#because she's been SWEEPING up until now where it's a confident loss

[jjacob]

all i want for christmas is you

❝ the school had started to take notice of you. lee juyeon, however, had always noticed. ❞

PAIRING ▸ lee juyeon x fem!reader (ft. best friend!lee minho)

GENRES ▸ fluff, high school au, sports au, best friends to lovers au

WARNINGS ▸ mild profanity but !! lots of !! fluff !! 

SUMMARY ▸ the bet was simple: find a date to the winter ball. the only problem was that juyeon didn’t want just any girl. he wanted you.

PLAYLIST ▸ all i want for christmas is you by mariah carey

WORD COUNT ▸ 5055 words

AUTHOR’S NOTE ▸ merry christmas! this is a gift for addy @honeyju​ the biggest juyeon simp ik !! ily addy i am excited/scared/not emotionally ready to read the minho one which ! btw y’all should read here bc our stories are loosely connected! also disclaimer: i know jack shit ab football but i tried

LEE JUYEON TENDED TO REGRET HALF THE THINGS HE SAID SOMETIMES. 

In eighth grade, Juyeon’s sense of humor was largely self-deprecating and consisted of saying he wanted to die at the slightest inconvenience. But, with his spectacular timing, he let the joke slip in front of a teacher once and froze up upon seeing her concerned expression. Juyeon later received a note from the counselor’s office and had to convince them that he was perfectly fine.

In tenth grade, Juyeon had grown past his phase of dark humor and moved onto high school football. He made the cut for the team the previous year, and managed to make it on the varsity team by the time he was a sophomore. In the beginning of the season, they asked who wanted to be captain the next year, and Juyeon boldly declared that he did. Thus, he was ridiculed and sentenced to pick up balls and clean up the gym after every practice from then on.

Now, as a high school junior in the varsity football team, Juyeon had screwed himself over by making a stupid bet with his best friend, Lee Minho.

Lee Minho was, in short, a conniving bastard. Juyeon never should have trusted him and gone along with his antics. The mere thought of what he had gotten himself into was enough to send his heart into overdrive.

The bet sounded simple enough: find a date to the Winter Ball.

Of course, it was easier said than done, but Juyeon was a star athlete and had girls sliding in his DMs left and right. He could easily find a date if he wanted to, and, honestly, Juyeon only needed to send a few texts and he would probably be secured for the dance. The problem was, however, that Juyeon only wanted you.

Minho was well aware of Juyeon’s pitiful, unrequited love towards you. It was probably the reason he suggested the bet; his best friend either wanted to see him miserable or see him score a chance with you. Either way, Juyeon wasn’t sure his heart was ready to shoot his shot.

Juyeon had crushed on you ever since you sat next to him in the seventh grade and let him borrow your pencil. It was such a silly start to his admiration for you, but his feelings grew stronger when the both of you actually became friends. You were so bright when you laughed, so sweet when you spoke, and so adorable when you smiled. Juyeon had never felt this way about anyone else and always got butterflies when he saw you. Juyeon was never one to chase after girls but he would find himself constantly thinking about what you were up to and having several internal dilemmas over whether he should ask you to hang out or not.

Five years later and Juyeon still harbored feelings for you. Now, they had matured into something deeper, but you still racked his brain nevertheless. It didn’t help that you had a major glow-up in high school and were probably the most beautiful person Juyeon had ever seen.

The school started to take notice of you.

Juyeon, on the other hand, had always noticed.

“Are you sure we can finish a medium before practice?” Minho asked Juyeon, setting a box of pizza on the table in front of him. “Also, I saw Y/N by the gym earlier.”

Juyeon perked up. “Y/N?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied, grabbing a slice of pepperoni pizza for himself. “You know what day it is, right?”

Minho took a bite out of his pizza, observing Juyeon with a raised brow. His best friend was on the baseball team but treating themselves to pizza had become a monthly ritual. Despite being on different teams, he was closer to Minho than his football teammates.

“Thursday?”

“And that means?”

Right.

Juyeon had formulated an elaborate plan to ask you out during the football game today, but, of course, it all depended on whether their team won or not. It would have been kind of ridiculous to propose after a loss. On the bright side, he knew he could count on the fact that you’d actually be present considering you were a cheerleader.

But what if you already had a date? You surely hadn’t mentioned it to him or posted about it on social media, so he was riding on an assumption that you haven’t been asked. That was bizarre to Juyeon, though, because you were the prettiest person he had ever seen. However, it was true that you were gradually getting popular, and that made Juyeon a touch nervous.

“I ask her out tomorrow,” Juyeon breathed out. “Am I ready for this?”

Minho scoffed lightly. “Are you ever?”

Juyeon frowned at his best friend, scrunching up his nose at his distasteful comment. “What about you? Have you gotten a date?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

Juyeon sighed. That was probably all he would get out of Lee Minho today. Once Minho set his mind on something, he carried it out diligently until the end. Juyeon honestly had no idea who he wanted to bring since Minho didn’t like talking about girls he was interested in, but he supposed it wasn’t that big of a deal as long as his best friend was happy.

It wasn’t like Juyeon was never going to hear about his friend’s endeavors. After all, he did pick up on Minho’s slow descent from an apathetic individual to a whipped ball of fluff. If Juyeon mentioned that to his best friend, however, he would probably be ridiculed for consistently being whipped for you since the seventh grade.

Juyeon nearly jumped out of his seat at the sound of his ringer going off. He scrambled to pull his phone out of his pocket, ignoring Minho’s teasing smirk at the sight of his frazzled self.

y/n: hey :) i’m gonna drop off some gingerbread cookies my mom made after practice so lmk when i can come over

Juyeon must have saved a country in a past life for this kind of luck.

juyeon: i love your mom’s cookies. you can come over whenever you’d like

y/n: how about we walk home together after practice?

juyeon: sounds good to me

Now, the pizza was starting to make his mouth water, but if you were walking home with him, Juyeon was ready to drop it and run to see you even though he loved pizza. But Juyeon loved you more than he loved pizza, and he believed that was true love.

“She made me cookies,” Juyeon announced.

“She made you cookies,” Minho repeated, leaning forward in surprise.

“Well, her mom did, but yeah.”

Minho turned his attention back to his pizza. “So this is about your mommy kink again.”

“I don’t have a fucking mommy—why would you say that?” Juyeon cried out, kicking his friend’s shin under the table.

“You don’t? Last time I checked, she was making dinner in the kitchen when I came over yesterday.”

“I’m talking about the kink!”

Yet, even a silly back-and-forth with Minho couldn’t get Juyeon down from his high over you. He was still processing the fact that you were going to walk home with him and, if Juyeon played his cards right, maybe he could get a feel of how comfortable you would be if he asked you out during the game tomorrow.

Minho snickered. “You look happy.”

Juyeon couldn’t even mask his lovesick smile and flushed cheeks. He folded his arms on the table in front of him and buried his face in them, his head spinning at the thought of you.

“Shut up, Minho.”

The only problem with you being on the cheerleading team was that you were extremely distracting.

Juyeon was the star quarterback and frankly, it was kind of pathetic that the one thing that kicked him in the ass was seeing you in the knee socks and pom-poms. It didn’t help that you were a flyer so Juyeon’s stomach pitted with anxiety whenever he saw you being thrown up and whenever he heard a scream coming from the direction of the cheerleaders.

Today was different, though. Juyeon could care less about the screams and falls from the corner of the field. All he could think about was you and how he was going to ask you out. If his plan was going to work, it was going to draw a lot of attention and be quite embarrassing if it failed.

All of his confidence got knocked down with a single sweep when he saw someone asked you to the dance.

One of the cheerleaders broke into a fit of giggles at the sight, clasping a hand over her mouth. “Oh my god!”

You were frozen stiff, an awkward smile on your face as the guy walked onto the field with a sign and about a dozen roses. Juyeon could feel his heart sinking to the ground with each step the guy took, with each second his smile grew brighter.

“Is he seriously confessing during practice?” Sohn Youngjae asked, brows furrowed as he rested his arm on Juyeon’s shoulder. “That’s real brave.”

“What’s his deal doing it here? He isn’t even on the team,” Juyeon said, coming off more bitter than he had expected.

Younghoon scoffed. “It’s a bold move. He must be confident that Y/N’s going to say yes.”

Juyeon squared his shoulders. He was conflicted with the swell of anger and deflation of you possibly being taken, but nevertheless, all he could do was watch helplessly as you were being asked out. From where they were on the field, Juyeon couldn’t hear much, but he could see your reactions quite well. The wolf-whistles and cheers were pissing him off, but he was fixed on you.

He turned to look towards Minho, who was practicing on the field adjacent to theirs. His best friend met his gaze immediately like they had some form of exclusive telepathic communication. Minho nodded towards you and raised a brow, as if nudging Juyeon to go interrupt them. That, however, was something he was far too cowardly to bring himself to do.

Your voice resounded clearer than Juyeon had expected.

“I’m really sorry,” you apologized sincerely, ducking your head and keeping your hands entwined behind you. “I’m not interested, but I do appreciate the gesture.”

Juyeon felt a weight lift off of his chest. He wasn’t sure if he should’ve felt relieved that you shot him down or nervous that you rejected an attractive, confident guy who clearly liked you. However, he soon had no time to mull over that when the guy’s reaction was getting more aggressive than crestfallen.

“Y/N, I asked you out in front of all these people,” he said with a distasteful laugh. “Are you seriously rejecting me right now?”

“Sorry, I just don’t want to go with you,” you replied firmly, voice dropping as you became more conscious of your surroundings. “I’m sorry it had to be public but you didn’t really give me a choice.”

For a split second, Juyeon wondered how he could still hear you when you were practically muttering at this point, and then he realized that he started walking to you without even realizing. His feet carried him unknowingly, hand balled at his side and eyes stony and trained on the guy.

“You could’ve just accepted it and told me later that you didn’t want to go with me,” he said with a scoff. “It’s like you enjoy humiliating others publicly.”

Your teammates rushed forward to argue and fend him off while you opened your mouth to protest, but Juyeon was faster, moving in front of you so he was head-to-head with the guy.

“She said she’s not interested,” he said with a threatening undertone, wondering where he managed to muster up the courage to be this assertive.

You were visibly shocked by Juyeon’s actions, and he couldn’t even blame you because he was equally just as surprised as you were. Yet, all he could do was glare daggers down at the other guy with steely eyes and frown until he backed off.

“Thanks,” you said softly once the guy had left.

Juyeon was flustered by all the girls giggling behind you but was amazed by how cool and collected you remained despite that. He turned to you, eyes softening and shoulders relaxing. He knew he was getting an earful about this from his teammates after practice and most definitely from Minho as well.

“No problem,” Juyeon replied, cheeks red. “He was bothering you. I couldn’t just ignore it.”

“That was really sweet of you, Juyeon.” You bit back a smile and suggested, “Meet you at the front gates after practice?”

“See you then.”

Even though Juyeon could’ve spent the rest of practice talking to you, he sprinted back as fast as he could because his cheeks were only getting redder as the cheerleaders gushed about what he did for you. He could hear their gossip and whispering even as he was running back to his team. Juyeon was positive he wouldn’t escape the embarrassment, though, because Lee Jaehyun was smirking at him when he got back.

“You’re blushing, dude.”

Juyeon shoved him.

There was a universal law that was newly decreed. It read: Lee Minho shall never text, call, or speak to Lee Juyeon whenever Y/N was around.

The reason for that being the fact that Juyeon was easily embarrassed and Minho’s texts were not helping his case. He felt it was rude enough to check his phone while he was walking with you, but every time he saw a notification flash, his eyes widened with sheer distress over Minho’s texts.

minho: like three people asked me if you and y/n are fucking bc of what you pulled during practice today

minho: wait are y’all fucking and just not telling me

minho: i knew it was sus that she was coming over to your house

juyeon: fake news!! stop making me feel shy :(

Juyeon decided he had enough Lee Minho for today and turned off his phone.

“That was honestly the coolest thing I’ve ever seen you do,” you gushed to Juyeon as you walked home with him, fingers looped around the straps of your backpack. “Way cooler than you punting footballs.”

“No need to flatter me,” Juyeon replied coolly but his shy smile and red-tipped ears said otherwise. “That guy was being unnecessarily aggressive.”

“His proposal was out of nowhere!” you exclaimed. “I don’t get what he expected me to do.”

Juyeon smiled through the pain. Lord, give me strength, he prayed to whatever divine power was out there.

“Are you not interested in having a date to the dance then?” Juyeon asked, looking down at you curiously.

You paused for a moment and Juyeon thought his heart would stop in anticipation for your answer. Come to think of it, he had never seen you go to a school dance with a date before. You were always with your friend group. It wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see you stick with them, but Juyeon was hoping he could change that.

“Well,” you started, “if the right person asked me then I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Juyeon couldn’t exactly read your smile but it made him want to faint. The rest of the walk back home was spent talking about school and football, but Juyeon couldn’t get your answer to his question out of his head. He even walked past his house because his head was so full of you, resulting in you needing to stop him and tell him that they had already reached his place.

“Y/N! It’s so good to see you!” Juyeon’s mom chirped with a good-natured smile. “How has your mom been?”

Juyeon’s eyes widened upon the realization that they never stopped by at your place first to get the cookies. He opened his mouth to interject but you went on to answer.

“She’s been great, Mrs. Lee,” you replied, smiling just as big, and pulled out a box of cookies from your bag. “She wanted me to give these to you.”

“That’s so sweet! Give her my thanks,” his mom replied and opened the door wider once she accepted the cookies. “Come in for some tea, will you?”

Juyeon was practically frozen at the doorway while you were taking off your shoes and walking inside. If you had the cookies with you this entire time, then why didn’t you just give them to him to take home himself? Unless you were worried about the courtesy, it was a bit out of your way to take the time to walk home with Juyeon to deliver them.

“Juyeon, what are you doing out there?” his mom asked. “Come inside. It’s cold.”

“Right.”

Having you over at his house wasn’t exactly the sparkly fantasy that Juyeon thought it would be.

He was getting quite jealous of your mom hogging all of your attention. It wasn’t like you and Juyeon drifted apart during high school, so he wasn’t sure why his mom had to pull you away from him and have her own conversation with you. The worst part was that Juyeon couldn’t even join in on the conversation. He had no idea what they were even talking about.

That is, until his mom brought up the dance.

“Do you have a date, Y/N?” Juyeon’s mom asked.

“I don’t,” she replied. “I usually just go with my friends.”

“You’re so pretty, though,” Mrs. Lee tutted. “I’m sure someone must’ve asked you out.”

“Actually, someone asked me today,” you said. There was a moment of silence as you looked over at Juyeon while his gaze bore into yours. For a moment, you were struggling for what to say, mouthing words that weren’t being processed. Juyeon rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly once you regained your composure. “Juyeon actually helped me out.”

Mrs. Lee straightened up. “My son did?” She looked amused as she turned to Juyeon.

“Yeah,” you answered, grinning. “He was really cool.”

Juyeon blushed darkly once their eyes were on him. “W-what? I couldn’t ignore it. I wasn’t even doing that much. I was just helping out. You know, being a decent person,” he rambled and stood up. “Anyways, isn’t it getting late? Mom, Y/N has to go home soon and it’s gonna be pitch black outside if you keep her here.”

“Oh, you’re right.” Mrs. Lee frowned as she peered out the window. “Juyeon, you walk her home then.”

“What?” he sputtered out, looking between you and his mom before he caved, muttering, “I’ll go get my jacket.”

After an exchange of goodbyes, you had stepped out of the house and waited while Juyeon was slipping his shoes on. There was a moment of struggle where he had tied his laces too tight and couldn’t get the shoe on but he managed to slip it on after a few seconds of internal screaming. Juyeon zipped up his jacket the moment he stepped outside, the brisk coldness making his goosebumps rise.

“You really don’t have to walk me back,” you told Juyeon. “It’s cold outside.”

“It’s really late,” Juyeon replied, rubbing his hands together in hopes that the friction would provide some heat. “You shouldn’t be walking home by yourself, and I really don’t mind.”

“Thanks,” you mumbled, ducking your face. “For this, for what you did during practice—everything.”

Juyeon was glad that you weren’t looking at him because his mouth was opening and closing over and over again like a fish. He was also thankful for the fact that he could blame the dust of pink across his cheeks on the cold winter bite. Unfortunately, you lived close by so Juyeon didn’t have time to come up with a cool response and he didn’t want to leave things like this. There was a good vibe going on and he was upset that he couldn’t act upon it; when it came to you, Lee Juyeon was a coward.

“Um, we’re here so…” Juyeon trailed off when he turned to you, sort of thrown off by how beautiful you looked with your windswept hair and flushed cheeks. Dazed, he reached forward and moved a strand of your hair out of your face. “It’s good I walked you home and you’re not like, lost or… something—I’ll shut up now.”

You laughed, and it was an octave higher as if you were rattled from him touching your hair. “Ah, yes, a few streets down can be a harrowing trek.”

Juyeon laughed with you before his eyes settled on you. Your hands were crossed, rubbing your arms that were prickled with goosebumps. A wave of guilt washed through Juyeon and led him to strip his jacket off immediately. He ignored the piercing chill and put his jacket around your shoulders, making sure they covered your bare arms.

“My house is right here,” you argued. “You’re going to be cold.”

“Keep it on. I have something to tell you after the game,” Juyeon said firmly. It was his second burst of courage for you today and he was a little too amped up for his own good. “If you don’t like it then give me back my jacket tomorrow.”

Before you could respond, Juyeon turned on his heel and bolted home, the biggest grin across his face because he was head-over-heels for you.

Juyeon had never been so nervous in his life.

The game was underway, Juyeon’s leg bouncing as he eyeballed the scoreboard. His team was strong in the first two quarters, cutting it close by the third, but now they were neck-to-neck. They had ended with a tie and now they decided to go into overtime for the sake of choosing a winner for the game. It was a sudden death round so whoever scored first would win the game. Juyeon, however, found it difficult to concentrate.

Especially with Lee Minho breathing down his back.

“Are you ready?” his best friend asked.

“Yes—well, no, but I don’t really have a choice.”

“That’s true.”

“I already made the sign and told the team and everything,” Juyeon whined. “I really screwed myself over, Minho.”

Minho pushed at the back of his head. “Dude, I’m talking about the game.”

“Oh, that—that’s fine,” Juyeon stammered. “Fifteen minutes—we just have to win, and then I have to ask out the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“You could chicken out,” Minho suggested, “but that also comes with me never letting you live it down.”

“You see, I kind of already implied that I’m going to tell her something important.”

“You did?” Minho’s voice was somewhere between shocked and impressed.

“Shit, I gotta go,” Juyeon muttered, pushing himself off the bench. “Keep the poster safe for me!”

“Good luck, champ!”

Juyeon, sweaty and bangs sticking to his forehead, had to ignore every distraction and think about winning the game before his stomach threw itself into a pool of anxiety over asking you out. He got in a huddle with his team in the remaining fifteen seconds they had before they had to get in formation and lowered the facemask of his helmet. It was up to this one last play to determine whether they would win the game or not.

“Just like we practiced, alright?” Juyeon told them. “Double-wing power pass. We get them to bite thinking it’s a run play and then open up a passing lane.”

“Alright, let’s go,” Jaehyun cheered, and the rest of them put in their mouth guards and lowered their facemasks.

Juyeon took a shaky breath as he got in formation at the line of scrimmage. His heart was racing but he wasn’t sure it was about the game. Nevertheless, he steeled his nerves and held his ground. The whistle blew and the crowd was silent, observing the tension on the field carefully.

“Silver-80! Silver-80! Hut! Hut! Hike!” Juyeon yelled, and the center, Sangyeon, snapped the ball to him.

Juyeon faked a handoff to Jaehyun, the fullback, and spun around, rolling to his right. Changmin sped up in front of Juyeon to defend him. A smile tugged at Juyeon’s lips. Their plan was working just as he intended, but there was a problem: they couldn’t open up a passing lane for the running backs like he thought they would. The play was too rushed, so it wasn’t ever a guarantee.

So Juyeon had to do what he would normally deem crazy.

He spun at the sight of the other team coming to tackle him and skirted around the field, belting down the field. He dodged past another linebacker that tried to body him. His primary motivation was that he didn’t want a concussion before he confessed to you, but he assumed it was okay to admit that to himself as long as he didn’t throw the game.

Juyeon felt a hand grab him but he pushed forward, running across the goal line and into the end zone. He threw the ball down and cried out in joy as he scored a touchdown. The whistle blew and the scoreboard flipped. They won.

He did it.

Juyeon’s team ran to him, cheering at the top of their lungs. He was lifted up on Jaehyun and Younghoon’s shoulders, grinning happily before his heart sunk back down. The cheerleaders ran to the field, cheering and tossing their pom poms up. The crowd was roaring. Juyeon was realizing that he had to do the scariest thing that a heterosexual teenage boy ever had to experience.

“Jaehyun, Jaehyun,” Juyeon tapped his shoulder quickly. “We have no time. I have to do it now.”

“Oh shit.”

Jaehyun and Younghoon dropped Juyeon onto the turf. Juyeon winced at the sudden impact, gathering himself back to his feet and hoping you didn’t witness that. Jaehyun gave him a half-assed apology and pushed him forward to run and get his poster and flowers from Minho. Jaehyun then grabbed Changmin by the shoulders, urging him to go to the announcer’s booth.

Juyeon sprinted over to Minho, waving his hands dramatically. “Give, give, give,” he demanded amongst all the cheering.

Minho didn’t waste any time and pushed the poster and bouquet into Juyeon’s hands. “Break a leg, tiger.”

“Trust me, I nearly did.”

Juyeon jogged back onto the field, cheeks hot and head a little dizzy for what was about to come. He didn’t even tell his mom he was going to ask you out and she had to watch her son ask his best friend out to the dance. This was probably going to be a moment of utter humiliation but once Juyeon saw you in your high ponytail with a bright smile on your face, all that fear faded away and it was just you and him.

More importantly, you were wearing his jacket over your uniform and Juyeon felt like he was going to combust from the cuteness.

“Guys, guys,” Jaehyun called to the team. “Surround Juyeon. Make sure Y/N doesn’t see him.”

Juyeon’s heart was beating a hundred miles per second. He was glad he was running on the adrenaline from winning the game because otherwise, he would be cowering in fear and sweating buckets right now.

“Everyone, listen up!” Changmin spoke over the intercom. “First of all, the football team scored a major dub today—ow! Sunwoo, cut it out—alright, I’ll get to it!” Changmin broke from the mic and started bickering with Sunwoo.

There was a pause, and Juyeon was surprised to hear Minho’s voice fill the speakers, “Anyways, my buddy and our star quarterback, Juyeon, has something to say for a special someone.”

The crowd fell silent, a couple cheers and wolf-whistles as it was pretty obvious that a confession was about to happen.

“This is so fucking fluffy,” Sunwoo mumbled.

“Shut up, Sunwoo,” Juyeon replied, nudging him with his elbow.

The football team moved out of the way so that they weren’t huddled around Juyeon anymore. Juyeon’s breath caught in his throat as he walked forward to the middle of the field, holding up his sign, reading: Will you be my sunshine?

“Y/N,” he called out loudly, “honestly this confession is long overdue, but will you go to Winter Ball with me tonight and be my sunshine?”

The crowd started cheering and whistling again, and Juyeon wanted to die. She hadn’t even given him her answer yet and everyone was acting like she had agreed and they eloped. The cheerleaders pushed Y/N forward and she approached Juyeon, looking like a deer in headlights.

Juyeon took another shaky breath and continued, “I’ve been in love with you for so long so it would be an honor if I could take you to the dance,” he said and his voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m sorry if this is uncomfortable for you.”

You bit your lip but that wasn’t enough to contain the happiness that showed on your face. You zipped up Juyeon’s jacket and threw yourself into his arms. Everyone practically exploded but Juyeon was sure his heartbeat was louder. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face into your shoulder.

Was this what people called a Christmas miracle?

“Oh shit!” Changmin screamed over the intercom. (“Shut up, they’re having a moment,” Minho’s faint voice was picked up in the background).

“Oh my god, you just made me the happiest man alive,” he mumbled.

You pulled back and reached forward to move his damp bangs off of his forehead. “Took you long enough.”

“Wait, did you—did you like me?” Juyeon choked out.

You laughed and cupped his face in your hands. There was a shaky inhale and exhale of breaths when his lips brushed against yours, and Juyeon closed the distance, kissing you like he was starved of your touch. His hold tightened on you as you melted into him, and then you both pulled away, smiling and dazed and lovesick.

You giggled. “Does that answer your question?”

“Yes,” he breathed out, grinning as he brushed his nose against yours.

Juyeon could care less about all the presents and holiday cheer because he had you and you were all he wanted.

#the boyz scenarios #juyeon scenarios #tbz scenarios #juyeon x reader #juyeon fluff #tbz fluff #the boyz fluff #lee juyeon #juyeon imagines #juyeon blurbs #juyeon oneshots #juyeon fanfic #tbz imagines #tbz blurbs #tbz oneshots #tbz fanfic #the boyz imagines #the boyz blurbs #the boyz oneshots #the boyz fanfic #lee juyeon x reader #tbz soft hours #the boyz soft hours #juyeon soft hours

[piecksz]

another one. | (m)

pairings: connie springer x fem!reader x jean kirstein

warnings: nsfw, dub con, drunk sex, creampie, double penetration, public sex, possessive dominance, loss of virginity, anal sex, vaginal sex, fingering, slight humiliation, explicit language

words: 2.3k

summary: connie and jean take you out to a club as a change of scenery for you, but your careless fun quickly turns into a drunk hookup with your two best friends.

a/n: bear with me bc writing a threesome is hard as fuck but this has been sitting half-finished in my drafts for like two weeks and i needed it OUT!!

Jean’s back against the club’s door had the three of you stumbling out into the crisp air of fast approaching nightfall. The cold moved in only to meet your skin, made warm by the heat of your blood, the reaction to endless liquor you’d slugged until the bitter liquid began tasting like water.

You could feel the air moving through your lungs, squeaky and worrisome, as your jocund thoughts turned into dizzy confusion while Connie and Jean pressed you against the flat concrete of the wall. It only took one glance at Connie’s face, part desire, part mischief, to fully comprehend the situation you’d found yourself in.

Your soft cry was inundated with perverted laughter as Connie’s quick fingers hooked around the hem of your fitted dress, hoisting the fabric until it cinched around the bend of your hips. The frigid air was unforgiving as it lapped at the inside of your thighs, petting the exposed skin where Jean and Connie’s hands hadn’t touched.

“Come on, Y/N. Spread wide for us,” Connie soothed, mischievous hazel eyes polished with tangible lust, and once his silken lips attached to the hot stretch of your neck, you relinquished what little resistance you had and allowed your best friends to feel every curve and recess along your body.

Connie grinned lazily, grazing the tips of his fingers over the lace material that hugged the delicate skin between your legs. You parted them only slightly in response, the proximity of either men on your side hardly allowing you enough mobility. Connie’s movement was deliberate as he slid lithe fingers into your underwear, his touch skimming over your folds before dipping a finger between your slit to rub gently at your aching clit.

“God she’s so wet.” His voice was breathy as his trace traveled lower until his fingertip teased the outline of your cunt’s orifice.

“Yeah? You’re wet for us? What have you been thinking about, huh?” Jean questioned, his honeyed voice beckoning just below a whisper.

His mouth was warm against the taut side of your throat, drawing the tender skin between his teeth and sucking harshly, as though it was his intent to paint you with deep marks that would serve as a reminder that he’d been there. His hands moved swiftly in your periphery, sliding over the metal of his belt and unfastening it before impatiently tugging his cock out from the top of his black briefs.

Jean was already hard when he took himself in his palm, his swollen tip glossed with the glassy sheen of precum. He began working against his rigid length, slowly at first while he kneaded away the discomfort, and then his pace picked up until he was fucking the curve of his hand, lips sucking mildly at the bruised spots on your neck.

Your mind had been swimming since you three were on the dance floor, and you were moving wantonly with Connie and Jean as their tipsy hands roamed over your body, feeling you through the figure-hugging material of your dress.

You hadn’t been able to process what was happening fast enough, all you had been able to understand was that it felt nice, and your fog had caused you to forget what had happened in between.

Now your thoughts were inchoate as your brain tried to interpret what it could from your foggy vision, but seeing your friends bare and confident in their indecency didn’t help your disarray at all.

Your eyes drifted down to Jean’s hand, watching with parted lips while he flicked his wrist against his throbbing erection, and not that you’d previously given much thought to it, but he was bigger than you’d expected.

His skin was stretched tight over the expanse of his cock, thick and ribbed with veins, as he jerked himself off and moved in unrelenting strokes. Suddenly, your cheeks were aglow with embarrassment by your own drunk internal monologue.

Has he been hiding that in his pants the whole time?

“You’ve done a good job playing innocent, Y/N,” Jean teased, resting a sweaty palm at the base of your neck.

His grip was loose, but his partial strength was still enough to keep you constrained to the wall. His caress followed his stare and descended to your chest, palming over your breast before his fingers hooked around the fabric of your dress and your bra, pulling both down together to free a hardened nipple.

Your gasp bloomed as a pathetic whine that only intensified once Jean compromised his height, bending down to sweep his wet tongue over the stiff bead of your breast.

“You haven’t lost your virginity yet, have you?” Connie questioned, two fingers now perforating your tight hole.

You swallowed a desperate cry, your body writhing with the dual sensation of Connie’s fingers and Jean’s tongue. “No, not yet.”

Connie hummed. “Well, who better to lose it to than your best friends?”

Jean released your nipple from between his teeth to nod in concert. “Yeah, we’ll take care of you. Just relax.”

Your hands eased your tentative grasp on their forearms and traveled upwards so you could wrap your arms around their shoulders.

In one gentle pull you drew them in closer, sticky skin touching and sultry sighs marrying together, then you three locked eyes only for a moment, just long enough to reinforce the trust you held in them, and you nodded in submission.

“That’s it, good girl,” Connie praised, sliding his fingers into you once again, curling his digits against your tense walls. He flattened the heel of his palm against your clit, stimulating the swell of your cunt with the rhythmic twisting of his wrist.

Your skin began to tingle with a frenzy of static at the reception of your first orgasm, and the pit of your stomach gave host to the overwhelming buzz of ecstasy. Your breathing grew shallow and you shut your eyes with so much intensity that white dots flickered against the darkness of your lids.

“Please—” You begged to neither of them in particular, but your embrace on both of your friends tightened, and then your orgasm came as a technicolor blaze against your closed eyes.

Connie and Jean’s shifted to provide more support around your waist as your body went lax in their arms, and your unrestrained cry echoed slightly in the unguarded space of the alleyway.

“Fuck, you’re messy,” Connie remarked and withdrew his hand from between your thighs, an impish smile rippling across his languid expression, then he showed Jean the way your essence stretched into thin strings between his fingers whenever he spread them.

The two exchanged an unspoken counsel as though they both stumbled across the idea of how exciting it would be to watch you taste yourself off of Connie’s fingers, but then they waived their suggestion, figuring you weren’t yet ready to do something so obscene.

“Please, I need you guys so bad right now,” you pleaded once your rapture subsided, unaware of the vulgar fantasies that were brewing in your friends’ heads.

Jean’s hands toured over your partially bare chest to your sweaty thighs where Connie’s touch still lingered. “You want us to fuck you? How bad?”

“Badly, Jean. Please.” You looked at him from behind eyelashes damp with tears, and his eyebrows drew upwards in sympathy at the sight of you so tortured and desperate.

Connie quickly began unfastening the buttons of his pants, even with a slick grip. “You think you can take both of us at the same time?”

“Yes, please, just fuck me.” You exhaled heavily, quivering fingers trying to move the fabric of your underwear to the side, and once Jean detected your struggle, he dipped a careful hand between your legs to do it for you.

“Only because you asked so nicely,” he responded to your plea, then he bent down to wrap a long arm around the back of your knee.

He brought your leg up to his side, allocating your remaining weight onto your other foot, and your insobriety had you teetering for balance before Jean’s other arm enclosed around your waist and Connie’s palms rested on your backside to hold you up.

Jean’s cock entered you first, slowly stretching out your undefiled hole until your hips met his pelvis. He didn’t move while he gauged your expression, eyes wound tightly in discomfort and lips tightened to keep yourself from complaining about the soreness while you tried to adjust to the foreign experience.

“You okay?” Jean asked through a heavy grunt, and he sighed in relief when you nodded and began undulating your hips back and forth gently against the stiffness of his length.

“I’m okay,” you murmured through a subtle grimace.

