watch these matches for months since it was first announced.

Unfortunately, you’d promised each other you’d only watch it together, so really, this was your fault.

You must suddenly remember that, because you’re biting back the words he’s sure were about to tear into him, swallowing them whole as you grab your PS4 controller and begin silently navigating through YouTube. He smiles, a little triumphant thing he knows you can see from the corner of your eye.

“Happy?” Resentment mixes with excitement as you return your controller to its rightful home and settle yourself once more against the too-many pillows.

“No.” Jungkook worries for your neck when you whip to look at him, brow furrowed and mouth blown out in a pout.

“Why not?”

He memorizes the way you look right now, framed against sunlight that spills through your windows and hugging what he assumes is your childhood teddy bear. It’s an immediate serotonin boost.

“Because you’re all the way over there.” He sighs, long and loud, head swinging in a dramatic semi-circle. He can hear you snickering despite yourself - could pick it out in a crowd of thousands, he thinks - and suddenly you’re beside him, distance closed in a heartbeat.

With you so close, it’s hard to think, his thoughts jumbled and tripping over themselves.

“Better?” You must know the effect you have on him, because you’re batting those goddamn eyelashes up at him, mouth dancing around his favourite sound in the world.

“Much,” he hums, unashamed.

“Welcome home, Kook.” The way you say it sparks fireworks in his chest. He knows you mean home as in the city of Seoul, but it feels like more and he likes that - just like how he likes you and this little piece of normalcy.

It feels good to be here with you, seemingly without a care in the world.

It’s distinctly different from anything he’s used to - even better than the long hours spent bonding on the internet. There’s no worry here, no nagging in the back of his mind, no concern that one of his hyungs will burst into his room. It’s just you and him and commentary on his favourite game.

That is, until it’s just him and commentary on his favourite game. He’d lost you somewhere along the way, roughly three hours in. He hadn’t noticed at first, far too focused on the big brain plays unravelling across the screen, but when you started snoring, he knew.

You just snored so damn loudly.

“Jinny.” He feels bad when he has to rouse you, the feeling in his right leg but a distant memory.

You don’t move. He wonders when the last time you slept was.

“Jinny,” he repeats himself, a little louder this time. There’s the beginning of stirrings, your head drifting from its position on his shoulder to nestle into the crease of the couch cushions. “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

It doesn’t immediately dawn on Jungkook how that sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you mumble into the woven fabric, half-asleep.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You’re doing that thing you do when you’re impressed with yourself, teeth littering your bottom lip with indentations. It’s more distracting than it should be, paired with those bedroom eyes he’s not certain you’re in control of.

Get it together , he scolds himself. In his mind, the angel powerbombs the devil into submission.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No! Not yet.” You’re waving a boneless wrist in his direction, like you’re swatting away an irksome fly. It’s cute, in a frazzled sort of way.

“You want to sleep out here?” He knows you don’t - you’ve complained about it enough times when you wake up with kinks in your neck and soreness in your back.

“No!” A huff puffs out your cheeks, blows your grown-out bangs away from your face. You’re sitting up now, slowly but surely. There are creases all over your face - an ode to the couch. He has to keep from laughing right at you - bites it back with a bitten tongue when you sniff and card a hand over through your hair. “I have a gift for you.”

You say it so sweetly, he can’t help himself.

“Is it you?”

He’s honestly not sure what to expect once he’s spoken. He half thinks you’ll laugh, shove him away from you with a giggle and a roll of your eyes. He hopes you won’t, though - can feel every fibre of his being strung tight with anticipation and hope and the request of please, love me .

“Do you want it to be?” You’re looking at him with the strangest expression. He can’t read it at all, despite how easily he normally does. It’s white noise, static on a television screen.

Uncertainty grips him. “I do.”

“Then I’m yours.”

It’s music to his ears - the key to his heart. It strips away the doubt, turning it on its head.

He finally does what he’s wanted to for the past four hours.

When he kisses you this time, it’s different. It’s urgent but not rushed; he takes his time in exploring the softness of your lips, how they fall open under his careful ministrations. His mouth slants, coaxes you to give everything to him as his tongue passes tentatively over yours. You taste like lemons again - and a touch of honey.

