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rosewould · 2 years

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quick and unedited // hnk

(a/n: guess who’s taking too long to get shit done! Anyways here’s this. I’ve been thinking for a while: what if Kai had a size kink?)

“You are so tiny.” Kai’s body easily engulfs yours as he tightens his embrace. “Have you always been this small?”

“I’m not small, you’re just big.” You grunt, tugging at his arms in an attempt to loosen his embrace. He only does so slightly to ensure that you can breathe properly. There was something uncomfortable about the two of you laying in bed with your outdoor clothes on, but something was keeping you from disrupting the embrace. There was something addictive about feeling his breath on your neck and his body pressed into yours. He hooks his legs around yours to ensure you weren’t going anywhere.

“Nah… I think you’re especially tiny.” He giggles into your skin and the sensation tickles. You wriggle against him and you swore you could hear a small strangled noise come from his mouth.

“Get a room.” Beomgyu whines, twisting in your computer chair.

“This literally is my room.”

“Then should we leave…?” You couldn’t see, but you knew that Soobin was genuinely inquiring. The boys were never very intimate with you. They never touched you at all really. So the fact that Huening was wrapped around you like a koala was probably a very strange sight.

“I’m just gonna leave before I puke.” Yeonjun shudders before leaving.

“Me too.” Taehyun follows him soon after.

You roll your eyes. You were just cuddling. There’s nothing weird about cuddling. Hell, they probably do it with each other. With a pout, you push yourself further into Kai. There it was again, the sound you swore you heard. It was a little louder this time, but not loud enough to alert the two remaining members. When Kai juts his hips against yours, you feel something suspicious.

The reason you were pushing back into him was because you were curious, that’s all. Not because the noise and possibly his bulge against your ass had arousal thrumming from your head straight to your toes. You were right, it was his hardening member that you felt brushing against you. He whines in your ear.

“Right about now I’m wondering what else is tiny…” He whispers against your jaw. You swallow hard, feeling your womanhood throb. Underneath the covers, his fingers push past the hem of your shorts. He hums as he feels a patch of wetness forming. Soobin and Beomgyu are still there, arguing about perilla leaves or something while Kai is circling your entrance through your panties.

There are no words being spoken, just Kai playing with your pussy as his lips graze against your jaw. Not even when his fingers breach past the hem of your underwear does he speak. Trying to keep your hips still while he rubbed your clit slowly was a challenge you weren’t prepared for. You grit your teeth knowing that if you let out a peep the boys would never let you live this down.

Kai doesn’t seem to care. In fact, you can feel him smiling against your neck. He’s enjoying watching you struggle to keep still and quiet. So he speeds up his fingers. Rubbing into your now swollen clit with quick circles that have your legs trembling. You want to say something, tell him that you’re in serious danger of alerting them with a loud moan as your orgasm approaches. But why would you do that when it feels so good? Instead, you just bite down on your lip, letting tiny sound pass as his fingers work their magic. Your thighs are clenching around his fingers, hips jerking forward.

When you feel his tongue against your neck, licking from the apex of your shoulder all the way to your jaw, your orgasm washes over you with renewed vigor. Small mewls slip through your swollen lips as you bite down on your bottom lip until it stings. Kai’s clearly not done as his fingers are already sliding between your lips. You inhale sharply as his middle finger sinks further until it’s making contact with your puckered hole.

“Just as I thought. Every part of you is so tiny. I don’t think I’ll fit.” He laughs at you with a hint of cruelty to it, like he knows and is excited about the fact that he’s about to wreck you.

Beomgyu and Soobin are none the wiser as Kai slides your shorts and panties down along with his bottoms. Just enough so he could pull his cock out. He slaps it against your ass and you gasp. Perhaps he wasn’t just being cocky when he said he wouldn’t fit. Never in a million years would you have guessed a monster was hiding between Kai’s legs.

“I wanna fuck you open until you’re not tiny anymore.” He moans salaciously against your ear, clearly turned on by the thought of having you gaping for him. He has to draw his hips back pretty far to line himself up. Your swollen hole is a fraction of the size of his cock that’s about to push through. You grab onto his forearm to brace yourself, breathing heavily.

The moment he starts pushing through you're sinking your teeth into his arm. His breath shudders against your ear. Only his tip is pushed in and your eyes are completely rolled back into your skull. The stretch was painful yet delicious. The feeling of opening up for him made you ache with need. You aid him, pushing your ass back slowly as your tight pussy sucks him in.

“Holy shit.” He groans before bottoming out. Never had you felt so full before. You could feel his cock bulging against your stomach. “So tight… it’s like y-you’re choking me.”

With short thrusts he’s pushing against your cervix. His thick and long cock was fucking you nice and deep and leaving you salivating. His arm was covered in teeth marks and your saliva.

“Okay. We’re leaving now.” Soobin jumps up from his chair, pulling a confused Beomgyu to leave with him.

As soon as the door clicks shut Kai’s hands are roaming all over your body. Once his hand discovers the large bulge in your stomach, his dick twitches inside you. He curls both his hands around it as he shoved his hips into you.

“S-so good- so fucking tight-” A beautiful string of moans rumble in Kai’s chest as his bucks into you with bruising force. “I love it,” He chants the phrase over and over as he continues to pleasure himself with your stretched hole. You’re a blubbering mess as his cock repeatedly plummets inside you. Begging and pleading for him to keep making you overflow with pleasure.

The way he jerks himself off through the bulge was bringing him close and quickly. You were gushing around him to the point that both of your upper thighs were coated in your arousal. “S-so deep,” you purr, tongue falling out of your mouth.

“No one’s gonna be able to fill you up like this. I wanna stretch you until only my cock can fit.” He pants as his thrusts pick up in speed. Saliva starts to dribble from your tongue, down your chin and onto the pillow and sheets. You’re a brainless cumslut by now, solely focused on being flooded with his hot cum as his searing cock rips you open. “My tiny fuckdoll- my- mmph-!”

His hips jerk upward so suddenly and harshly that you yelp. His dick goes barreling inside you, filling you up to the absolute brim as semen spurts from the tip. His throbbing, hot dick has his own seed and your arousal gushing around him as he continues to rub his cock through the bulge. You convulse around him, body absolutely useless as you come undone. He remains buried inside you after you both come down.

“I still can’t believe it fit…” He laughs breathlessly.

#500 #kpop #smut #kpop smut #txt #txt smut #huening kai #kai #huening kai smut #kai smut #x reader #x female reader #qau #quick and unedited

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starsingingauthor · 2 years

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Fandom: Thomas Sanders, Sanders Sides Pairing: None Words: 1078 Contents: uh, depression, no comfort Characters: Patton, Virgil, Roman, Logan Summary: Being skipped over and silenced had a different affect on Logan. A/N: Okay so, it has been a long while since I actually posted anything here. I do still write but most of it actually gets posted over on my ao3 account. But I wasn't sure what to put for the contents, but this is based on an idea from this post. And I do intend to draw this at some point. But here ya go.

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The air was taken from his lungs as though he were punched in the gut when the button was pressed, his throat failing to produce any noise as it happened. Of course he didn’t expect anyone to use the button, but in that moment he felt that he should have. After everything else, the amount of times that they wouldn’t listen to him, of course they would take the first opportunity to silence Logan. But that moment seemed to last longer than it should have, a strange darkness seeming to close in on him. He looked around his room, the lights were still on and the shadows shouldn’t be able to form in such a manner.

He tried once more to speak and found that he still couldn’t, so he simply settled for standing from his desk to inspect the darkness. As he stepped closer he found it just seemed like normal shadows, just extending a bit further from the edges of the room than seemed logical. With a shake of his head, Logan turned and took a seat back at his desk to continue what he was doing. It had to be some trick of the light and didn’t warrant any further investigation.

It got worse as time went on. The shadows grew and the inability to speak came every time that the others shut him down or interrupted him. It had gotten fairly bad, where he would stay in his room more often than not. Even though that was beginning to be a nightmare for him as well. The shadows, they covered almost his entire room and he felt as though he was frozen in a moment in time when they passed over him. It was not the most pleasant thing, but it was necessary whenever he needed to enter and exit his room.