“Are you sure?” Connie added over your shoulder, sensing the way your muscles tensed. “Loosen up, it’ll hurt more if you tighten up like that.”

Your ears began to smolder with heat at your lack of experience. Jean and Connie now unexpectedly treating you as if you were fragile made you lean forward until your head rested shyly against Jean’s shoulder. “I said I’m fine,” you stressed.

Connie nodded, taking your words for what they were, and his hands reassuringly stroked the skin of your ass before he sunk himself into you from behind, eliciting a quiet whimper from your trembling lips.

The duo gave you a few generous seconds for you to attune yourself to their size, and then they began to move, rocking their hips upward into you with even-paced movement until your body was oscillating with the force of each thrust.

Your lightheaded whimpers provoked Jean and Connie, and each fraught cry resulted in the quickening of their tempo.

“Look at you taking our cocks so well,” Connie praised, his heavy breath fanning over the curve of your neck. “You haven’t been whoring around without telling us, have you Y/N?”

You shook your head, inhaling deeply as you dragged the thick sex-soiled air into your overworking lungs.

“I hope not,” Jean said in response through gruff moans. “You’re our girl right?” He looked down to spectate as his cock disappeared into your cunt and receded, glazed in a gossamer layer of your arousal, over and over again. “Tell us no one got to touch you before we did.”

Your confession came as a quiet moan which made Connie dig his hot fingertips into the pert curve of your ass.

“Say it, Y/N.”

“No one’s—No one’s touched me before.” Tears brimmed your eyes, and you felt your clench low, both holes pursing around the thick girths of your friends’ cocks. “I’m yours.”

“Again,” Connie urged as he pressed chaste kisses to the curve of your ear and teased the bone of your jawline with his tongue.

“I’m yours. I promise, I’m all yours.” Your voice hit a higher register as the throaty cry left your mouth, and desire perfumed the little space between all three bodies that continued rising to a place of release.

Jean drove his cock into you, his own eyes closed as he threw his head back and savored the overwhelming sensation, penetrating deeper each time until the slick sound of slippery skin became audible.

“Such a good girl,” he coaxed, his voice deep and rich as his throat bobbed with each word. “That’s right, your pretty holes are all ours.”

“You’re lucky. Getting fucked by two cocks for your first time,” Connie hissed through gritted teeth. “You should be thanking us, don’t you think?”

You swallow thickly. “Th—Thank you.”

“For what?” Jean slurred, amber eyes holding your lethargic gaze.

“Thank you, for fucking me. It feels so fucking good.”

You held them closer around their shoulders, your leg hugging Jean’s waist while the three of you coalesced and both of them verged on their consummation.

You grew motionless between both bodies, not from unease, but from the satisfaction of being pampered by your two best friends.

Jean’s hips grew still first as pleasure flowed through his cock in a series of twitches, and then his wave peaked. He pushed up into you one last time and released, his hot cum painting your walls in sticky white as he held back a deep groan you knew he wanted to liberate.

Connie’s orgasm was a lot less contrived, failing to hamper the pitchy moans that cracked through his throat as his balls tightened. He dug his fingers into your ass as his cock jerked with each spurt, filling you up and unlading every last drop of cum until he grew soft in your used hole.

When the two withdrew from your entrances, you caught a glimpse of the way their cocks glistened with their own milky essence in the dim orange light of the alleyway.

Jean freed your leg from the hook he had around your knee, and once you returned both feet to the ground you stumbled slightly before stabilizing yourself with the hand Connie reached out to steady you with.

“How are we gonna get home?” you muttered, now realizing that none of you were coherent enough to find your way back home on the subway like you’d done in order to get to the club.

You adjusted your underwear and reshaped your dress, pouting at the damp and unpleasant feeling between your legs, and you kept your thighs together in fear that your cum-filled holes would begin to leak.

Although the night was still young, you could tell that your friends were spent just the same.

Connie squinted at the bright light of his phone in the darkness of the back-street as he tucked himself back into his pants and attempted to button them back up with one hand.

“Nearest Uber is like, seven minutes,” he informed you two, his quick tapping against the screen meaning he was likely requesting the ride without either you or Jean confirming.

You hummed, making sure you looked presentable before beginning to shuffle towards the street while your friends followed your lead in silence, and you hoped that once you were back at your dorm and sober, the night’s events would be forgotten in the midst of your drunken stupor.

#jean smut #connie smut #jean kirstein smut #connie springer smut #jean kirstein x reader smut #aot smut #attack on titan smut #connie springer x reader smut #aot x reader smut #attack on titan x reader smut #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtein smut #aot au #attack on titan au

[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

BTS DRABBLE-Jeon Jungkook

You had been inseparable. Best friends. Joined at the hip. No one could say your name without it being directly followed by the name Jeon Jungkook. But somewhere along the way, things had changed, had gotten complicated, and now, you're not quite sure where the two of you stand. You know how you still feel about him-how you've always felt about him-but your once best friend is a little harder to read, and unfortunately, right now, he's thinking the same thing about you.

Tags: BTS, Bangtan Boys, Bangtan Seonyendan, Bulletproof Boy Scouts, Beyond the Scene, BTS Drabble, Angst, Fluff, Pining, Jeon Jungkook, Jungkook, JK, Jungkook x you, Jungkook x reader, Jeon Jungkook x you, Jeon Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Mutual Pining

Soundtrack: Love Race by MGK ft. Kellin Quinn

Title: Make a Change

"Dude, just go and talk to her." Taehyung elbows Jungkook again in the ribs, making him hiss and take a step away from the other man, where they stand, leaning against the lip of the bar.

"Dude, I told you." Jungkook mocks back, shooting his friend a sharp glare, as he rubs at the now sore spot on his ribs. "It's not that simple."

Taehyung scoffs. "How hard can it be?" He gulps down the last dregs of his drink and motions to the bar tender for a refill.

He looks jaunty and handsome-Jungkook thinks-dark hair pushed off his forehead, jacket loose and open around his dress shirt, revealing a swath of tan chest. Confident and cool.

Just how Jungkook wishes he could be in this moment, but instead, he's filled with dread and something akin to nervous indecision.

"Weren't you guys like best friends growing up?" Taehyung asks, nodding in thanks to the bar tender who has slid another drink to him, before he cocks a dark brow in Jungkook's direction and pins him down with a knowing stare.

Yeah, and that's the problem. Jungkook thinks morosely to himself, as he dares another quick glance across the restaurant to your table.

You look happy. You're laughing at something one of your friends has said-Jungkook thinks he remembers her name is Ryunjin-head thrown back, eyes alight.

Happy without him.

Jungkook tears his gaze away, reaching for his drink to take another gulp, and as the whiskey burns its way down his throat, he forces himself to swallow any lingering hope with the alcohol.

******

"Hey, isn't that Jeon Jungkook?" Ryunjin, wiping tears from her eyes after laughing too hard, asks, as she reaches for her margarita which is now condensing onto the slick surface of the table.

"What?!" You whirl around in your seat a little too fast, and the other girls snicker at your eagerness.

But Ryunjin is right, because as soon as your eyes land on the broad shoulders and narrow waist of the man standing at the bar-back to you-you know, with a loss of breath and punch to your gut, that it is indeed Jeon Jungkook.

Even though he has changed his hair-it's long now, almost to his shoulders, and dyed a dark purple blue that makes his skin tone seem to glow caramel in the overhead lights-and you're fairly certain you catch a glint of an eyebrow piercing as he turns to his companion and says something too low for you to hear, your soul immediately recognizes him.

How could it not, when you've been in love with him ever since you first met at the tender age of seven.

"Oooh, Jungkook is back in town." Wheein nudges you playfully, and the other girls giggle once more around the table. "Why don't you go say hi, (Y/N)?"

You know she's teasing, but you can't seem to return the joke, or even a smile in her direction, because suddenly, you can't breathe, and though it's crazy, the only thing you can think about is tapping him on the shoulder, saying his name, watching his eyes light up and his lips part to reveal bunny teeth as he turns and recognizes you and then-

And then what?

Nothing. You think honestly to yourself, as you force yourself to look away from Jungkook and turn back to your friends, who are all watching you expectantly, but you don't meet their eyes, as you take a gulp of your drink.

Nothing will happen. Because Jeon Jungkook seems fine without you.

*****

Jungkook manages not to think about you for a whole day-it takes a lot of mental gymnastics and conscious avoidance of his thoughts-and he thinks he might be okay, when you run into each other at the local coffee shop.

With one accidental bump in the doorway, all of his hard work from the last twenty four hours disappears in a cloud of nonexistent smoke.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" You yelp out, trying to avoid spilling your fresh coffee all over yourself, and he thinks you're going to say something else, but when you look up and your eyes meet his, the words seem to die on your lips.

He knows the feeling.

He forces himself to say something, anything, as he stares at you dumbly, coffee cup clenched a little too tightly in his fist. "I didn't-I'm sorry-" He's stuttering, something he knows he does when he's nervous or overly excited, and in this moment, the harsh pounding of his heart in his chest is probably a testament to the fact that he's both.

"Jungkook." You breathe out his name, and dammit all, it makes his knees weak, because he doesn't know how long it's been since he's heard you say it, or had you look at him so intensely.

"Get out of the way." A hurried patron, probably tired of the two of you frozen in the doorway, pushes past Jungkook and leaves the shop in a blast of winter air and jingling bells.

It's enough to force Jungkook into moving.

"Do you want to-" He motions toward a nearby table, not missing the fact that you check the clock on the wall with a flick of your eyes, as if you have somewhere to be, and suddenly he feels like an inconvenience.

"Sure." You smile at him, and it takes his breath away, because it's brighter and more beautiful than he had remembered. You nod. "I have a couple of minutes."

He feels the air release from his lungs as he follows you toward the table beside the window, fingers still clenched around his coffee a little too tightly, and heart still beating a little too loudly.

******

You take a sip of your coffee and try not to stare at Jungkook where he sits across from you at the small table.

The quiet between the two of you isn't awkward-like you had thought it would be-but is instead, almost comforting, as if you can just fall back into place where you left off.

Though you know that's far from the truth.

"You changed your hair." You blurt into the silence, offering him a sheepish smile at the volume of your voice. You swallow, and try again. "I like it."

"Thanks." Jungkook replies, offering you half a grin, and the glimpse of his strong front teeth has you feeling as if you're going to fall through the floor and disappear completely into the mess that is your own feelings.

He reaches up to twirl a finger around a loose lock of purple hair. "I just needed a change I guess."

You nod. "I get that."

And you do. Because ever since he left, you have felt like your life has been nothing but changes, all in the lame attempt to distract yourself from thinking about him.

The man sitting across from you now, as if nothing has changed, Jeon Jungkook.

"You got a tattoo." Jungkook remarks, eyebrow cocking slightly, as he reaches out suddenly to tug your forearm toward him across the table.

The touch of his fingers on your skin feels like electricity and you have to force yourself not to jump.

"Yeah." You say faintly, clearing your throat, as you meet his gaze-irises warm and caramel-and suddenly, you feel as if you're warm, regardless of the brisk breeze that keeps assaulting you every time the shop door is opened to admit another winter swept customer. "Just needed a change." You parrot back his own words lamely in an attempt to focus on something-anything-else.

"I like it." Jungkook sweeps a careful finger across the lines of the tattoo, tracing the curling black ink where it marks your skin, and he seems calm, unaffected, by the fact that he's suddenly touching you after years of being apart.

You, on the other hand, feel as if you're going to pass out from lack of air.

Your feelings are dangerously close to the surface, so you pull your arm gently from his grasp, and glance once more at the clock on the wall, before you say apologetically, "Ah, I have to go." You stand, almost knocking your chair over in your hurry to escape before you say something vulnerable and stupid.

Jungkook stands with you, and he offers you a smile-and it might be your imagination, but it's tinged with something akin to sadness-as he says carefully, "It was good to see you again (Y/N)."

You swallow hard. "You too, Jungkook."

And then you hurry from the coffee shop before anything else can escape your lips and potentially bare your soul.

*****

The next time Jungkook sees you, he's more than a little surprised to witness you getting off a motorcycle in the library's parking lot.

As you pull off your helmet and shake out your hair, the only thing-shamelessly-that crosses Jungkook's mind as he openly stares at you is shit, you're hot. Like, really hot.

You must notice him staring, because stowing your helmet at the back of your bike, you flash him a sheepish grin and give a little wave in his direction.

Jungkook makes his feet move toward you, and before he can stop himself, he's running a hand over the body of the motorcycle, admiring the way it gleams in the early afternoon sunlight, as he says stupidly, "You got a bike."

You laugh, and god, he hadn't remembered how much he had missed that sound until that exact moment.

"Yeah." You shrug and offer him a mischievous smile, as you knock shoulders with him gently in a gesture that shouldn't, but nonetheless, gets his heart racing in his chest. "I needed a change."

"I get that." Jungkook realizes you're just repeating your conversation from the coffee shop-noting each other's differences that have developed in the time you've been apart-but he can't bring himself to care, because maybe this is a new thing developing between the two of you, and he kind of likes that.

"You got a-" You hesitate for a moment, as if searching for something to give away how he got here, and then finally seem to settle on, with a slightly teasing look, "New pair of shoes."

Jungkook sees you wince, as if silently berating yourself for the bad joke, but he grins, and that seems to relax you a bit, because you return the smile.

And he hates to admit it, but being around you is just as easy as he remembers.

You scuff the cement of the parking lot with the toe of your boot, and glance toward the library, and suddenly, Jungkook remembers he has stopped you from whatever errand you were in the middle of.

He blushes, he can feel the heat on his cheeks, and then motions with his head in the direction of the library. "Sorry. I'll let you go."

You seem to battle with yourself for a moment-the silence suddenly between the two of you makes Jungkook feel smothered-but then you stick your hands in your pockets and without quite looking at him, ask casually, "Well, I mean, if you're not doing anything else."

You glance away, and he can't tell if you're embarrassed or feeling as awkward as he is. You push on, as he holds his breath. "I mean, you're welcome to come if you want. We could get coffee afterward?" You finally look up at him again, and Jungkook thinks is heart is going to bottom out, as you offer him the hint of a smile and shrug, as if you don't really care either way.

But he cares. He cares way too much.

So he nods-trying to act nonchalant-and you walk side by side into the library.

*****

The next time you spend time with Jungkook, things feel a bit more like a new normal, rather than an awkward happenstance of bumping into each other in a coffee shop or the parking lot.

This time, it all feels a little bit more deliberate.

And maybe, it's the cheap wine cooler you're both sipping from as the night progresses, but suddenly, you don't feel so bad inside when you're with him.

As if-maybe-things are getting easier, feelings are being buried, you're healing from the last time you saw him so many years ago.

And you've never seen Jungkook laugh this much, so maybe-possibly-he feels the same way.

"Whoa, whoa." Jungkook says in between laughs and another drink from the wine cooler, as he catches his breath and leans against the pool table, looking at you with doe eyes wide with mirth. "You did not. Sehun from high school? That guy was a dick, (Y/N)!" He grins at you, all bunny teeth and bright eyes. "Oh how the mighty have fallen."

"Shut up, Jeon." You snap back, though you're not serious, not in the slightest, as you shoot him a playful glare, and lean over the pool table to shoot another striped ball into your pocket. Straightening up, you grin at him triumphantly, before saying, "I had some bad years, okay? Don't judge me."

"Yeah, but Sehun though." Jungkook whistles, eyebrows raised, as he leans over to take his own shot, sinking the ball easily, in a way that has you admiring the ripple of his curled muscles over the table. "No judgement. Whatever gets you off."

"Oh. Really?" You scoff in offense, as Jungkook straightens and shoots you a slightly wicked grin across the pool table. He wants to play mean and he wants you to know it.

Well, two can play at that game.

"That's how you want to play?" You fire back, noting that Jungkook has set aside his pool stick and is moving around the pool table toward you, most likely trying to intimidate you. You won't let him, so you say the first thing that comes to your mind. "And what would you know about getting me off, Jeon? Hmmm?"

As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you regret them, Jungkook's expression instantly turning from teasing and open and playful to close and guarded, as he stops in his tracks, barely inches in his advance from being within touching range.

You part your lips, mouth suddenly dry, and you want to apologize, to take it back, but you can't, because all the feelings between the two of you are back, in the open, stifling the air you breathe.

And the only thing you can think, in that moment, watching Jungkook's eyes close off to you and turn dark, is shit, you've lost him again.

****

Jungkook is stunned into silence and frozen in place by your taunting words.

He knows-by the sudden horrified look in your eyes-that you hadn't meant to say them.

But they're out now, sitting tense in the air between the two of you, and as he watches the way your fingers turn white on the pool stick you still hold, he knows.

He has two options.

He can run away again-relive all the hurt and the distance and the unsaid feelings and ideas that he had been allowing to plague him ever since that last night years ago-or.

Or.

"You're right." He admits into the thick, tense atmosphere between the two of you, and the words, the words as they leave his lips, seem to release some of the pressure in the air, as if deflating a balloon. "You're right, I don't know anything about it."

He sees the way your eyes flash with surprise behind the guard you have put up, and his heart is pounding behind his ribs, threatening to choke off the air supply to his throat, but he can't, he can't, leave again, can't just let everything be unsaid, not like last time.

Because this time is different. This time, he knows what he's giving up if he doesn't stay.

So he makes himself face it. Makes himself say the words to you. Makes himself stay, makes his feet walk toward you, instead of away from you.

Because this time is going to be different. Because he'll make it so.

"I don't know what gets you off, (Y/N)." He repeats, because you're still staring at him like he's grown a second head, and hes careful, as he steps toward you, not to scare you off, because you're staring to look like a deer in the headlights behind the shock. "But I was hoping-"

He stutters over his words, his breath locked in his throat, as you stare back at him.

He forces himself to go on.

"I was hoping, maybe, this time could be different. And maybe, you'd be willing to teach me."

******

You can't think of a single thing to say in response to his quiet request, and as you stare dumbly at Jungkook standing before you-so close that you can feel his breath on your face-you have to force yourself to remember to breathe.

He's asking you to teach him? He's asking you to repeat that night over again, just in the hopes that it won't end the same? That you won't end up heartbroken and regretting ever messing around with your best friend?

He's asking you to relive the heartbreak, and trust that he won't run away like he did before?

He's asking you to tell him-stupidly, naively-just how you feel about him in no uncertain terms? And expect him to act differently this time? Expect him to be okay with it this time, all these years later?

Maybe you're looking too deeply into this.

Maybe you're being crazy, and all Jeon Jungkook-purple haired, eyebrow piercing, sneaker wearing, Jungkook-is actually asking you to do is teach him what you want, what actually gets you off in bed and nothing more.

But you can't help but read into it-not when his wide doe eyes are holding yours so intently, not when you've wanted nothing more since the day he left-and so, without thinking, ignoring the voice that's calling you a stupid over and over again in your head, you nod.

Jungkook's eyes widen, and you're cursing your future self already for the heartbreak she's setting you up for.

But It's Jeon Jungkook.

Your best friend, the boy you've been secretly in love with for years, and his words are ringing true in your head.

This time really does have the potential to be different.

So without a word, you step past him and lock the door to the apartment rec room.

*****

Jungkook's brain doesn't register the click of the door lock until you're back standing in front of him and reaching for his hand.

"Ever done it on a pool table, Jeon?" You ask, and the way your lips are curling at the corners into the start of a mischievous smirk has Jungkook's heart racing in his chest as you pull him forward toward you.

"No." He's proud that he manages to keep the stutter from his voice as your back hits said table and you guide his hands to your waist, buts he's certain you hear the way his breath hitches as your body meets his. "Have you?"

"No." You grin and cock your head in an innocent sort of way that belies the fact that your fingers are creeping beneath the material of his shirt to stroke hot patterns across his skin. "But it could be a nice change."

Without thinking, because he can't think anyway when you're touching him, Jungkook lifts you up onto the ledge of the table and he can only marvel momentarily at how easy it was, before your legs are wrapping around his waist and you're pulling him even closer, if that's possible.

Your lips are so close to his that he's pretty sure he can already taste the mint chapstick you have always worn, and trying to distract himself from the sudden urge of need that has swept over him at your closeness, he teases hoarsely, "You're pretty into changes aren't you?"

You shrug, and your exhale washing over his face has Jungkook trying to hold back a shudder of anticipation, fingers digging into the pool table on either side of your hips, and you must notice, because you're doing that little nose crinkling grin again as your arms find their way around his neck.

"I dunno. I guess." You murmur under your breath, and you must know the way your body fits to his and the sudden low lilt of your voice is driving him mad, because you're leaning back, pulling him down onto the pool table with you. "But only if they're for the better."

******

You note the way Jungkook's pupils blow as you pull him down to you, and you like feeling in control as you hover your lips teasingly over his, although on the inside, your mind is screaming at the way his rock hard body feels covering yours, and you have to remind yourself to breathe as you tease his name quietly into the space between you, "Jungkook."

"Hmmm." He hums beneath his breath, the sound giving way to the start of a low groan, as you dance your fingers along the edge of skin above the hem of his pants, playing with the button there for a moment, as his hot eyes meet yours.

"Will you teach me?" You ask, only partially teasing, as you finally allow your fingers to open the closure on his pants.

Jungkook's hands slide down the line of your body, his fingers digging into the divet of your hip bones, and suddenly, he's leaning forward and capturing your mouth with his in a wet, sloppy kiss-teeth knocking together, tongues fighting for space-as if he can't wait any longer.

But regardless, as his body melds to yours on top of the pool table, you're pretty sure it's the best damn kiss you've ever had.

"I'm pretty sure you don't need me to teach you anything." Jungkook pants out when your lips separate for just a moment, his words once again biting off on a sharp intake of breath, as you guide his fingers further down to the bare skin of your thighs.

"Maybe." You shrug, your own breath caught in your throat, as Jungkook takes over.

Maybe he didn't need as much teaching as he thought either.

*****

Jungkook collapses beside you on the table, out of breath, skin hot and sticky, thoroughly spent, and he's not ashamed to admit-as the two of you lay side by side, gasping for air-that he's just had the best sex he's ever experienced.

He feels you lean up and over him, and cracking open one eye, he reaches up to push sweaty, purple bangs out of his gaze, as he asks hoarsely, "What?"

You shrug, still staring down at him, and a sly grin cracks your lips, still swollen and flushed from kissing. "Nothing" You lay back down beside him, and somehow, his fingers tangle with your own. "You're just really good. Thanks to my careful tutelage."

"Ha." Jungkook barks out a sarcastic laugh at your jibe, and closes his eyes once more, allowing himself just to feel, just to be, in the moment with you for a little bit longer.

The quiet stretches on for a few more minutes, and once the shaking in Jungkook's legs has subsided, he props himself up on an elbow, running a hand methodically over the green felt of the pool table as he stares down at you.

Now it's your turn to crack open your eye and shoot him a glare. "What?"

"You top now." He acknowledges, trying to bite back a grin, as your eyes widen and you reach out half heartedly to try to smack him, palm warm against the bare cooling skin of his chest.

"I needed a change." You quip back, sticking your tongue out at him, as you sit up and reach for your discarded clothing.

Jungkook slides down from the table, pulling on his pants, as he mulls over the thought that keeps returning to the forefront of his mind, and he knows, he knows he should just bite his tongue, not say something stupid,

But he can't. He has to. Because he promised himself-and you-that this time would be different.

"I love you." He blurts it out before he can talk himself out of it and instantly berates himself for being so stupid, as the sound of your rustling clothes stops from behind him, and the room goes silent.

Jungkook swears he can hear his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest.

He forces himself to turn and face you, arm halfway in his shirt, and is surprised to see a soft smile flicker across your lips as you stare at him, eyes warm and open and affectionate.

His breath returns to his lungs.

"You said it first this time." You remark carefully, and Jungkook wonders how often you have replayed your last scene together in your head over the years, how long it has hurt you.

"Yeah." Jungkook nods, and bites his lip, suddenly feeling so much in one moment that he doesn't know where to start. So he settles on the easiest thing for now, the rest will come later. "I thought we needed a change."

#bts #bangtan #bangtan boys #bangtan seonyandan #bulletproof boy scouts #beyond the scene #bts drabble #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts text #bts text post #bts reactions #bts scenarios #bts imagines #bts x you #bts x reader #jeon jungkook #jungkook #jk #bts jk #jeon jungkook x you #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x reader #angst #fluff #bangtanarmynet #purplearmynet #magicshopnet #friends to lovers au

[aphrostarot]

Who Are You Pick a Pile

How are you seen by your friends, family, you, and society? How do you want to be seen and who are you actually?

Remember that this is a general reading and some things may not apply to you. Do not try and force it to fit. If you would like a personal reading you can click here. There I have my shop where I offer all of my readings. Or you can dm me with what you'd like.

*Please read before you pick a pile*

I say spirit when I am channeling and writing out your readings, if you do not believe in spirit that is totally okay, this message is still meant for you if you feel that it is! Whatever you believe in is valid and you can ignore when I say spirit if you don't believe in it or, replace it with whoever you believe is giving you this message. If you have any questions or you just want to talk about this feel free to dm me!

Pile One (Rose Quartz):

How do your friends see you?

Three of Wands: In this specific deck the three of wands is depicted as a long journey ahead, one that you are just starting. That being said, this would mean that your friends see you as someone who is starting a journey, maybe of self-discovery, a career journey, spiritual journey, etc. Your friends see you as someone strong, knows what they want, and is driven to get that.

The Avenger: The Avenger is made, not born. Her state of mind evolved from a primal desire for vengeance - and she has the drive to carry it out by whatever means necessary. The Avenger is distinguished by her ability to weaponize her innate knowledge and her surroundings and forgoes other elements of her personality until justice is served. In revenge films, the Avenger functions as karma personified - and her payback is defined by its symbolic, poetic flourish. Your friends think you’re strong and that you are someone who has fought to become who they are and will continue to fight until they become who they want to be.

How does your family see you?

Five of Pentacles: This card represents poverty, a great loss. Your family sees you as someone who has lost a lot and is currently in a dark place, in a low. They think that you are going through a tough time. You have lost a lot and that you need help.

The Goth: The Goth lives in a romantic world of horror and death. In genre fiction, the Goth often finds herself as the keeper of a mystical secret, an explorer of unholy ground, or an unknowing link to the realm of the dead. She often makes her home in a remote, decaying property, and her solitude allows for her to fully embrace every instance of terror. While the Goth’s inquisitive nature and innate resolve allow her to stand up against corrupt forces, both human and supernatural, she may also allow herself to be seduced by dark passions. This is how your family sees you, as someone who has accepted the darkness and is not willing to come out. They also see you as someone who wants to go against the grain and does their own thing.

How do you see you?

The Sun: Happiness is the meaning of this card. You see yourself as someone who is happy, successful, optimistic, and confident. You feel like you have this warm energy surrounding you, yellow may resonate with you. You feel like you are a light in a lot of people’s lives like you are the person people go to when they need someone to brighten their mood.

Two of Pentacles: The primary meaning of this card is, balance and all things that come with it such as; adaption, flexibility, and resourcefulness. Again, you view yourself as someone who is resourceful, the person that others go to when they need help. You feel as though you have your life in check, you know what you want and how you’re going to get it. You feel like you are good at balancing things and keeping everything in order.

The Muse: The Muse speaks to the soul. In fiction, the Muse is a woman who embodies the spirit of a particular moment so much that she’s upheld as an inspiration. While the Muse may be kept as a source of personal inspiration for an artist, her life is an artistic expression in itself. She may exude an attitude, philosophy, or appearance that makes her emblematic of lifelong creative or romantic partnerships. Even if her je ne sais quoi is short-lived, her impact can be crystallized forever. You think you are the person who is an inspiration to the people around you, that people center their lives and pursuits off of what you have done and continue to do.

How does society see you?

Seven of Pentacles: This is the card of growth, of hard work paying off after some planning. Society sees you as someone who has gone through a lot and has grown from that, that you’ve planned the way you want your life to go and that you execute those plans. You do everything you need to in order to get to where you want to be.

The Spinster: The Spinster is unbothered. In romance fiction, the Spinster is a woman who has remained single past the age deemed desirable, and as such is typically childless. The Spinster’s isolation from traditional domestic roles of wife and mother makes her solitary life a source of speculation and projected anxiety. The Spinster is generally used to caution young women against the dead-end of an unmarried life, and her solitude is seen as a consequence of curdled femininity. Whether by choice or not, the Spinster has the ability to rely solely on herself. Society views you as an independent person, someone who doesn’t need anyone, someone who chooses to be single because they don’t need anyone other than themselves to make them happy.

How do you want to be seen?

The Hermit: This is the card of solitude, of self-reflection. Meaning, you want to be seen as someone who is independent, working on themselves, and growing. You may like the idea of people viewing you as a hard-working self-indulgent person, a person who keeps to themselves and has persevered through everything thrown their way. Someone who makes their life work and has gotten what they want because they worked for it.

The Earth Mother: The Earth Mother is in sync with her environment. In genre film, the Earth Mother represents a connection to the terrestrial, often by rejecting modernity and embracing life in nature. She may present as a hippie who prioritizes the health of the environment, or as the maternal figure in a commune, offering motherly guidance to those seeking a more pastoral life. She may also be upheld as a symbol of growth, harvest, or fertility, and possess a mystical connection to the secrets of the natural world. You very much may want to be seen as someone with cottage core energy.

Who are you actually?

Nine of Wands: You are someone who has a lot of emotional baggage from your upbringing or previous relationships. This makes you a people-pleaser who wants others to like you because, deep down, you feel unworthy. Therefore, you’re the type of person who others walk over and take advantage of. On the opposite end of the scale, you could be unwilling to let anyone into your inner circle. You do not trust easily and are suspicious of others. The Nine of Wands, however, is a sign that your mistrust may be justified, which is a positive aspect of the card; you’re not quick to let just anyone into your life.

The Maid: The Maid sees everything and tells nothing. In pulp fiction, the Maid is typically a meek domestic worker who peers into the daily intrigues of the family she’s working for. Be it excessive consumption, familial corruption, or adulterous affairs, the Maid is expected to sweep the scandals of the every day up and out of sight. Due to her exclusive access to people’s lives, she may often palsy as a star witness in a trial, or get caught up in a blackmail scheme. But the Maid typically represents some form of class repression or exploitation - until she gets the chance to turn the tables. You have been on the underside of life for a long time, that doesn’t mean you will always be that way, you can turn the tables after a bit of work

Pile Two (Sodalite):

How do your friends see you?

Page of Pentacles (reversed): The Page of Pentacles reversed represents someone who is; foolish, immature, irresponsible, lazy, an underachiever, and a procrastinator. This is how your friends see you as someone who is not reliable and is childish.

The Cyborg: The Cyborg is a transgressive blend of human and machine. In science fiction, the organic, human form can be supplemented with technological enhancement. As such, the Cyborg has the capacity for mechanical perfection, working in tandem with human thought, emotion, and values. While often a figure of fear for their ability to rewrite and surpass human flaws. The Cyborg may use their abilities for destruction, but can also offer a glimpse into a perfected human being who is able to transcend human history and work towards utopic harmony. Your friends see you as someone who needs an upgrade. Someone who needs to change so they can be like the cyborg, able to use their powers to bring about harmony or destruction.

How does your family see you?

Seven of Swords (reversed): This is the card of truth being revealed, of having been manipulative in the past and now coming out and revealing that truth. So, your family sees you as someone who has something to reveal, something that you have been hiding from them.

The Headmistress: The Headmistress rules with an iron fist. In fiction, the Headmistress is responsible for overseeing the entirety of a school, typically one for girls or young women, and for managing its students, staff, and grounds. While the Headmistress is typically a strict disciplinarian with an eye for getting results, she can also function as a maternal, albeit authoritative presence. Her reputation often precedes her, and being summoned into her office is enough to strike fear into the heart of any student. Your family views you as someone who is to be feared, someone who does whatever it takes to be heard and in control.

How do you see you?

Seven of Wands: You see yourself as someone who needs to stand up for yourself no matter what, defend yourself and your territory. You may have gone through a lot to get to where you are and you don’t what to lose it. You feel like people are constantly trying to question you and bring you down, so, you defend yourself.

The Empress: You view yourself as the Divine Feminine, as someone who embraces all things feminine. You think you are someone who is loving, warm, sensual, and that you are as charismatic as you are beautiful. You defend yourself because people don’t understand the real you, in your eyes.

The Siren: The Siren’s call is irresistible. In horror and mythology, the Siren is a beautiful amphibious creature who appears as a human woman or a human and animal hybrid. The Siren typically lives with others of her kind in the rocks and cliffs of coastal areas. Together, the Sirens use their powerful voices to lure passing sailors towards shipwreck and death. While the origins and goals of the Siren vary, she is ultimately symbolic of the challenge of resistance. You feel like you are irresistible, that you are someone that nobody can resist.