It’s intoxicating and addictive and he chases the high it gives him, large hands finding purchase against the back of your head and the slope of your jaw. Fingers thread through your hair - gentle at first, then with more purpose. He maneuvers you how he needs you and peppers kisses everywhere he can reach. Your eyelids, your nose, your neck.

When he ghosts his mouth across your shoulder - mouthing hot over the soft cotton of your shirt - and finds that particular point where your pulse beats, you gasp.

He’d thought your laugh was his favourite sound but he realizes now how wrong he was.

“Do that again.” You say it together, in perfect sync.

Laughter blooms between you and he muffles his against your throat, nosing over where your perfume lingers most. He inhales once, twice, and holds you somehow closer, all but dragging you into his lap. “You’re my dream girl, you know that?” The words are surprisingly sweet, given the compromising position you’re currently in.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You thread your fingers just as he has, twirling through his just-on-the-right-side-of-too-long strands.

He moves to pull away, a scoff building in his throat, but you’re having none of it, capturing his lips the moment he’s made up his mind. You really could read him like a book. He wonders what you’re thinking now, starts running through possibilities when you bite down just so on his pouting bottom lip.

A not-so-subtle hint to get out of his own head.

“Stop thinking,” you hum, lending your voice to his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he returns in kind, tracing an apologetic tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Show me how sorry.”

You sound positively sinful and while it isn’t the answer he’d expected, it stirs something within him - from his chest to somewhere decidedly further south. He stifles a moan, caging it behind bared teeth as he becomes suddenly far too aware of how you’re making him feel.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was made for you.

“It’s fine - I have self-healing.”

It’s so fucking dorky but somehow, even that makes Jungkook groan. “Seriously - dream girl.”

And then he’s kissing you again and again, a devoted parishioner of your church. They’re this-side of innocent at first, little pecks that dot every sliver of available flesh. His hands roam in tandem with his mouth, flitting beneath the cropped hem of your top before gliding greedily across the tops of your thighs.

“Can I get the rest of the tour now?” He looks like the devil himself, all dishevelled dark hair and that heart-wrenching, lopsided smile.

You’re impatient though - always have been. “Straight down the hall. Last door to the left.”

It’s all he needs to know before he’s on his feet, rising with you as if you were featherlight. Your ankles lock around his waist, clinging to him like the cutest koala he’s ever seen. He doesn’t look away - frankly, can’t – as he follows your directions, gaze trained on your eyes and your lips and the column of your throat he wants to see blooming with roses.

“I’m crazy about you,” he announces, suddenly, as he nudges open your bedroom door.

“I know.” You say it a lot. He wonders if you really know.

By the way you kiss him, he thinks you might have an idea. It’s not enough, though. He wants to show you - needs to show you.

You allow yourself to be tossed upon your bed - soft grey sheets, no stuffed animals in sight, too many pillows again - and he hovers above you, curious. “Are you sure you know?” The question is punctuated by the drop of his knee, cotton of his black joggers a stark contrast to the soft linens.

You’re not sure if this is a game - he can read the question swimming in your eyes. “Maybe?” You’re upspeaking, which is something you never do. It’s disarming in a way that makes him want to hear it again, but with his name over and over.

“Maybe?” He echoes, brow quirked and mouth twisted into an expression that starts butterflies in your stomach. It’s like a switch has flipped. For the first time, he’s the heartthrob you’ve seen on stage, the one fansites rave about with fervour. A force to be reckoned with . “Let me make it clear then?”

It’s spoken like a question, though it begs no answer. You’d give him anything he wanted.

“Can I?” You don’t think you have it in you to respond - not when he’s looking at you the way he is, from behind dark lashes and with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. But he needs an answer - won’t go further until he has one.

“Yes,” you breathe in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own, far too airy and mellifluous.

He looks like a kid who’s had his heart’s greatest wish granted. There’s unbridled joy spilling into every crevice, streaming out of every pore as he lowers himself onto the bed. You’re trapped beneath him - knees situated comfortably on either side of your legs - when his hands find the shorn hem of your shirt, tugging gently at the offending article of clothing.