But soon Logan even stopped doing that, with only a small sliver of his room free from the nightmares. He couldn’t even be freed from that, so more often than not he would be on his bed, knees clutched to his chest as he tried to remember how long it had been since he had passed into the darkness.

“Has anyone seen Logan?” Patton asked as he placed a couple plates down on the table. He looked to Roman and Virgil who both shook their heads. “I haven’t heard anything from him in a while.”

“Now that you mention it I haven’t seen him in probably a week or longer.” Roman thought for a moment. He gave a slight shrug, “Perhaps he has just been busy.” The creative side dismissed as he grabbed a plate and began to eat the eggs that were on it.

“He normally doesn’t skip meals though.” Virgil pointed out, his mind beginning to fill with several scenarios that could have happened to the logical side. “He is the one who always is telling us how important it is to keep a consistent schedule.”

“I think maybe I should go check on him.” Patton hummed slightly as he put his own plate down on the table. He turned and started to head up the stairs after giving Virgil a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

It wasn’t long before he arrived to Logan’s door and noticed it seemed to be a few shades darker than it typically had been. He knocked on the door softly before calling in. “Hey Lo, you in there?” His stomach twisted slightly when he got no response. The moral side bit his lip and shifted his weight slightly as he tried to figure out what to do. He could always try to open the door and see, but also he didn’t have permission to enter. The worry ended up winning out and he tried the doorknob and found that it was unlocked. He twisted it and pushed the door open, letting out a startled gasp at the sight he found inside.

Logan was curled almost in a ball in a corner of his room, a lamp on the floor near him although it did little good in the strange shadows that seemed to coat the room. On the walls around him it seemed as though something was carved into them but Patton couldn’t get a good look at them. He went to step inside to try to get to Logan and gasped at the feeling the shadows gave him, causing him to shiver.

“Guys!” He stepped back from the room and called, still watching the unmoving form of Logan. It wasn’t long before the other two were up the stairs.

“What’s wrong?” Virgil was the first to ask before he noticed the inside of Logan’s room. All he could mutter was a soft “oh no” as he saw the shadows over the room.

“Do you know what that is?” Patton asked, looking to the anxious trait. Virgil shook his head slightly before responding.

“No, but it does not look good.”

“It doesn’t feel good either. I tried to go in but the feeling stopped me.” Virgil stared in the room for a moment longer, watching as Roman stuck his hand into the room before withdrawing it with a hiss as though he were burned. Then he made a decision and rushed in, catching the others by surprise which let him get past them without them stopping him.

The feeling in the room was no longer the calm collected logic that it had been previously but was a cold imposing feeling. Virgil got closer to Logan and went to grab him before he noticed what was written on the wall. That gave him pause as he read over the phrase repeated in varying states of urgency, “The end is never”.

He grabbed Logan and tried to quickly get the two of them out of the room, feeling as though spending any longer in the room would be a mistake. Once they crossed the threshold the group heard the first sound from Logan since the thing began. It was soft and broken, almost as though his voice was hoarse. Roman knelt down, trying to figure out what was being said when he heard it.

“The end is never.” He was just repeating the phrase over and over again. Once they finally got him to look up he didn’t even seem to register that the three were there or even talking to him. Logan was just staring off into space as he muttered over and over again.

#ts fanfic #fanfiction #logan sanders #angst #quick and unedited #just like everything i write

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quuma · 1 year

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i feel like everyone and their mother has spoken about this before but james potter is 100% the biggest puppy bf i've ever witnessed in literature !! like bro has MAXIMUM puppy dog stats

he's the kind of bf to INSIST UPON carrying your textbooks/bags for you and escort you to your classes class,,, like he would literally REFUSE to not do either of them,,, he gets so worked up about it that it's actually kind of pathetic (in a cute way),,,

you wouldnt even be able to carry them for 5 mins in his presence before he's scooping them out of your arms ("james i quite obviously have two perfectly functioning hands just let me hold my books pls" and his completely serious response would be "but im your bf??? and my hands are also free rn??? it's literally my job to hold your books just stfu and let me")

continuing the escorting headcanon he always ends up having to sprint to off to try and make it to his own class in time BDAHBFDH as soon as you retreive your books and walk into the classroom you try to look back and thank him,,, but there's literally just a cartoonish cloud of smoke where he stood not even 5 seconds prior (he insists that it's a good warmup for his quiddich practice)

he's also the kinda bf to literally SHOVE himself in front of you to beat you to the door, just so he can open it, dramatically wave his hand, bow, and say something cringey like "for you, my lady/liege" (BARF THATS SO CUTE IM LITERALLY GOING TO THROW UP)

OMG ALSO HE'S JUST INSANELY OBSERVANT WHEN IT COMES TO YOU????? to the point where it would be considered creepy if it wasnt james,, yknow?? there was definitely a time where upon meeting you at the door of the potions class you just finished (yes he is flushed, out of breath and sweating,,, no, he isnt going to admit that he sprinted from his C.F.M.C class 5mins early to make sure he met you at the door in time) and he does a double take and looks genuinely concerned before saying "???? pookie??? what happened to your hair???? did you do something different?? it looks different from when i saw you this morning !! D:" queue you responding with "?? wtf? i cut off a singular strand of hair for one of the potions how the actual fuck did you notice that??"

he is so babygirl i love it

i swear im not even a james stan but i can't help but ramble abt his bbygirlness

hes such a puppy dog bf

he just has the biggest heart eyes for you bro ( -3-) follows you around like a lost puppyyyyy

you dont just have him wrapped around your finger - you have him tattooed and superglued onto you istg

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michaelgaveysnotebook · 28 days

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If anyone was going to call you princess I don't think it would be Felix like everyone thinks it would be, I think it would be Oliver. It would probably start as a joke, or something he says in quiet moments to get under your skin when no one's looking. Then, it sort of becomes habit. He plays it off as an endearing little petname, because you two are just so close all of a sudden. In the end, when Saltburn's almost empty, and it's just you and him, you finally feel the true weight of it. A prize, something to be claimed or rescued or won, like in a fairytale. A princess.

#saltburn #oliver quick #oliver quick x reader #incredibly unedited and just thrown on a schedule to post itself #✧ queue do you think you are

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junosmindpalace · 23 days

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His head aches directing his eyes toward the doorway, but Senku does anyway to get a glimpse at your figure.

Your fierce expression tells him you refuse to get any closer, as if punishment for the suffering he subjected himself on the dock of the Perseus just a few hours ago. Senku had caught a glimpse of you at the far back of the crowd when the crew had rushed him in from further ambush.

He remembers pain, a lot of it, Luna tending to him, and various members coming both to check on his condition and to receive instruction and advice. He’s found himself with a rare moment of true quiet and space for himself. Until you appeared, that was;

Angrier than he ever expected to see, yet he immediately knows why. The realization makes a frown settle over his own features, and he doesn’t dare break away from your tense gaze.

You strode towards him suddenly, hand slowly coming up in the air as if to punch him, tell him off with a disapproving finger, do something to express your fear and anger toward him for his stunt. All he did was stare with his mouth firmly planted in a deep frown, not wavering in his expression for a second even when you stopped suddenly by his side, keeping your hand in the air and staring at him with a fury hardly being kept in check. His stare almost challenged you to try and retort against the sacrifice he made, and oh how it made you wanna—

But then you sighed. Stepped back. Lowered your arm back to your side. Your brows creased upward in distress, and, oh, no, was your bottom lip quivering?

“You’re an asshole.”

“Well, isn’t that a pleasant way to greet a friend?”

“You shut up with that, I thought you—“

You halted your words, turning your back toward him as horrified eyes stared forward in an attempt to steel yourself. A hand ran down your face, stopping at your mouth. What a horrifying sight that was. Not even a sign of warning.

“C’mon,” he wheezed out with a slight upward curl of his lip. “I thought you knew me better than that.”

Yet the silence his remark was met with brought his lips back to a frown, a more melancholic expression. He called out your name and was met with nothing.

“I braced myself: what more could I have done?”