How does society see you? The Magician: The Magician is someone who is; spontaneous, skillful, creative, original, someone of quick understanding, excellent reasoning, intelligent initiatives, and intellectual curiosity. This is how society views you, as someone who is extremely intelligent, someone who uses their brain and is quick with it.

The Gamine: The Gamine strolls the side streets straight into your heart. In genre film and musicals, the Gamine appears as a young, often waifish woman with a penchant for androgynous style and frank speech. Her rejection of what’s ascribed as feminine is characterized by her embrace of the masculine, opting for a short chop or pixie cut and boxy clothes, and presenting a boyish, unpolished demeanor. The Gamine may pursue an independent, bohemian lifestyle in defiance of gender expectations, but is too charming to thwart off attention from suitors from all walks of life.

How do you want to be seen?

Queen of Swords: The Queen of Swords has very high standards and can be highly critical of herself and others, she doesn’t allow anyone to use her, she puts people in their place. You want to be seen as someone who stands up for themselves and is loved but slightly feared. You want people to understand where they stand with you and to not test you or cross you.

The Coquette: Flattery has gotten the Coquette everywhere, and she has no plans to stop now. In genre film or musicals, the Coquette has a way with words and a knack for reading people - particularly people who have something she wants. She can be an adept conversationalist or an emotional card sharp, but she’ll make you feel so good about yourself you won’t even miss whatever it is you’ve handed over. You want to be seen as someone who is charming, a little intimidating but still, charming. You want people to fear you but also love you.

Who are you actually?

Ace of Pentacles: You are or are meant to be very clever and full of ideas. You are very innovative and clever and you do best with intellectual activities. You use the power of your mind to achieve what you want and need. You will apply reason and intellect to confront issues occurring in your life. You have great literacy skills and rarely lose an argument or discussion. You are someone who is very competitive and will not let go of your position easily. You love taking risks. You usually become an expert in any field you work in. A part of you is very restless and you need to be constantly stimulated. Sometimes you get lost in your head and need to be grounded. It is worth mentioning that the Ace of Pentacles represents new money coming forward, so, it is worth saying that you may be meant to make money in some way.

The Diva: The Diva has a gift from heaven that can make your life hell. In genre film, the Diva is a commanding artistic presence with an impossibly unique talent. The Diva is highly sought after and showered with praise but can become indignant and fickle when she’s not in total control of her ability. She may demand that conditions be met perfectly in order for her to perform, and storm out if she’s denied. Ultimately, the Diva needs her talent to shine just as much as the people around her, and she will do what is necessary to stay in the spotlight. You are meant to be in the spotlight, whether that be literally famous or just in the spotlight in your personal surroundings.

Pile Three (Fuchsite):

How do your friends see you?

Ten of Wands (reversed): The Ten of Wands reversed represents that your friends see you as someone who is truly burdened by circumstances that are not necessary in your life. They think that you are shouldering too much responsibility, that you fail to delegate because you may fear asking for help or you truly believe that you are capable of handling it all on your own. They think that if you continue to go on this way, you will reach a breakdown.

Six of Pentacles (reversed): The Six of Pentacles reversed means that your friends think that you are someone who is extremely generous, to your own faults. You give too much, more than you are capable of giving. They think that you are extremely nice and caring but that you need to take care of yourself. This could also mean that they think that you are someone who gives but at a cost. That when you are “generous” it always comes with you expecting things in return. They think that you are selfish.

The Dancer: The Dancers body is their instrument. The Dancer presents a mastery of control over their physical movement and expression and is a subject of fascination across a variety of genres. In the psychological thriller, they may obsess over perfecting their performance to the point of mania; in horror, they may perform a physical expression of moral corruption; in erotica, they may move to seduce and entice. Regardless of their particular presentation, the Dancer commands attention through perseverance - their refinement of skill even if just performing for themselves. Your friends see you as someone who puts a lot of their body, as someone who works hard and doesn’t take care of themselves enough. They also see you as someone who is extremely talented at what they do regardless of whether they ask for help or not.

How does your family see you?

Seven of Swords: Your family thinks that you are sneaky, that you operate in the shadows and gather information that might later serve you. They think you may be planning to betray someone, or a group of people, in order to assure self-advancement.

On the other hand, they may think that you are trying to better your situation. They think that the people you surround yourself with may be causing you great misery, hindering your progress, or your road towards self-improvement. If that is the case, they feel that you need to escape your current situation without insulting or hurting the people around you.

The Avenger (reversed): The Avenger is made, not born. Her state of mind evolved from a primal desire for vengeance - and she has the drive to carry it out by whatever means necessary. The Avenger is distinguished by her ability to weaponize her innate knowledge and her surroundings and forgoes other elements of her personality until justice is served. In revenge films, the Avenger functions as karma personified - and her payback is defined by its symbolic, poetic flourish. When she is reversed though, that means that rather than being focused, of having the motivation to get things done, and of seeking justice you are; cruel, filled with rage, and obsessed with the wrong things. This is what they think of you. Going off of what was said above, your family thinks that your friends are doing this to you.

How do you see you?

Page of Cups: You see yourself as someone who is highly intuitive and sensitive to the entire world and various dimensions around you. You think you have a loving, gentle, and warm personality and a strong desire to be around kindred spirits, who help you to feel needed and special. You think you’re highly creative and emotional, that you can be as shy as you are desperate to avoid conflict. Although, you won’t back down from a fight if a fight is what’s called for.

The Spinster (reversed): The Spinster is unbothered. In romance fiction, the Spinster is a woman who has remained single past the age deemed desirable, and as such is typically childless. The Spinster’s isolation from traditional domestic roles of wife and mother makes her solitary life a source of speculation and projected anxiety. The Spinster is generally used to caution young women against the dead-end of an unmarried life, and her solitude is seen as a consequence of curdled femininity. Whether by choice or not, the Spinster has the ability to rely solely on herself. Now with this coming out reversed, instead of you thinking you’re like that you actually think you’re timid, full of fear, and in disarray. Yes, you think that you’re highly intuitive maybe even an empath but still, a part of you thinks that you are small and full of anxiety.

How does society see you?

Justice: Society sees you as a decent, law-abiding individual. They think you make decisions carefully, weighing all the pros and cons. That you are good with words and place a high value on education. Also that you are practical and cautious, but remain a romantic at heart.

Two of Cups: Society thinks you’re warm, loving, and sweet. That you are keen on building and maintaining strong, long-term relationships. That you will marry young and/or remain in a devoted relationship. They think that nurturing relationships are at the core of your belief system, they think you are a great friend, child, siblings, and lover. That you are a natural healer due to your ability to listen to your partners and give great advice in return.

The Cat Burglar: The Cat Burglar is at her best when you never see her at all. In genre fiction, the Cat Burglar has a knack for sneaking into places she’s not wanted and sneaking out with more than she had before. While she prefers to work in shadow, she’s also a master of disguise and can situate herself undetected in plain sight. She can also function as a lady thief, who only seeks impossibly difficult targets or the rarest of valuables, and seldom uses physical force in conquest. Society sees you as someone who is able to blend in wherever you go, but not because you are not noticed, it is your own choice. They see you as someone who is willing to do whatever it takes to get what you want.

How do you want to be seen?

The Hanged Man: You want to be seen as confident — perhaps overly so. This card can also represent indecision, and as such, you may be at risk of not recognizing these opportunities when they do come to you. Consequently, you remain forever in limbo, trapped in your indecision, your primary action being non-action. You want to be seen as the person who is extremely confident, not aware of the things around them, just happy with what they have, and happy to be where they are.

The Mystic: The Mystic is in touch with the divine. In fiction, the Mystic may appear as a visionary or prophet who receives messages from outside the earthly realm. She may also appear as a sorceress or alchemist who can manipulate natural materials for her own ends. In any iteration, she is well versed in esoteric interests and shrouded in mystery and can use her knowledge to better herself or provide guidance for others. You want to be seen as someone who can help others and who has abilities.

Who are you actually?

Queen of Wands: You are meant to be passionate and ambitious. You are meant to be quite extroverted, with a radiant and friendly quality about you. At your core, you are a highly social creature, with a natural tendency to spread happiness and joy.

You also have a high sense of self-worth and will not let others belittle you. You aspire to be successful on a professional level — and almost always attain it

The Cyborg: The Cyborg is a transgressive blend of human and machine. In science fiction, the organic, human form can be supplemented with technological enhancement. As such, the Cyborg has the capacity for mechanical perfection, working in tandem with human thought, emotion, and values. While often a figure of fear for their ability to rewrite and surpass human flaws. The Cyborg may use their abilities for destruction, but can also offer a glimpse into a perfected human being who is able to transcend human history and work towards utopic harmony. You are meant to use your abilities of spreading happiness and joy for the greater good.

Remember that this is a general reading and some things may not apply to you. Do not try and force it to fit. If you would like a personal reading you can click here. There I have my shop where I offer all of my readings. Or you can dm me with what you'd like.

#tarot #oracle #pick a pile #pick a card #tarot cards #oracle cards #spirituality #astrology #aries #taurus #gemini #cancer #leo #virgo #libra #scorpio #sagittarius #capricorn #aquarius #pisces

[downtonabbeyrevisited]

Season Two Episode Four

A 1918 timestamp ushers us into one of Downton’s more slow moving episodes where three parts painful banality has been mixed with one part life-or-death peril.

Providing more interesting political and cultural conflict than WW1 (at least at Downton) is Isobel’s ongoing grating at Cora’s very soul. Cora has had the temerity to ensure that the staff don’t collapse on their feet and has done something with the linen that I can’t quite fathom which, of course, Isobel takes as a slight upon her medical knowledge. Isobel makes the fatal error of calling Cora’s bluff threatening to ‘seek some other place’ if she is not appreciated at Downton. Major Clarkson also takes sides with Cora and Isobel now has no choice but to throw herself and her messiah complex upon the Red Cross in Northern France. I am sure they will be thrilled. 

With Isobel’s departure, Moseley and Mrs Bird find themselves at a loss having deep cleaned the house and moaned about their employer’s eating habits. Turns out that one thing they forgot to do was deploy any semblance of a security system as a random man with a drama school limp wanders into the house looking for food. In a manner that would make the current Conservative front bench recoil with horror, Mrs Bird starts up a soup kitchen out of her own (presumably rather small) pocket. In her latest attempt to not do her job, Mrs Patmore drags Daisy out for some fresh air and in the process uncovers this particular bit of well meaning but financially unsustainable charity. Mrs Patmore scales up the operation, creating a “special storage area” to squirrel away surplus from the army’s stock, which O’Brien conveniently overhears (but to be honest, it’s not that much of a coincidence. I imagine most of the kitchen heard it considering that Mrs Patmore practically yelled it). In an effort to try and inject a bit of actual drama into this episode, O’Brien reports this to Mrs Hughes but (un)fortunately, Mrs Hughes could not care less. But after watching the world’s most appalling secret handover of goods in the village, O’Brien rallies and this time is successful in bringing Cora to the nefariously compassionate Bird-Patmore coalition. To absolutely everyone’s surprise (viewers included) Cora orders food to be taken from the house stock rather than army and with all the over-confidence of a consultant sets about re-arranging tables and streamlining the workflow. 

Feeling much less charitable than Mrs Bird, Moseley heads to the Abbey and attempts to make himself indispensable and reach the dizzying heights of ‘Valet to the Earl of Grantham’. But not long after the peels of laughter that such a notion invites have died down, Bates returns and takes Mr Molesley’s shoehorn which one can’t help but think is emblematic of something. The return of Mr Bates is, naturally, a painfully protracted process that involves key protagonists not talking to each other, Thomas smoking on a wall, and the obligatory invocation of Kamal Pamuk. Robert invites Bates back to help him through the ‘veil of shadow’ and as such I was intrigued to learn that he is a World of Warcraft devotee. Bates reappearance downstairs also allows for the return of two other key Downton Abbey tropes: Anna and (John)Bates having a heart to heart under the cover of darkness, and Thomas and O’Brien’s irrational loathing/scapegoating of Britain’s most infuriatingly lovelorn character (outside of Thomas Thorne) to resume with aplomb. 

Less happy to be within the confines of the Abbey is Edith who continues to signal that all of this is really a bit beneath her (certain elements quite literally). Ever the teacher’s pet, Mr Molesley reports the sighting of an Officer by the maid’s staircase to Mrs Hughes who hears that there have been lots of rumours on the timeline tonight and comes out to say that she does not live in a sack. Unfortunately, Major Bryant does not live in one but definitely frequents one and, as such, it is of course Ethel is dismissed. As she rapidly packs all her belongings, Anna pleas to Mrs Hughes on her behalf confirming that she is indeed the friend we all want but probably don’t deserve. But Mrs Hughes can’t get rid of her that easily as Edith (and passenger) skulk back to liven up the end of the episode with news of an oncoming baby *Eastenders drums intensify*. 

Talking of undeserving relationships, Sybil and Branson receive more air-time than usual, providing the latter the opportunity to demonstrate that at times he really can be a muppet. And a slightly malevolent one at that. Sybil is firmly under the cosh this week with Violet making thinly veiled references to inappropriate alliances and Mary asking probing questions whilst she tries to get on with her job. Mary thinks that she has spotted her sister and Branson having some kind of romantic exchange but in reality, all that she has seen from afar is Branson telling Sybil that she is in love with him which when you think about it, is all kinds of awful and hardly the basis for a healthy relationship. After a long walk through the grounds where I am half expecting Branson to appear on a horse Willoughby-style, Sybil eventually caves and confesses to Mary that she doesn’t know if she likes Branson despite his eminently creepy voice over. Sybil then relays her sororal confidence and rather than taking this as an opportunity to ingratiate himself, Branson for whatever reason attempts to coerce Sybil into a relationship but not before he belittles her job. Sybil looks rightfully outraged as some equally emotionally manipulative strings wail in the background in an attempt to try and make us think that anything that has just happened was evenly slightly dreamy. 

Threaded through this glacially paced episode has been the looming threat of a both a concert and the death of Matthew and (to a much lesser extent because that is how class works) William. In an effort to break the monotony of walking around the exact same bit of French trench (see previous re-caps for further details), William and Matthew take to wandering across some largely unadulterated land and into the path of some nonchalant Germans. Daisy’s lack of (presumably fawning) letters from William starts off a chain of enquiry which confirms that the War Office has declared Matthew and William missing enabling Mary to once again deploy her signature move: weeping into her gloves. But only one hand this time because she needs to keep a bit of composure for the show must go on! Apparently. Following some abysmal piano playing (I grew up in an appallingly musical household and we all had to endure the torture of other people at the early stages of learning an instrument. It was of course blissful when we got good but, heck, I was thrown straight back to the horror of it all with that ‘accompaniment’ and had an odd sort of stress response which I won’t describe here), Mary and Edith do a rendition of If You Were the Only Girl (In the World) as everyone looks on stony-faced before participating in the millenia’s most morose sing-a-long. With a very good sense of drama, Matthew and (to a much lesser extent) William make their return. Matthew takes his place at Mary’s side and joins in the signing to what is now presumably quite a bewildered audience. Ah, Downton. 

Romantic declaration of the moment 

Violet raises reasonable concerns about Richard Carlisle but Mary is more interested in expanding her real estate portfolio and agrees to throw her lot in with a fiscal agreement disguised as a marriage. Upon his ‘miraculous’ return, Matthew gives the union his blessing on the condition that Richard remains deserving. Not that he ever really was. But the sentiment is what matters here and what is more loving* than putting another’s presumed happiness before your own.

*there are actually a lot of other more loving things but in the interest of formatting, we’re going to sweep those under a very large rug for now. 

Expressive eyebrow of the week 

Rather than training as a nurse or being actually pretty useful in a convalescent home, Mary’s contribution to the war effort is being amicable with Edith. Violet declares that she has now “seen everything” as the spirit of Mrs Adelman moves on. 

Wait, what? 

“I wish we had a man” Presented without comment 

“If I am not appreciated here, I will seek some other place” Yes. PLEASE. 

“What must he do to persuade you he is in love with Lavinia? Open his chest and carve her name on his heart” No, Mary. Matthew merely needs to carve her name with a compass on his forehead to prove that… 

“I hate the word ‘missing’. It leaves so much room for optimism.” Robert is a bit emotionally weird isn’t he? 

“We haven't kissed or anything. I don't think we've shaken hands. I'm not even sure if I like him like that. He says I do, but I'm still not sure.” And lo, another red flag is raised. But because Branson is Downton’s version of a Bolshevik, both Mary and Sybil view this not as a warning about the boy’s behaviour but rather a symbol of his political leanings and such signals are duly ignored.

“He always seems a romantic figure to me” Daisy Robinson writes fanfic. Pass it on. 

“Sometimes in war, one can make friendships that aren't quite…appropriate. And can be awkward, you know, later on. I mean, we've all done it.” Once again, Violet, tell us more! 

Bates says that he has returned to “Downton at war” which sounds like a lucrative exhibition name if I ever did hear one. 

Despite Mary’s most valiant efforts, no musical performance had ever gone out to such an impassive audience until Rosalind came along 

Matthew of course is used to a much better quality sing-, sorry, song-a-long 

#Downton #downton abbey #downton rewatch #Mary Crawley #Matthew Crawley #thomas barrow #thomas branson #mrs o'brien #Mrs Patmore #daisy mason #william mason #Cora Crawley #Lady Grantham #lord grantham #john bates #Joseph Molseley #anna bates #Youtube

[mimzy-writing-online]

Writing A Blind/Visually Impaired Character: Canes, Guide Dogs, O&M

Wow, back in June I decided to take a few months break from blogging to recharge and focus on my mental health. About a month ago I began writing this specific post, slowly and in stages because of how demanding, detailed, and long it is.

I’m not sure when I planned to come back. I have about 200 posts with tags and image description in my drafts folder, waiting to be queued, but I wanted to finish this guide before I fully came back.

Come back with a bang, right?

But this blog, and specifically, my Writing a Blind or Visually Impaired Character  guide, has gotten so much traffic and support that I felt incredibly motivated to come back now.

So I finished the guide, and now here it is. It’s been a year+ in the making. Since the very beginning of this writing advice series about writing blind characters, I’ve promised to write a guide specifically about canes, guide dogs, O&M, and other accessibility measures the blind community relies on. 

In fact, if you look at my master post for this guide (now pinned at the first post on my blog) you’ll find that it was reserved as Part Four, even as other guides and additions were added over the last year.

In this post I’ll be explaining 

What Orientation and Mobility (O&M) is

How one learns O&M

About canes, from different types of canes and their parts, as well as how to use a cane. 

I will be explaining the sensory experiences of using a cane and how to describe it in narrative. 

I will include small mannerisms long-time cane uses might develop. 

At the very end will be a section on guide dogs, but this will be limited to research because I have no personal experience with guide dogs, being a cane user.

Disclaimer: I am an actual visually impaired person who has been using a cane for nearly three years and has been experiencing vision loss symptoms for a few years longer than that. This guide is based on both my experiences and my research. My experiences are not universal however because every blind person has a unique experience with their blindness

What Is Orientation & Mobility

Orientation and Mobility (O&M) is the specific skill of understanding and navigating the world safely and confidently with vision loss.

I’m going to quote Vision Aware’s specific definition [link]

"Orientation" refers to the ability to know where you are and where you want to go, whether you're moving from one room to another or walking downtown for a shopping trip.

"Mobility" refers to the ability to move safely, efficiently, and effectively from one place to another, such as being able to walk without tripping or falling on steps or elevation changes, crossing streets, and using public transportation

O&M can involve :

-learning how to use a cane, as well as what cane works best for you

-safely navigating obstacles with your cane, including stairs, ramps, elevators, uneven or curved sidewalks, through crowds, around furniture

-learning safe strategies for crossing the street

-planning routes to new or recurring locations

-using technology enroute, including GPS and apps like Uber and Lyft

-safely accessing public transportation

-how to ask for help when needed

-working with human sighted guides

A Note on the Blind Community and Their Relationship with Canes

The Perkins School for the Blind estimates that only 2-8% of the blind community rely on canes for navigation. The rest rely on remaining vision, guide dogs, and sighted guides. Only about 2% of the blind community relies on guide dogs however, and to get a guide dog in the first place, a person must go through O&M classes and use a cane for six months before they can sign up for a guide dog.

What this means is that 90% of the blind community don’t use a cane.

I didn’t know this fact until I begun research for this guide, and that number astounds me. 

Truth be told, while I have navigated my life without a cane before, I can’t imagine going back to the way it was before I got it. Even if I only need my cane some of the time, I can’t bear to not use it in the situations I need it. Having a cane made my life a lot easier, a lot safer.

I don’t know what to attribute this number to.

I might attribute it to the concepts of invisible vs. visible disability, internalized ableism, or the feeling of ‘not being blind enough’ for a cane, as well as accessibility to the blind community and knowledge, and access to buying a cane in the first place. I could write a thing about it, but if I try it’s gonna be its own post.

Onward~

How Do You Learn O&M? How Will My Character Learn?

You will have to find an Orientation and Mobility instructor and have them personally teach you O&M skills.

The O&M Instructor is a sighted adult who has gone to school for a bachelor’s degree and gone through O&M training themselves while blindfolded, usually fulfilling a certain requirement of hours (one program required 400 hours of O&M practice blindfolded before you could become certified), and apply for certification to teach O&M.

(Or, as is the process to become an instructor in the United States, where I am from. Becoming an instructor would vary in other countries, I’m sure)

To find an O&M instructor, you would reach out to your local school or foundation for the blind. Finding your nearest school for the blind could be done through…

Google search

Your Ophthalmologist (eye doctor) referring you to a school for the blind

A Social Service Worker reaching out to you and helping you contact the school

Possibly your school (as in grade/primary school, high school, university) reaching out to the nearest school for the blind on your behalf.

Unfortunately, there is not an abundance of schools and foundations, so your nearest might still be a far travel distance. My local school is a 45 minute drive away. For some it might a few hours away. 

This is, again, a U.S. experience, because our land mass is spaced out, and something like a six hour drive feels like nothing to most people (although is highly impractical and very difficult to a blind person who cannot drive themselves), but in other countries a six hour drive would mean crossing several borders, and other countries have different social programs.

There is not a full and complete database of every available school for the blind either, no one website to find every possible option. For example, the school I went to wasn’t listed in most of the website resources I found, even though it has seven branches and locations. 

This is more a complaint at the real life struggle to find disabled services, that there are few comprehensive resources out there. If you ask me, it should be made significantly easier to find and access your local blind communities. Accessibility and disabled services should be easily available everywhere.

If your story is based in a real world location, googling ‘school for the blind (city/county/country)’ should suffice in finding the one most local to your setting.

What might a school for the blind provide for your character?

Well, on top of helping your character connect to an O&M instructor, a school for the blind might provide other rehabilitation classes and access to additional resources.

Those rehabilitation classes could include lessons on:

-Reading/Writing Braille & using brailling machines

-Technology classes for screen readers, magnifiers, etc on your computer and smart phone.

My local school has separate classes specific to Andriod, iOS, JAWS, Zoomtext Fusion

-Independent Living skills (cooking, cleaning, organizing, planning how to get groceries and medications)

-Self Improvement (dancing, art, music, self defense. These were classes my school taught)

The additional resources form these schools might include- 

Referrals to counselors for coping with vision loss

Access to their audio-book and braille library

Access to magnifier devices, brailler machines (think of a typewriter for writing braille)

Some schools also offer grade-school or high-school education, meaning blind children/teens learn there instead of a mainstream school.

Some schools have lodgings for clients to stay at while going through rehabilitation, especially if the vision loss is sudden and severe. They live on-campus and take part in classes. Other schools only have day classes offered and you need to find transportation for every visit. Many schools might have a rehabilitation specialist or O&M instructor visit you in your home.

My local school did the last two. They had on site classes, but the school is a 45 minute drive from me, so I only visited a few times. They were able to send an O&M instructor to me. 

On Wednesdays at 3 pm she would drive to my house and give me lessons on using my cane. Those included her driving me to different locations to practice certain skills (like using stairs and escalators at the mall, or crossing a moderately busy intersection, or visiting a bus station to practice boarding a bus safely and communication with a bus driver where my stop was).

She also brought multiple different types of canes for new students to try out and determine which felt best for them.

The Many Types of Canes

Long Canes are used to sweep the immediate area in front of the cane user as they’re walking. This is the cane type that the general public is most familiar with seeing. There are several sub-types of long canes. They can also be called white canes or probing canes.

[Image Description: Man in business clothes traveling on the side walk with a white and red cane. End Image Description]

White cane can be a misnomer for two reasons: One, the concept of the standard cane for the blind can look different in different countries. In America, the standard is white with a red tip. In some countries the standard is an all-white cane. In some countries an all white cane might mean the user is blind while a white cane with a red tip means the user is deaf-blind.

Two, some companies like Ambutech allow customers to customize their cane colors and tips. Example: Molly Burke’s hot pink cane. My white cane with a purple tip. An all black or all sky blue or all red or all purple cane. A black cane with a blue or purple tip. Ambutech also allows customers to request neon-colored reflective tape to make their canes more visible at night.

Probing cane is not a term I’ve personally heard before, but it is a term Vision Aware uses on their website.

There are three main types of long canes:

Non-folding Canes: a cane that has no sections, cannot be folded or collapsed.

[Image Description: stock photo of man in business suit with a non-folding all white cane. End Image Description]

Folding Canes: The cane has 3-6 sections depending on its height. The taller the cane, the more sections it has. The sections are separate pieces that are made to snap together and are held together by a strong elastic rope inside the sections.

[Image Description: a folding cane with four sections, white with a red tip, and a rolling marshmallow tip. End Image Description]

Telescopic Canes: in which the sections slide into each other, similar to a telescope/spyglass, rather than pulling apart and folding. The handle is the widest section, and the tip section is the thinnest.

[Image Description: Three stacked images of a blue telescopic cane. First is of the cane completely collapsed. Second is of the sections partially sliding out. Third is the cane sections completely out and locked.]

Beyond that is also the Identification Cane. The function of this cane is to visibly identify the user as blind. It’s not used for O&M the way long canes are, there is no sweeping out the next two steps. It can be used as a support cane, however. 

It’s appeals most to the elderly who not only make up a huge percentage of the blind community, but might also benefit most from having both a support cane and an identifier for their blindness, in case they need assistance. 

[Image Description: identification cane with curved handle. All white with red tip. End Image Description]

A note: From what I’ve heard in the blind community, some people prefer solid/non-folding canes over folding or telescopic canes. The reason for this is that solid canes transfer vibration better than folding or telescopic canes. It’s said that the more sections a cane has, the less precise the vibrations are. 

Some cane users train themselves to understand the vibrations of the surfaces their canes are touching. It tells them what kind of surface they’re on (wood vs. marble vs. concrete), if there are nearby objects to their cane. While I rely somewhat on cane vibrations to tell me what surface I’m walking on (more on that later), it is beyond my current O&M abilities to use cane vibrations to sense nearby walls or objects.

Cane vibrations are just an additional information-sense to add to the others in use, and extra bit of data input.

Parts of the Cane: Materials, Handle, Tips, Sections, Elastic Band

Material

The three most common types of materials used to make canes are aluminum, carbon-fiber, and fiberglass. Each material has some drawbacks and benefits.

The ideal cane is lightweight and durable. It should be strong enough to withstand hitting something solid without bending or splintering.

Aluminum is strong and durable, but heavy. If it’s damage, it’s more likely to bend than break entirely. A bend can be straightened out, but it takes considerable strength.

Carbon-fiber is lightweight and durable. It’s stronger than fiberglass, and it can bend out of shape rather than splintering.

Fiberglass is lightweight but a bit rigid. If it breaks, it splinters.

Handles and Elastic Bands

While some canes can have specialized grips (plastic, wood, corkboard) the most common handle material is a black rubber handle that is about ten inches long, give or take. In the previous photos you’ve seen, the canes have had black rubber handles.

Here is an example of a cane with a wood-mesh material used as the handle.

[Image Description: a four section white cane with a red tip and a orange wood mesh handle, with black elastic band attached. End Image Description]

The benefits of black rubber handles over others are that it’s easier to hold onto, especially if your palms are wet or sweaty, than a plastic or polished wood handle. It also wouldn’t show the indents or scratches from wear and tear daily use. I’m guessing that is cheaper to make on the manufacturing standpoint, and thus is conveniently the standard.

Pay attention to the black elastic band attached to the handle in the above photo. Notice how it has a tied off loop? That is so that when the cane is folded, that loop can be stretched over the folded sections to hold it together.

[Image Description: a four section folding cane folded up with the black band around them. End Image Description]

Additional benefits or functions of the elastic could be to use it as a wrist strap while using the cane, or hanging it up on a hook while not in use. I tend to have my cane folded up and tuck my wrist under the strap to hold it more securely while carrying it. Images of that ahead in my cane-isms section.

Cane Height

Ideal cane heights depend on the user. For most users, you want your cane height to be to your shoulder, give or take a few inches. You might need a longer cane if you are a fast walker with long strides, or a shorter cane if you prefer to hold your cane at a lower angle than is traditional.

What I mean when I talk about holding your cane at a certain angle is that the standard is to hold your cane handle in your dominant hand and position it in front of your belly button, moving it side to side with each step. Traditional grip methods are holding your hand palm side up with your cane in hand, or to hold the cane at the section joint closest to the handle with what is called the pencil grip, holding the cane like a fat pencil.

Depending on the height, a cane can have anywhere between three and six sections. Longer canes have more sections. The top section includes the handle, and the last section includes the stripe color (traditionally red, unless customized) and the tip. 

The sections of the cane are generally slightly reflective, regardless of color. If you hold a cane up to the light you’ll see tiny specks of light reflected back, almost like very fine, tiny particle glitter paint. This detail is important in cane production because it makes the cane more visible at night, especially if something like car headlights reflect off it while someone is crossing.

Additional visibility at night can be added by wrapping stripes of reflective tape along the shaft.

Cane Tips

There are several different tip options for canes.

[Image Description: four different types of cane tips on a blue background with labels. From left to right: marshmallow tip, ball tip, pencil tip, glide tip.]

[Image Description: a rolling marshmallow tip with a blue background. End Image Description]

[Image Description: Bandu basher tip with a white background. For anyone not familiar with the name, the long, curved cane tip that looks like a hockey stick. End Image Description]

Some of these tips are better for the tap-tap method of cane travel, as in tapping the spots where you plan to step. They can also be used to feel out the shapes of objects, stairs, etc. 

marshmallow tip, pencil tip, 

They should not be scraped over surfaces, the tips will wear down much faster than they should. There are better tips for rolling over surface

Some tips are better for the rolling method of cane travel, which is the method I use. They aren’t great for tapping, but it can be done in a pinch. 

rolling marshmallow tip, ball tip, glide tip

The Bandu Basher tip, the hockey stick shaped tip, is best for hovering an inch off the ground and lightly tapping objects. It could be tapped. It should not be scraped over the ground like a rolling tip. It hovers.

After enough use, the tips will wear down and need to be replaced. The part of the tip that has the most contact with the ground, usually the edge of the shape, gets scrapes, sands down, and eventually begins to look like it was shaved off while still having bits of plastic still gripped to it.

Never fear, cane tips can be removed and replaced when they wear out, replacing the whole cane is not necessary.

Some tips slip on or twist on. Others hook on. By hook on I mean that the elastic that keeps the cane sections together also has a loop at the tip end that a hook onto and stay held into place. Look back at the photo of the rolling marshmallow tip and you will see the hook that attaches to the black elastic.

Cane tips sell for about 5 - 10 U.S. dollars, plus shipping, so it’s advised to buy several back up tips with your cane. I replace my rolling marshmallow tips once every six to twelve months. I don’t know if that’s considered too much or too often. The last time I needed to replace mine was June 2019 (It’s July 2020 at the date of writing this, but I’ve hardly left my home for the last six months because of COVID-virus related quarantine/social distancing.)

Sensory Details/Describing What Using a Cane Feels Like

Every surface type feels and sounds different when tapping or rolling a cane over it. It’s this difference that tells us a lot about our environment.

It tells us when we stepped off the side walk onto the grass, when we’ve walked inside because the concrete changes to wood or carpet flooring. These little details become trail markers too, useful for places we anticipate traveling to a lot.

Example: A week before every semester in college, I would travel to each of the classrooms and learn necessary routes. I learned that certain paths had giant cracks in the sidewalk that would be distinct enough to use as a trail marker to where I was on a path, or that certain paths went from cement to gravel, or cement to brick.