“Off,” he says simply. It’s gone before you can think twice. Your sweatpants and socks follow in quick succession - he snorts a laugh when he has to tug your socks off by the ears on either side of your ankles - until you’re left in only black cotton that covers hardly anything at all.

Jungkook sighs a sound that shoots straight into the belly of the beast, sparking warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, hands reaching to cover the places you’ve been self-conscious about since you were old enough to understand what bullying was. The modest swell of your chest, the tiger stripes along your hips.

Words are fitted with motion, hands of his own sweeping your arms away from your body. Long fingers curl easily around the dainty turn of your wrist. “Please don’t hide from me.”

You can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.

“Tell me about these?” He means your tattoos, of course. They’re intricate works of art that span nearly a quarter of your flesh, painting grayscale and colour over cream. There’s the jasmine he’d spotted the night you met, coiled around your left forearm and up to your bicep in stark ink. Across your stomach, from the top of your right thigh and over your ribs, are intricate peonies in shades of pink and red and green. Everywhere lines bloom, etched forever into your skin, his mouth follows. He can’t ingrain himself in the same ways but he tries, searing devotion in the form of kisses.

It tickles when he ghosts over your ribs with both tongue and teeth and it’s absolutely indescribable when he catches your nipple between enamel.

You make that sweet sound he so loves - a heady mix between a gasp and a moan - and he repeats the motion. You hardly realize he’s speaking when he does it for the third time and adds nimble fingers to pinch and pull the other into the same pebbled state.

“ Tell me.” He sounds like he’s laughing, trapped halfway down your body with his cheek pressed to the modest swell of your chest.

You’re not sure how you get the words out. “My mom’s a big gardener. She calls me her flower.”

“Her flower, huh?” The question is muffled among your humble cleavage.

“Did I stutter?” That earns you a sharp tweak to your nipple, the pain shooting pleasure through your limbs in a very unexpected way. You’ve never been one for pain but the sight of Jungkook staring up at you, head cocked and hands full - well, there’s a first time for everything.

“You want to be nicer to me,” he states solemnly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the 6 o’clock news and not palming your tits in his much larger hands and drawing out the sweetest murmurs of encouragement.

“I am nice to you,” you retort - or try to at least. You hardly get it out before it’s chased out by another one of those lovely sounds that Jungkook seems to be obsessed with.

“ Nicer , baby.”

As if to drive his point home, he straightens out, face suddenly dangerously close. He crowds you with his entire frame, mouth finding yours easily. It’s not the same sort of kisses you’ve shared all evening; it’s a display of dominance, a reminder that articulates more than he can say.

It’s also a distraction, you realize belatedly, with a gasp tearing its way out of your throat.

Capable hands have found their mark, digits sweeping beneath the seam of your thong. He lingers just shy of where you desperately want him, expertly trailing featherlight touches through your folds. He never goes further - doesn’t stretch where you need him most. He’s careful not to brush your clit, focusing instead on the way you’re coating his fingers.

The shit-eating grin never leaves his lips - which never leave your mouth. He swallows your whines in the same instant he’s pulling them forth, playing you like a fiddle without even really doing anything.

“Can you do that for me?” He coos against your neck, that damned voice of his dripping liquid gold into your ears.

You have to focus hard on what he’s saying because his touch is so distracting. “What?”

“I said—” It stings where his mouth connects, where his teeth nip and spill wine over porcelain. He’s painting the prettiest pictures, signing his name in the form of broken capillaries. “—can you be nice to me?”

You’d like to respond - really, you would - but he punctuates the question with the glide of his finger and you can’t do anything but arch into the sudden intrusion. It feels so good and yet isn’t nearly enough.

“Kook.” You’ve never sounded this whiny in your life. Even his name - one single syllable - hardly makes it past your lips without descending into a cry.

“Use your words , angel.”