And you know he’s right. He’s being realistic. You have no right lashing out so aggressively toward him. If anything, you should be praising his bravery, his sharp thinking, his ability to still uphold witty banter with you in the state he’s in. But you can’t. Not when your racing heart hasn’t settled it’s violent thrumming against your ribcage, bruising it and your mental sanity, since the shot rang out. Not since you saw the blood spill out of him. Not since you saw the intense look of pain on his face.

So for now, you hate him for it. For all of it. Even though it wasn’t his fault. He anticipated it at least, so you hate him for it.

He calls for you again.

And finally, you look over your shoulder, eyes glassy and expression fierce. The sight makes Senku want to shiver.

“I did…what needed to be done…” he starts gently. “It’s up to you guys now. And I’ll help where I can.”

Ever the efficient one, that Senku. How it could infuriate you like nothing else. You would think him made of steel at times with the way seemingly nothing fazed him. But with the way you saw his blood pour out from him so quickly, the anguish on his face, it reminded you that he was more human than anyone you’ve ever met. So passionate, so full of life. Nearly childlike in the way he winced as every uncomfortable stir and breath he in and exhaled.

The tension in your face dropped. Senku’s own expression perked up, but mostly stayed firm as you approached him tiredly, pulling up the chair by his bed and taking a seat, hands hesitating as they reached for his.

He stared down at the space in between them, and then back at you just in time for you to raise your own exhausted gaze toward him. Don’t you dare push me away, they pleaded with him.

A little knock of his knuckles against yours gave you the permission you were looking for, and your carefully took his limp hand in both of yours, holding them gently. He chuckled a little as he stared upward, while your gaze remained steady on the bed, and offered a small squeeze in return, which in turn relaxed the tension in your shoulders.

Things were okay between you two. Things would be okay. The sentiment didn’t need to be voiced aloud.

#i jusy resllt wanted to post something but had nothing to offer…#so i wrote this real quick #because i’ve been somewhat into a dcst headspace #this is unedited #dr stone x reader #dr stone angst #dr stone fluff #dcst x reader #dcst fluff #dcst angst #senku ishigami x reader #senku ishigami angst #senku ishigami fluff #ishigami senku x reader #ishigami senku fluff #ishigami senku angst #dr stone oneshot #senku ishigami oneshot

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smimon · 5 months

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Käärijä and his good friend Sauli

#käärijä #👀#quick screengrab sorry it's unedited #linnan juhlat

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erisenyo · 1 year

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I very much agreed with @lizardlicks that this post had Sokka vibes and then a fic somehow happened. Enjoy!

“—So when you lost consciousness and fell down like an overwhelmed Victorian woman—”

“I fell normal!” Sokka protests, trying to get off the ground and allowing the EMT to stop him. “I fainted in a normal way!”

“You put the back of your hand to your forehead and spun around,” the EMT says, dry, snapping a fresh pair of latex gloves onto his hands.

Yeah, because Katara’s cut suddenly started spurting when the other EMT pulled off the flannel she’d been using to apply pressure, like they’re in some kind of 70s samurai film and apologies if Sokka didn’t think it was cool and neat like everyone else— “That never happened,” Sokka protests, feeling his face coloring despite himself. “I fainted in a normal or maybe even masculine way.”

“A masculine faint,” the EMT repeats, raising his eyebrow—only one, with that scar, but Sokka is more trying to get another look at his eyes without being obvious about it because in the light of the streetlights above them they looked almost gold, and maybe Sokka did hit his head on the way down…

“Yes,” Sokka insists, refusing to cringe like part of him wants to because god, he can hear himself, alright? He knows. “A very masculine faint.”

“Masculine faints, Victorian woman faints, that from your fancy med school, Sozin?” the other EMT suddenly calls from where he’s finishing bandaging Katara’s arm, and Sokka feels himself flushing even darker at the words. “I must have missed that one with my plain ol’ technical year.”

“Yes, Jet, you must have, thank you for pointing that out yet again,” the EMT—Sozin?—says, giving his colleague a look just this side of a glare.

The other EMT just grins—smirks, really—the toothpick in his mouth somehow accenting the gesture.

“Sokka, just let the man look at you,” Katara huffs, rolling her eyes. Like Sokka is the one bleeding, like Sokka is the one who got bumped by a stumbling fair-goer and who even knows what she slashed her arm open on but it was probably rusty and full of tetanus and why is everyone else acting like it’s no big deal. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, giving him a knowing look. And then giving her EMT—Jet? Is that his real name?—a very different kind of look.

“Alright,” Sokka’s EMT says quickly, catching the look Sokka is giving Jet. “Let’s just focus over here for a moment, okay? Do you always faint at the sight blood?”

Sokka sighs, reluctantly setting aside Jet and his worry for Katara and the huffy feeling in his chest over Sozin’s choice of words to describe. Which regretfully only leaves the fact that his EMT is hot. High cheekbones and thick, shaggy hair and warm golden skin and a scar that only makes his face more interesting and that Sokka thinks bleeds into a tattoo around his collar and making that polyester uniform look better than it has any right to.

And he just saw Sokka fucking swoon like some Regency romance heroine.

“I didn’t faint,” Sokka insists, quickly closing his eyes so he isn’t staring at the guy from not even a foot away, which somehow makes the sensation of Sozin’s fingers testing for sore spots, gently and confidently running up the back of his neck and over the curve of his skull, that much sharper.

“Sure,” Sozin says, the raspiness of his voice even more apparent when Sokka doesn’t have anything else to focus on. And so clearly humoring him. Sokka feels something longing twist in his chest even as he tries not to visibly shiver. “Do you always decide to take a break at the sight of blood?”

“I didn’t,” Sokka repeats, unsure why he can’t let it go. It’s no like he would think poorly of someone who did faint over blood. It’s supposed to be inside, it’s suddenly on the outside. He hunted with his dad every winter he can remember up until they moved, but he gets it. It can be unsettling.

And normally Sokka wouldn’t care what some random person thought about him, not even a cute guy. But Sozin is hot, and he and the other EMT and future-neurosurgeon-pediatric orthopedist-gynecologist-she-has-to-decide-one-day Katara didn’t even bat an eyelash when she suddenly started gushing blood. And Sokka…did.

“No pain, that’s good,” his EMT says, fingers disappearing. “Any headache?”

“No,” Sokka sighs. Though he’s sure he’ll be banging his head against his headrest once they finally get to the car enough to fix that.

“Hm. Open your eyes for me?”

Sokka does, caught somewhere between reluctance to admit this is all happening and wanting to stare as long as he’s going to get the chance to because god, those eyes are definitely gold. “Do you wear contacts?” he blurts before he can catch himself.

“No,” his EMT says after a pause, giving him an amused look. “Do you?”

“Uh, glasses, sometimes,” Sokka says. “Not all the time, but for like, reading and stuff. Not like, I don’t need them need them,” he adds quickly, thinking of Gran Gran’s reading glasses. “But like, sometimes when the print is small and the contrast isn’t great and your eyes just strain?”

“You wear glasses,” Sozin finishes for him. Definitely amused, but Sokka didn’t tell any jokes, and…shit. “So if I ask if your vision is blurry…?”

“It’s fine,” Sokka says quickly, straightening and glancing around for something to read. The side of the ambulance—no, that’s huge. The make and model off a car? But he could recognize that by sight. A license plate! He can read out a—

“Good,” Sozin says, apparently happy to take his word for it which…shouldn’t leave Sokka feeling quite so deflated. “And can you concentrate on the end of my flashlight here—” He carefully moves the little penlight left to right and up and down, Sokka diligently tracking its movements and blinking but holding still for the quick flash of the light into his eyes, trying to look into the middle distance and not just lose himself in his EMT’s impossibly gold eyes because he doesn’t need the man to think he’s any weirder than he probably already does.

“I really am fine,” Sokka says as the penlight disappears into Sozin’s pocket. “Not that I don’t appreciate the little head massage and checkup, but—"

“I’m glad to hear it,” his EMT says. Back to humoring him. “Any nausea?”

“Because vomiting on a cute guy is just how I need to cap off my night,” Sokka says before he can catch himself, freezing when he belatedly registers the words.

Sozin pauses, lips pursed, before continuing to rummage through his medical kit and Sokka just…dies a little bit inside.