Carpet: The sound is very soft, and if you’re rolling your cane across carpet it sounds like a quiet swish-swish-swish. Tapping sounds depend on how thick the carpet padding underneath is, the thicker the carpet the softer the sound. If there’s a lot of padding then taps don’t make much sound, but if the padding is thin or underneath the carpet is tile or concrete then you hear a louder thudding tap. It’s still pretty quiet. If you’re rolling the cane you would feel a little bit of drag, the cane moves slower over the carpet. The thicker or shaggier the carpet is, the more drag it has.

Wood floor: Cane tips make rumbling sounds when rolling over wood floors. The smoother the wood, the less it rumbles. There’s a little vibration moving from the cane tip, through the cane and into your hand as you roll over wood planks. Very small. The more sensitive you are to vibrations, the more you feel it. Tapping makes hallow, thudding sounds on the wood. Sometimes they sound a little snappish if you’re tapping harshly. You feel stronger vibrations when tapping. Older wood feels softer, with more give. New wood is stronger, more vibrations in the cane.

Tile:It depends on the size of the tiles and the wideness of the grout lines, but it’s not a pleasant feeling. Tiles have grout lines, which are little divets between the tiles. The smaller the tiles or rougher the grout lines are, the more the cane vibrates in your hands. Every bump is felt running from the cane to your hand. The sound is a little grating too. Imagine fifty sets of stiletto shoes walking on tile, that’s what it sounds like when you roll your cane over rough, small tiles. Larger tiles with smoother grout lines aren’t so bad. Tapping the tile with your cane sounds like one really loud step of a stiletto heal, one step for each tap. Tile floors are usually found in bathrooms, kitchens, and industrial locations where the room is going to have harder walls (more tile, concrete, etc) and few furniture, so the room echoes more.

Linoleum: is a smooth even surface. It feels like your cane is gliding when you roll it, barely feeling any vibrations. The rolling sounds are very soft because of the lack of bumps, however tapping sounds are a bit louder. Not as snappish as tile or marble, but almost.

Marble: is similar to linoleum in its smoothness. Your cane glides when rolling. Tapping sounds are sharp. Because marble floors are common in high end malls, luxury homes, and fancy office building entries, places that usually have high ceilings and hard walls with minimal decorations and minimalist furnishing, those sharp tapping sounds may echo. Assuming there isn’t too much noise and the environment is relatively quiet.

Concrete: (I’m referring to concrete found in parking garages and industrial buildings, not sidewalk) It depends on the age of the concrete and how it’s maintained. Old concrete with lots of cracks and mini-craters feels very different from smooth concrete that was set less than a year ago. With old concrete there’s a rattling sound as your cane tip rolls over the bumps and those vibrations travel up your cane. New concrete can feel similar to marble or linoleum. The taps are loud thuds on dull concrete and sharper on new concrete.

Sidewalks: are made of concrete, but in my experience they feel a little different than the above example. Sidewalks have a grittier surface, they’re slightly rougher, more dry. There’s a bit more rolling cane vibration with sidewalks and the taps have more of a thud sound. And because they’re outside, you’re unlikely to hear any echoes unless you’re walking in an alley or between buildings.

Asphalt: is one of the worst surfaces in my personal opinion. Asphalt is the material used in roads and it’s made to be rough and gritty so that car tires can grip onto it and not lose traction while driving. The older and more damaged it is, the rougher it is. Because it’s rough the vibrations are much stronger, sometimes irritatingly so. I can’t roll my cane over asphalt because the bones in my hand can’t handle those kinds of vibrations, so I almost always use the tapping method instead. The sounds are gritty and dull. Unfortunately, asphalt is an unavoidable surface, unless you can find a way to never need to cross a street or walk through a parking lot.

Note: the white or yellow lines that have been painted into asphalt sometimes feel smoother because of the material they’re made of and because they’re added after the asphalt has been laid down.

Note: There’s something called tarmac which is similar to asphalt, used for a similar purpose, and more common in the U.K. (I believe) but I can’t say that I’ve ever knowingly walked on it so I have no personal experience to give you.

Gravel: Another one of those evil surfaces. Gravel is just loose rocks and they’re common in rural roads, driveways, some landscaping. The looseness of them is what makes them untrustworthy. It makes a crunching sound. If you roll your cane, you’re likely to end up tossing small bits of rock and dust here and there. If you tap, you’ll hear the crunch but your brain might not translate that into “it’s gravel” until you’re walking on it and only realize when you walk over it and the sharp rocks begin digging into your shoes.

Wood Chips: I don’t have any experience with this since vision loss and getting a cane, so I’m using my memories of being on the playground in grade school because the surface on the playground was wood chips. I’d say wood ships are a love child between gravel and wood floors. The surface is loose and rolling your cane over it would kick up loose chips and dust. It would probably sound similar to walking on sand I think, because wood chips are much softer than gravel but not as consistent as wood. If it’s rained recently, then the waterlogged wood chips sound even softer.

Hard Dirt: I’m thinking dirt roads here, which are a lesser evil to asphalt and gravel. They can be rough like all roads, but the material isn’t has hard and solid. Rolling your cane will kick up dust on a dry day, but if it rained a few days ago you might hear a soft crunch as you roll over wet dirt. Tapping will have a very soft thud.

Soft Dirt: Think gardening dirt. Because it’s so soft, it makes very little sound and is easily kicked up. There’s a bit of drag, about the same or slightly more drag than grass or sand. Tapping has almost no sound but you might feel a slight give as your tip lands in the dirt, a slight resistance as it sinks in.

Mud: Yuck. I’m imagining this getting in my cane tip and how gross it would be after. Sound and feeling depend on how wet the mud is. Wet mud sounds slurpy. There’s more squish if you roll or tap your cane. Your character might not identify it right away until their shoes begin slipping as they walk over the mud. This is a personal experience. Drier mud sounds soft and feels almost solid underneath your cane. Wetter mud has more drag for a rolling cane. Muddy areas are also generally uneven because top soil has been displaced, so muddy hills and fields have unexpected but usually subtle changes in elevation.

Puddles: have both a slurpy and splash-splash sound. The slurpy sound is more common with rolling cane techniques. The splash sound is more common with tapping. The deeper the puddle, the louder is sounds and the more drag you experience. I am not fond of this texture/experience.

Snow: I have zero experience with snow since the development of blindness. So no experience of what it’s like to walk through with a cane. This is something I hope a blind reader can inform me on so I can edit this at a later date. My best guess is that it has a soft crunch, softer than the crunch of shoes in snow. A lot of drag too. Rolling through snow would probably be near impossible, especially if it’s deep snow or hard packed. Again, my best guess. The last time I experienced snow was when I was twelve.

Grass: One of my least favorites personally. Too much drag. Worse than shag carpeting. It’s very soft and doesn’t make much sound either. Like a crisp crunch you can barely hear. If the grass is wet or frosty you hear it a bit more crunch.

Surface with fallen Autumn leaves: Leaves everywhere! This is a bit dependant on whatever surface the leaves are on. It would soften the sound of cement, but there would be a louder crunch on grass. If the leaves are big and very curvy/pocketed then they’re easy to push aside. Smaller, flatter leaves don’t push as easily. The driest ones will crunch under your cane. It’s fun sometimes, if you’re the kind of person who likes stepping on leaves on purpose, but if you can’t see the leaves it might lose some of its fun and be more unexpected. 

Sand: I’ve never personally taken my cane to the beach, despite living so close to the coast. The reason is because beach sand is so squishy and loose that it’s already impossible to stay steady on your feet. The sand is always sinking under your feet, unless you’re next to the water line and the dampness has made it firmer. So a cane isn’t very useful to me at the beach. Not to mention that sand isn’t something you want inside your cane joints if you want the cane to last. Sand will erode and damage the joints, regardless of if they’re metal or plastic. If I were to take my cane to the beach, it would make the softest crunching-swishy noise of sand sliding over sand, similar to what your footsteps sound like on sand, but possibly even quieter because canes are lighter.

Side Note: My mother sarcastically asked about rolling your cane through dog poop or gum left on the floor. Can’t say I’ve ever rolled through it, so couldn’t tell you. Use your imagination I guess, Mum

The Invention of Tactile Paving

These are amazing! Tactile Paving are those yellow (or sometimes grey) bumpy squares you see on ramps leading into parking lots or when crossing the street. In 1965, Japanese engineer Seiichi Miyake used his own money to develop a tactile brick that you could feel even when walking over it with shoes, and he designed this because a friend of his was losing their vision and he wanted to help. These are amazing, and accessible to everyone, even the blind who don’t have a cane or guide dog. These are literal life savers. Before I got my cane, if I felt those bumps under my shoes I knew to immediately stop because I was about to walk into the road. Because less than 10% of the blind community uses canes or guide dogs, this is the most accessible form of blind aide available.

[Image Description: a yellow rectangle of tactile paving in front of a ramp leading into a parking lot. End Image Description]

Note: similar detail, most doors in commercial buildings (in my localized experience) have a metal plate on the threshold to hold the door in place so there are no cracks underneath. The metal scraping sound when you roll or tap your cane on it is distinct but temporary and non-repeating, so it’s a good indication that you’ve reached and passed the threshold.

Blind-isms

I have a section in this guide about blind-isms, but these ones are focused specifically on cane use.

-Do. Not. Touch. My. Cane. Don’t. Just fucking don’t.

-The above ism comes from the fact that our cane is our safety net, an extension of our body, our eyes, the one thing that makes sure we’ll get somewhere safely. For that reason, blind people hate having their canes (or their on duty guide dogs) touched by strangers, acquaintances, friends we’re not very close to, some family members.

Important Note: That is a universal thing for disabled people. Don’t. Touch. Their. Mobility Aides. It’s assault. Touching someone’s wheelchair or pushing them around without their expressed permission is assault. Moving their wheelchair while the user is currently standing is assault. (Most wheelchair users are not paralyzed, but they still need the wheelchair because of their medical condition, which is not your business to know). It doesn’t matter if the wheelchair is in the way, the disabled person needs it right there, do not touch it. Touching or grabbing someone’s support cane or their long cane is assault. Touching or moving someone’s walker is assault. Touching, poking at, or tampering with someone’s hearing aids is assault. Touching their oxygen tank or cannula is assault.

Back on topic-

-Idle motions with your cane while waiting in line. I often rest my chin on my cane or lean on it

-twirl my cane like a staff when I’m alone and no one can see. I would not ever do this in front of anyone because I don’t want anyone thinking it’s a toy or they can just touch or grab it. I’m just a little childish and bored sometimes and idle motions are a common thing for people with ADHD.

-When carrying my folded cane inside (like say a store) I hang it from my wrist by the strap.

-Keeping my cane within arms reach at all times, even in situations where I don’t need it currently. Example: if we’re doing a classroom assignment where I need to leave my desk, I know the classroom well enough to not use my cane, but I won’t leave it at my desk, ever. (This does not apply at home. And in the homes of a very few, very trusted friends I will leave it somewhere I deem safe.)

-Having a set, specific place in my home (living with my immediate family, who almost never have guests) for my cane. In my case, it’s the top of an antique dresser in the living room, across from the door. It has a little bowl for my sunglasses as well. If I move out and have roommates, my cane will be in my room.

-Love me a bag or backpack that has enough space to discretely store your cane, but most of my bags cannot do that.

-People with folding canes develop a muscle memory for folding and unfolding their cane, so they can do it without really thinking about it.

-Unfolding my cane: I hold the black handle between my thumb and palm with my other fingers folded over the remaining three sections, cane tip pointing up. I slide the elastic over the tip, loosen my four fingers and roll my wrist to the side. The red colored section unfolds first and snaps into place with its neighboring section. I roll my wrist in the opposite direction so the next white section can unfold and snap into place with it’s neighboring section. Roll it back in the first direction and the third section snaps into place with the handle. My four section cane is now unfolded and straight.

-Sometimes I just grab the black handle and let the sections fall and unfold as they will, but this is less controlled and risks your cane bumping into something or someone.

-Folding my cane: I start with the black handle, lifting it up so the joints unlock. I fold it down, grab both sections in my hand and lift the second section away from the third and fold it over. Wrap my hand over all three sections and unlock it from the red section.

-Because I have a four section folding cane, the cane tip and the handle are on the same side while the metal joints are on the opposite side. Those metal joints are what my elastic slips over.

-A three or five folding cane will have the head of the handle (and its elastic) on the opposite side of the cane tip, and you will be folding the elastic over the cane joints and tip.

-A six section cane has the tip and handle facing the same direction like the four section cane.

-People with non-folding canes like leaning their canes up against walls and other objects when not in use. Corners are popular, the corner of a desk up against a wall too.

-But oh god the frustration when the cane randomly rolls out of place and hits the floor, it’s a combination of “Not again” and “did that really just happen” and “you had one job. one job.”

-Sitting with our cane tucked between our legs. Picture a bit of man spreading, the cane tip leaned against the side of our foot to keep it stable and the cane leaning against our shoulder or opposite knee, possibly also held securely with our fingers too.

-The no-manspreading alternative of that is with the cane leaning against our shoulder, cane tip resting on the toe of our shoe or the outside of it, held securely with our fingers or our arm wrapped around it, elbow hooking it.

(Okay, a while back I was looking for photos of someone using a cane to use as a reference for drawing Ulric. I only found three, and two of them were Daredevil promo photos. Which, no offense to Charlie Cox, but he is not blind and he does not use a cane in his daily life, he does not have that relationship a blind person has with a cane and the concept of a fifth limb, and it shows. So the photos were stiff and unusable, so I had to like use several photo references of different poses and Frankenstein them together to get what I wanted.

And I still haven’t finished the painting... fuck)

-In a car with a non-folding cane: 

-Right passenger seat- The cane tip goes all the way into the corner of the foot well to the right of my feet, with the handle resting over my right shoulder or on the seatbelt. It pokes a bit past my headrest. The longer the cane, the harder it is to tuck into a car.

-The U.K. / Austrailian / New Zealand / Japan version of this (because they drive on the left side of the road with their drivers seats on the right side of the car) it’s like this: Cane tip in the foot well to the left of my feet, handle on my left shoulder or on the seatbelt.

Backseat: the absolute worst. There’s less foot well room, and if you’re in a sedan there is almost no room behind your shoulder for the handle. I position my cane diagonally with the handle on the shoulder closest to the door and the tip next to the foot closest to the middle. 

-For this reason, no one with a non-folding cane will want to be sitting in the backseat.

About Guide Dogs

While my knowledge of guide dogs is limited only to what I can research and not personal, I will give you some basic facts and practical knowledge from said research.

Guiding Eyes for the Blind estimates that there are 10,000 guide dog teams out there in the world. That makes up 2% of the blind and visually impaired community.

Guide Dog Training

Becoming a guide dog is the most difficult form of dog training there is. The majority of dogs who enter guide dog training wash out and either become family dogs or go into a different type of service dog training, like medical response or PTSD/anxiety response, or possibly become therapy dogs, which is a career altogether different from being a service dog.

Guide dogs go through two or three years of training, which includes puppy training, basic socialization, proper behavior when on duty and actual guide training. Most service dogs only go through a year to a year and a half of training before they are partnered with a disabled handler.

Between the cost of training, the cost of housing and feeding the dog and the cost of vet bills from birth until being partnered with a blind handler, the overall cost of a guide dog is something like 30k to 40k. While most service dog training organizations require handlers to fundraise and pay for the cost of training (usually something like 15-30k), guide dog organizations give their dogs to qualified blind clients for free. These organizations pay for the dog costs through their own fundraising and charities. Fortunately for these organizations, guide dogs are a highly respected field and have a lot more charity directed their way, while other service dog types have less public interest when it comes to charity.

Guide Dog organizations have an application process, requirements, and a wait-list before you can be partnered with a guide dog.

Requirements to get a guide dog are (usually) as follows: 

Must be legally blind (as in not visually impaired, but legally blind) and have had at least six months of O&M with a cane and demonstrate enough O&M stills to navigate by oneself. They also require you to be responsible enough to independently care for a dog, able to keep up with training and retraining of the dog, as well as financially able to handle food and vet bills (which are at least a few thousand dollars every year).

The reason for cane training before getting a guide dog is because the dog cannot do everything for you. You, the dog handler, are responsible for knowing where you are and how to get where you need to be.

The dog can’t read stop signs or tell when a light is green or red, nor do they have GPS to find a brand new location nor can they learn that route on the first try, nor will they know exactly where you want to go when you say “Starbucks” or “library” or “school” or “mom’s house” and guide you all by themselves. That falls on you, the dog handler, having enough orientation and mobility skills to know when a street is safe to cross and knowing how to learn new routes and how to keep on route and make sure you make the correct turns. A guide dog can’t communicate with bus drivers for you either, they don’t know which number bus to use or what stop to choose. That falls on the blind person’s own skill.

Other Guide Dog Resources

Molly Burke is a guide dog user and has made several videos about what kind of work guide dogs do, her personal experience being a guide dog user for over ten years, how she got a guide dog, specific commands, unique experiences with things like travel, etc. She has a playlist all about guide dogs, but here are some of my favorite videos.

How Guide Dogs Guide A Blind Person

Guide Dog User Answers the Most Googled Questions about Guide Dogs

How I Met My First Guide Dog

Final Thoughts:

There is a lot more to be said about Orientation and Mobility, such as:

How do you safely cross the street with a cane?

How do you learn new routes?

How does getting a cane significantly change your life?

How do family, friends, and strangers react to you “suddenly” having a cane?

I could also write a ton on other tools the blind community relies on so strongly, such as screen readers, magnifiers, etc. In fact, I originally promised to include those in my master post when Part Four was titled  Part Four: What Your Blind Character Needs to Survive and Not Die. However, this guide is ages long and it feels better to focus on this specific topic for here.

Did you like this guide?

Consider checking out my other guides, links of which can be found on the master post here.

Follow my blog, I write and curate writing advice guides outside of blindness, I reblog writing memes with image descriptions, reblog soothing aesthetic photos with image descriptions, talk about disability, lgbtqa+ issues, ableism, and mental health.

If you want to further support me, this is the link to my ko-fi (however there is no such requirement nor pressure to do so, and please don’t worry about it, especially if you are in a financial situation that can’t afford it)

#writing advice #writeblr #writing community #writing tips #blind character #character crafting

[invincibleinck]

Rose Thorns

More Beclawed!Rinzler. Fic below the break. AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31470140

Rinzler dragged himself to shore, waterlogged and shivering. He slumped into the sand, left hand twitching, claws plunging through the grains. For a while he just laid in the surf, wheezing on water and on the verge of shut down mode. His helmet split open and he gasped his first free breath in cycles.

When he'd finally mustered the strength to lift his head, he saw the portal looming above him, half floating in the gloom. It was dimmed, indicating that the gateway was closed. He could only hope that the other User had made it out beforehand.

It was too late for the older Flynn.

With a great, trembling effort, he heaved himself to his feet, his one hand leaving deep gashes in the ground. He looked at the shape in the pixels, then at the hand that'd caused it, and finally, at the deadened portal. Though the surrounding Grid had been decimated by the explosion, the island itself remained relatively intact. Flawed, somehow, but intact. Like someone had clumsily copied it, atomized it, and then reassembled everything from the pieces.

It struck him that this was a monument to a bygone era. Never again would Users grace the Grid with their presence. Or, at least, not in the same way. Certainly not Flynn. He'd felt the force of Reintegration beneath the waves, had known in an instant that his friend was gone.

How fitting that he'd end up here, too late to help him.

...

Cycles passed without incident. Rinzler settled near the portal, camping in caves and ranging the island during the day-cycle. He nursed his wounds and suckled energy in quiet corners. It was a monotonous, lonely existence.

Still, there were worse locations to land.

The islet had a little spring of energy and plenty of places to shelter. It was a pretty place, with sweeping structures, graceful arches, and shimmering walkways. There were flying buttresses, twisting colonnades, and hollow, hexagonal facades, all lined with light. Best of all, it was isolated from the rest of the Grid, ideal for avoiding his fellow programs.

The only downside was the memories.

It was a problem with which Rinzler frequently grappled. The portal was both his sanctuary and his hell. Every light line evoked Flynn's voice, whether that be witty remarks or sincere farewells. He was plagued by memories that were not entirely his. It felt like it'd all happened to some other person, like his life was divided into two halves—pre-rectification and post-rectification, Tron and Rinzler.

But which half was he in now? Who was he now?

More often than not, he found himself in the shadow of a crumbling edifice, cradling his claws in contemplation.

Perhaps it was for the best that Flynn couldn't see him now. Not like this.

...

A beam of blinding light broke his solitude.

In defiance of all expectations, the portal was lit once more. He'd been huddling in an antre at the time, but upon seeing it, he scrambled to the top shelf of the alcove.

Two figures emerged from its rays. Usually Flynn rezzed at the Arcade entrance in the city, but not these two. They must've found him from the Outside, then reprogrammed the portal to send them here, where he was closest.

He recognized them immediately.

"I'm Quorra, and this is Sam," said the first figure.

"We've met," Sam-Flynn said tersely.

Guarding his expression, Tron regarded the two visitants. Sam still bore his father's face and still carried the wounds from their last encounter. Tron's eyes traced the deep nicks along his cheek and jaw, like a mirror to the scars on Tron's left. An uncomfortable guilt began to claw at his insides.

The woman, on the other hand, was more puzzling. He'd seen her once before, but she was different now. Her shorn hair was a little longer, though no less uneven. Her light lines seemed brighter and her face shone with newfound confidence. There was something else as well, something that Tron couldn't quite classify.

User? ISO? His scans kept sending back conflicting information.

She approached him with an arm stretched out, not to ward him away, but in invitation. The act threw him completely off-kilter. No one ever wanted to touch him, and when they did, it was usually because he'd done something wrong. Touch meant pain.

A horrible growl tore from Rinzler's ruined throat. At the same time, his circuits flashed crimson. His eyes measured the distance between them and he took two steps back to compensate for the loss. The distance made him feel safer, if only slightly.

"Quorra-" Fast as sparks, Sam put a hand on her shoulder. "Let's just go. It's not worth it."

Reluctantly, Quorra rolled back on her heels, and Rinzler's snarls died down. Her eyes softened but Rinzler balked at the sadness inside them. He didn't need anyone's sympathy, nor did he want it.

"Another time, maybe," she ventured, allowing Sam to steer her away.

"Another time," Sam agreed.

Neither one of them turned their backs until they were almost directly under the code stream. Tron watched as each loosened their discs and held them into the beam.

Over her shoulder, Quorra said, "I'm sorry if I startled you-!" The words were only half out of her mouth before she was swept up through the funnel. One nano there was a body, and the next there was nothing. Only light was left behind.

Sam-Flynn also paused just before passing into the portal's light. The relief building in Tron at their departure stuttered in his chest. Unbidden, he felt the hackles rising along his neck. Sam seemed to sense his unease, because his gaze never quite moved above Tron's neck and his heels scuffed against the plateau.

"For the record, that thing I said earlier- it didn't come out right." Eyes flashing, he drew himself up and set his shoulders. In that moment, he'd never looked more like a Flynn. "You are worth it... Maybe not the scratches, though. Those hurt like a bitch."

...

The second time Sam-Flynn and Quorra visited, they brought gifts.

"It's called a rose," said Quorra, extending the flower like it was a peace offering. "They grow in the User world, and Users keep them around because they're pretty.

Tron stood like a statue, flummoxed by this otherworldly bloom. Despite his attempts at aloofness, a prickle of interest coursed through his code. He cocked his head to the side but did not approach. Quorra took the gesture as an invitation and moved boldly forward, heedless to Sam sputtering behind her. Step by step, she closed the expanse between them.

At last, Tron's curiosity got the better of him. He met Quorra halfway and stretched forth his dominant hand. Out of reflex, the claws came out, and he held back for fear of cutting her. He swallowed, counting the nanos until the prongs retracted, hyper-aware of the woman's patient scrutiny.

He gripped the 'rose' by its stem, just under the bud, and balanced it precariously between the pads of two fingers. Somewhere in the background Sam made a noise and Rinzler reacted without thinking. He tore back his hand like it'd been scalded, taking the rose with him. Quorra didn't flinch.

Gently, Tron examined his new prize. He brushed the bulb with an index claw before plucking a single petal, marvelling at its colour. Red, like his old circuits. Red, like the blood shed by Sam-Flynn in that arena.

His finger moved downward, dislodging the petal in the process. It fluttered to the floor as he caressed the spiked stalk. Every movement was met with a bump as his nail travelled over tiny thorns embedded in the stem. Barbs, so much like the talons gracing his left hand. Next to the rose, they almost looked... elegant, more like an adornment than a disfigurement.

So many pretty things in the User World...

Over time his growl softened into a sort of chirring. He cradled the small sprig to his chest, oblivious to the thorns plucking at his circuits or the stares from his guests. Sam's forced verve vanished in the face of a genuine smile, which was mirrored tenfold by his companion.

Quorra spoke softly, "If you'd like, we can come back and bring some more...? Would you like that?"

Rinzler's silence was all the assent she needed.

#Tron #Tron Legacy #Fanfiction #Fanfic #Tronfic #Fan art #Beclawed!Rinzler #Clawed Tronzler

[noctualilith]

The Way You Speak

Like many good things in life, a convo that sparked this idea happened on our beloved Hazelnoots Discord Server Of Love And Inspiration. This fic was then written over three months live directly on the server. Now it is finished and I can release it into the wilderness of the Internet! 

So the roster says about Nado ‘Rival with Evgeni for most pick ups on the team’ My brain: They live together, right? So they hear each other have fun all the time. Coughthreesomescough. Tell me I'm wrong I challenge you. 

Nuny own my whole heart. A slightly alternate universe, a slightly different getting together story.

Sweater Weather universe and the characters of Kuny and Nado and the ‘I love the way you speak’ line by the wonderful @lumosinlove

My eternal gratitude for grammar stuffs and beta belongs to @tetedump

cw: explicit smut with feelings, mentions of alcohol in the beginning, mentions of food towards the end

word count: 12,8k

Jackson was squinting into the light of the open fridge, pondering the snack choices, when the door of the apartment crashed open. "Kuns, that you?" 

"Hello Nado! Have guest!" 

Closing the fridge with a sigh, Jackson wandered to the hall to greet his friend, only to find him locking lips with a gorgeous brunette, pressing her against the door, oblivious to their surroundings.

"Uh, hi, um-- have fun? I'll... be in my room. Yeah. With headphones on," he stammered, backing up slowly.

The gorgeous brunette peeked around Kuny's shoulder at his words and extended her hand towards him, stopping his retreat. "Hello, gorgeous, and you are?"

Kuny noticed him too and broke into a huge smile immediately. "I introduce! This my best friend! Best man, best teammate! Jackson, meet Jackie."

Jackie looked him up and down slowly, her gaze rooting him to the spot. She narrowed her eyes and looked between Kuny and him a few times, then nodded to herself as if she had solved a riddle that they themselves were not even aware of. "Hi Jackson. Nice to meet you." A wink, an outstretched hand, and Jackson was nothing but polite when he stepped closer to shake her hand, instead of away, far far away.

He could smell the familiar scent of Kuny's cologne, and the sweet tang of sweat underneath, could almost taste it and something low in his belly twisted and pulled. He kept his eyes locked with Jackie, but all his focus was on Kuny, he could see him in his periphery, feel his gaze on the side of his face. It was hot in here, wasn't it? Maybe he should open the window for a bit, get some air in-- 

"Jackson, would you like to join us for a drink? I was promised the real Russian vodka, the hard stuff," Jackie smirked as she turned to Kuny and raised her eyebrows. 

The answering smile spread slowly across Kuny's face and it was wicked. Oh god. Nado's mouth was dry all of a sudden, as he searched the face of his friend for clues as to what the next best move was. 

Kuny cocked his head in his direction. "You want?" The question seemed to contain more than just an invitation for a drink and Nado found himself nodding even before he processed the sudden twist of events, at loss for words and starting to sweat when Jackie pulled on his hand that was still in hers from their introduction, Kuny taking his other hand and pulling him towards the kitchen. What the everloving fuck.

"You get glass, I get bottle." He was directed to the cupboard while Kuny opened the freezer and pulled out the bottle of vodka with a triumphant "Zdes!" 

Gathering three shot glasses, Jackson headed to their living room and sat heavily on the couch, still not sure what the invitation meant. They weren't in the habit of introducing their one-night-stands to each other, more like boasting about them the day after and teasing each other about the overheard sounds, the badly hidden hickeys or the occasional forgotten piece of underwear. To say he was nervous was an understatement, but he was also curious. Curious to see where this led, if it was a grand prank or something else entirely. 

A squeal and a bout of laughter from the kitchen tore him from his thoughts. A low murmur of conversation reached his ears and he strained to hear but couldn't understand much beyond the cadence of voices. Questions asked in a husky female voice, and the low purr of Kuny's bass answering them. Jackson could almost see his lips shape the vowels, his accent audible even if he couldn't recognize the words. 

He wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, digging his fingers into his thigh to try and ground himself momentarily. He didn't dare shape the thoughts in his mind around what he hoped would happen next. Better to err on the side of caution and spare himself the embarrassment of probably being wrong. But what if you're right, the voice in his mind whispered. The same voice that never hesitated to comment when his eyes lingered too long on his best friend, like what you see? He did, a lot. That was the whole problem, but what was he going to do about it? Close his eyes and drown it in vodka, seemed like.

Kuny had the ice-cold bottle of vodka already open, drops of condensation running down his forearm as he lifted it up, stopping right in front of Jackson and nodding at him "The good stuff, you know already. The hard stuff. From Russia." Turning to Jackie who was making herself comfortable on the couch, he addressed her almost conspiratory, "he knows good stuff." 

"Oh yeah?" her laugh rang through the room as Kuny poured the clear liquid and distributed the shot glasses, sitting heavily on the other side of Jackson, their thighs pressing together. 

"Na zdrowie." 

Jackson replied in kind, the Russian phrase rolling off his tongue, one of the few he learned and could reproduce without butchering the language. Everything beyond three or four syllables was hopeless, but this one he could do, putting extra effort in rolling the *r* and waiting for the nod of approval from his best friend. 

At the confused look on Jackie's face he explained, "It's like cheers, in Russian." 

"Oh, I see. Well then, cheers, gentlemen!" 

They clinked the glasses together, Kuny still fixing him with his gaze as they downed them at once. Jackie threw her head back and hissed at the burn as the liquor slid down her throat, but Jackson was still caught in Kuny's eyes, staring back as they both swallowed without a sound. 

His eyes were pulled away only by Kuny's tongue darting out and licking a drop of the liquid that caught at the corner of his mouth, Jackson copying the action unconsciously and seeing Kuny's eyes flick down to his mouth. The hot twist low in his belly came back with more insistence and he half-heartedly blamed it on the alcohol, even though he knew the one shot couldn't have done it. 

He almost forgot the other person in the room until she cleared her throat delicately and the both turned to her. She looked between them and then held out her glass. "Who's in for another?"

One shot turned into three and the tension in the air dissipated a little as they downed the liquor, cursing and laughing at the burn. The alcohol helped to shake off the apprehension and Jackson found himself relaxing minutely. 

He still wasn't sure where the evening was headed, this was miles away from the usual situation he'd find himself in - at a club or a bar, one or both of them picking up a date to go home with that night, easy conversation carried by the beat of the music and flow of drinks, hazy on the details in the headache of the following morning. 

This was home and there was a very gorgeous woman on their couch, currently resting her hand on his knee and asking him a question which he totally overheard because his also gorgeous roommate and best friend chose that moment to sling his arm across his shoulders and pull him into his side, jostling them all in the process. "Sorry, what?"

Jackson forced himself to focus on Jackie as she looked at them with an amused smile. He did not like that smile. She looked like she had a plan and when he looked back at Kuny he found that expression mirrored on his face. 

Part of him, the reckless, unbound part that reveled in the thrill of pushing his limits and living life to the fullest, damn the consequences and damn what others would think, that part of him was sat on the edge of the seat just waiting for the situation to unfold and sweep him up into what might be an unprecedented adventure. 

There was another part of him though, the rational, held-back, make sure you understand what's going on before you jump in part and he felt it pound behind his temples, insisting on making a polite but hasty retreat. 

"I'll, uh, leave you two to your evening now. It was lovely to meet you, Jackie. Enjoy the good Russian stuff." He managed to smile and winked at her as he made to stand up, shrugging off Kuny's arm with the movement. 