If every nerve ending didn’t feel like it was on fire, you might’ve yelled at him. Instead, you can hardly form a coherent thought. You’re too far gone, standing on the edge of a cliff as he teases you open with slow, measured pumps of his wrist.

“I need—” He’s crooking the single digit within you, right against that spot that makes you see stars.

“What do you need? Ask nicely.”

“M-more. I need m-more .” A hiccup. “Please.”

“Like this?” You’re empty all at once and then suddenly far more full, the stretch of two fingers stealing the breath from your throat. “Or like this?” The pad of his thumb finds your clit with ease, sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three times. “Maybe like this?”

He repeats his earlier movements, curling his knuckles in a come hither motion that has you sobbing out his name.

“That’s right.” Ever the gentleman, he works you through your high, watching your face in rapt fascination as your first orgasm of the night crests and crashes over you, sending shockwaves through your system. He admires the way your mouth falls open - full lips rounding in delight - and how your eyes screw shut.

You’re the hottest thing Jeon Jungkook has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple, never ceasing the slow drag of his fingers, the carefully measured flick of his thumb. Even when you’re trembling with oversensitivity, he doesn’t relent, choosing instead to reposition.

His weight is gone as he settles between your legs, knees folded beneath him. He only pauses his needy actions - almost doesn’t, when your hips roll in an apparent attempt to draw him back in - to strip you of your thong, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder.

“Give me another, okay?”

You aren’t given a chance to answer before he slips two fingers back where they belong and seals his mouth over your clit. The coil he’d snapped earlier returns, tension increased tenfold as he alternates between sucking hard and licking, dragging his tongue over and around his fingers. There’s too much stimulation. You’re obscenely wet and you’re certain you’d be making a mess, if not for the careful way Jungkook’s devouring you whole, licking up every bit of slick.

“Kook. Jungkook .” His name sounds like heaven coming off your lips. He replays it over and over in his head as he fucks his fingers into you, tapping a brutal rhythm against your g-spot. He can tell you’re close again - can read it in the way your jaw tenses and your breathing goes erratic, lungs heaving.

“Come on, baby. Let go.” The second orgasm hits harder, arching your back off the mattress as you fight to keep your knees from snapping shut. You come with a hoarse cry, legs trembling like a leaf with the effort. “That’s my girl.”

He’s upon you again, this time crowding your space as he settles all one hundred and fifty pounds of himself beside you. He anchors you in reality, preventing your boneless body from floating off by pulling you against his chest.

“You did so good.”

You accept his kisses readily, somehow managing to thread your arm around his neck despite the fact that you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.

Being wrapped up in his embrace is like being home - warm and familiar.

“I want you.”

He laughs and you can hear the sound rattling around in his chest. “You’ve got me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You sound a little petulant, like a child being denied their favourite toy.

“I know what you meant,” he retorts, squeezing your bare hip affectionately. “But you’re also exhausted, so get some sleep. Patience is key, remember?”

You pout up at him with your messy bedhead and sleepy eyes and he almost gives in right then and there. It’s nearly impossible not to, especially when you drag your hip across his, your ankle hooking his in a bid to bring the two of you somehow closer.

He doesn’t expect you to relent so easily but your yawn outs you, forcing itself past the cage you’re trying - and failing - to keep closed. “Fine.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be.” It’s an empty threat - you both know he won’t leave. “I still have to give you your present, anyway.”

He feigns surprise then, snickering quietly. “You mean it wasn’t you?”

You don’t have the energy to yell at him, so instead you dig your bony fingers into the vulnerable underside of his ribs. He squirms away from the feeling but never really goes far.

“It’s a Mercy bobblehead, you butt.” You yawn again, shiver running the length of your spine as you snuggle more closely against his side once more. Jungkook tugs your duvet up around your shoulders, tucking you in tightly. The action reminds you of why you’d bought the gift in the first place. “I think you might actually be my guardian angel.”

notes. the end of an era (and by era, i mean a fic). this honestly turned out to be my baby, so i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. i'll likely do some drabbles in the future, because i really, really adore this couple. as always, let me know your thoughts. xo

tag list. @letmebeyour-sun @teawithbucky

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