“Can we just…forget I said that?” Sokka says, squeezing his eyes shut again as the hopeful flutter in chest wilts. Fuck he just…really is trying to face plant in every literal and metaphorical way he can right now, isn’t he.

“Generally I do need to keep track of signs of confusion or repetition, so sorry. Gotta remember that one.”

“Got it,” Sokka says, slumping and scrubbing his hands over his face. “Makes sense. Look, Sozin—”

“Zuko,” his EMT interrupts, Sokka dropping his hands to give him a blank, confused look. “It’s Zuko,” the man repeats, tapping the nametag on his chest that…does not say Sozin. “Sozin is my last name.”

…Right. Right. The nametag has great contrast and giant letters, too. Fuck.

“Look,” Sokka sighs, tugging on his wolf tail, “I didn’t faint, I just—Katara is my only sister and we basically raised each from when she was like, ten years old and I was twelve, okay? And she was hurt, and we handled it, and you guys got here, great, awesome, she’s in good hands. But then, you know, the whole spurting blood thing and it got worse and…”

Sokka trails off, trying to find the words, some part of him hoping his EMT—Zuko, his name is Zuko, and he isn’t Sokka’s anything—will be able to fill in the gap. But Zuko is just quiet, rummaging in his bag far more than he probably needs to considering he isn’t pulling anything out. Probably just looking for something to do with his hands so he doesn’t have to look at Sokka rambling and making an idiot of himself and humoring him, again, but fuck, Sokka is going to try to explain it anyway because he didn’t faint, okay, he didn’t.

“Look, people can take turns for the worse, okay?” Sokka says, hearing himself fast and clipped and aware that he’s being cryptic and hoping this doesn’t get him another check in the ‘confusion’ column like his fucking contacts question probably did. “It can all seem fine and like you don’t have to worry anymore, but then you do. It happens, okay? So it was just—it was a lot. Emotionally, I mean. But I didn’t faint, I’m not—I wouldn’t lie about something like that,” he says, the heart of his frustration finally spilling out of him. “It doesn’t—I wouldn’t care, I wouldn’t try to make your life harder like that, I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t lie,” he repeats, feeling himself running out of steam when his—the—EMT still doesn’t respond. “I wouldn’t,” he finishes softly, frowning down at his sneakers against the asphalt. “I’m not like that.”

A long beat of silence except for the faint murmur of Katara and the other EMT’s voices, the fair behind him, the distant sound of cars along road, until finally Zuko stirs, the rustle of his uniform overly loud between them. “What’s your name?” he asks, glancing up, and Sokka sucks in a quick breath.

“Sokka,” he says, something hopeful trying to root in his chest again. “It’s Sokka.”

“Sokka,” Zuko repeats, nodding a moment before suddenly rising smoothly to his feet. “Let’s do your balance check.”

Sokka closes his eyes a moment, letting the fluttering edges of a new crush truly wisp away before he rises to his feet, carefully following Zuko’s instructions. His eyes are more on the pavement still than anything else but he can say that’s just for balance, just for focus as he obediently stands on one foot and then the other, touches his nose, leans to the side, feeling like he could jump and spin just fine, throw in some fancy footwork no problem, but just…not wanting to.

“Everything looks good,” Zuko finally says, and Sokka lets his arms drop, nodding.

“Yeah,” he says, mustering up a smile and glancing over to see if Katara’s ready, too. “Thanks, man.”

“Hm.” A considering look as Zuko peels off his latex gloves, then, “Are you sticking around for the rest of the fair.”

“If Katara can,” Sokka shrugs. “But I know, none of the crazy rides, take it easy, don’t stare at screens, if I feel a headache coming on don’t push it. I have been concussed before, I do know what it feels like.”

Zuko purses his lips, carefully balling up his gloves. “From fainting?”

Sokka pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hockey.”

Zuko nods, carefully checking over his kit before zipping it shut, all studious, careful focus and Sokka is trying to decide if maybe he can just…melt back from the edge of the parking lot to exit this situation when Zuko suddenly says, “I was actually going to say that Jet and I are working for the fairground. Not like, as city paramedics.”

“Okay,” Sokka says after a beat. Is this—are they going to get billed, or…?

“Which means we’re on shift at this location.” Zuko’s eyes flick up, his voice almost diffident. “My shift ends in two hours. If you’ll still be around.”

“Oh, that—” Sokka blinks, making himself actually replay the words. “Oh.” Is that—is Zuko--?

“I could check on your symptoms,” Zuko adds, glancing up again and…definitely looking through his lashes. Oh. Oh. “Test your hand eye coordination, make sure it’s still good? I hear ring toss is good for that.”

“Yeah, that—yeah.” Part of Sokka is still a little bit disbelieving, but Zuko is still looking at him, holding eye contact, lips curling at the edges, small and shy and pleased and cute, cute, cute and yeah, Sokka is going to let himself belief it. “That would be nice. I’d like that.”

“Me, too,” Zuko says, hefting his bag as he stands again, all easy strength and grace and he’s a few inches taller than Sokka and Sokka has the feeling he’s going to like looking up into his eyes. “Meet by the Ferris wheel?”

“Absolutely.” Hopefully there aren’t two of them here. Sokka and Katara barely got to explore before she got hurt.

“You should practice your ring toss in the meantime,” Zuko says, serious and grave and teasing, definitely teasing, and Sokka can’t help but grin in answer.

“I don’t know, I gotta keep it a fair competition when you show up,” Sokka says, buffing his nails against his shirt and teasing back and his entire body feeling light when Zuko’s eyes crinkle in the corners in response.

“You better practice, then,” Zuko says, all confidence and challenge and Sokka thinks he if does end up feeling faint tonight, or dizzy, or weak in the knees—hopefully not nauseated—that it is very much going to be Zuko’s fault.

He can’t wait.

“…Did you just pick up your paramedic?”

Sokka gives her a sideways look. “Did you?”

“…Let’s go get funnel cakes and not talk about it.”

“Great idea,” he says quickly. He has a feeling they’ll both get their answer in one hour and fifty-eight minutes and counting, anyway.

#fic writing #Sokka #Zuko #Zukka fic #my writing #quick fics #This is unedited and stream of consciousness so enjoy everyone!#tw: blood mention #(no one is actually really hurt)

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marcusagrippa · 17 days

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you met him when you were ten, and some might say it was by chance but you know it was not. fortuna was his uncle’s mistress, after all, not his. there were scraped knees and bloody noses and a gravitational pull that scared you (something apollonian, maybe - a disc around the head that only you could see), young as you were, and you lost a tooth that day but gained a friend. he was almost a head shorter than you and half the size, and he wheezed when he talked and his bones were the wrong shape and you could fit your thumb and forefinger in a neat circle around his wrist with room to spare, but something old in you knew that the world would be brought to its knees by those grey eyes and slim hands.

you ran away from the house where you saw your father’s skull crack open on the kitchen floor and he taught you greek on the temple steps below a red-faced god, and the first time it happened it was over aristophanes, of all things. you were twelve but looked older and he had a limp and his hair was too long and when you kissed him he didn’t stop you, he barely even blinked, he just smiled and went back to correcting your pronunciation after you pulled away. you’d wonder later whether you’d dreamed it but at night you knew that there would always be a part of you stuck in that moment - under jupiter’s gaze with a hand in his hair and greek on your lips.

the first time you begged him you were sixteen and your brother was in utica. you didn’t think suicide was contagious, but it couldn’t hurt to make sure, so you asked him for mercy over dinner and he said he’d think about it, of course, you had to understand that his uncle was a very busy man with a lot to worry about, a lot on his plate, but he’d see what he could do. you both climbed the tower that evening, the one he nearly fell from as a child, and he watched the sun set over the city’s skyline but all you could watch was the way the shards of fading light touched his face. you’re still not sure if he knew just how deep you’d already managed to fall but it didn’t really matter when he met your lips with his own that night. the second time was better - longer - and he tasted like wine and honey, and it would not be the last.