He didn't get far though, before Kuny caught his hand and pulled him back down. His eyes were dark and so, so earnest when he stared at Jackson and took a breath to say what had been unspoken in the room until that moment, his words clear and unmistakable: "Or-- you could stay. You want stay?"

Jackson's breath stuttered in his lungs, surprised at the question even as he was hoping for it, surprised all the same. Careful what you wish for. "Yeah, yes, I do want to stay." he breathed and turned his hand still in Kuny's grip, closing his fingers around his wrist in return. 

The touch grounded him, the steady pulse under his fingertips reassuring. He looked at Jackie while still holding onto Kuny, his thumb drawing small circles around his wrist bone. "Are you okay with that? I-- We-- this isn't what normally happens and I don't want you to feel uncomfortable in any way so just say the word and I'll go..." 

He trailed off as he watched her run her thumb across her lower lip slowly and then bite on it, smiling at him with all her teeth showing. She looked like a wild cat, all confident, contained power ready to pounce, and he liked it, liked the anticipation of her next move, especially with the grounding strength of the man behind him, now pressed along his arm and still holding his hand. 

"I suggested it, actually. And Evgeni here was as concerned as you are, so let's talk about this before anything else happens. I understand you haven't done this before? A threesome?"

Jackson heard Kuny behind him whisper threesome to himself, trying to fold his accent around the new word and felt a rush of affection for the man and his determination to add to his English vocabulary in any situation. 

"Uh, no, I mean yeah-- at least I haven't." It occurred to him that he assumed it was new for both of them, but he didn't know.

Kuny confirmed a beat later though, shaking his head. "Never have threesome, no. I imagine it many times, but never asked." 

"You what?!" Jackson whipped his head around to see Kuny's face, his admission taking him by surprise. "You imagined it? With-- who? You never told me about that!" 

Kuny looked down, shaking his head ruefully, a blush rising in his cheeks. He released Jackson's wrist and it left him feeling strangely bereft, wanting those hands back on him. Huh.

Kuny had that look he always got when he wanted to express something that was important to him, fighting the frustration of not having all the words to convey what he meant. Sometimes he'd enlist Sergei to help translate, but if that wasn't an option, he'd take him by the shoulders and look at him intently, face to face, eyes wide and earnest, saying you listen now, I speak. Not make fun. This is important you understand.

Jackson had laughed the first time that happened, but he had apologized a hundred times since, when a frustrated Kuny explained to him in broken English that he regarded him to be his best friend. That he had felt lonely and lost and misunderstood when he arrived in the States, with the language barrier and culture shock. That he had gotten used to feeling like he'd never truly belong. Until he came to Gryffindor and met him. They clicked instantly, and easy camaraderie that grew into a true friendship. Kuny had tears in his eyes when he finished, fingers digging into Jackson's shoulders where he was still holding onto him. You understand. I hate that don't have all words but it is important you understand. Not make fun. 

Jackson remembers his heart pounding when he saw his friend so vulnerable, at loss for an answer, so he just went with the first thing that felt right. I love the way you speak. Kuny scoffed at it but couldn't fight the happy smile that took over his face, shoulders dropping in relief and their hug afterwards lasted forever and not long enough at the same time. So, Jackson knew that look and knew to listen now. This was important.

Kuny's arms lifted, but to Jackson's surprise, he didn't go for his shoulders. He took his hands instead, his grip sure. "You are my best friend. I don't want make mistake. But I imagine with you. I ask now." 

They both swallowed hard, in sync like they were on the ice, and was it possible that they were in sync on this too? That he actually knew exactly how Kuny felt because it was echoed by his own apprehension and-- desire. Naming things gave them power and now that he named this feeling, even just in his thoughts, it crashed over him in a tidal wave, the same twist and pull low in his belly from before answering and spreading outwards in a rush of warmth all the way to his fingertips. 

"Kuns, I-- I imagined it too. And I didn't want to endanger our friendship, too. But yes. I want to. Yeah." He bit his lip against the giddy smile that threatened to break free, not wanting to shatter the seriousness of the moment. 

Kuny didn't have the same reservations though and erupted into a relieved laugh, pulling him into a hug, which resulted in him practically landing in the Russian's lap because he didn't do sideways hugs. Not real hug, he'd grumble and then rearrange the person to his liking and fucking envelop their whole body with his giant arms and they were the best hugs Jackson's ever had. He settled into this one happily, Kuny smiling and humming into his neck as one of his arms settled around his waist. Jackie was watching them with a smug smile of her own, waiting for them to part again before she spoke.

Kuny did not seem too keen on removing the arm from around Jackson's waist anytime soon, so he stayed seated where he was, determinedly not thinking about how close they were or the fact that he was only wearing sweatpants. Jackie's chin was resting on her hands, taking in their position and biting her lip.

"I'm loving this," she proclaimed and then clasped her hands together, sitting up straighter. "So glad you boys talked. Let's set some ground rules just so we are all on the same page, then?" 

Both men nodded, their attention on her now. Her confidence was reassuring to Jackson, she apparently had some experience, definitely more than them. 

"First of all, anyone can call a stop anytime, no matter what the reason. Any reason. Second of all, if we're doing this, no more vodka." She turned the shot glasses upside down one after the other as she said that, the residual liquor wet on her fingers. 

Looking back at the two of them, she pushed her thumb into her mouth and sucked the wetness off slowly, a challenge in her eyes. Jackson heard Kuny's gasp followed by a low curse in Russian, but he couldn't look away as she went for her index finger next. Before her lips could connect, Kuny leaned across the couch, his arm around Jackson steadying him and his other reaching for Jackie, hand closing around her wrist and pulling her towards them. 

She came willingly, walking on her knees till she was pressed along their sides. Kuny kept pulling on her wrist, raising her hand to his mouth, and Jackson was torn between watching his mouth close around her fingers and watching her face, eyes closing and lips parting on a moan at the sensation. This was actually happening.

He felt dizzy with want and a bit shaky with the newness of it all. A hand cradled his cheek and Jackie turned his face towards her, her other hand in the same place on Kuny's cheek. Her voice was breathy, but her eyes were intent and steady as she addressed them both. "Third of all, we talk. We check in with each other. Something you want to try? Talk. Something you don't want to do? Talk. Yes? I need you to say this one with me." 

Kuny leaned into her hand as he answered "Da, yes, I talk. I say what I want." 

Jackson was opening his mouth to answer in kind, wholly unprepared for what happened next as Kuny turned to him and bluntly stated: "Want kiss him."

He gaped at his friend, who was looking at him with a small smile and dark, dark eyes, pupils blown wide. And waiting, patiently, for him to say what he wanted. The problem was, Jackson couldn't find his voice at the moment and nothing would happen unless he did. 

"Jackson?" Jackie's soft voice prompted him to suck in a breath and then the words were tumbling out. 

"Yeah, yes, I want that too. I want to kiss you, too. I wa--mmpfh." Suddenly there were soft plush lips on his and a big, calloused hand replaced Jackie's softer one on his cheek. Kuny hummed into the close-mouthed kiss and the vibration tickled across his lips, making him gasp. Kuny's lips parted in sync with his and then there was a taste of vodka and something else, distinctly Evgeni. A tongue tracing along his, a pull on his lower lip, teeth nipping gently and making goosebumps erupt all across his skin... Jackson was lost in it, hands scrabbling for purchase on broad shoulders and his hips jerking forward, the arm around his back pulling him closer. 

They parted on a gasp, both breathing hard, foreheads pressed together. "Harasho? Good?" Kuny was searching his face, and Jackson made himself find his voice yet again. 

"Yes. Harasho." He nodded, stealing one more kiss because he could. 

"I'm loving this," a whisper came from the side, where Jackie was sitting sideways, leaning on the backrest of the couch, chin in her hand and watching them, her eyes sparkling.

Kuny reached for her again, palm up and she slid her hand into his and sat up beside them, one of her legs hanging down the side of the couch alongside Kuny's, foot on the floor for balance. 

"Now you kiss. I want watch." Kuny nodded to Jackson and he turned to face Jackie. She placed a hand on his cheek, the gesture familiar now. 

"Can I?" It was easier with every time, giving voice to his want, saying yes to theirs. 

"Yes." 

His hand stroked up her thigh and rested on her hip as she tilted her head and pushed into his space and then they were kissing, soft and exploratory, different from Kuny but exciting in a different way. She yielded where Kuny pushed, moved with him where Kuny would hold still. Jackson was caught up in the feeling and the contrasts, the arousal bubbling up from his core in delightful shivers across his skin. 

He was hyper aware of Kuny watching them and he realized that Jackie was into it, turning both their heads so he had a good view when she bit on his lower lip and pulled, drawing a groan from him and Kuny at the same time. Her tongue soothed over the bite right away and she pressed a small kiss to the corner of his mouth before she leaned her head on his shoulder, looking up at Kuny who was still watching them, mesmerized, his hands flexing unconsciously, one on Jackson's lower back and the other on Jackie's thigh.

Jackson loved to see him like that, finding it so much better than anything his imagination had managed to come up with. "Let's take this to the bedroom?" He spoke into Jackie's hair, his head turned to her but his eyes still fixated on Kuny who was slow to come out of his haze. 

"Da. Bed.'' he rasped and shook his head, grinning to himself. He shifted in place, pressing their hips together with the movement and the arm still across Jackson's back and for a moment Jackson was afraid that he would try to carry him to the bedroom. Not that he couldn't lift him, he easily could and he had proven that often enough. But then all thoughts left him and pure sensation shot up his spine in a sudden flash because his best friend was hard. They both were. 

He got so distracted by the frankly awesome making out that he forgot that part but now it was glaringly obvious and he was almost shocked by the immediacy of it, frozen in place and not daring to move. 

His eyes found Kuny's on instinct and even though he didn't voice a question out loud, he got a slow nod in return, sure and steady. Kuny wasn't afraid of this or unsure about it, he wasn't pulling back, so Jackson decided he wouldn't be either. He wanted this. He asked for this. He wasn't backing out now. The only question that remained was, "which bedroom?"

The decision was made easily as Kuny stated, "my bed better for three," nodding to himself and squeezing Jackson around the waist one more time before he let go. 

They untangled themselves, Jackie standing up first and holding out her hands to the two of them. "Detour through the kitchen? Water for everyone, not optional." 

She pulled them across the living room, hands linked and let Jackson spin her around and press her against the kitchen counter to kiss her deeply while Kuny headed for the fridge. He could hear the fridge door opening and closing, footsteps coming closer and a water bottle cap hitting the counter, could hear Kuny drink in long swallows somewhere behind him, but it all faded into the background. 

His senses were preoccupied by the woman in front of him, her lips parting for his tongue, her hands traveling down his chest and across his ribs to circle his waist and grab at his ass, pulling him into her-- until he felt the press of cool lips on the back of his neck, a hint of teeth pressing into the skin, another pair of hands, larger and stronger, settling on his hips from behind. 

Jackson pressed back into the warm body behind him instinctively as Kuny kissed a winding path up his neck and exhaled right next to his ear with a low hum, the hot breath making him shiver with anticipation. 

"This is not drink water," a low voice rumbled into his ear and Jackson chuckled at that, still dazed from the close proximity of two bodies, two gorgeous people vying for his attention.

"Not thirsty for water right now," Jackson countered and turned his head so their lips met. Kuny didn't miss a beat, licking into his mouth even as he was spinning him around and pressing his back into the counter, a repeat of what he did with Jackie just minutes before. Only that didn't seem to be enough for his friend, as he found himself hoisted up onto the counter, Kuny stepping in between his thighs and dragging his hands down his back to where Jackie's had been, grabbing his ass and squeezing. 

The movement pushed their groins together and Jackson heard himself moan shamelessly, feeling his cock pulse and the answering hardness press against him when hooked his ankles behind Kuny's legs and pulled. His hands scrambled for the hem of his shirt and stilled when they found the warm skin underneath, both of them stunned at the ease with which they fit together. 

They weren't kissing now, just panting against each other's mouth, overwhelmed by each new situation they found themselves in together, wanting to stay there and milk it till the last drop and at the same time eager to keep going, to see where the night would take them next. But now was this; his palms against Kuny's stomach, exploring and wandering upwards, feeling his chest expand with each breath. 

"Can I?" he plucked at the shirt, Kuny raising his arms in answer. The shirt landed on the floor the next moment, forgotten, hands pressing over broad shoulders, feeling out the shapes of collarbones and the give of muscle under fingertips. 

Jackson followed the path of his hands with his mouth, pressing open-mouthed kisses into the hollow of Kuny's throat, down his sternum and then across to land over his heart, feeling its strong beat against his lips when he lingered there for a long moment, writing the rhythm into his memory. Whether this was a one-time thing or a beginning of something new, he'd always know that heart, in sync with his own, beat for beat. 

A large palm dragged up his torso slowly, pressed over his own heart and stayed there, careful and reverent; they didn't need words to understand each other in that moment. In sync like on the ice. Jackson felt the last nerves leave him then, carried away by the pulse of his own blood and the heat of arousal, feeling safe in the arms of his best friend. 

After one last press of lips over his heart, he tilted his head up and was met with a scorching kiss that left him light-headed and gasping, clutching at Kuny's back, nails digging in, even as the Russian was pulling back. 

"Kuns--" 

"You drink now." 

A water bottle was pressed into his hand, Kuny stepping back in between his thighs with a warm smile on his face, watching him as he gulped down half of the bottle in one go. He looked around, searching for Jackie and found her twirling her own bottle, her eyes trained on them and a smile playing on her lips. 

"Let me guess. You're loving this." 

She laughed at that, and then stepped closer, leaning her hip on the counter. "You're not wrong." Her look turned calculating and then she was lifting her own shirt and pulling it off in one swift motion, making a show of dropping it on the floor next to the one already there. "Also, you're overdressed."

Hooking her fingers in Kuny's belt loops, Jackie pulled him towards her and he resisted only for a moment to press a short kiss to Jackson's lips and grab his hand, pulling him after them towards his bedroom. 

Jackson had been in there many times for many reasons but this was very different from banging on his friend's door in the morning to hurry up we'll be late for practice, I made coffee, or throwing balled-up socks and t-shirts at him from the doorway because these are not mine you giant, how did they end up in my laundry again? He knew the squeak the hinges made when the door opened all the way and the handle hit the wall where Kuny stuck a print-out of Snape's face so it would hit him in the nose every time that happened. 

He could list from memory the few items that were always present on Kuny's desk, like one of the matryoshka dolls he brought for the whole team after he went home for the off-season, standing next to a small bowl that held the keys to his parents' house, for me it always remembers I can go home he explained one night when they both got drunk and grew bored playing videogames so they ended up laying on the floor of Kuny's bedroom just talking, or rather Kuny talking while Jackson went around his room picking up random objects and holding them up to get an explanation. There was a stack of books on the floor next to the bed, most of them in Russian and ‘The Hobbit’ being the only English book on top with a blurry polaroid photo of both of them at Sid's as a bookmark sticking out of it. Jackson's eyes skipped around the familiar room, finally landing on Kuny himself, finding him already looking back. 

"Not fair, you still in shirt," he said as he stepped closer, plucking at Jackson's sleeve. Hands snaked around his waist as Jackie stepped up behind him and gathered the hem of the t-shirt in her hands. 

"Yeah, alright, take it off," Jackson laughed as they undressed him and bracketed him between their bodies, skin on warm skin all around him.

For the next long while, Jackson's world became wandering hands and lips tracing contours of the three of them, finding ways to fit around each other and swaying together to the rhythm of their slowly building desire. It was an easy dance now that he allowed himself to want what he wanted; his best friend in all the ways they hadn't known each other yet and a beautiful stranger to lead them through the next step when they stumbled. 

His hands landed on Kuny's waistband and stopped. Jackie pressed alongside him in the next moment, her warm hand between his shoulder blades, grounding and reassuring. 

"Do you want to take them off, Jackson?" 

He nodded, looking down where his fingers followed the v-lines of Kuny's abs, dipping below the waistband. 

"Words,'' Jackie reminded him. He looked back up and was met with parted lips that he just had to kiss before he was able to form a question. 

"Can I?" 

"Da. Yes." 

He drew his fingers along the waistband to the front, brushing the trail of hair leading down and feeling the muscles flex under his touch. Making quick work of the button and the zipper, he pushed the pants down and-- "No underwear, Kuns, really?" 

The Russian just shrugged and stepped out of the pants, naked now but for the black socks patterned with stormtrooper helmets on them. "You have no underwear too," he nodded towards Jackson's crotch where his cock was very visibly tenting his sweatpants. 

"I was at home! In my home clothes!" Jackson defended himself, spreading his arms and looking to Jackie for support. "Can you believe this?"

Jackie gave the naked man in the middle of the room a slow once-over, licking her lips as her eyes lingered on his crotch and then smirking back at Jackson. "I assumed, but I can believe it now. You really are a giant, aren't you?" she stated more than asked as she turned back to Kuny and then undid her own jeans, shimmying out of them and her underwear in one go. "Catch up, Jackson, you're the last one again," she teased while she faced him and languidly took off her bralette, handing it to him with a raised eyebrow. Then she was reaching for Kuny with purpose, one hand going to his hair and the other wrapping around his cock, pulling a groan out of him as she kissed him hungrily. 

Her eyes closed and her whole body was leaning into Kuny, but his eyes were open and trained right at Jackson, the intense focus making him feel like he was the one being kissed instead. It made him want to be in her place, the surge of want so sudden and unexpected he took an involuntary step back, one hand reaching towards the desk to steady himself. The naked arousal in his best friend's eyes was unmistakably directed at him and his own answering desire still caught him by surprise when there was nothing needed to disguise it or explain it away. He could be in her place, easily. 

Jackie was now kissing and biting at Kuny's neck and Jackson found himself hoping she wouldn't leave any marks, the thought spurring him into movement at last. If anyone got to leave a mark on the Russian, it was going to be him.

Pulled in by Kuny's intent gaze and the need to replace Jackie's lips with his own, he stalked towards the pair. He was ready to voice what he was thinking, to ask, to beg Kuny for the permission to mark him up. It was all he could think of, suddenly and unexpectedly, another surprising discovery about himself that felt right as soon as he admitted it to himself. 

He tucked himself into Kuny's side, with Jackie still busy with his neck and just as he was opening his mouth to say the words, he saw her bite down on the tendon and then close her lips around it. The sound died in his throat, rapidly being replaced by embarrassment. 

"Jacks--" a strangled gasp from Kuny made them both look up at him and Jackson was ridiculously grateful for the interruption when he glanced at Kuny's neck and didn't see any darkened skin. 

"Yeah, babe?" Jackie replied without missing a beat, still draped along Kuny's side. Jackson realized that it must have been her nickname Kuny called out and it made the irony of their names being so similar even clearer. Did Kuny find it funny when he found out what her name was? Did she find it funny when they were introduced in their hallway? He'd have to ask them later. Right now there were more important things, like Kuny pulling him closer and talking fast in Russian to himself, his voice rumbling in his chest and then cutting off abruptly. Kuny cradling his cheek with one hand and pressing the pad of his thumb down on his lower lip. Kuny's frustrated huff and that look he always got when he was trying to translate something from Russian to English in his head and didn't have all the words. Jackson knew that look well, just like he knew many of his other looks and was currently learning a whole new category of them in this unprecedented situation.

"I don't know correct word." Ah, there it was. "For-- bruise? Like kiss but--" He looked imploringly at Jackson and then at Jackie. "Love bruise?" 

"You mean a hickey? A mark? Do you want one?" Jackie was already moving back towards his neck and Jackson was frozen, still in Kuny's grip, helpless as he saw Kuny nod gratefully while mouthing the words to himself. Hickey. Mark. And then-- 

"Niet. Wait. Want mark from him." Kuny's dark eyes were back on him, the intent gaze softening with his voice as he spoke the next sentence that almost sent Jackson to his knees. "Only him. Please."

Jackson felt the words all the way to his bones and something in him purred contentedly at the implications even as he swayed in place. Only him. But also, "love bruise?" he couldn't help but quip back at Kuny. His wry smile made him smile too and his thumb that still rested on Jackson's lower lip pressed down against the new shape of joy. 

His expression turned wistful then and Jackson was only marginally more prepared for the next thing that came out of his mouth, in a terrifyingly accurate aim straight for his heart despite Kuny's lack of words. "Love hurts, no?"

"I never want to hurt you." Jackson whispered, blindsided by the raw honesty and hurt in Kuny's voice, at loss for words because what do you say to that? 

Kuny just shook his head. "I know you not hurt me. Not you. My home, Russia, this--" a quick kiss to reassure, a gentle squeeze of the hand now resting on the back of his neck, "--this is not safe. Not see. Not say. Can be dangerous. Can hurt." 

Jackson just stepped fully into Kuny's space at that, tucking his face into his neck and wrapping his arms around him, pressing everything he was feeling into Kuny's body with his embrace, lips against his collarbone, trusting his body to convey what he meant better than words. We're safe here, he wanted to say and, I'll protect you, but he knew those were only partially true. I didn't know was in there too, or rather, didn't realize. I wish you'd told me tightly entwined with I wish I'd told you and all of those wrapped in I'm glad we're here now. I've got you.

Kuny let out a heavy sigh and melted into the embrace, resting his head on top of Jackson's and muttering Russian into his hair. They stood, naked and interlocked, in the middle of the bedroom, neither of them letting go. It was a dance of subtle steps; a deep breath in to feel his ribcage expand and the arms around him tighten in response, a weight shift and a little shuffle so their edges could fit themselves together even more seamlessly, the heartbeat against his breastbone answering the one he could feel with his lips pressed against the pulsepoint where he was tucked under Kuny's chin. In sync, like on the ice, but also so very much more. 

The intimacy of the moment took Jackson's breath away, the pause they found themselves in taking nothing away from the course of the night. He still felt the arousal meandering through his body, but unhurried and languid, like a river that knew it would reach its destination eventually; there was no other outcome but to meet the tide of the ocean and be irrevocably changed by it. No need to rush when the anticipation was running deep and sweet through his veins.

Jackie was reclining on the bed, relaxed and still naked and apparently not bothered by their moments that kept happening, but Jackson still felt like he had to say something, that they kept her waiting. He was grateful for her uncanny ability to read them and her easy willingness to adapt to their changing tides but she was a guest and part of him was very aware of not being a good host right now. Yet again, she was way ahead of him when he reluctantly stirred and made to leave the embrace. 

"No, no, stay. Take your time, you two. This feels important, give it the attention it deserves. I'm good here and the view is quite nice." She took a breath and they heard her hold it, the silence in the room absolute for a short while. Then with deliberate care, she continued. "I'm not expecting anything so if you'd like the evening to go any other direction than the apparent, just tell me, 'kay boys?" 

He could hear the smile in her voice. Still tucked into Kuny's neck, he felt him nodding and the rumble of his voice under his cheek. "Spasibo, Jacks." 

It was Kuny who detangled himself first after a long while, but instead of stepping away he pulled and pushed Jackson in the direction of the bed wordlessly and maneuvred them all under the covers with himself in the middle. 

Jackson found himself wondering yet again at the way they just fit. Slotting together without thinking, legs tangling, hands finding places to rest and caress, they cocooned themselves in the hushed silence of the bedroom. 

Jackson startled when another hand touched his, resting on Kuny's chest right above his heart, but then he met Jackie's eyes on the other side of the Russian. They exchanged a smile and then Jackie sent him a conspiratory wink, trailing her hand lightly down Kuny's chest and brushing across one nipple, drawing a soft gasp from him. 

She continued her slow, barely there touches, raising goosebumps on Kuny's skin. Every now and then she chose a path that crossed Jackson's hand or arm still thrown across Kuny's chest, setting off sparks right under his skin and watching him carefully. He could read her silent invitation to join but he was caught up in watching Kuny's face, mesmerized by the myriad expressions the gentle touches brought forth. He'd never seen his best friend like this, never knew he'd be so open and trusting, so expressive in reaction to the slightest touch.

When he finally moved his hand, it was to mold his palm to the side of Kuny's neck, to cup his cheek and press his thumb against his full lower lip in a mirror to their earlier position. What he didn't expect was Kuny pulling it into his mouth and sucking. His eyes were open, boring into Jackson, dark and intent and pinning him in place. 

A hint of teeth grazed the pad of his thumb and it was as if a switch flipped; the air heated up and Jackson became suddenly aware that they were naked in bed and he could touch, he could taste as much as he wanted to. And oh he wanted to. He pushed up onto one elbow, hovering above Kuny's face and then he was falling into a kiss, his tongue pushing into Kuny's mouth alongside his thumb. The sensation burned all the way down his spine in a rush that left his head spinning, the heat turning up. There were hands in his hair, on his back, nails gently scratching down his side, a palm kneading his ass and a hot breath in his ear, whispering encouragements. Jackson felt like he was on the edge of a volcano, the heat alive and reaching for him, all that was left to do was jump. 

The final push came on the end of a groan as they came up for air, Kuny speaking it right into his mouth, the deep rasp he could feel like a caress against his lips: "More."

Jackson wanted more, oh he wanted everything, but for a start he wanted more of that delicious skin-on-skin contact that was already turning him liquid. He'd melt in Kuny's hands and flow between his fingers, into every crevice of his body if he could, just to get closer. 

That's what made it past his lips, "closer" and "please--" among their gasps as he was pulling on Kuny's arm ineffectively, not quite knowing how to get him where he wanted him. "Kuns--'' 

The Russian pulled him in, wrapping him in his arms and then the world tilted for a second; the next thing he felt was the bed under his back and the grounding weight of a whole hockey player on top of him, as if he knew exactly where and how to anchor him. In sync, like on the ice. Jackson was stupidly grateful for it, unable to form sentences while he was wrapped up in need and want, layers of it, making it harder to breathe, let alone speak. 

Kuny kissed him then, pressing him into the mattress and controlling the kiss, slow and sure, humming into it and making his lips buzz and stretch into a smile. Jackson lifted a hand to Kuny's cheek again and this time Kuny chased after his thumb and pulled it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while still holding his gaze, one eyebrow rising in silent question. 

Jackson felt his cock pulse at the implication, hard and leaking, the molten lava now simmering low in his belly. He wasn't stupid, he understood, knew what his best friend was implying, but still he'd have to ask for it. Jackie said they had to talk. 

Jackie. He knew what to say to her at least, felt her along his side, one leg thrown over his and the slow rolls of her hips against his thigh. Even though tearing his eyes away from Kuny took an effort, he turned his head slightly to catch her eyes, dark with hunger as she watched them. "Loving this?"

It startled a low laugh from her and she hid it in his shoulder. "You know it." 

"I know what you'd love even more." 

"Oh yeah? I hope it has to do with that mouth of his. Looks like he knows how to use it, and not only on your fingers." 

Jackson's gaze was back on Kuny, who in the meantime abandoned his thumb and intertwined their fingers, kissing and sucking down his palm to the inside of his wrist. He pressed his lips to the pulsepoint there and then looked up at Jackson with a calculating look, giving him barely a second before he licked a wet stripe all the way to his fingertips and closed his mouth around three of his fingers, sucking enthusiastically. 

"Oh fuck," both he and Jackie groaned at the sight, and then she continued, her voice husky, "fuck, if you don't ask him for it, I will."

At Jackie's words Kuny grinned at him, catching his fingers between his teeth to keep them in place and it shouldn't have been so hot for how ridiculous he looked, but Jackson felt the tug of arousal in his belly all the same. 

He sucked in a breath, desperate to try and put into words what his body was straining for, but Kuny made speaking impossible when he closed his lips around his middle finger next and slid them all the way down to the last knuckle. "Mnngh" was all he managed under Kuny's knowing look. 

"Oh you're wicked and I like it." Jackie's amused voice was right in his ear, the hot breath making his skin erupt in goosebumps. "Do you like it, Jackson?" 

Once again she was guiding him along with ease and he nodded gratefully. Yes and no questions were easy enough to comprehend. "Do you want him to stop?" 

"No" the almost-cry carried on a breath, no don't stop just please his lips were moving but out came only a wrecked moan as Kuny pressed his hips down in a grind, knowing exactly where Jackson wanted him next and making it exceptionally difficult to form coherent thoughts to get him there.

“What do you want him to do to you, Jackson?” Jackie purred in his ear while Kuny was taking him apart with his mouth still working at his fingers, the slow, filthy grind of his hips promising more. “Remember, use your words.” 

A frustrated whine was all that Jackson was capable of, as wild with desire as he was, lost in the heat of Kuny’s body on top of him. 

“Evgeni, babe, I know you’re enjoying this but you’ll have to slow down if we want to hear him.” Jackie soothed, running her hand through Kuny’s hair and tugging lightly. 

Kuny followed her lead and halted, lowering his hand and pressing it into the mattress next to Jackson’s head, tangling their fingers together. Jackson squeezed his hand, holding on for dear life, grounding himself in the new sensation that immediately felt so right. A distant part of his brain wondered if Kuny would want to hold hands sometimes, after this, just for the comfort of it. He’d just have to ask, like for anything else he wanted. Like right now. He strained upwards and Kuny met him in a gentle kiss, a stark contrast to the lust boiling under his skin.

Nudging their noses together playfully, Kuny broke the kiss but stayed close. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered against Jackson’s lips. “I’ll do it. I want be good for you.” 

Jackson squeezed his eyes at the wave of want that swept him up like a flood in reaction. “Kuns, god, you’re so good, your mouth--” he broke off with a groan, caught off-guard by Kuny’s thigh hitching higher between his legs, the muscle flexing against his crotch. The delicious pressure was almost unbearable and yet not enough. His eyes snapped open, almost going cross-eyes with Kuny still so close, but his look was determined now and he knew Kuny could read it in his face. 

Jackson made sure to pronounce his next words clearly. “I want your mouth. On my cock. Now.”

He wished he could replay forever the way Kuny’s eyes widened and then went dark at the request, his breath punching out of him in a surprised gasp. 

The surprise didn’t last long though, the wicked gleam in Kuny’s gaze was back in the next moment, eyebrows rising. “Now mean half-hour now? Or now now?” he asked even as he was pulling away and sitting back on his heels, straddling one of Jackson’s thighs. 

“Oh my god, really?” Jackson threw a hand over his eyes in mock annoyance, fighting a laugh that was bubbling up in his chest. Of course Kuny wouldn’t just give up a chance to chirp him. It was a semi-regular scene between them, I want pizza now. I hungry now. So we go now, and Yes we’re going, let me just finish this round, I’m almost done. Other times it was We gotta leave now, Kuns, or we’ll be late and Da, da, I’m get dressed now, is not late. Inevitably one of them would end up standing in the other’s doorway, looking pointedly at the watch. Now means now, not in a half-hour. I’m going now, with or without you. 

He felt Kuny shift and then his weight left him completely. He heard Jackie next to him hum approvingly, her hand stroking down his chest and settling on his hip. Then another hand, larger and warmer, wrapped around his knee and made a slow way up his thigh, pressing into the muscle and kneading appreciatively. Jackson was equally turned on and exasperated, his cock answering every squeeze and press of Kuny’s hand with a desperate twitch. 

When Kuny finally made it to his other hip, his palm warm over his hipbone in a mirror to Jackie’s, Jackson was ready to beg, again. His hips tried to jerk up on instinct, earning warning squeezes from both of them and a disapproving tsk tsk from Jackie, who was now leaning on her elbow next to him, her chin in her hand, watching them attentively. 

Kuny was focused on him completely, holding his gaze as he lowered his head so his lips were just above the head of his leaking cock. The smirk was back, half confidence, half disbelief and all desire, directed just at him. Jackson wanted to see it again, a hundred times more, a thousand. He suddenly found himself violently wishing please let this be a first, the thought stealing his breath. 

Kuny was still hovering and his exhales felt almost like caresses on Jackson's oversensitive skin, barely there and yet driving him crazy. Then he spoke and his voice didn't carry even a hint of uncertainty as he licked his lips and stated, "I'm go now, with or without you.” 

Jackson could have tried to gather his wits and answer him back, he had enough ammunition to win this, thank you, but Kuny was wrapping his lips around the head of Jackson's cock and suddenly nothing else mattered. The wet heat made him curl his toes and arch his back as a lightning of pleasure zinged up his spine and burst behind his eyelids. 

Kuny was right where he had wanted him and it was at once too much and not enough. The hands on his hips tightened as his own grasped at the sheets and held on. He felt light-headed, all blood rushing to his core and every nerve alight. By the noises Kuny was making, he was enjoying himself, every content hum vibrating up his shaft and pulling an answering groan from his throat. 

Jackson wanted to see, he wanted to touch, he wanted to fuck up into Kuny's mouth and have him take it. He wanted to taste himself on Kuny's tongue and he wanted to taste him in turn. A stray thought fluttered through his mind, we have time for all that. God, I hope we do.

Jackson grabbed for Kuny's hand that was still pressing down on his hip and tangled their fingers together. He wanted to push his fingers into Kuny's hair and feel him moving, wanted to direct him, push him down and hold him in place, but he didn't dare. 

He squeezed his hand instead, once, twice, trying to anchor himself in the wave after wave of sensation that washed over him. Then Kuny was moving their hands, giving him exactly what he wished for, pulling off for a moment just to wink at him and say, "you can pull. I like it," as he placed Jackson's hand on top of his head, nuzzling into it a little. 

A sharp breath punched out of Jackson as he pushed his hand into Kuny's hair and grabbed the strands lightly, then more firmly, testing. Kuny's eyes fluttered closed as he hummed approvingly, his other hand just stroking Jackson unhurriedly. Jackson could watch him forever. He also wanted his mouth back on his cock. He got better hold on his hair and when he pulled, Kuny followed willingly, licking his lips and widening his eyes in mock innocence before he dove in and licked a hot stripe up Jackson's cock, drawing a moan out of him. 

"Kuns, Jesus--" 

"Niet. No Jesus. Just me." Kuny seemed to consider something and then his face softened as he pressed a quick kiss on top of Jackson's thigh, speaking into his skin next. "Say Zhenya. I want you say my name."

Jackson felt his lips turn up into a smile, feeling just ridiculously fond of his best friend in that moment. He was feeling all lightheaded and floaty, except for the spots of heat where Kuny's hands were pressing into his skin, grounding him. 

He kept the name close, holding it like a gift, a treasure found; and wasn't this all just that? An unexpected and precious thing he still didn't believe he could have even as he was literally cradling it in his palms. He took a breath and noticed with satisfaction the expectant look on Kuny's face. He was going to say it, oh yes, probably say it a lot, but not yet. "I'll trade you. My name for yours." 

Kuny - Zhenya - narrowed his eyes at that, biting his lip in consideration while trying to keep his own smile from showing. "Nado. Now say my name." 

"You know what I mean." 

They stayed locked in the back-and-forth of teasing and bickering, neither of them ready to give in, so familiar Jackson wanted to wrap himself in it, wrap himself in Kuny. Zhenya. He wanted to say that name, wanted to whisper it against his skin, to beg it into the sheets and probably scream it towards the ceiling before the night was over, but-- he also wanted to hear his own name, to find out if hearing it fall from those lips gave him the same rush as his hand in Kuny's hair did, him following where Jackson directed, easy and eager. In sync, like on the ice.

He felt Kuny's resolve falter before he made any sound, knew he had won from the way Kuny leaned into his hand for a moment, lowering his chin and looking at him from beneath his lashes. "Jack-son" he said carefully, folding the syllables around his accent and the timbre of his voice washed over the last of Jackson's reserves and melted them into nothingness. Kuny could ask him anything in that voice and he'd give it without question. "Jackson.” 

"Yeah?" it came out breathy and more unsteady than he'd want to admit, but Kuny didn't laugh at him, didn't tease him anymore. 

"Say my name, Jackson. Please." 

"I love how you talk," Jackson gasped out, trembling with how turned on he was. Then finally "Zhenya" and "touch me, please--" 

Zhenya didn't hesitate, diving back in and taking him into his mouth, one hand wrapped around the base, making him arch his back and dig his heels into the mattress. His leg muscles flexed with the movement and drew twin moans from both Jackie and Zhenya, each of them practically straddling one of his legs. 

Jackie was tucked all along his side and startled from her hushed stillness when she didn't want to interrupt the exchange, now pressing biting kisses into his shoulder and rolling her hips against him leisurely. 

Zhenya with one knee tucked up between Jackson's legs, holding himself up, the other leg stretched out and probably hanging off the bed, the giant. Jackson was vaguely aware of all that, helpless to do anything but hold on as he was coaxed higher still by Zhenya's hands and tongue on him, hand still tangled in his hair. Now that he had said it, he couldn't seem to stop, "Zhenya" and "please" pouring from his lips with each gasping breath.

Time melted away as everything narrowed to the burning points of contact among the three of them; hands roaming Jackson's body, too many hands but it was too good, the overstimulation making him whine every time Zhenya tightened his hand on him, every roll of Jackie's hips against his thigh. 

The litany of "Zhenya" and "please" falling from his lips was only interrupted by Zhenya making his way up his body again, kissing and biting and drawing more sounds and reactions from him. A gasp as he bit the inside of his thigh, soothing the mark with his tongue afterwards. A groan as he licked up the crease of his hip, one large hand still on him, slow and tight and bringing him closer and closer to the brink. Even a giggle as he kissed up the side of his ribcage and laughed at Jackson's squirming. "You know I'm ticklish, you asshole! Stop it!" 

Zhenya stopped moving his hand at the exclamation but continued on his path, biting down on his shoulder playfully. 

"No, don't stop that! You know what I meant!" Jackson was too turned on to summon the proper tone of voice and swatted at Zhenya in frustration, getting only an amused laugh in return. 

"I'm know. It's funny." 

"'S not funny! Just--" Jackson was half exasperated, half amused at his best friend's timing, because of course he'd tease him now that he was a literal mess in his hands, but he was also half out of his mind with arousal, casting for the right words to make him continue, just-- "Jackie!" he gasped out, she'd know what to do, she knew every time--

His next word turned into a groan as Zhenya's hand on him tightened right in that moment, but he was still not moving and it was maddening and hot and driving him crazy. 

Jackson turned his head towards Jackie, their noses almost touching where she was draped half over him. His hand was on her thigh, grabbing for purchase although he didn't remember putting it there. She was straddling his thigh, grinding down in a steady rhythm and he hitched her leg higher up on instinct, drawing an approving moan from her. "Jackie, just, please-- tell him!" 

She looked between the two of them, thinking and then nodding, one corner of her mouth lifted in a smile. She reached out her hand to trace it across his temple and down his cheek, then a featherlight touch across his lips that tickled and a boop on the nose that made him go cross-eyed. "Ah, sweetie, you tell him. You already know what to say. Just think." She kissed him on the nose and grinned, nodding towards Zhenya, who was watching him intently, looking very pleased with himself. And oh, yes, Jackson knew what to say, actually. 

He desperately searched for the few Russian expressions he knew and hoped he didn't butcher the word he wanted to say. Zhenya loved it when Jackson spoke Russian, trying to imitate the sounds and finally getting it almost-right on the tenth try. He loved teaching him words for things, objects around the house, expressions and, of course, curse words, making him repeat the syllables that made no sense to Jackson's ears, but made Zhenya grin so big he'd repeat anything just to bring that smile out again. 

He took a breath, hearing Zhenya's voice in his mind teaching him the word he wanted and then, looking him in the eyes and pronouncing carefully, he said it. "Please. Zhenya. Pozhalusta."

At Jackson's words, Zhenya went completely still, his eyes widening in surprise and then going even darker; Jackson felt his gaze like a physical thing, holding him in place and cradling him safely even as he was being taken apart. 

Finally, slowly, Zhenya started moving his hand again and it felt like too much and not enough at the same time. Jackson's next moan was swallowed by a kiss, until he could only gasp "more" and "please" into Zhenya's mouth, Jackie's panting breaths speeding up along his own, both of them following Zhenya's rhythm. 

Then Zhenya was nudging his cheek, turning his head towards Jackie, murmuring "Look her." She caught Jackson’s gaze and held it, eyes liquid and dark with pleasure, gorgeous and panting with how on edge she was. 

"Someone kiss me, I'm so close," she demanded and Jackson felt Zhenya's mouth latch onto the tendon between his neck and shoulder at the same time as he dove for Jackie's lips. Her whole body was trembling, following the rolling movements of her hips against his thigh and taking what she needed to finally tip over the edge. Jackson felt her shudder as she rode the waves of her orgasm, clutching onto him and gasping into their kiss. He felt Zhenya tighten his hand and speed up his rhythm again, felt Zhenya's teeth and tongue working a mark into his neck. But it was when Zhenya lifted his head, admiring his work and then breathing "Jackson" right into his ear that got him to gasp out, "I'm gonna-- Zhenya, I'm--" 

Zhenya nudged his cheek again, but now it was to claim his mouth for himself, murmuring Russian between sloppy kisses as he finally brought him over the edge. Jackson just gave himself over to the sensation, letting Zhenya kiss him through it, stealing his breath and his heart and somehow still making him feel all the more alive for it.

Jackson came back to himself, cradled from both sides by warm bodies and soft voices. Blinking against the dim light of the room, he made an inquiring sound and was answered by a chuckle from Jackie “You back with us?” 

"I never left." 

"Oh, you dozed off there for a moment." Jackie jostled him playfully and then got up, throwing them a look over her shoulder. "I'm grabbing the first shower. Don't forget to drink some water, boys!" 

Jackson felt Zhenya on his other side smiling into his shoulder and he suddenly needed to see him, needed to kiss him again just to make sure it all happened and he wouldn't wake up alone in his bed with echoes of a dream slipping through his curtains with the morning light. But Zhenya was right there, solid and warm and smug. 

"What are you grinning about?" Jackson teased him, feeling giddy on the feeling he didn't want to name yet, even as it filled his whole chest and made him reach for Zhenya's hand, tangling their fingers together. "Oh wait, Zhenya, did you--?"

The Russian just nodded, trying to go back to kissing, but Jackson stopped him with a finger on his lips, just watching his best friend for a moment, amazed and happy and "--are you blushing right now? Wow, this truly is a night of firsts." 

Zhenya shot back something in Russian that Jackson was pretty sure meant a not-so polite-version of shut up with how often he'd hear him yell it at the tv, but now it felt like an endearment, with Zhenya unable to hold back a smile and getting shy all of a sudden, his eyes flicking between their entwined fingers and the mess they made between them, the purpling mark on Jackson's neck and the door that was left slightly ajar, letting in the sound of running shower. 

"You owe me still-- love bruise? Kak skazatj--" 

Of all the words, Jackson would not use 'soft' to describe Zhenya; but now, on this night of firsts he had no better word for the look that was now directed at him. He returned it without hesitation. He was here for it, for all of it. "A hickey. I do. Where do you want it, babe?"

Zhenya didn't answer immediately. Instead he reached out and traced the mark he left on Jackson's neck, as if he needed to reassure himself that it really happened, that there was proof that wouldn't be so easily washed away, impossible to ignore. Jackson could feel the lingering sting, the skin bruised and sensitive, making him shiver and want to find a mirror and see for himself. He could see the shadow of worry in Zhenya's eyes, that look of this is important, he could see him thinking and picking words, probably translating what he wanted to say. He caught Zhenya's hand in his own and pressed a kiss to his palm, then placing it over his heart, threading his fingers through Zhenya's, just holding on and letting him know without words that he was there. Not leaving. Not regretting anything. Not afraid.

"The shower is free, boys." Jackie's voice calling from the hall broke the silence and Jackson realized he couldn't hear the sound of water anymore. She came back into the room and dropped two water bottles on Jackson's chest. He'd deny the sound that came out of him at the unexpected cold shock against his naked skin, but it made Zhenya burst into a surprised laugh and bury his face into the pillows and it was so cute that it made the embarrassment worth it.

"Drink up boys." Jackie prompted, throwing them curious looks as she searched for her clothes around the room. They slowly disentangled themselves from the blankets and each other and emptied the bottles dutifully. Jackson took Zhenya's bottle from him and then took his hand, earning a surprised look. "Shower with me?" A relieved nod was his answer, Zhenya already pulling him to his feet and towards the bathroom. Jackson stopped them in the doorway, turning back to Jackie who was pulling on her clothes. 

She was already looking at them with a knowing smile. "Go ahead. Take your time. I'll raid your kitchen in the meantime. Or order pizza. I'm starving." 

"Sounds good. Thanks, Jackie." 

He let Zhenya pull him the rest of the way to the bathroom, thinking he'd have to thank Jackie properly, profusely, and also ask her how she knew just what to say every time because it was bordering on scary. 

But now there was another, more important talk, to be had. There was his best friend, turning on the shower, not meeting his eyes and fidgeting nervously. Zhenya never fidgeted. "Hey. Talk to me." Jackson ducked his head to catch Zhenya's eyes. 

Instead, Zhenya avoided his gaze and he was being pulled into the shower under the spray of hot water, getting increasingly worried. Did Zhenya regret what they did? Was he gearing up for a let’s never talk about this again speech? Well, Jackson wouldn’t let him. He took a breath and opened his mouth, preparing to launch into a five-point argument about how this wasn't a mistake followed by an even longer list of reasons why they should definitely do it again, maybe just the two of them... 

He didn't even get to start, interrupted by Zhenya's frustrated growl. "Ja nie znayu-- how say this right. So not make fun." 

Jackson saw the serious expression on Zhenya's face, his this is important look. "Okay? I'll listen. But-- can I kiss you first? Just. I'm a bit worried now." 

Jackson was still trying to catch Zhenya's eyes, standing close and blinking the water away, so he wasn't far for Zhenya to look up at him in surprise and then break out into a wide smile, pressing their lips together and saying "Da, da, vsegda, ty vsegda mozesh." breathless little giggles escaping him in between kisses. Jackson didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone of relief, felt it himself when he was once again in his best friend's arms, his world right again after being tilted dangerously off its axis for a moment. They were okay.

"What-- what were you saying?" Jackson asked, minutes later, eternity later, after they had caught their breath, actually showered and stole even more kisses inbetween handing each other shampoo bottles and later towels, still helpless against the gravity pulling them together. They still had to talk, but Jackson was now sure they were on the same page and for right now that was enough. 

However, he was curious about one thing. "Zhenya, what did you say, before? In the shower. It was all Russian..." 

"Oh-- I say you can kiss me always. Did I say in Russian?" 

"Yeah, didn't you realize?" 

"Niet. Only happy you want kiss me. Jackson--" Zhenya broke off, taking Jackson's hands in his and it would have been funny, the two of them just in towels, hair dripping, the mirror behind them misty from the condensation, showing only their silhouettes and the buy toothpaste that Jackson wrote on it with his finger that morning when he used the last of it, next to a word in Cyrillic that Zhenya wouldn't tell him the meaning of. Yet it felt like the most important moment, with how Zhenya's eyes bore into him, warm and earnest, and soft, there it was again, stealing Jackson's breath away. 

"You are my best friend." Zhenya announced carefully, willing him to hear it. "I care-- you? I don't know how say..." 

"I care about you." Jackson jumped in, helping Zhenya with the words, echoing the same back at him. "I care about you too, Zhenya. You're my best friend too." 

"Da. Yes. But-- I like when we kiss. I like this." He squeezed Jackson's hands in his and pulled him closer, wrapping Jackson's arms around his waist and his own around Jackson's shoulders. Next words were spoken against his temple, hushed and treasured. "I want best friends and I want this. Ya khochu tebja. Can we-- have this? Do you--?"

Jackson was nodding before Zhenya finished his sentence, already reaching for him and pouring everything he felt into a kiss, every exhilarating and excited and scary feeling that was filling his chest, because he didn't have enough words for how much he wanted this, too. Then he heard Jackie's voice in his mind, use your words Jackson, say what you want and only good things had happened when he listened to Jackie... "Yes, we can. We can have this. Zhenya, I want you too. I want all of that-- wait, are we, like, dating now?" 

Zhenya was smiling so hard his eyes were just slits, mirroring his own happy grin that wouldn't leave his face. He still managed to roll his eyes, of course. "Nado. We live together." 

"I know, but do we-- go on dates, now? Like, what are the rules to this?" 

"We are best friends who kiss. And make love. And-- cuddle?" 

Jackson was more than a bit distracted by the lovely blush that rose in Zhenya's cheeks and the accompanying words but he managed to keep it together and reply because he could use a good cuddle just about now. He was getting a bit chilly with how long they were standing in the bathroom just in their towels and if it went his way, there would be no need for pyjamas tonight. He wanted to wrap himself up in Zhenya and stay there. He could, now.

"Yeah we can definitely cuddle. We can even sleep together!" 

Zhenya's eyebrow rose at that and Jackson swatted at him, indignant. "I meant sleep sleep! In the same bed! On purpose! Not you falling asleep on me by accident when we watch Clone Wars after midnight." 

"How you know it is accident?" Zhenya winked at him and then stole his towel and ran out of the door towards his room, leaving Jackson gaping and-- happy. He was happy. And-- falling in love with my best friend, he experimentally tried that thought on, just to see what would happen, how he would feel. Nothing broke, nothing shattered. The world kept on turning, the wisps of steam kept escaping into the hall, the light turned on in his room, beckoning him forward. The feeling settled more firmly in his chest, already filling the space behind his ribs, expanding with his lungs and cradling his heart, warm and soft and safe. They would figure it out together, like they did everything else so far. Playing together, communicating together, living together. Being together. 

In sync, like on the ice.

 - - -

Bonus: 

Jackie followed her grumbling stomach and the trail of discarded clothing back to the kitchen. She always got hungry after sex and this was no exception, although everything else about this night was exceptional. She couldn't have foreseen the story that would unravel right before her eyes, between the two men that invited her into their apartment and their bed, only to find each other in the end. She wasn’t complaining, oh no, on the contrary, that was quite something and she won’t forget it, ever… but now, she needed food.

The fridge didn’t offer any satisfactory snack options so Jackie found herself sitting on the kitchen island, scrolling through the takeout app on her phone and ordering pizza instead. She saw the empty pizza boxes from Sid’s beside the trash can so she knew she couldn’t go wrong with that choice. Everyone loved Sid’s, of course they did too. 

Everyone also loved the Lions. She was only now slowly connecting the dots. The framed jerseys in the hall. The hockey sticks in the corner of the living room, the pucks on the shelf. Evgeni saying teammate when he introduced Jackson. Both of them being built like Greek gods, strong and beautiful and fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. Gryffindor loved their Lions.  Of course she knew of the team even if she didn’t follow the game - if you lived in Gryffindor, it had become impossible to not know about them after they brought home the cup. 

However, she was glad that she didn’t know who exactly Evgeni was when they met at the bar, apart from a fun drinking partner, dorky dancer and very, very good kisser. They had locked eyes across the room, she bought him a drink, he got the burgers and fries, they talked for quite a long time even with him searching for words and having to resort to inventive descriptions with a side of charades to get his meaning across, they danced, they made out… He made her laugh and didn’t push for her number or her attention, he turned her on and he intrigued her, but at the end of the night, he was just a stranger to her. 

A gentle, giant, hot stranger that took her home for what she expected to be a one night stand and turned into so much more; at least for the two men. She saw the looks, heard what had been said and felt the connection between them come to life in an entirely new way, witnessing a sacred first and even helping to guide them through it when they turned to her. She had threesomes before, but nothing like this. She already knew she would treasure the memory, feeling rather protective of it; of them.   

Her phone buzzed, the arrival of the pizza delivery reminding her of her grumbling stomach again. She hopped down from her perch on the kitchen island, let the delivery person into the building and paid for the three pizzas, bringing them back to the kitchen. The boys would be hungry too, when they finally came out of the shower, but they were taking their time. She suspected they needed the privacy to make sense of what happened. She could give them that. 

Grabbing a sharpie from her bag, she scrawled a note and her number on top of one of the pizza boxes that she left on the counter, only grabbing three slices out of it and stacking them like a delicious, greasy, pizza sandwich. With a last fond look around she headed for the door, her eyes lingering on the jerseys hanging in matching gold frames on the wall. Nadeau. Kuznetsov. She didn’t know the names or the jersey numbers, had only a vague idea about hockey, but she was rooting for them now - for Zhenya and Jackson - and going by what she’d seen tonight, she was pretty sure they would make it.

fin

#Nuny #lumosinlove #lumosinlove fanfic #sweater weather lumosinlove #inspired by sweater weather #Nado #Kuny #Jackie #inspired by lumosinlove

[alilbitofdoodles]

Red Silk & Nylons

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Rating: E Paring: Elizabeth x Meliodas Word Count : 2367 Warnings: Language, Suggestive themes Summary: Despite his inability to be coherent when his gorgeous girlfriend is dressed in only underwear and stockings, he somehow manages to mumble, "Did I mention how crazy hot you are dressed in red? Because you're absolutely breathtaking." A Christmas Special! Gratuitous domestic fluff for that warm cozy feeling~ Ao3 Link: 📖

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To be honest, he's surprised she puts up with him and his unbelievably tiny apartment.

Meliodas had offered to buy a full body mirror so she wouldn't have to deal with the cramped space that is his pathetic excuse for a bathroom ( He's pretty sure the maximum occupancy is like one person and a houseplant—it's an architectural feat that they somehow managed to squeeze in the claw tub, sink, and toilet ), but she insisted she was fine. Really, she was fine.

Still, he can't help but feel a little guilty. Especially now since Elizabeth has to apply her makeup while he bathes. He was considerate enough to run the water cold to not fog up the mirror, but even then he felt guilty about the situation overall.

As he gets out of the tub to dry off, wet flaxen hair sticking to the back of his neck, he sighs. He's never been in love like this before. Her happiness gives him happiness and he wants to do everything in his power to be able to provide for her and more. 

Elizabeth was born with a silver spoon in her mouth—no doubt used to a life of luxury. He’s so enthralled with her living with him, but she's almost out of place in his life with how radiant she is. 

Truthfully, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be enough, but admittedly, he's been getting better. Especially with her. Life seems a little bit easier to manage when you're not alone. Coming home to her warm hugs and bright smile instantly recharges his batteries and he feels like a better person when he’s with her. Someone he likes being, despite his messy past.

In his mind, he knows that his impoverished lifestyle isn't a big deal to her. Doubting her comfortability is just the same as being unable to trust her decision and it feels just as bad, if not worse. He can remember that determined look in her eyes, honest and full of warmth, when she had moved in and called it Home.

Their Home.

Malfunctioning air-conditioning and all.

With newfound confidence he snuffs out the negativity—vigorously fluffing out his hair with the towel as if to scrub the thoughts away.

"How much longer until the Christmas party again?" He doesn’t need to do much, really. Just dry off and put on some casual formal wear. His favorite part was putting on his tie, if only just because Elizabeth would insist on fixing it and he loved the extra attention. He’s guilty of maaaaybe not learning how to tie a windsor knot on purpose if it meant his adorable girlfriend fussing over his appearance.

He looks over to where Elizabeth is and it takes his brain a moment to remember that ‘Oh yeah’  his lungs need air to breathe, because he's sure his body forgot it's own autonomous functions when he sees her.

Elizabeth was leaning over the sink and applying makeup as she normally would, but this time around she was only partially dressed. Her underwear wasn't its usual practical white or nude, but a deep red silk with a sheen that faded to black around the edges. The two cups were edged with black lace woven in intricate scalloped designs. But the cherry on top was the dark pantyhose on her sinfully sexy legs.

Elizabeth tilts her head forward, brushing out her lashes with a little mascara wand, and regards her reflection for a moment before replying aloud, "Mmm...we've got around 45 minutes to get ready so no rush."

As she carefully sweeps the rouge over her lips, it’s color an equally deep red, he watches with heightened attention. The simple act draws his attention to her tulip lips in a coy act of seduction.

He walks over, leaning probably closer than he should, and his mind blanks at a loss for words. Meliodas wonders, always astonished, how perfect she is. She’s so captivating without even trying and Meliodas is just left speechless. His chest is a furnace of warmth and the feeling radiates through his body in little tingles.

Elizabeth spots him staring from the mirror and looks at him without turning around, "What, you think it's too much? I don't normally wear this shade, but Christmas, right?"

Despite his inability to be coherent when his gorgeous girlfriend is dressed in only underwear and stockings, he somehow manages to mumble, "Did I mention how crazy hot you are dressed in red? Because you're absolutely breathtaking."

Elizabeth turns to face him and shyly bites her lip. "O-oh, you like it? I bought it while I was out getting the ingredients. Normally I wouldn't splurge on underwear  of all things, but it came in a set. Plus it had a deep holiday discount..."

Meliodas swipes his thumb over her bottom lip, smudging her lipstick, and his dick throbs at the sight of her. Half-dressed wearing ruby red underwear and silken black pantyhose. He wants to ravage her. See how undone and desperate she looks while he's fucking her in front of the mirror.

"Ah, Meliodas, " Elizabeth pleads, a cute whimper of restraint, and it has his sanity hanging by a thread. "Mmm...w-we need to leave soon..."

"In a second, let me just—" Meliodas places a slow kiss, hungry and needy, upon the dip between her neck and shoulder and immediately he smells her warm perfume; the longer he lingers, the more he can pick up the notes of sweet, spiced vanilla from when they were baking gingerbread.

He slides his hand underneath her bra to palm at her left breast and god does it's pillowy softness fill up his hand just right. His fingers lightly sink into her flesh while the lace bites at his skin. Despite the slight pain, the reminder of said lace only sparks something hotter and deeper within him.

With skillful fingers he easily unlatches the offending material and Meliodas impresses his body against her. Fingers roam her body all slow. It's a careful exploration as he maps out all her sweet spots and judges her reactions. The slight graze of his nails against soft skin earns him a delicious little shiver; a firm grasp has her breathing hitched and heavy; a small tweak to her hardening nipples has her lower spine arching to the ceiling with silent, barely there moans.

Meliodas anxiously grinds his body into hers, his now stiff cock pressing against her ass, and he savors the intoxicating feeling. Another pump of his hips has the tip of his dick just barely reaching her clothed core and he makes it his goal to glide between it over and over again.

Elizabeth airly moans and her voice is heavenly music in his ears. He repeats the thrusting motion with more force and is again rewarded with her beautiful song of praise. He wants her to feel it too. The faster he glides, the more she reacts and it's like a continuous cycle of pleasure with both of them climbing higher and higher within their rapturous daze until—

RIIIIIIP

They both stop, eyes wide, quietly staring at each other for a couple of seconds.

Elizabeth is panting, slightly out of breath,  "Did you just..."

"Uh,  yeah I think I did…"

There's a small opening of torn threads stretching down her pantyhose. He's pretty sure he's stained her thighs with his precum and he can already see her soaking through her underwear more clearly now.

"You know, actually, your hole is kinda hot."

"D-don't say it like that!"  Elizabeth quickly defends in embarrassment, "Gosh, look at them. I don't think I have a spare. I mean, it's not like it'll be seen from underneath the dress so it should be fine...maybe it'll be okay?"

Meliodas hears her voice, but is only vaguely listening. He's far more interested in this little rip he's created. With careful focus he hooks his finger into the seam, playing around with the frayed edges, and something in him feels so strongly compelled to just—

RIIIIIIIP RIP

"Meliodas!"

The sound of thread snapping echoes in their little bathroom and Elizabeth gasps. The sheer material stretches over the fleshy skin of her plump butt as he tears apart the nylon even more. It’s not enough to pull it completely off her, but just enough to reveal more of her creamy skin. It’s like a flip is switched and he's, once again, rubbing his hardening dick across the wet spot on her underwear. Meliodas guides his dick along the slit of her panties, sliding the head along and angling it just right so that it tugs back at his foreskin with every thrust. 

It's miraculous how delicious it feels. Smooth and silky like water against his skin.

Meliodas sighs, breathing in ragged, hot breaths against her ear. "Close your legs a little bit." And she does, and the added friction and heat only spurs him on.

Meliodas felt that throbbing pleasurable ache every time Elizabeth breathlessly whimpered his name with every heavy stroke of his cock. It drove him to near madness. His actions became more urgent, more forceful, but it only had her moaning louder. Her nails dug into his scalp a bit painfully, but the pleasure made him blind to it.

He loved this. He loved her. She’s always beautiful, but there was something so thrilling and empowering to see her so immersed in nothing but the passion he could give her. He'd give her all of him and the world if he could, but it still wouldn't be enough. She compliments him and fits perfectly in his life.

"I love you." his voice rumbles between her shoulder blades while he comfortably nestles his hips between her legs.

"I love you too." She murmurs before placing a gentle kiss over his messy hair.

He pulls his face from her and has a wide, mischievous grin that exudes confidence. "So...do you wanna?"

As he strokes his still-hardening erection along her soaking arousal, Elizabeth gasps "Y-yes! Oooh, I-I need you. Please."

Without preamble, he uses two fingers to stretch the elastic band of her panties to the side, revealing her glistening folds bare to him. It’s almost a shame he's unable to take a taste of her sinful sweetness, but he has more pressing matters to attend to.

The tip of his dick is wet and his mouth slightly drops open at finally being inside.  As he slowly sinks further into her, he can feel his cock twitching in anticipation. It's a miracle he didn't just mercilessly fuck her into their bathroom counter right then and there.

With a gradually growing speed, he began plunging his cock in and out of her clenching body and it's almost painful how pleasurable it feels. Another thrust, quicker and harder this time, and Meliodas was rewarded with her sweet sinful, praise. Her back is arched so that the tip of his head is squeezed with every thrust.

It seems like Elizabeth had begun to lose herself to it all. Her insides stroked his shaft with every pass and she thrust her hips back in order to dig his cock in deeper. 

Meliodas firmly grasps her hip with one hand the best he can to anchor her as he begins to push his hips harder, thrusting into her at a wild and merciless pace. He was getting close, but he wanted to ride out the pleasure of being within her for as long as possible. He doesn't want to stop. He wants to come inside Elizabeth so badly, but he doesn't want it to end. The pleasure coils in his stomach as he strains himself from releasing inside her. 

"Elizabeth you feel so good. Everything is so soft .  ..Ah—ngh...I'm gonna...haa..I wanna come so badly."

"A-ahh, mmm! I-it's okay," her breath hitches as he nics a particularly pleasurable spot—judging by how she shudders beneath him. "Please, Meliodas, please...I'm so close.." 

The hot pressure of her tight core fluttering and enveloping his cock is consuming his mind and body in a blinding euphoria. His vision is starting to blur as his thrusts become more reckless. Pleasure singes his nerves and quickly he braces himself onto the counter. He picks up the pace, driving into her with long, intense strokes, and firmly clenches his jaw so hard that his teeth begin to ache. 

Her walls clench and constrict tighter and tighter and he knows she finally reached  her limit when she chokes back a pleasured sob. Her body deliciously shudders around his cock and immediately the unrelenting heat engulfs him and crashes down hard and unforgiving. 

The tension in him snaps and Meliodas buries himself harder and deeper, feeling his cock pulse whilst inside Elizabeth. He felt her body tightening on him as he continued to pump his hips repeatedly, intermingling their essences and slicking her plush walls with his seed and finishing inside her with thick, jerky spurts. As his release begins to taper off, he gives a few shallow thrusts while keeping a firm grip on her hips to fill her up as much as possible.

As they're coming down from their high, Meliodas flips her around and pulls her in for a languid, sloppy kiss. Sucking her tongue, then swirling and rolling them around each other until his head went blank and dizzy. 

He paused to pull away, licking his own equally swollen lips, with their mouth’s barely touching and breathing in each other’s air. Both of them dripping with sweat and Elizabeth’s body still trembling with aftershocks from her own release.

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth I—" his voice is rough and breathless, "I love you so much, I couldn't resist."

"Mm...I love you just as much." She whispers, equally as tired. She brings her hand up to brush away at his sweat-slicked bangs to look more earnestly into his eyes. "But I have to say, we probably are going to be late for that Christmas party now."

Elizabeth gently laughs and it's like heaven sighing. It's so tender and infectious that he soon finds himself laughing along with her.

At least this time they could take a nice, long bath together. 

#Spicy Melizabeth #Let's see if tumblr gets my butt for that preview image lol #my fics #my art

[pinkfadespirit]

Secret Relationship

@hollyand-writes said:

From the cliché prompts: Secret relationship for Handers! Welcome again to the Dragon Age Drunk Writing Circle!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I’ve decided to answer this in a text post since it’s mostly smut and hopefully this way I can use a page-break that actually works. While the prompt fill itself is reasonably sized, the idea behind it got completely out of control and I might have to do a whole fic for it now. Oops. 

For context (since we’re diving right in with the smut here), this is an AU where Hawke was born a noble and is living the secret apostate life in Hightown, Bethany gets sick and they have no choice but to risk asking the Circle for help and Anders is the healer assigned to her. And he’s staying at the Hawke estate until she gets better. Sparks fly between Anders and Hawke but of course no one can know about it! 

Word count: 1849

Pairing: Anders/Male Hawke

Rated E for explicit sexual content. 

for @dadrunkwriting

“Fuck...” Hawke moans at the feeling of Anders’ fingers pushing into him, with the efficiency of someone who knows exactly what they’re doing. Anders takes the time he needs to tease him open then immediately sets to testing Hawke’s ability to keep the promises he’d made earlier in the night.  