you were seventeen and at sea and he looked like he was dying, all sunken cheeks and pale skin and sweat-soaked hair clinging damply to his forehead, and your shared quarters smelled like vomit for a week while the ship crossed to hispania. his voice was weak and that halo had dimmed and when you held him in your arms to try and quell his trembling he was lighter and frailer than a bird. you were scared. the strength was there, the strength was always there, but it was buried under feverish sweats and wracking coughs and hatchling bones that felt like to snap at the gentlest touch. you stayed - because you always stayed. you wiped his brow, held back his hair, soothed him and cared for him even in the height of his delirium. that voyage was when you found out about his nightmares; the ones that tore through him more savagely than the fever and left him sobbing and shaking like a child in your arms. they sent words spilling from his lips, words you can’t remember (don’t want to remember), frenzied and hoarse and almost incoherent.

you wonder now if curses can flow backwards in time. you wonder now if he deserved it.

the news came the week after the prophecy did. (the astrologer had kissed his feet - fallen to the floor and kissed his damned feet, and you had seen the strange distant look on his face as he was revered and worshipped, and that was the first time you remember that ice stab of fear piercing your chest as you watched him.) the letter fell from his hands like last summer’s dying leaves and he had stumbled, because who wouldn’t, really, in that situation, and when your hands hooked under his arms to keep him up you could feel the way he shook. that was that, then - the idyll was shattered. the future was set. iacta alea esto.

the lists went up a year later and you knew without words that your sword would be the one bloodied by the end.

you were twenty-one years old and on your knees in front of him. his hand was in your hair and his eyes were dark and you swore you could feel the drained life still caked under your fingernails, and when he forced your head back to make you look up you couldn’t tear your eyes away - he would be a god, you knew then, beyond a shadow of a doubt he would be a god. (if only you had known what kind.) a few soft words and a sharp tug and you found yourself pressed to him, mosaic tiles digging into your shins, neck aching as he held your gaze. a quiet question and a whispered reply - ‘yes, caesar,’ you said, but the words under the surface were all too clear. don’t think them, don’t speak them. the name was a promise, you thought, and it was not worth the struggle to take it back.

he took you in the temple against the column and for a little while, with your face pressed into the hollow of his neck and your fingers digging into his skin, you could imagine as the sun moved within you that nothing had changed at all.

#idk what this is its unedited n kind of shit yaay. weird early character thing. itwas meant to be a poem but turned into. not really a poem #i promise i do actual narrative stuff as well! its just taking a while. augh #god please ignore this i just wanted to write something quick #jase writes #guys tag #agrippa #octavian

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xawkward-ariesx · 22 days

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Because it hurts

“They’re people?” “They were, until they had all their humanity taken away… All emotions removed.” “Why no emotions?” “Because it hurts.”

She thinks about that sometimes over the years. After everything. After the walls have sealed them universes apart. After she sees the Doctor one last time but only to say goodbye, to tell her that this is the end, that she can never come back. After everyone moves on and carves a space for themselves in this new world that had left a gap just for them.

She thinks about the Doctor stood before a cyberman’s head as he told her, “An old friend of mine. Well, enemy.” She thinks about the way he couldn’t distinguish between the two for a moment. She thinks about the way he’d spilt about old monsters and the world he’d burned to destroy them. She thinks about Sarah-Jane, an old friend he’d never been able to speak of.

She thinks she understands some of that now. She wonders if he keeps silent about her the way he did Sarah-Jane. Thinks she’d understand that too. She thinks about Sarah-Jane telling her the Doctor had been called home by the Timelords, how she’d never seen him again. She thinks about the way the Doctor never talks about them; talks about the beautiful planet, the trees, the grass and the two suns it used to orbit.

She thinks about the Doctor screaming at the Nestene, trying to bargain with it even after it’s shown itself to be hostile. She thinks about the Doctor and how his pity for the Gelth had made him blind to their intents. She thinks about the way he wears his scars and if she’s one of them now, or if he keeps her hidden away with his memories of people. She wonders if he still lets his pain and his anger fuel his need to save another planet, another people. She wonders if it still burns a hole through his hand the way there’s a burning in the back of her mind.

She thinks she understands him in a way she never could before as she fights to prove him wrong. Words and numbers falling from her lips in a way that reminds her of Jack, remind her of him. Things come to her easier these days, things she’d never understood before when they’d gotten lost in techno babble back before. Before she’d gotten stuck. Before Jack had stayed behind to fix the Earth. Before they’d left him alone, despite their best intentions.

Things slot into place for her now in a way that she doesn’t understand how but comes from the golden, burning place in the back of her mind that she knows shouldn’t exist. Should be locked behind fortified doors. Shouldn’t still be glittering, but hollow and cold. Shouldn’t leak secrets of the universe into her ears. Should leave her clueless and frustrated, grasping at dead ends in a way that’s expected of a girl off a council estate that never finished her A levels. A girl that had followed a stranger to the stars and picked up a few more along the way because she hadn’t understood then; but she’d seen the same lonely shadow in him that she’d felt in herself.

But she understands things now that she shouldn’t. She understands dimensional travel. Understands the cracks in the walls and the scars in the void that never completely heal if you press just right. Understands the physics and theory better than anyone of her time period should, let alone her. Understands why monsters are easier to face than the ones you’ve lost. Understands why there had been locked doors on the TARDIS in the same way she can’t bring herself to decorate the blank room she’s found herself occupying.

And she wonders if the fire ever burns out for the Doctor in the way the universe feels a little too heavy for her sometimes. She wonders if he sees her in the way she hears his words in her mouth. And the shadows she’d seen him seem heavier in her own eyes these days. She thinks about her mum’s words on that fateful day.

“You even look like him.” “How do you mean? I suppose I do, yeah.” “You've changed so much.” “For the better.”

She thinks about how it had filled her with pride at the time. She thinks about how she’d thought she was fitting into this new world that he’d shown her. How she’d become more than just another nineteen-year-old girl from the Estates. She thinks about how she doesn’t bother to fit into this world. How she doesn’t try to force this world to make space for her where there is none. She thinks about how that sentiment has become even more true in his absence. She does look like him. From the way she carries herself to the way she carries her scars and her secrets, lets them make her someone else.

She thinks about the worlds she’s seen dying as the stars blink out of existence across reality as she fights her way back to him. She thinks about the way she’s let every single one of them harden her when she couldn’t save everyone. She thinks about the nonchalant way the Doctor had spoken of the empty Earth before the sun had swallowed it whole. She thinks she understands how he’d focused on the survival of the species of the planet living amongst the stars instead of fixating on the planet he couldn’t save. She thinks about the lone survivor of a planet with its twin suns and the little blue box that remains its planet’s only reminders of its existence after the universe moved on.

She thinks about all the people they hadn’t been able to save. About how every single one of them had burned deep inside of her, fueling a resolution to do better next time. She thinks about how the first few fires had burned her before she learned how to put up the appropriate armour up. She thinks about the Doctor and his own armour. She wonders what taught him to put walls up between himself and the fires.

But mostly she thinks about the ways the years slip by her unnoticed, despite her mortality and the way she feels as though she’s never getting any closer to what feels just out of reach. And she wonders if it’s the same for him. She wonders if his immortality weighs on him the way her humanity weighs on her. She thinks she understands now the adamant way he’d spoken of humanity and how it hurts, the way there’d been no room for argument. The conviction in his words as a man burned too many times.

#Ace writes #doctor who #doctor who drabble #DW drabble #Rose Tyler #Rose Tyler drabble #procrastination drabbles #this is unedited #dimension hopping rose #my favourite girlie is back <3 #rise of the cybermen my beloved #i havent written anything in forever and my dw inspo has been particularly absent so were taking the win #did i bash this out in one sitting immediately after seeing that gif set? yes. absolutely. thanks to the op for returning my inspo from war #im a lil scared to post this actually ive done a quick passover but i havent posted anything in forever #im supposed to be working on my lab portfolio but instead im here

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thesunshinecourts · 25 days

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countdown to tsc: apr 6., 2024, 07:48 pdt

17. your bed after travelling // jean moreau thinks about belonging

They had an away game against UT Austin, which was more exhausting in flight time than as an actual form of competition.