He groans again and is rewarded with the feeling of another hand pressing to his lips, muffling the sound, followed by Anders' breath, hot against his ear. “I told you, you need to be quiet.”

“I remember,” Hawke murmurs, lips brushing Anders' palm as he speaks.  

“Good,” Anders whispers back. Then he thrusts his fingers up and Hawke has to clamp his jaw shut to keep from crying out again. Anders seems pleased with his restraint and removes the hand from over his mouth, letting it slip down over Hawke’s bearded jaw to the side of his neck, which he holds on one side while pressing hot wet kisses to the other. “I love how responsive you are. The sounds you make for me... They're so good, Hawke. But you can't... We can't be caught like this.”

“I know,” Hawke breathes. Though in truth, he’s not so sure. Not that he’ll say that out loud. If secrecy is what it takes to have this he’ll take it. He’ll take whatever Anders will give him.  

Anders' talented fingers continue their movements and it takes all of Hawke’s willpower to behave himself, to make as little sound as possible. He turns his head, seeking Anders’ lips because that will make it easier, surely, if his mouth is otherwise occupied. He reaches up, sweeping hands over bared skin and up into his untied hair, where he holds Anders in place and kisses him deeply. Anders accepts the kiss without ever slowing that wonderful movement of his fingers.  

“Are you ready for me?” Anders asks against his lips and Hawke’s nose bumps his as he nods.

They're at the desk in Hawke’s bedroom. It’s a large and sturdy thing and apparently perfect for their purposes as the polished surface makes it easy to clean. Anders’ idea of course. Hawke never would have considered what the servants might think, upon discovering any suspicious stains in the laundry. Honestly, Hawke thinks there's such a thing as being too careful. But then he's never been in the Circle. He has to trust that Anders has his reasons.

A hand presses to his chest and pushes him back against the flat surface behind him. The wood is hard and cool against his back and he immediately misses the heat of Anders' chest pressed against his. But as he looks up and makes out the faint outline of him in the darkness, he’s confident that whatever is coming next will be even better. Still, the loss of contact makes the darkness far less appealing. He reaches out to conjure a faint mage-light to illuminate Anders' frowning face. “Hawke...”

“It’s fine,” Hawke assures him in a whisper. “No one will notice. Everyone’s asleep anyway.” Anders breathes out hard through his nose but when Hawke adds, “I want to see you,” he relaxes.  

“I do too,” he admits. “Maker, you’re gorgeous like this.” He pushes a hand up over Hawke’s stomach, threading fingers through the dark hair on his chest. He smirks slightly. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to fuck you until you scream.”

The words go straight to Hawke’s cock, already hard and bobbing against his stomach. “You can do the first part of that at least.”

The mage-light hovers over them, illuminating Anders’ grin and when he smiles like that Hawke almost can’t believe he’s real. He’s the most beautiful sight Hawke’s ever seen. He thought so from the beginning but like this, he’s even closer to perfect.

“I intend to,” Anders purrs and Hawke can safely say he has no regrets over summoning the light as he watches him pull grease from the fade to coat himself up with.  

Then he’s urging Hawke’s thighs apart and the stretch of muscle followed by the brush of Anders' cock against his entrance makes his breath hitch in anticipation. Anders’ eyes flick up to meet his. Hawke nods. “Please...” he breathes. “I want you, now.”

He can’t take his eyes off Anders’ face, the way his eyes droop and his lips part, his breath coming out in a quiet gasp as he fills him. And, Maker, it’s so fucking good. Hawke’s jaw is clamped shut against the urge to cry out but now it drops open, though no sound comes out.  

“Yes,” Anders whispers, voice low and breathy. “Hawke, you’re doing so well. Are you ready?”

“Yes. Yes, fuck me. Anders, please...”

Anders does, slow at first, getting him used to the feeling of him. Hawke does his best to be quiet as he pleads for more. More. Please, Anders. He manages to open his eyes to see the hungry way Anders looks down at him as he loops an arm under Hawke’s thigh, pushing it back to get a better angle before he thrusts hard.

“Agh!” Hawke can’t keep the sound from escaping, louder than any of their desperate whispers.  

“Hawke,” Anders hisses.  

“S-sorry,” Hawke says, voice muffled by the hand Anders has clamped over his mouth. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

Anders takes a moment before deciding it’s safe to uncover Hawke’s mouth. He draws a thumb lightly over his lips as he begins to move again. “I’ll- ahh... I'll have to get you- a gag for next time.”

Hawke grins at that, feeling dazed by pleasure. “As long... as there’s a next time.”

The smile Anders returns to him then can only be described as fondly exasperated. At least until it’s replaced by a look of intense pleasure and he begins to speed up his movement, thrusting into him harder each time. He reaches back towards Hawke’s mouth as if to pre-empt any other outbursts. When Hawke opens his lips and draws two fingers into his mouth, lightly sucking and enjoying the salty taste on his tongue, Anders turns his head to press his face into the muscular thigh Hawke has hooked over his shoulder, and stifles a moan against his skin.

From there his movements become more frenzied and it’s not long before Hawke can no longer ignore the throb of his own cock, desperately hard and leaking onto his stomach. He wraps a hand around himself as Anders slams into him harder and faster all the time. The fingers Anders had pushed into his mouth slip out from between his lips, trailing spit over his beard as he moves to brace one hand on the desk by Hawke’s head.  

“Hawke,” he pants, “I'm- ah!” Without finishing his sentence he pulls out from Hawke and wraps a fist around his cock, thrusting hard into it until he comes over Hawke’s stomach. The sound he makes is little more than a heavy exhale. The sight of him breathing hard and spilling over him makes Hawke speed up his own movement, at least until Anders reaches out and takes over for him. Then Hawke doesn’t know what to do with his hands but Anders, leaning over him with his arm still braced on the desk, looks so good he can’t help but reach up and draw him into a kiss. Moments later, he’s panting into Anders’ mouth while the hand wrapped around him drives him over the edge.  

As Hawke’s breathing slows, Anders kisses him again.  

When he pulls back he grins at the mess they’ve made of Hawke’s stomach, the streaks glistening in the low mage-light. “Fuck, you look so hot like that... You were amazing,” he murmurs.

“So were you,” Hawke whispers back to him. He doesn’t think he could stop smiling if he tried. “And you said something about a next time? I think that’s something we should make happen.”

He tries not to think too hard about whether there might be some trace of uncertainty in the smile Anders returns to him. Before Hawke can look too long at it he’s turning away to grab a pair of discarded smallclothes to clean up the mess they’ve made. Hawke sits up, thinking that they probably could have managed this on the bed. Would have been a lot easier on his back if they had.  

He wipes himself off then tosses the underwear aside before stepping over to Anders and drawing him into another kiss. Anders clutches his shoulders and parts his lips for him. When they draw apart he breathes, “Maker, you’re good at that.”

Hawke raises an eyebrow, not having expected the compliment. “Good to know.”

“I should probably...”

Hawke cuts him off, “Stay?”

Anders frowns at him. “You know I can’t. I’m more likely to be seen leaving if I wait until morning.”

“Don’t wait until morning, then. Just stay a little while.”

Anders sighs and Hawke can see it written all over his face that he wants it. Hawke takes his hand and starts to lead him over to the bed and after a moment of hesitation, Anders follows.  

Then, finally, Hawke gets to hold him in his arms the way he’s wanted to for weeks now.  

“If I fall asleep...”  

“I’ll wake you. And if I fall asleep, I’ll cover for you in the morning. I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Anders,” Hawke tells him softly. He brushes the loose hair from his face to place a kiss to his forehead and adds, “I promise.”

Anders ducks his head against him, one arm clutching to his back while he presses his face to Hawke’s chest. “You can’t promise that, Hawke.”

“I just did.”

Anders shakes his head, his voice still muffled against Hawke’s chest as he answers, “You've been... unusually fortunate for a mage. And I’m glad for that, I really am. But you don't know what it's like for the rest of us.”

It’s true. He has no way of really understanding what Anders has been through but that just makes the desire to keep him safe all the more urgent. “You’re right... But that won't stop me from trying.”

For a long moment Anders is quiet and still. Then Hawke hears him release a long sigh, his breath coming hot against Hawke’s skin. “What is it?” Hawke murmurs into his hair.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Anders answers, even more softly. “It was supposed to be fun. Easy. I didn’t expect...”  

When he trails off, Hawke pulls back to look at him, though he’s barely visible in the dark. “Didn’t expect what?”

“...To like you this much.”

Hawke doesn’t know what to say to that. He feels a rush of both affection and longing that smothers anything he might have said and it seems the simplest thing is to kiss him again.  

“It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, Anders. You’ll see. I’ll do whatever it takes to convince you that you can have this.”

But Anders just smiles at him sadly, “I think that might be exactly what I’m afraid of.”

#m!handers #anders x hawke #lemon #dadrunkwriting #i really want to write the rest of this fic now! #there are a few more details i need to figure out for it #but if i can i'm really tempted to go for it

[polyboros]

carcinization, babey!

so floating around blaseball spaces have been blink’s lore on how the garden has affected the flowers’ players, and recently, mads’ stuff on how the call got the firefighters, which makes it sound like they got murdered but that’s fine. and i started thinking about carcinization, because becoming a crab is about a lot of things, like gender and crabs and being a Part Of The Team and love, y’know, crab things, but it’s also about what is left in the “absence” where a [mumbles vaguely] killed god was at some point, and it’s also incredibly up to interpretation! 

anyway! crabs players.

so, a basic thing of how i view carcinization: it’s both connected to debbie and not. at some point, it was because of her, and now it’s not, but it is, kind of. it’s about baltimore and it isn’t. it’s about the crabs and it isn’t. what it is about, in no uncertain terms, is the person being carcinized! on some level you have to be willing to be carcinized for it to happen. if you walk into the baltimore crabs and you say fuck this shit i don’t want this, it’s not going to happen. there’s obviously a lot of nuance to this, but the basic foundation of it is that it is voluntary! and it’s reversible. and despite being a very, very physical thing, carcinization is about emotions.

i’m going to do players in order of who i have the most thoughts about! because some crabs are definitely definitely thought about more by others than i do, haha.

so luis acevedo! traded to the crabs in the season 7 elections, from the garages. they’re a hologram, and they’re constantly shifting both their appearance and identity subconsciously or manually to suit them how they see fit. they have a very very very solid sense of identity despite this, and they’ve been around, you know? centuries old. so they get to baltimore and they kind of already know what they’re getting into, except they have no idea at all, really. 

and i think they see carcinization from this outsider’s perspective, like, this is something you get when you’re a part of the team, this is something you get when you’re truly from baltimore and you’re truly a Crab, and they want it! they really do. because the crabs weren’t super important to them at first but they become important, and they want that connection to what becomes their family. but they don’t get it, not from an outside source. it’s because they’re a hologram, kind of, but mostly their identity is malleable by them and not many other things, and that’s the way they’ve crafted it. 

so luis rolls up their sleeves and goes okay, bitch, guess i have to do everything myself around here! and they carcinize themself, essentially, they give themself chitin one day and blue blood the next and claws and legs and every time they want to change they do, and i don’t think they quite realize until late into the Up that this is their carcinization. that this is their connection to the team, because they made it that way. and they run into the place where all the crabs hang out like holy fucking shit is this what it was? and they’re all like yeah?? we figured you knew?? and [luis vc] i fucking did NOT. it ends happily for them, either way.

next is [squints at hand] squid galvanic and jacoby podcast! these two are extremely intertwined for me specifically in relation to their experience with carcinization, because they’re both playoff births, right? they’ve only truly existed on the immaterial plane for a couple years, maybe, squid longer. and i think while the shadows are normal now that the fk apple is up (something i will elaborate on   later), they used to be not so great. and squid and jacoby were born into the shadows and not baltimore, really, and carcinization couldn’t reach them there. and then squid’s out, and it is seeing baltimore for the first time in its life, and the crabs for the first time, too, and finn invites it to go swimming in the extremely toxic bay with her because it can! 

and it does, and it wakes up the next morning with chitin plates interlocking up its spine and patches of it along its jaw, and it maybe freaks the fuck out, a little. because nobody explained this to it, because nobody thought they had to? but once it gets explained and it knows what’s happening, squid is overjoyed. it wasn’t a part of the crabs like the rest were in Up, and now it’s a step closer to that, and it’s happy about it. plus, it makes it look really cool, and i think it likes the feeling of sort of being Distinctly Inhuman in another way than it already is.

jacoby, on the other hand, doesn’t get carcinization. like, they get it on an objective level? and i think they understand it, sort of, in the way that you can understand it when it hasn’t really happened to you yet. i think they’re too unsure for it to happen, and when they’re more confident they get some hermit crab carcinization, but it’s… very slow. one step forward two steps back. i think that being a replacement for a bad pitcher that got foreshadowed has made them a little too anxious in their abilities, and their carcinization reflects that. sometimes squid peels stray bits of chitin that tried to grow on its vampire squid half and sets them on jacoby’s head and they laugh about it, though, and it makes it easier. 

i think about tosser’s carcinization in the context of it reflecting self-confidence a lot as well. the general thing about tosser is that after the real bad reverse sweep before the first peanut fight, he lost his carcinized arm! normal arm time. he blames this on debbie, and on carcinization not seeing him as good enough anymore, but carcinization isn’t the one seeing anything, really. tosser, on some level, has taken a hard enough blow from that loss to lose the confidence and motivation that made that arm carcinize to begin with. in the Up the rest of the team helps him build his own arm, artificial, and it’s once again the self-made connection to your team. you don’t need carcinization to be a crab, it’s something you foster yourself, and tosser is an original, and he’s had that connection and only made it stronger. i think once he gets down chitin and muscle begins to interweave with the metal, a bit, but nothing nearly as much as before. he’s okay with that, really. prefers it.

tot fox is a fox. she wears that funny crab hat you know the one. she doesn’t mind carcinization, and carcinization doesn’t mind her, but they’ve never really interacted, i think. she gets some extra legs to scuttle around with after she kills the sun and she’s happy with that.

dreamy and nagomi are both very carcinized, i think. nagomi found strength in the ever-changing nature of it and everything about it, in contrast to the heavy stasis of lady friday, and dreamy’s an original crab! however, i think while nagomi’s carcinization has remained just as heavy and strong as ever, dreamy’s faded and molted off over siesta. not for lack of wanting, but because with the sudden absence of the crabs, it sort of weakened her connection to it, and then over the decade it just sort of retreated back into itself? and she misses it, of course, but she learns how to live without it. and then the crabs come down, and i’m always thinking about sim’s minific where the carcinization comes back all at once. dreamy knows before anyone that the crabs are back because the chitin lining her jaw is back in full force and she can feel it, intrinsically, like something coming home to her. moco is less carcinized to begin with, but i think their armor grows chitin plate to replace rusted and missing pieces.

i’m sleepy now, and i don’t have particularly strong articulated thoughts on the rest of the crabs’/former crabs’ carcinization, so you should come to the crabitat at tillmansucks.com and ask about them! because i do love them very dearly. (pedro davids my beloved)

thank you for reading! love a crab

#blaseball #baltimore crabs #rai cringe comp

[musicfren]

They’ve got a bad reputation (they’ll get a standing ovation) part 2

HI HAVE I, TOLD YOU, THAT, @nottesilhouette IS THE MOST FRIGGEN AMAZING WRITER IN THE WHOLE WORLD? God...why do we do this to ourselves, friggen 3400 word story in the span of 2 days...this is entirely exclusively my fault pay no mind  Read part 1 here. Happy @felinettenovember y’all, time for slep!

...oh, dear gods, why is Felix here? The spotlight burns into his face like shame, regret bubbling up in his stomach. He doesn’t remember challenging Marinette but he has, apparently, and now everyone’s watching and he has to-- he has to-- fight. Defend himself. 

Or breathe, if he can manage it.

One seems easier than the other. Well, here goes nothing. Felix steps forward and calls engarde. 

“Ophelia did nothing but obey the men in her life!” He cries, stepping forward, gesticulating wildly. The crowd gasps, and Felix doesn’t understand why until he realizes he's still holding the sword prop, white-knuckled grip around its hilt. Marinette’s eyes go wide with surprise and Felix nearly blurts out an apology right there. But then a glint of something sharper flashes in her gaze, burning with determination and suddenly Felix isn’t feeling quite so confident. It’s too late to quail now. He steps forward and matches her, still talking. “She’s hardly enough of an independent person to qualify as a character.” 

“What would she be, then?” Marinette’s voice is steady, calm, and Felix is wildly, irrationally envious of it. He can’t work out how to make his statements come out smooth, suave like she’s managed, so he goes for the next best weapon: rage.

“She’s little more than a symbol, a prop,” he spits, and the crowd reacts appropriately. Something in his chest loosens at the idea that he’s performed correctly. Something in his heart wrenches.

Marinette sends him a snide look. “You would know. You’re a model mannequin.” 

They’re circling each other now: Felix is brash, forceful, cutting broad slashes through the air with each sweeping generalization he makes. Marinette is steady, precise, pulling apart the stitches of his defense with needle-fine precision. His pulse quickens; a glance at the audience shows she’s winning their favor. This isn’t the clever riposte and quick banter they expected, and Felix is coming across as dim-witted at best. 

“Well, what is she then? You have so many judgements, it’s time you raised an opinion of your own-- or do you have no policy but to raze mine?” Felix pushes her back, scrambling for repost. He needs to be interesting, he needs to be clever, he needs to-- turn it back onto Marinette before the crowd realizes he’s faking, that he doesn’t want to be here, that he’s… scared. 

His tongue sours at the words, and he hates himself for saying them. Marinette shoots him a glare full of challenge, and for an instant he considers conceding right there. Marinette believes so strongly in her cause, and Felix is desperate to apologize, to reconcile, to just acknowledge the points she’s making. But he’s trapped now, caught in the reputation he’s built for this audience and his own pride, and he has nowhere to go but forward. 

Or backwards, apparently, because with each point Marinette makes, crisp and concise and clear, Felix finds himself frantically retreating further and further.

“Ophelia is the only person in the play who recognizes that Hamlet needs help.” 

“That’s not true--”

She cuts him off with a slice.  “She’s the only person who notices and tries to stop him, who cares enough to call him out on his actions, to hold him accountable to the promises he made before his mad plan, to who he used to be.” 

“The entire argument is milquetoast--” He stabs desperately.

“They speak of beauty and reputation, of expectations and the way one’s actions will never outweigh the image others have of them.” 

“They speak of madness and prostitution!”

They’ve become locked in combat now, their blades darting in the scant space their words leave behind. The crowd presses forward, squeezes the stage almost to bursting. Nino presses his face to the camera lense, not wanting to miss an instant.

“The argument is framed against women but its themes are centered on Hamlet’s own realization of the position he’s found himself in. It breaks the adrenaline rush long enough to show him, in all his grief and desperation, the reality he’s constructed for himself. They speak of agency!” 

“Ophelia has none!”

“Ophelia reminds him that he does!” Marinette’s voice finally raises. “Ophelia reminds Hamlet who he is, what he has, if only for a moment. Ophelia grieves for him, for his loss: of his father, of his sanity and dignity and agency. She acknowledges that he is a liar, but remembers the man he used to be, the person he put work into being.” 

“She laments the loss of his attention, nothing more.”

“To write her statements off as such discounts the tone and the manner with which they are intended; she is returning his madman’s accusations with compassion and reason, she is the only person who has done so, who will ever do so.” 

“Why should I take her seriously when no one else does?!” It’s a mad, desperate response as he finds himself teetering at the edge of the stage, and he’s unbalanced. He swings again, unhinged. 

“None of the men in her life-- not her father, not her brother, not god himself-- take her seriously until she dies.”

“She trips into a river.” Finally, Felix is in charge of this conversation; this, Marinette cannot deny. It is his strongest point, and the only point that matters. He steadies himself, holds his sword like a shield to defend his statement. 

“Her death is not an accident. Her death is the culmination of the climax. Her death is the reason anyone stops long enough to notice how far gone Hamlet is! Her death tethers Hamlet to the person he used to be, who loved her once, who remembered what it felt like to choose what he did and who he was.” 

“That makes her nothing more than the physical manifestation and harbinger of Hamlet's descent into madness,” and Felix puts on a smirk because he knows he should. 

Felix wishes he was being honest, passionate the way Marinette is being. Felix wishes her voice didn’t seem so far away, calling from a world he remembers existing in but can’t find his way back to anymore. Felix wishes he was talking to her in a realm even close to reality instead of the mirage he’s operating in, desperate not to fall through. 

Instead, he steps forward from the edge of the stage and keeps his sword aloft. “She’s trapped in the societal confines of traditional womanhood. She’s nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter.”

“You’re right.” 

Marinette stops moving forward to meet him, drops her arm. Felix is thrilled, and sick and confused, doubly so when he notices the ferocity in her expression. It is not one of someone who has given up. It is one of someone who is about to pounce.

“You’re right, she is nothing more than a woman in a world where that doesn’t matter. No one cares what she has to say. So she makes it matter. She dies, and she is finally heard. You’re right, and she’s a genius for the way she wields it like a weapon.” Marinette smirks, matching his smugness with self-assured pride, and taps his wrist with her sword. His own slips easily out of his grasp, and he trembles; with what emotion, he cannot place. “Being able to do the work of all these men in 58 lines doesn’t make her less of a character, Felix. It makes her more of one, and more power to her for what she’s able to notice that no one else will. It’s not her fault men can’t manage it.”

 Felix finally snaps. “My sense is not less than yours!”

Marinette pauses, and very very slowly, grins. It’s terrifying, predatorial. She rakes her gaze down his body, and he shivers. “I had thought to agree but this battle of wits has proven very much so the opposite. When she blows him a kiss and winks, Felix collapses where he stands. 

It’s over. The tension the assembled students have been holding in their collective lungs for the last five minutes erupts into cheers and thunderous applause.

“Bravo, bravo.” says Nino, pushing through the crowd, most of whom are still frantically scribbling in their notebooks. Felix can scarcely bring himself to look up, his face burning with humiliation. The room around him is rapidly becoming a confusing blur of angry lights and prying eyes.

“You guys were amazing, I’ve never seen anything like that before! Honestly I should turn this in just like that.” Nino moves around to get a few more shots of their faces, lit up under the harsh theatre lights.

“No way!” shouts someone from the crowd, “I’m turning it in first!” “--can’t believe how easily Marinette just eviscerated Felix! I thought he was good at literature but--” “--she’s so clever, he could barely keep up--”  “--he’s not very good at this, is he--”

Someone else laughs and soon the whole crowd is bickering, arguing over who will lay claim to Marinette’s mental prowess and Felix’s mortification. 

“Enough, ALL of you! That was completely uncalled for. This wasn’t for you to take advantage of. None of you-- none of you-- bothered to state your own position, your own opinion. All you did was encourage my attacks, which were honestly in poor form.” Marinette hardly stops to breathe. “And anyways, I’m only more coherent because I’ve done weeks of research on this character. Felix kept up to someone who wasn’t just thinking on her feet, and his points still had credibility-- do you know how many literary analyses I’ve read on his position just to try and work out how to defend mine?” Marinette leans over and offers Felix a gentle smile and an outstretched hand. He gratefully accepts.

Felix takes her hand and pulls himself up with it, and stands shoulder to shoulder with her, looking out at the sea of chastised faces. “And now you think you can turn in our work-- her work, really-- and our performance as your own as if you have any claim to it-- it’s disgusting. Marinette poured herself into caring about this, and… and I should’ve listened to her, but I don’t get to take credit for the work she’s done to be this person. I need to do the work myself. You’re manipulators and thieves if you think you deserve any part of what she’s done.” 

“Hey, everyone is manipulated by something. Hamlet, Claudius, Horaito… you would know, right?” Marinette looks at him again, soft and shy and concerned through her lashes.

Felix swallows hard, glances at the cameras still rolling. Yeah, he would know.

“Thank you.” He says, stumbling and trying to hide the way his legs are shaking. “I, um… I guess I’d better put these swords away before someone stabs themselves.”

Nino slaps a hand on his shoulder so hard he nearly falls back down again. “Felix, my man! Get that grumpy black uniform off you!”

“Um… what?” Felix turns in confusion, head still spinning.

“You, my friend, are stage-hand no more! We’re still missing a Hamlet, and I know I’ve found the perfect one right here!”

“...WHAT?!?” 

As the world around him starts to blur, Marinette slips her hand into his and squeezes, shooting him a fond, amused grin. “You’re going to do great, Felix. I’ll see you on stage.” She presses her lips to his cheek, soft, warm, and… the scene fades to black to the sound of cheering.

#felinette #battle of wits #felinette november #felinette month 2020 #MusicFrenDoesWords #aaaaaaaa #nottesilhouette is just hamelton #but a good person

[fortheloveoffanfic]

Protective Service

John Wick x Reader (A/n-how is this like the second or third request that I’ve turned into a long ass series? Why does this keep happening? A/n2- I have zero medical knowledge, so hopefully the stuff I wrote makes at least the tiniest bit of sense.)

Masterlist   Protective Service Masterlist 

Warnings- Angst, the slightest hints of NSFW (teasing)

Chapter 9 Learning To Let Go

It was strange, John thought as he walked along the shore, his feet sinking into the soft sand and the chill of the salty wind breaking through his layers, the moment was unsettlingly familiar. It was the middle of fall and the water had started to grow colder as the evenings progressed, so they hadn't gone in, but still Helen had wanted to visit the beach one last time before winter descended upon New York. They'd spent the afternoon walking right past where the waves met the sand and she'd even collected a few colorful seashells that she thought would make the perfect keepsakes to pepper the shelves in their home. She hadn't gotten much though, and internally, John had noted that he should take her somewhere like Hawaii or Bora Bora on their next vacation, so she could get some nicer ones. 

As he walked, he grew nearer to where Helen stood near his beloved car. She was smiling and for a moment it felt like it had been a while since he'd seen her smile, her beautiful smile. He'd missed it. Though, he was overly aware of the fact that he shouldn't have, considering John had seen it not more than fifteen minutes ago. The entire ordeal felt surreal.

As John approached her, he suddenly felt like something was missing, like he’d gone through the motions before though with one detail absent. “What’s wrong John?” Noticing his bewilderment, Helen broken is dismal thoughts. 

“I….” John’s head snapped up to meet her worried gaze, those honey colored notes in her dark eyes standing out beautifully, “I don’t know,” finally he was standing next to Helen, leaning against the tailgate and instinctively taking his wife into his arms. “Something feels different.”

Helen nuzzled her head into his neck, wrapping her slender arms around his waist, “Well, that’s because everything’s different,” when he looked down at her, more confused than before, Helen knitted her brows, bringing her hand up so fragile fingers would ghost his bearded cheek, “Don’t you remember baby?”

“Hel……” He leaned into her touch, his breath hitching upon finding how cold it was, “I don’t understand,” John swallowed thickly; panic rising up as bile in his throat, “What’s going on?”

“You know John,” abruptly, Helen pulled away, detaching herself from his embrace and starting to walk away, “You know what you have to do.”

Immediately, he started following her, but despite his efforts, John couldn’t get any closer than within a couple feet, “No Helen, I don’t. What’s going on? Where are you going?” They walked and walked, but didn’t seem to be going anywhere, not really; the car never grew further away while the rocky formations in the distance never drew nearer. 

Turning, she smiled wistfully, tilting her head to the side so her brown tresses would sweep over her shoulder, and for some reason unbeknownst to him, her little gesture brought tears to his eyes, “I’m already gone, John.”

And that was when he remembered.

She was already gone. Long gone. Helen, the first woman he’d ever loved, the woman who had brought light to his shadowy depths and stilled the storm that brewed within, was dead. John had watched her wither away; seen smiles through immense pain, seen as she got thinner with each passing day and finally, seen as she’d taken her last breaths as the doctors turned off the machines. 

The memories had a stifled sob parting his lips and tears creeping out the corners of his eyes, “Helen…..” John pleaded, as if saying her name would breath her back to life. But it wouldn’t and John knew that all too well, “I miss you. I need you.”

“I know, but you don’t need me darling,” She kept her distance, and John ached to touch her, just one last time, even if it wouldn’t be near enough, “You’re doing so well; you’ve found happiness again. You just need to slow down and let yourself feel it.”

“What do you mean? With Y/n?” At the mention of her name, Helen’s eyes sparkled knowingly, not really in answer, but more so in permission. “I can’t do that to you Hel, she’s……she’s nothing like you.”

Her eyes were cast out to the boundless blue by then, and Helen seemed to let his words sink in before speaking again, “Isn’t that the best part?” There was now this hollowness in her voice, as if she were far away, “And you aren’t doing anything to me, I’m not here, remember.”

“You’re right in front of me,” his voice broke as he objected, knowing the truth but still having a hard time accepting it, “You right here,” reaching out, John’s eyes went wide as his fingers went right through her. 

Helen’s expression fell at his pained look, though, the only heart that broke was his. “No, I’m not.” Quickly, she licked her lips as they formed a frown, “Not anymore. And you know that. But you’ve found someone that is, so don’t hold yourself back. Fight for her, the way you’ve fought for everything else. Let go, John,” for the first time in a while, she was just a breath away, though, her presence brought no warmth. And that was when he realized that the person that stood before him wasn’t even Helen, not really, it was a dream, a figment his mind had conjured up so he could finally have the closure he needed, hear from the first keeper of his heart that it was okay to give it away again. 

“I can’t,” he whispered tearily, his hands hovered over her shoulders, knowing it would kill him if he tried to touch her again, only to be met with nothingness, “I don’t want to forget.”

Again, she was smiling, her confidence in him as vast as the sea washing their feet, “You won’t. I promise.”

He promised himself.

“You won’t forget. So stay John,” and just like that, as if she’d never been there, Helen, or at least, the image of her, was gone, evaporating before his very eyes.

“Stay John,” another voice pierced his mind, not coming from one place in particular, almost as if he were hearing it from all around, “I can’t lose you, so please stay.”

It had been a long time since Y/n had cried in the presence of another, though, she supposed it didn’t really count if the other person was unconscious. The doctor had told them that John wasn’t quite out of the woods, and he wouldn’t be until he’d woken up. Thankfully, he was still breathing on his own, waving the need for any specialized equipment. He wasn’t comatose either, but would definitely need time to recover from the blood loss. 

All in all, most of it had been favorable news and the greying doctor had assured her that John was otherwise healthy, so there was no need for too much worrying, unless he developed a fever favoring infection or a clot that they hadn’t caught. Still though, Y/n worried anyway and past the hour where dawn awakened the darkened sky, she’d stayed at his bedside, maintaining a tight hold on his hand while her gaze was trained on his insensate from, hyper aware of his soft breaths and the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, a large bandage covering a section of his abdomen. There was an I.V hooked up, running to the hand that laid flat at his side, and the doctor had left a small variety of medicines to be administered whenever John awoke. She’d be there, she’d give them to him.

Winston and Charon had left shortly after the doctor had, encouraging her to come with them so she could get some rest, she’d been awake for nearly twenty uninterrupted hours by then, but Y/n had refused. There wasn’t a chance in hell that she was leaving John’s side. He’d almost lost his life protecting her, the least she could do was lose some sleep over him. 

“Stay John,” the words were barely a whisper, breathed close to his ear and Y/n pressed her head to his, occasionally raising to lay the softest, most feather light of kisses to his forehead, carefully avoiding the bandage over his gash, “I can’t lose you, so please stay.” There was so much that she’d pushed down, ignored, in favor of not coming off as being vulnerable. But from the moment she’d seen him bleeding out on the ground, she’d instantly regretted it. He had to know, John deserved to know.

“Please stay,” Y/n repeated, tears hot on her cheeks and dripping onto John’s hair splayed out like a raven halo on the pristine white pillow. The words thoughtlessly tumbled out of her mouth, “You were right, I am selfish and I am so hurt that I don’t know how to do anything else but hurt other people,” borrowing against his cheek, Y/n sniffled noisily as she continued, “But you were wrong too,” painfully, she reminisced on the night two weeks ago when John accused her of not caring about anyone but herself, “I care about you, so, so much. You’ve made me feel things that I never have before, so how could I not?”

After a moment of hesitation, Y/n turned slightly to pressing a chaste peck to his cheek, feeling John’s scruff tickle her lips. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want to make this right with you,” Y/n desperately tried to swallow the lump in her throat, barely able to put the thoughts into words, “This- you,” faltering, she corrected herself, “You, in the past few months, have meant more to me than anyone else ever has.”