It’s three hours to Austin from Los Angeles. (“Non-stop flight time is 2 hours, 55 minutes,” Sebastian says, pushing his sunglasses further up the bridge of his nose because he thinks it makes him look cool. It makes Jean want to spit on him. It makes Jean think about Kevin at age thirteen, when he dubiously tested out reading glasses at the recommendation of one of the doctors at Evermore. That kind of makes Jean want to spit on Sebastian more, but he restrains himself. Kevin Day at the beginning of teenagehood is not a crime that anyone should have to answer for, save the man himself and maybe Riko. He can’t, though. He’s dead.

It still thrills Jean, that thought, explicit and direct and true. It had been a fantasy for years, the kind he could never share, and certainly not with Kevin, who had loved Riko as desperately as he had come to fear him. It had been a wish, once or twice, entrusted only into Renee’s steady hands, the kind phrased not as a request, but as an expression of guilt given to the only person to whom he could lay himself bare. It is a fact, a gun pointed by Neil and a trigger squeezed by Ichirou and a new type of shackle on Jean, still heavy, but lacking teeth.

No, Jeremy Knox’s Sunshine Court has no such skin-torn, blood-soaked, jagged edges, except those which Jean brings with him. It’s almost harder to bear.)

Three hours to Austin from Los Angeles, meaning six hours round trip.

Jean is used to playing for that long on the Ravens’ court: a much more punishing endeavour than any training plan Rhemann and his cohort of coaches at USC could come up with. Playing the game against UT is laughably easy for Jean, at least when it comes to stamina and skill. Patience is a different matter, but while the Trojans are no Ravens, they are an exceptional team. When Jean makes his meagre attempts at forbearance, he thinks to himself that he is lucky to not have been a Fox. He would likely have lost his voice, given the arguing necessary to whip them into a vaguely-tolerable shape.

Kevin had always been better at that. Jean is not a natural teacher. He taught Kevin French out of loneliness, and he taught Neil to survive out of necessity. Kevin would always have been more suited to the walking catastrophe that called itself the PSU Foxes Exy team.

Belonging is always easier, Jean thinks, when one has a foothold. Personality aside—and truly, Jean has never met a person more stubborn than Kevin, which is less a compliment and more an expulsion of grief—Kevin would always have been better-suited to the Foxes than Jean, for Kevin had a man who would never turn him away simply because of who his mother was, even without knowing Kevin was his son.

Jean does not envy Kevin his father. Jean prefers not to think of fathers at all.

So no, the game is not especially taxing. The Trojans have a strong roster, and are less inclined to allow personal pique to have a say in which players get substituted, and when. (This isn’t to say that there is no personal pique to be found amongst the Trojans; whilst Jean’s experiences with them thus far have proven—if exasperatingly—that the Day Spirit Award has been rightfully awarded all these years, he’s also discovered that Alvarez has stroppy tendencies when she’s tired, and Jeremy’s occasional remarks about the Ravens are cavalier not out of ignorance, but a quiet disdain for their conduct.

So it’s not that the Trojans are all foolish Golden Retrievers rolling over to show their bellies to the world; it’s mostly that none of them are Riko, and nor are they Foxes. They can afford to offer grace as they move through the world. Jean is not sure he can.)

The flights are infinitely worse, because without an Exy racquet in his hand and the court beneath his feet, there is no escape from Jean’s own head.

The flight to Austin is better, of the two. It’s still not ideal, but Jeremy and Laila sit Jean firmly between them and essentially force him into conversation. It’s mostly grudging, and almost entirely about the upcoming match—there is not a single player at UT who Jean finds compelling, but one of their assistant coaches is a former player who once suggested something rude about Thea, who responded by checking him so hard when he next had the ball that he sprawled to the ground and slid three metres across the court.

Jean enjoys this story. He thinks Laila and Jeremy did too, from the way Laila’s eyes gleamed and how Jeremy’s voice had a laugh in it when he said, not exactly a strategy in our playbook, but I daresay it would have been satisfying to watch.

The flight back to Los Angeles is worse.

The ache from the game is settling into his body now, muscle and flesh and bone. It’s not enough to draw him out of his own head.

One of UT’s dealers had pitched herself right at him, driving herself into his hip. That level of force wouldn’t usually have knocked him over, but there’s an old ache there from Riko’s fingers and favourite toys. Mostly Jean stays standing, but sometimes he gives in.

When Jean had lived in Abby’s spare bedroom, there had been a revolving cast of visitors, though there was more frequency than variety. Renee had visited most, then Wymack. If Jean counts the times he shut his door and refused to let Kevin into his room and Kevin stayed in the kitchen asking Abby questions in a quiet voice that was never quite quiet enough, then Kevin probably takes third place. Otherwise, Jean thinks it would be Aaron.

This was less about Jean, and more about the lesson he could provide in Abby’s hands. Jean didn’t care. His whole life had been made of debt and pain and prodding. Cool fingers re-dressing his wounds—all steady hands and clinical efficiency and blunt responses—was almost a balm in the face of it.

Besides, there was something comforting in his lack of expectation. Jean has no idea what most people want from a doctor. He’s heard grumblings about bedside manner and seen some memes through the Twitter timeline Xavier and Alvarez inflicted upon him, but he found his greatest relief in the way Aaron inspected all his wounds without flinching.

Sometimes Kevin would come quietly into the room, and Aaron would roll his eyes at him, and then look to Jean, as if waiting. Jean did not mind so much if Kevin came in with someone else, like Renee or Aaron or Thea. (Well, he had minded very much the time he came in with Thea, but that was due more to the lack of warning. Thea herself had been someone Jean found himself missing.) He liked it more when Kevin came in with Aaron, which was less to do with their behaviour—Aaron was more likely to tell Kevin to shut up or fuck off, but Renee’s quiet presence was equally effective at keeping him in check—and more to do with the fact that Jean preferred to speak to Renee alone, because she was the person he could trust most in the world.

Once upon a time, that had been Kevin, but then Kevin left Evermore, and left Jean, and the first time Jean heard from him in months was when a terrified Kevin called him to beg Jean to tell him that the rumours were false, that Edgar Allan was not coming south.

The rumours had been true, and Jean Moreau has never been a liar, not even for Kevin.

Jean thinks about this as he thinks about the thudding ache at his hip, where Aaron’s fingers once re-dressed a wound, where Kevin had placed a cool compress years before, where Jean’s younger sister had once drawn a rose when they were five and seven, because a rose had been the only thing she had known how to draw.

He supposes it still might be. He wouldn’t know.

Jeremy shifts in the seat beside him, and Jean cracks open an eyelid to glare at him. He hadn’t even realised he’d shut his eyes, but no matter. He cracks open an eyelid, glaring, and finds Jeremy making a half-apologetic, half-beleaguered expression back at him. It’s an astounding combination, one he would have considered impossible prior to the Trojans, but sometimes Jean wonders if it’s less that Jeremy is particularly talented at facial expressiveness and more that no Raven ever had cause to teach Jean what apology looked like in the lines of a furrowed brow and downturned lips.

“Sorry,” Jeremy whispers, as if the facial expression wasn’t enough. “Were you napping?”

Jeremy has known Jean for several months now, so Jean feels as if this is a foolish question. He makes a derisive noise. Something flickers in his chest when Jeremy shakes his head, looking rueful and amused and sleepy-soft all at once.

Jean ignores it, obviously.

“Right, right, Mr No Naps,” Jeremy says. Jean has suffered many indignities since his arrival in Los Angeles, but being dubbed something that a six year old child would name an especially belligerent cat is a new low.

“We’re not that far now,” Jeremy says, glancing up at the flight map in interest. Jean looks over. He’s right. Twenty minutes or so. “Which means there’s no point in sleeping…” Jeremy continues, almost cajolingly. That gleam from Laila’s eyes earlier seems to have jumped to Jeremy’s as he looks at Jean.

Jean sighs, surrenders. He seems to be doing this a lot lately. Riko never managed to break down that last final inch, that holdout within Jean that refused to lose his accent or stop speaking French to Kevin or any of the tiny rebellions that Neil dismissed but Jean needed in order to have any pieces of himself left for Renee to save that day.

Riko tore every concession from Jean’s bare throat, but the Trojans seem just as adept as getting what they want out of Jean with teeth bared in smiles instead of snarls.

“You should have knocked over that backliner,” Jean says. “He’s a lunk. He would have taken seconds to get up. You could have scored in that time.”

Jeremy, because he is terrible, laughs. “You have such a way with words, Jean,” he says, but he sounds amused. Almost infectiously so. “I ought to be able to score without knocking anyone down,” Jeremy points out.

“Yes,” Jean agrees immediately, “but until that’s the case, you should drop them.”

There is probably something seriously wrong with Jeremy Knox, Jean thinks, watching him laugh. He seems as delighted as ever by Jean’s honesty. He won’t abide unfair barbed statements to his team, but he always seems game to field Jean’s criticisms himself.

It’s only right, Jean thinks. They’re Kevin’s favourite team, and they took Jean in when the backlash would be far greater than whatever meagre thanks they managed to get out of Kevin. Of course there’s something wrong with them.

They pass the rest of the flight in much the same manner, until the descent swoops a little steeper than expected and Jeremy squeezes his eyes shut and grips one hand over his arm rest and the other over Jean’s forearm. Laila wakes up during this, blinking sleepily at Jeremy, before saying, “Oh, babe, your cuticles look awful,” which makes Jean look incredulously at her and Jeremy laugh.

Sleepy chatter gets them through disembarking the plane, and baggage claim, and onto the bus, winding all the way back to campus, traffic egregious even at this hour. Alvarez tows an exhausted Laila by the elbows with an excruciatingly fond expression, Sebastian almost snaps his sunglasses underfoot when they slip off his nose before Derek says, “Dude,” while Emma throws up an arm to stop him in his tracks, and Jeremy half-stumbles into the door before he gets his key in the lock and opens up their room.

Tomorrow, at some point after breakfast and coffee prepared with entirely too much creamer by an overzealous Cox, Jean will marvel at that thought. At the ease with which it sprung to his mind: their room, meaning Jeremy’s and Jean’s, meaning Jean’s, meaning that which belongs.

In the morning, he will think about what it has meant to be Jean Moreau: his first home lost to him through a transaction, where he was an object and not a person, a thing to barter and not a boy with a bed and a family and his own mind; Evermore, his second place to exist, where his bed was so often a landscape of his own destruction; and that bed that he slept in when staying with Abby, crisp and clean and safe and entirely, undeniably unknown to him.

Kevin asked Jean once, when they were younger, to tell him about his home. Jean had looked at him and asked in the blankest possible tone, what home? A home is a space you’re meant to belong, Jean had meant, and there was no place like that for him. There was Riko and his chains, and everyone told Jean that was his place, but he would never call that home.

In the morning, Jean will think about this, and what it means to have a space that belongs to you – to be a boy who owns something for once, instead of just being owned –

In the morning, Jean will think about this, but for now, he kicks off his shoes, peels off his socks, and falls onto his bed, a place he trusts enough to sink into a dreamless sleep, long enough to start to soothe his tired bones.

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mapofthewrld · 1 year

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" who is she ? "

in which : marjorine and kenny have a play date, and kenny learns a few new things about himself (kenjorine)

butters hears a gentle knock on his front door. he springs up from his seat on the couch and rushes to open it, impatiently fiddling with the lock with a large grin.

he opens the door to reveal a gush of fresh spring air and his best friend, kenny. he wears a baggy tshirt and pants. his blonde hair is in a messy bun with strands framing his smiling face.

"heya, ken!"

butters beams at the other child. kenny takes in the sight of his friend, dressed in a polkadot dress and white leggings. his hair is in a small ponytail in the back of his head, with a bow adorning it.

kenny smiles. "hey, leo! or is it marj today?" kenny knew butters- or marjorine, as they sometimes liked to be called- was genderfluid, and their name preference just depended on the day. he was happy to oblige.

the energetic blond pulled his tired friend into the house, gently shutting the door behind him. he quickly flashes a bright smile to the other. "it's marjorine today!"

kenny gives him a nod as he's pulled upstairs, into his friends bedroom. scattered across the floor lay a few dolls and video game controllers. marj let's go of his hand and sits on the bed with a smile.

"so, what do you wanna play?"

the other blond takes a seat next to his friend, giving her a thoughtful look. "i don't think i mind," he finally decides. "whatever you wanna play!"

marjorine claps and grind wider at the other. "really? oh, this is great, ken! can we play dolls?"

kenny agrees without missing a beat. not only does he love seeing the smile on his friend's face, but he quite enjoys the game himself.

- insert play time here -

"here you are, princess kenny!" marjorine giggles and claps her hands together, moving her doll in front of kenny's. ken smiles and moves his doll's arms, waving at hers. "thank you, lady marj!"

whenever the boys played dolls, kenny would (more often than not) play as a character called "princess kenny." he found joy in her and her relationship with lady marjorine.

the real marj studied his face carefully while he blanked out. "hey, uh, kenny?"

"yeah?"

"do you like bein princess kenny?"

the boy's eyes snapped to the floor. his hands found each other and he cracked his knuckles subconsciously. "i mean, i guess so."

"do you.. like when i'm marjorine?"

"marj," he took his friends hands in his own with a smile, "i like you all the time."

and with the shine in her eye, the toothy grin she gave back, kenny knew without a doubt that he really did like his friend any way she was.

#south park #tw south park #kenny mccormick #butters stotch #kenny sp #butters sp #bunny sp #south park bunny #kenjorine #sp kenjorine #sp bunny #kenny mccormick x butters stotch #kenjorine means everything to me actually #writings ; 🍭#sorry to all of my mutuals #the brainrot is hitting hard #also this is unedited and not checked by my beta reader so sorry #just a quick drabble to get my thoughts down

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rosewould · 2 years

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quick and unedited // ljy

(a/n: what was the reason for adding unneeded angst? oh... well.... uh... quick, a distraction hey look! collegeboi!juyeon! fetch!)

"Look, in here." Juyeon guides you by your waist as he twists open the door on his right. Whatever was going on between the two of you didn't stop you from getting butterflies at moments like this. There was a lot of flirting and innuendos, but it was very rare that Juyeon initiated physical contact. Each time it made the looming threat of having each other very real. You swallowed the lump in your throat before nodding and walking through the door.

The room was a mess, papers were strewn everywhere and the rickety bookcases lining two sides of the room could barely do their job. You almost tripped over the evidence of this, Juyeon's arm around your waist being the only reason you weren't on the floor.

"Sorry," You breathed, unsure why your voice felt so small. All that big talking you've done over the course of the year felt like it was finally coming to a head. Could you handle it? You weren't sure. Your eyes trailed to the book that attempted to embarrass you and ruin the mood for good. Hamlet was always the catalyst for your problems.

Juyeon's other hand grasping your waist broke you from your random trains of thought. You look up as he pulls you closer with a smirk. You return the look.

"Is there any reason we're in a secluded room, Juyeon?"

He looks around at the disheveled room with a shrug. "It's pretty good for studying, no?"

"No is right," You chuckle, breath hitching in your throat when his face suddenly drew in closer. Despite your dry throat, your big talking came back with a vengeance. "y'know, if you wanted to fuck me you could've just said so..." As you trail off, your eyes flicker toward his lips before being trapped in his gaze once again.

"I mean... I'm just here to glaze the doughnut you've been complaining about."

"Gross." You deadpan as you lean in closer. He steals your breath, dipping in with only a threat of a kiss.

"What? You don't want that?"

You swallow, doing little to placate your dry throat. Were you at the point of begging? Being this close to finally having the man you've had wet dreams about was making your vagina throb with need. Still, you weren't done with that mouth of yours.

"I dunno..." You say with a playful smirk, attempting to peel away until he spins the two of you around and pushes you against the bookcase. The books rattle against the aged wood, nearly toppling over right on your heads. You couldn't spare a moment to notice, not when Juyeon captures your lips with a heated kiss that instantly makes you dizzy. He tasted much better than you imagined, the bitter coffee with a hint of mint had you embarrassingly diving in faster and faster.

"Do you still not want it?"

"Mm..." He hastily crashes his lips back to yours. His tongue swipes against your bottom lip and you happily accept it. He allows a moment your wet muscles to dance with each other before he pulls away again.

"What was that?"

"Ugh," You throw your head back against the bookshelf, impatient with his antics. "just kiss me already."

"So you do want it?"

"Juyeon!"

"Say you want me inside you and I'm all yours." Suddenly his nose was brushing against yours, voice much deeper than before. The gravel in his voice made you clench your thighs.

"I-I want you Juyeon." Your voice is small again, feeling vulnerable as all hell, but that didn't matter much when you were soiling your panties to this degree. The confession brought a lazy grin to his face, chuckling lightly as his tongue swipes against his perfect teeth.

"You're constantly making me hard, ___." He admits before his Adam's apple bobs beneath his flawless, firm skin. He leans past your face, lips dancing near your ear.

"I can't wait to have you bouncing on my cock."

You involuntarily moan at that and if he wasn't confident in himself before, he was now. It must've not been enough, though. Not when he was groaning next to your ear to say it again.

"I want you Juyeon!" You exclaim as he slams his hips against yours, rattling the bookcase and making books rain down all around you. As his hips thunder into yours you start to see stars. Each and every slap of your skin lights your synapses on fire. "I want you so bad! Ngh-!"

He slams you especially hard into the bookcase, and there's just something about him that makes the pain and chaos heighten the pleasure. When you look into his eyes, it all becomes clear why. Through his squinted, shiny eyes you can see just how much he wants you, too. He's already told you how horny you make him multiple times since he whipped out his hard cock. His words were needless, as the way he looked into your eyes, the way he moaned as your wet cunt tightened around him, the way his lips and hands were all over you said enough.

"I want you too." He whimpers as he rests his forehead against yours. You didn't need him to do so, but the confirmation lit your heart with a strong flame you feared wouldn't be put out soon. A part of the stupid organ wished it was in ways more than physical. If you thought about how that was implausible, you'd no longer be in the mood. So you pushed it to the back of your brain and focused on his meaty tip plunging into the depths of your pussy.

You shout out in pleasure as his snapping hips send him barrelling deeper than before. Volume control was regretfully not in the forefront of your brain while you were getting your guts rearranged.

"Fuck- I'm gonna cum." He grunted after informing you, losing to the overwhelming lust as his eyes roll back. "W-where should I-"

"Cum inside me."

Juyeon's eyes widen, looking into yours to make sure you're sure. You nod, eyebrows pressed together as your high approaches. You were safe from pregnancy, but something about him cumming inside you still felt special. You wouldn't let just any guy paint your walls with his seed. It must have meant something to him judging by the overflowing adoration present on his face. The thought alone sent you spiraling helplessly into your high, kicking your head back as your legs lock around him tight.

Your hole clenches around him, milking him dry as he sprayed his semen into you. He kisses you passionately as you both come down and your heart swells. Juyeon lowers you back to the ground gently, caring hands back on your waist when you stumble. You pull away and flash him a genuine smile, but all you're met with was a man still clearly overcome with lust.

"I want you to keep it inside all day. That'd be so fucking hot." He bites his lip before kissing your forehead and leaving.

For a reason you didn't want to delve into, it felt like a bullet had blown right through your chest, piercing your swelling heart.

You did just that anyway. Feeling his seed trickling down your walls was an uncomfortable reminder of your naivety. You felt like a dumb, used fuckdoll, and it was all your fault. You guys joked about fucking for a year and now you think he wants to make you his?

No, it was all the moments you pushed the flirting aside and genuinely talked to each other. Texting for hours until the other fell asleep. You sigh, feeling especially gross after your lunch break. The thought turned you on a bit at first, but now it felt stupid. You were wearing a skirt, and the seed threatened to leak through.

Paranoia made it feel like everyone was staring at you as you walked out of the cafeteria and down the hall. What a fucking idiot, the must be thinking.

Just as you were beating yourself down, convincing yourself that everyone knew how pathetic you were, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Juyeon maneuvers around you, out of breath.

"Here," He hands you a white plastic bag, "I didn't know if you needed this but it was eating me up all day so I went home and brought these." He rushes out, eyes anxious like the puppy dog you knew he could be at times. You spread the bag open and peek inside to see a pair of sweatpants.

"It was hot at first but- anyway, I shouldn't have even suggested for you to walk around like that." He clenches his eyes shut as he shakes his head. You snort, covering your mouth in shock when the noise happened. He snaps his eyes open, looking at you in shocked betrayal.

"Hey! I was really worried!" He threw his arms down at his sides, stomping like a toddler. The look on his face made you think that he was beating himself up way more than you were. It made all the self-deprecation you put yourself through earlier seem ridiculous.

"No! It's just... you're so cute." You sigh defeatedly before pinching his cheeks.

#100 #bc industry babies was taking too long #I actually love this #THERE'S NO SUCH THING AS UNNEEDED ANGST!#juyeon #lee juyeon #tbz #the boyz #kpop #smut #juyeon smut #lee juyeon smut #tbz smut #kpop smut #angst #tbz angst #the boyz angst #qau #quick and unedited

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a-tenno-called-prin · 4 months

Text

Prinia’s time in Duviri had been….fruitful. She grew up in one of the far-flung islands where she was treated as the noblewoman she felt she deserved to be. The far-flung islands, as we all know, were one-by-one lost to the Void and Prinia, as with many of the other residents, found herself displaced and living hand-to-mouth in the King’s inner circle of islands, the most well-guarded.

She had not taken kindly to the other Drifters whilst she had a place to call her own, and now the shoe was on the other foot. She began to resent the authority of the lands, namely Thrax, and all that his banner stood for. Hungry, dirty, and with nothing but the clothes on her back and her sharp wit, she would steal a Kaithe from the King’s own stables, and a bow and quiver of arrows from his barracks in the South.

In the dead of night, bells would toll in the nearby villages, and fires would light the starless sky ablaze. Voices would cry out, weeping of a violent stranger that would destroy their homes and pillage their grain. Their cries fell on deaf ears, as the King felt he had far more interesting matters to attend to, but in a moment of charity, put a bounty on this stranger’s head for the Dax and for any Drifter who could be persuaded with coin.

As the nights crept on, the pillager would attack towns and hamlets closer and closer to the Castle, and on one fateful night, fuelled by a gluttony only rivalled by the Orokin Elite, she decided to take the throne for herself.

This worked out as swimmingly as one would expect. Farmers and stablehands were no comparison in prowess to the King’s own royal guard. The Dax fell upon her the moment she raised her bow and, bleeding and broken, she slinked back into the night with the King’s defenders hot on her heels.

In one of Duviri’s many verdant fields, the scorned Drifter happened upon a mirror. On peering in, she could see a child with black hair and eyes that glowed like stars, dressed in black with scarred and mottled scars that reached for her face. The Drifter was hesitant, as first. She had never seen such a reflection in a Void Mirror before!

Fear is the most innate of human emotions, and as the calls of the Dax drew nearer, she pleaded with the child of the Void, begging her to hide her in her shadow, so that she may escape the blades of the guard.

The child smiled, and held out her hand. As the tip of the child’s index finger broke through the barrier, the trembling Drifter threw herself forward, grasping the hand that was extended to her. She fell through the mirror, through the Void.

The Drifter clung to the fingers of her saviour, desperate and afraid. Together they fell through a tunnel of light that split into colours unimaginable, then merged together again into the dullest of greys. The blur cleared from Prinia’s eyes for a moment to realise what was happening, and wonder turned to horror as her feet disappeared into a fine mist. She tried the call out, but her voice failed her. Her fingers wriggled, trying to break free from what she now knew was not a kind-hearted stranger, but a viper who had been biding its time in the depths. The child’s grip around her tightened, and Prinia’s body slowly faded with the ebb and flow of the Void. This was not charity, she thought, but an untold deal, and yet she still got her wish. She would not fall to the Dax’s blade, nor see the punishment for what she had done.

This, she felt, was far worse. It would be as though she never existed.

“But she was just a copy,” Prinia sighed, smiling to herself as she closed the dusty old book. She stood, arching her back and standing at least a head taller than Ordis remembered her being. “One could say she never really existed at all.”

#a quick idea i had a few days ago #messy and unedited but that's ok #is she telling the truth? depends on who you ask #rambling #writings #prinia qin #long post

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