Y/n wasn’t sure how long she’d spent talking to John, or by extension, how long they’d been there like that; the thick curtains had been pulled shut darkening the room. The heavy ticking of the clock for a long time had been the only sound accompanying her words, each shift signaling that another minute had passed with John’s recovery seeming further out of reach. Her eyes had started to burn while their lids felt heavy, but that didn’t stop Y/n from warding off sleep as she whispered formerly guarded secrets into his ear. It had been hours since they’d gotten to the Continental, but when she said that last thing, it seemed to finally stir something in John’s drifting consciousness, bringing him back to her. “I…..” his voice was raspy and John’s lips barely moved, “I can…..I can hear you.”

Springing into a straightened position, and Y/n lifted one of her hands from his, leaning forward to cup his face, the pad of her thumb grazing his cheek as hope illuminated her eyes. His were still closed, but Y/n could see his lashes fluttering; struggling to open as she could feel his fingers twitching ever so slightly. “John?” Huffing and suppressing a relieved, tender smile, “You can hear me? Do you want me to get the doctor? Do you need anything?”

“Just....” He didn’t seem like he’d completely regained control of himself, but it was enough to prove that John wasn’t too far gone, “Just stay.”

“The doctor said that you need to take these,” Y/n was standing at his bedside, still dressed in what she’d been wearing the day before, the blood stains on her navy colored blouson dress downplayed by the dark shade, shaking some pills out of two different bottles. He’d been awake and coherent for a couple hours by then, and graciously, Y/n had taken the time to help John sit up, stacking some pillows behind him for support.

Intently, he’d watched her, buzzing around the room and trying to stay busy but definitely not wanting to leave. John had heard everything she’d said after his lucid dream had dissipated; everything about how she cared and how much he meant to her, and he found that it was enough to vanquish any anger he’d harbored before then. Still though, he and Y/n hadn’t really spoken since he awoke, John wanted to though. They needed to. “Can we talk?” Even if she was actively avoiding his stare, John tried to angle his head to meet her eyes, wincing at the pain in his abdomen. 

Finally, when she looked at him, it was to offer the medication with one hand and a glass of water with the other, “About?”

“About everything you said,” he explained matter-of-factly, trying to gauge some meaning from her unreadable expression.

For a minute, John was expecting Y/n to deflect brashly; offer some hasty line about how he’d heard wrong or that she was just saying something she didn’t mean. But the words never came, and instead, she just pushed her hands closer, “Take these first and then we’ll talk.”

“Blackmail?”

Quirking the slightest smirk, she rolled her eyes playfully, “Maybe.” Chuckling, John relieved her of both, swallowing the pills down with a few mouthfuls of water, letting Y/n take the glass and replace it on the nightstand before she sat. “Okay,” she sighed, pushing off her shoes with her toes, letting them fall to the floor with a couple of soft thuds as she curled one leg under herself. “I meant every bit of that,” her eyes softened, a genuine affectionate gleam in them, “I do care for you,” Y/n reached over, laying her small hand over one of John’s larger ones, “You……I shouldn’t have made you think otherwise, I’m sorry, and I understand if you don’t feel the same.” She knew it wasn’t her place to expect much, not after the way things had gone between them, with her going hot and cold whenever she felt like it.

Studying her thoughtfully for a minute, John turned his hand over beneath her, the warmth of their palms radiating. “I do feel the same,” he reassured, “I guess you’re not completely to blame; I’ve been so worried that being with someone else would make me lose what I had with my wife. Like I’d be betraying her somehow. But I realize now that I wouldn’t be, that it's time to let her be a memory,” Gently, John gave Y/n’s hand a tug, urging her to come sit on the edge of the bed. When she was finally there, she leaned in, neither of them faltering before sharing a sweet, dare he say innocent, kiss. Like butterfly wings fluttering against each other. It was so untainted and free of any suggestive undertones, the kind of kiss that was meant to say, ‘I choose you.’ “Are you sure this is what you want?” John probed when they broke, his thumb roving the soft skin of Y/n’s knuckles.

Blinking quickly, she pulled away some more, briefly averting her gaze before meeting his eyes again, “I think so.” It was hardly a concrete answer, but coming from Y/n, it meant something, It was far more than indecision, it was the most she could give him; the shreds of herself that she could piece together and offer to him, while he did the same for her. 

“Okay,” he nodded, daring to offer her the first glimmers of a grin, lacing his free hand in her messy tresses so John could pull her in again, “Good,” his lips sealed on hers again, that time deeper and with more passion. 

Y/n scooted closer, her knee sinking into the mattress while she pressed her free hand to his chest; steadying herself. Tilting her head, she granted John greater access, intent on getting even closer until she made an uncalculated move; her thigh rubbing harshly against John’s bandage. He emitted a pained groan, jumping in surprise. “Shit,” she swore under her breath, looking between them to ensure that he wasn’t bleeding, “Maybe this isn’t the best time,” she giggled sheepishly, pulling away from John and moving to stand, undoing the silk knot on her dress as she sashayed away, “We’ll have to take a rain check.”

“Right…..” John was far too busy staring as Y/n undressed to pay attention to the words leaving her lips. Even before their short time together in the kitchen, he’d found himself envisioning the way she’d looked undressed; all supple, unblemished skin, smooth curves that were made to look small in his large hands and perfectly delectable with her pert breasts and perfect ass. That time, the sound contained in his throat wasn’t one of agony, “What are you doing?" He smirked as she tossed her bra to the side,  hooking her thumbs in the waist of her panties next. 

"I'm gonna take a shower," Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, snatching up a towel from nearby as she sauntered towards the bathroom door, throwing him a taunting backwards glance. It was alarmingly clear that the mood had shifted, and John was all for it. 

"Need some help?" He inquired, not even thinking of his injuries.

Wrapping the towel around herself and effectively depriving John of the salacious view, Y/n turned, leaning on the door frame, "As fun as that sounds, you're not supposed to get that wet," she nodded to the bandage on his left side, "And you should get some rest. But I promise, when I'm done, I'll help you clean up real good," and with a wink and a giggle laced with mirth, Y/n spun on her heel, leaving John in heady anticipation.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi  @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves  @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keau reeves #John wick #John wick x reader #john wick x you #John Wick x y/n #keanu reeves x y/n #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves fanfic #ff #protective service

[hankwritten]

Long Time Listener, First Time Caller

Demoman/Soldier, 2k

Request for @tokyotrain, Music

1. Reveille

There had never, ever, in the history of time or space, an instrument Demo hated more.

The bugle reverberated through the open window that someone had conspicuously left open, just in case the man in bed wouldn’t have been awakened by its bellows piercing through the glass. Not that that would ever happen. Demo was pretty sure he could’ve heard that damn instrument all the way in Hell, and grasped blindly for the pillow he could smother his own face in. It didn’t help. He shouldn’t be able to taste the cacophony the bugle was making, but there was the sting of copper on his tongue, as though his gums were bleeding in revolt.

“I’m going to kill him,” he muttered into the three layers of feathered pillows.

By the time he stumbled down to breakfast, there were bags under his eye, diluted homicidal intent on his face, and his fluffiest robe around his shoulders.

“And he’s finally up,” Mum said, and sipped her tea. Usually she’d be giving him an earful about his lazy behind tarrying in making her morning cup, but since she was smirking at his disheveled state, Soldier must have brewed it for her.

“Grrnn…” her son replied.

Coffee was the only thing that would make this morning better. Thankfully, there was a pot already brewing; Soldier wasn’t that heartless.

“I see you have acquired your morning cup of Joe!” Soldier said when he finally retired from his routine, sweeping into the kitchen on a wave of wholly unwelcome cheer. Beyond him—since the mansion didn’t have a flagpole, he’d found ways to make do—a rake was shoved into the lawn with a Stars ‘n Stripes bandana tied around it. This he erected every day at dawn. “Excellent! Now that you are refreshed and full of energy, you are capable of participating in post flag ceremony drills!”

Demo skipped the not on your life and went straight to, “I’m going to take that bloody thing and re-twist it until you can hang yourself with it.”

Mum laughed, and Soldier grinned jubilantly, confident in the knowledge that he would always win mornings.

2. Taunt

“Whomp whomp whaaaa,” the stupid bloody trombone played at him.

Half delirious from blood loss, Demo bared his teeth at the smug BLU above him who, as soon as he finished taunting, promptly executed his unwilling audience with a shotgun blast to the head.

This was the fifth time this had happened today, and Demo was pissed. Where was Soldier even keeping that thing? Every bloody time there was no sign of the instrument whatsoever, then as soon as victory was assured he reached into hammer space and pulled out five feet of tubing! It was ridiculous to drive a man crazy under the best of circumstances—but having it be your partner was something that garnered a certain degree of necessary revenge.

Demo had had enough. It was about time he did some stooping to Soldier’s level.

The next day, Demo managed to shove Soldier off Upward’s scaffolding with a well-timed shield bash. He couldn’t have hoped for a better opportunity, perfectly executed so Soldier hadn’t even gotten a kill on him that day, which might have ruined the ‘surprise’. He stood, one foot on the Soldier-shaped hole in the wood, and leaned on his knee.

“Nice of you to drop in!” he called.

“Eugh,” Soldier grumbled, impaled haphazardly on various bits of wood.

“As long as we’re both taking a breather, mind if get a bit of piping practice in?”

Not waiting for a reply, Demo pulled out the bagpipes that had been eagerly awaiting their time in the sun. Sitting as they had been for the past five years in the attic, derelict ever since he’d purchased them on a lark, he didn’t blame them. When he flexed the bag, dust came out the mouthpiece.

“Oh no,” Soldier said.

“Oh yes!” Demo disagreed, and began to play.

Soldier was in a very unfortunate situation, arm broken the exact wrong way to keep him from covering his own ears. Thus he was forced to listen as Demo played out a belching and eardrum-bleeding anti-tune, rippling the open air above the drop off with painful ineptitude.

“Never played a day in me life,” Demo said cheerfully as he ceased blowing into the bellows.

“And you should never do so again!” Soldier accused. “The only positive thing I can say about your first attempt is that thank God it is over!”

“Over?” Demo smirked. “Nah, there’s another four movements to get through.”

Soldier’s head flopped back in defeat, helmet rolling off into the abyss and eyes pointing at the sky. “Jesus and Thomas Edison, please give me strength.”

This was not heard over the resuming of what only the foolish and the damned would refer to as ‘music’.

3. Radio

“Do not touch that dial, maggot!”

“I’m shotgun, I get radio privileges.”

“Guh,” Soldier complained as Demo flipped until the NMDX began to flow from the box, polluting the airwaves with its electronic beats. “What even is this hippie garbage?”

“It’s disco, laddie!”

Demo was already grooving in his seat, dead set on enjoying the new wave in direct defiance of his partner’s annoyed twitch. Or, perhaps, maybe because of it.

Soldier grumbled. “Doesn’t make any damn sense! What’s a duck doing at a disco in the first place?”

“He wasn’t a duck when he went there,” Demo scoffed. “It’s like you’re not even listening to the song.”

“I’m trying not too.”

“Fine then! What do you like to listen to in the car?”

Soldier hummed quietly for a second, the fading carols of Rick Dees and His Cast of Idiots catching on the notes and escaping into the hum of the highway. After a moment of contemplation, Soldier peeled his eyes from the road and began to rummage about in the center console. This caused him to swerve wildly along the highway, other cars blaring their horns as the blue Camaro glided over the dotted line. Demo watched these events with mild interest.

“Aha!” Soldier exclaimed, emerging with an 8track clasped triumphantly in one hand. “This’ll get us to Springerville without all that play-it-backwards-to-alter-your-brainwaves nonsense!”

He slid the track into the Camaro’s player.

“…Welcome to the audio edition of the Farmer’s Almanac, for the year of our lord, 1972.”

“Oh god…”

“Hah!” Soldier brightened. “Now this is what I am talking about!”

It was going to be a long four hours.

4. Folk

Demo didn’t mind Soldier’s record, to be honest.

It seemed to be about something at least, more than he was used to the things Soldier liked being ‘about’ anything that wasn’t unquestioning patriotism. Sometime he wondered why, of all the folk records in the world, Soldier had decided to settle on Dust Bowl Ballads as his fixation in the realms of music. Americana of all kinds of blended together in Demo’s opinion, but despite the repetitive twang of the banjo and the stifling trite melody, even he could tell there was a story of deep melancholy to be found between the harmless little tunes.

So it wasn’t the fact that Soldier had a record. It was the fact that Soldier had a record, singular.

The idea that a person might purchase multiple albums over the course of their life and play them at different times when the mood struck them never seemed to have been explained to the Soldier. His concept to the record player was this: play the first side. When it was finished, flip it over and play the second side.

Repeat.

For hours.

No matter how sweet Woody Guthrie’s crooning was, having it repeated over and over again day in and day out could give anyone’s otherwise delightful performance all the dulcet notes of prison moonshine. It didn’t bother Soldier one bit it seemed—he would hum to himself merrily as he sat on the chaise, perfectly content to dissemble his shotgun on the coffee table while the same fifteen songs played.

“Y’know love,” Demo tried. “The reason records don’t come glued on to their players is because you can put other ones on. Look.”

He delicately switched out Ballads for something from his own collection, setting the needle so it could fall where it willed.

Soldier eyed the player dubiously as an entirely different style began to fall from the trumpet’s maw, grease rag in hand.

“I don’t get it,” he said as the first refrain came to a close. “You can’t understand a word she’s saying. What’s the point if you don’t know what’s going on?”

“You can’t understand it because it’s in Gaelic, lad.”

Soldier furrowed his brow. “Are you being vulgar at me right now, maggot?”

“Ach, no! I…” Demo sighed. Sometimes why he wondered why he even bothered. “Gaelic’s the language. It’s rare that anyone’ll make records in traditional tongues, but I had a few and I just thought…ah never mind.”

Gently he slid the record back into its sleeve and put Ballads back on.

“…Okay,” was all Soldier said, still frowning as Demo exited the room.

Demo wasn’t so callous to admit he hated the damn thing aloud, not when he could tell it made Soldier honestly, genuinely happy. They’d rib each other for their interests all the time, but not for something this important, and he resigned himself to having Woody as an unwanted houseguest for the rest of time.

That was, until a dreadful cold found him alone in the living room and unwilling to move.

The sickness (and Mum) had demanded he get plenty of bed rest, but he was just so bloody tired of spending all his time between the same four walls and occasionally the bathroom. He’d thought, well, there’s no harm in a quick trip downstairs, only to discover that once he’d gone horizontal on the couch, he lost all motivation to go back up those stairs.

That was how Soldier found him, cocooned in every blanket in the living room, blinking up pitifully as sniffled at his partner. To his credit, Soldier didn’t chastise him for sneaking out of bed; he simply sighed, moved the tissues box closer, and got Demo a cup of tea.

This was all unsurprising, if sweet. What was surprising was—as Demo lay with his back to the majority of the room—the sound of a record sliding into the player. A moment later the room was reendowed with Fear a Bhàta, the song flowing over his senses as he huddled for warmth under his blanket pile. He lifted his head to look at Soldier, who merely shrugged. That was all. Then he sat down on a chair near his Demoman and opened up an issue of Guns & Haircuts.

After that, sometimes Demo would come home to find a piece from his library playing, wafting through the mansion’s halls with no objection from its audience. If Jane had truly changed his mind, or was just doing it for Demo’s benefit, Demo couldn’t tell, but he appreciated the gesture all the same.

5. Piano

“Nothing?” Demo asked as his hands stilled across the keys, the last notes echoing in the music room to the resounding absence of symphony. The only thing left to fill it was the painfully normal sounds of two people simply being alive. “Not a single word of complaint?”

Soldier grinned, and shrugged. “Maybe we found something we can agree on.”

“And that something so happens to involve me doing all the work.” But despite that he grinned, taking Soldier’s hand and rubbing a thumb across the bones along its back, a private concert undergone and concluded. “You should help out. Grab a microphone, lay sultrily across my piano. That’d jazz up the performance.”

“Sounds like a good way to break a piano.”

“Excuses excuses.”

Soldier leaned down, capturing Demo’s mouth in a kiss, knees pressed against the back of the bench, hand still in Demo’s. When he they parted, Demo thought of how he always tasted like gunpowder, no matter how long it’d been.

Soldier smiled against Demo’s lips. “Play us another?”

“So demanding,” Demo smiled, and put fingers back to ivory.

#demosolly #boots n bombs #tf2 fanfiction

[thebluelemontree]

Is it wrong to say that Sansa uses an out of sight out of mind coping mechanism? I noticed it because it's what I do a lot. I know some ppl say she rewrites traumatic memories to make the memories bearable but it doesn't make sense. If that was how she coped, wouldn't she have been telling herself lies about Joffrey still in acok? Or found a way to erase/rewrite Marillion's attempt to rape her?

Yes and no. She does that except all the times she doesn’t. ;) I think that characterization is extremely reductionist (and ignores character complexity and  growth) when it’s applied that broadly to every situation Sansa has been in. You have to take these things instance by instance because they aren’t all the same. Sometimes that labeling doesn’t fit at all. In many cases, it feels more like the fandom pathologizing the act of romanticizing or trying to push aside or reframe something unpleasant or even traumatic when that’s just something most human beings do now and then. Some do it more than others, but its all within the realm of typical coping behavior and being older or more educated or more “logical” doesn’t make one immune to it. So I hope you don’t let those interpretations make you feel abnormal or more fallible for identifying with Sansa in that way. Romanticizing doesn’t even have to be about coping at all, but simply expressing desire through daydreams. People imagine being in idealized scenarios with crushes all the time.  

You also hit the nail on the head. Sansa just doesn’t go around making up false narratives about every objectively awful thing that happens to her. In fact, her actual responses to those moments can be a useful basis for comparison when we’re analyzing the unkiss, for example. Misunderstanding the unkiss is usually where a lot of these assumptions stem from. That’s a whole other can of worms in itself. The unkiss is just too long of a discussion to put here, so I just recommend this post as to the reasons why it isn’t about trauma and take a browse through my unkiss tag. It does bear repeating that Sansa factually remembers every scary thing that happened during the Blackwater and why it happened, indicating she has processed it honestly and critically, before any incarnation of the unkiss happens. The unkiss is a mismemory added on to the facts, which began as her being the actor that kissed him first. It’s not a lie to deny the facts or to excuse his behavior. It’s regrettable to her that Sandor was not able to be the person she could rely on to get her out of KL at that time. Nonetheless, this repressed desire is just so strong in her that it manifested in a kiss so real she could remember how it felt after the reality of his leaving KL for good sank in. 

Early AGOT Sansa tended to want to move past unpleasantness rather quickly. Just sweep those red flags under the rug so everything can go back to blissful harmony. Sansa is naturally averse to conflict and just wants her present with the royal family to be smooth sailing into a bright future. Ned had a very similar tendency when it came to concerns over Robert’s true character. He saw things that disturbed him, but he hoped and clung to his idea of Robert anyway. For Sansa, this resulted in some misplaced blame and rewriting events so she could deal with the aftermath. This is mostly seen in her processing the Mycah incident after Lady’s death and how her perception of all the characters involved shifted in varying ways. This is after she knew perfectly well what really happened, because Ned says Sansa had already told him the truth of what Joffrey did while Arya was still missing. However, it would also be unfair to completely chalk this up to Sansa’s idiosyncrasies. We have to put her flip-flopping in the context of the situation as well. She’s also experienced a gutting loss with Lady’s death and the fact that the first blow to her innocence was her father volunteering to put Lady down. She doesn’t have Catelyn to go to with her confusion and hurt, and Ned has largely been silent. She’s also still engaged to Joffrey through all this, this is still a patriarchy, there are political ramifications to speaking against a crown prince, and she doesn’t know how to deal with seeing such cruelty and vindictiveness in her future husband. Especially when he responded to her tender concern and wanting to help him with venom and hate. 

I mean, jeez, she’s 11. I don’t expect an 11 year old to understand how to identify the signs of emotional manipulation or see how this situation can escalate into domestic violence. Just because Sansa can’t articulate what is happening within her relationship with Joffrey, doesn’t mean she has blocked out any notion that Joffrey can turn his anger on her. Part of the reason she misplaces blame on Arya (and rewrites what happened) is because Joffrey turns scornful of Sansa for being a witness to his emasculating shame. He punishes her with the cold shoulder because she didn’t immediately take his side and pretended not to see instead. He regains power through making Sansa feel small and fearful of his moods. 

“He had not spoken a word to her since the awful thing had happened, and she had not dared to speak to him.” -- Sansa II, AGOT.

Sansa looked at him and trembled, afraid that he might ignore her or, worse, turn hateful again and send her weeping from the table. -- Sansa II, AGOT.

This is coming from someone who is supposed to love her and someone she will spend the rest of her life with. To fix things, she must be unequivocally on Joffrey’s side going forward or suffer the consequences, which we can see happening as her story completely flips over breakfast sometime later. This is not saying Sansa is fully exonerated from not supporting her sister when she needed her, but that it’s understandable how she arrived at this point. Even when things start to get really bad after Ned’s arrest, Sansa still holds out some hope that she can appeal to Joffrey’s (and Cersei’s) love for her to get him to be merciful. Is it really her fault she believed a part of Joffrey really loved her (and thus was reachable by her pleas) if he also heavily love bombed her and treated her like she was the most special girl in the world? Love bombing is a classic feature of the seduction phase leading up to abuse.  

So we can see Sansa does ignore truths and rewrite events sometimes and her personality is a factor; however, the context surrounding it matters a lot. Post Ned’s execution, Sansa does a full 180 regarding Joffrey and Cersei.

Sansa stared at him, seeing him for the first time. He was wearing a padded crimson doublet patterned with lions and a cloth-of-gold cape with a high collar that framed his face. She wondered how she could ever have thought him handsome. His lips were as soft and red as the worms you found after a rain, and his eyes were vain and cruel. "I hate you," she whispered. -- Sansa VI, AGOT.

Once she had loved Prince Joffrey with all her heart, and admired and trusted his mother, the queen. They had repaid that love and trust with her father's head. Sansa would never make that mistake again. -- Sansa I, ACOK. 

"A monster," she whispered, so tremulously she could scarcely hear her own voice. "Joffrey is a monster. He lied about the butcher's boy and made Father kill my wolf. When I displease him, he has the Kingsguard beat me. He's evil and cruel, my lady, it's so. And the queen as well." -- Sansa I, ASOS. 

There’s also her conscious efforts to push away thoughts of her dead family and Jeyne Poole, but she states why she does that. It’s traumatic, the tears start flowing uncontrollably, and she is desperately trying to avoid falling into another suicidal depression. Her survival in KL depends on her holding it together and appearing loyal and obedient to Joffrey. Mourning her loved ones would imply to Joffrey she is plotting treason. Besides, she knows that even if she did ask Cersei or LF about Jeyne, she has no reason to believe they’d do anything but lie to her face in a patronizing way. There’s no point being plagued with wondering what the truth might be when she can’t do anything about it. Still, she prayed for Jeyne wherever she might be. She genuinely thought Arya had made it to WF on the ship and was safe at least until she got word of her brothers’ deaths and her home being sacked by the Iron Born, though there was initially a touch of projection and fantasizing about Arya being free while she remains captured. As of Feast, she believes she is the last Stark left alive and she has no one but Littlefinger to help her. So while she is suppressing her grief, it’s done with good reason, and it’s not being replaced with any false narratives to cope. 

We also cannot ignore that her relationship to Sandor Clegane has instilled in her an appreciation for the un-sugarcoated truth now that she has experienced betrayal and injustice first hand. In his own way, he’s encouraged her to listen to her own inner bullshit detector. The rose-tinted glasses have become a lot more clear compared to where she started. This is a newly learned skill though, and her self-confidence has been wrecked by internalized verbal abuse. She’s also been left on her own to figure out people’s intentions by herself, which runs parallel to her mounting desperation to get out of KL as Joffrey’s violence escalates. Developing a touch more of a jaded, skeptical side does sometimes clash with her enduring idealism and faith in other people (like with the Tyrells). This struggle is not a bad thing. The goal isn’t to become as cynical as the Hound, but to arrive at an earned optimism that has been tempered by wisdom and practical experience.

Her situation with Littlefinger is much more challenging than anything she faced in KL. He moves her where he wants her to go with complex web of lies, manipulation, grooming, isolation, coercion, dependence, guilt and shame. Her safety and desire to go home are tightly bound to being complicit in his lies and criminal activities. She feels indebted to him for getting her out of KL, even though his methods push her past her boundaries and force her to compromise her moral integrity. The thing is, there are things Sansa does know about LF, but she doesn’t seem to be ready to try and put the puzzle pieces together. She’s not daring to ask probing questions about Lysa’s reference to the “tears” and Jon Arryn or about the possible dangers of Maester Colemon prescribing sweetsleep for Robert’s convulsions. While the subject of Jeyne’s fate is still one she doesn’t want to revisit, somewhere in her mind she does know LF took custody of her friend. If it feels like this is somewhat of a regression back to her early AGOT self, there’s probably some truth to that; however, it’s perfectly okay for positive character arcs to be an imperfect progress. There can be relapses, regressions, setbacks, missteps, and misguided actions. All that growth isn’t lost. Everything she knows is just stored in the back of her mind, not forgotten completely. The general trend line moves her toward successfully confronting Littlefinger with the truth when GRRM is ready to pull the trigger. She’s definitely aware of Littlefinger lying to her more than she lets on and she knows his help is not out of the kindness of his heart, but motivated by what he wants her to be to him. But it’s not like she has the option to go anywhere else, does she? She’s a wanted criminal with a bounty on her head and has no other friend or ally in the Vale she can trust with the truth of her identity. Confronting LF without any means of neutralizing his power over her isn’t the smartest thing to do when he’s shown her he can literally get away with multiple murders. Again, it’s not just her personality that makes her hesitant to pull back the veil and face the horrible truth head on. The outside forces pressuring her perceptions and behavior cannot be discounted either.    

#valyrianscrolls #sansa stark meta #sansa stark #joffrey baratheon #sandor clegane #littlefinger #cersei #asoiaf characterization #the unkiss #character arcs #my meta #anonymous

[godkilller]

❝ gin--! ❞

he had called his name that night - screamed it, really -- when he had seen the small body being swept under kisuke's arm. he had screamed after them, those two -- only the howling from his captain had diverted kisuke urahara from what he had been about to do. for all of aizen's abilities -- he could not yet face down a bankai.

he had tried, though -- had tried. the captain had been skilled, however. cunning. even with the kanzen saimin in place, he had still landed a hit and kaname-- kaneme! he'd been breathing at least, and it'd been enough for aizen to pull him up and get them both to the fourth that night, collapsing from pain and bloodloss, deliriously mumbling of having been attacked by interrupting the captain in what he'd been doing --

collaborators.

he had made urahara into a proper patsy, had cared only about that -- until he'd woken up and found everything out. a month and more -- more -- since kisuke had taken him. and more than him -- more than that, more than --

a hilt wrapped in a shade that was not teal was grasped between his fingers as he stared at the place to which he'd been guided, coaxed, kyoka's awareness linked to another, one not his own. weeks it has been and he is here now, the shop standing no chance against the wrath of the one who now wears the haori lined with turquoise. a shade so near gin's eyes -- he is here, now, the smoldering wreckage proving his fury as he sweeps to --

there.

the entrance is easy to discover, a flaring of power and it splinters under the weight of his wrath. he is quick to launch himself down there, quick to call out again.

❝ GIN--! ❞

he can sense him down here.

❝ GIN--! WHERE ARE YOU?! ❞

his is the seat of captain now and he is willing to admit he's being reckless by doing this -- but oh, the cracks in the blade that is cradled between finger and palm, the loss of not just him but the youth that had become his shadow too in one night? no. no, aizen is calling, power seething around him, seeking for him. he knows he's here. he can sense it.

he had made a promise to shinso, hadn't he--?

and to himself.

he's going to murder the former captain when he gets his hands on him but better, now, to find gin and get him out of here, isn't it--? best to sweep in and out. before the humans can investigate but oh, he's seething.

          THAT NIGHT WAS A BLUR, ROARING ECHOES AND A BLASTING FORCE.  Tsukabishi Tessai, alongside Urahara Kisuke, had been formidable indeed. Yet their appearance in the midst of Aizen’s experimentations upon Gin’s captain was a necessary interruption indeed. Not even that, an interruption, no, planned. They were to be framed, after all. Their attendance was expected and one could have even ventured to say ‘perfect’ ... that is, prior to Tessai’s casting of Hado number eighty-eight, Hiryu Gekizoku Shinten Raiho. Something Aizen had believed a subsequent casting of Danku, a Bakudo level eighty-one, to be sufficient in blocking. AND IT DID.... somewhat. Perhaps he hadn’t accounted for how serious Urahara and his allies would be in stopping them from walking away, because the Kido Master shattered through that protective wall within a flashing spark and blaze.

          It was the first time Gin had ever seen a split-second show of shock grace the Lieutenant at his side’s features. Maybe that was why he acted fast, faster than Aizen and Tousen, he had always been focused on training himself to strike wickedly swift, and he did not disappoint them then. Gin had drawn Shinso and cut lightning. But he was still, no matter his speed or darting blade, a mere boy, a Third Seat standing against the snarling storm of a Kido Master’s design, and for the split second of deflecting there came many more agonizing seconds thereafter of rippling defeat as the high level Kido won over. Shocks shot through his body, cracked across Shinso’s blade till it flew from his grasp and embedded itself into the ground, a mirroring effect onto its wielder as Gin was blasted by that same force which proceeded to send him backward, flying, tumbling, tumbling, and black.

          Perhaps they had felt guilty, striking down some young and promising kid when they truly had wanted Aizen to be hit, and that was why Gin awoke within an unfamiliar abode. Or maybe Urahara Kisuke wanted information, and Gin was to be hostage, informant, kept holed up -- because when Gin gathered his surroundings, his state  ( sore, scuffed up, and the worst headache -- the rest he couldn’t tell, bandaged up -- where was Shinso? A hand flying out, reaching, searching blind before he even turned his head to look. Ah, fuck, he must’ve dropped it, yeah... he dropped it, and they hadn’t taken it with him, damn it )  ... it was his immediate reaction to seek an escape.

          That hadn’t gone too well. Guarding the exit, despite Gin’s careful and silent steps, was Yoruichi. He knew he couldn’t outrun her. Flash Goddess, wasn’t she? Best to not even bother making a fool of himself. Especially whilst still aching from the blast he took.

          He was implored to rest, to stay put, to recover and that he couldn’t go back.

          Gin couldn’t open a Senkaimon without Shinso, and thus that held true; he couldn’t go back even if he managed to run past the shopkeeper and bolt.

          Urahara Kisuke was not a cruel man, Gin found, but he was also the secretive type, and the kind of man that seemed to believe that he knew what was best. That sort of cruel. He believed and enacted his beliefs regardless of protest. Like so, in that keeping Gin here was best. Part of Gin wanted to agree, to stay, be plucked from Aizen’s clutches and be free of those howling nights... yet the other yearned to return, ached even. He felt he didn’t belong, this was wrong. Particularly a potent realization that he was no longer within the Seireitei, he wanted to return to Rangiku. Oh, she was going to be so worried. No doubt Aizen still spun the story of the villainous Urahara Kisuke, no doubt Gin’s own name had been listed as one of his victims. But Aizen would know better than to write him off as dead, surely. No, he’d know better, knew his boy prodigy could take a hit -- and certainly his Zanpakuto remained behind, yet solid and tangible, it hadn’t vanished to signal the death of its wielder. Likely Gin was reported as kidnapped.

          And Aizen would likely be searching for him, among others.

          Gin couldn’t deny the fact that, despite a fresh form of hatred brewing beneath him, seething really, a sickly stomach and a choked up throat.... how it terrified him, sometimes, to know he was well and truly entrapped by this man, no escape, already far too tangled to ever hope to pull himself away... oh, and yet he couldn’t deny that he wanted Aizen to find him. HE WAS TOO FAR DOWN THIS ROAD TO SHY AWAY NOW, too far down the line, he didn’t know what to do with himself if Aizen didn’t find him.

          Luckily, the thought didn’t plague Gin too terribly... even as days stretched on and Gin inevitably had to cave into eating what was offered to him, kind words and warm food did not reach him -- hollowly, patiently, he waited in near-muteness. HE WOULDN’T TELL URAHARA ANYTHING, no matter his gentle demeanor and respecting air, Gin steeled himself akin to a prisoner of war and it became apparent to the older man that the kid had no intentions to trust, to open up. Gin didn’t do that shit for anyone. He’d be damned if he caved and spit his secrets to the one man Aizen had verbally made known that he loathed... and if Aizen found out Gin confessed anything? Wouldn’t he then become a loose end a little... too... costly to be kept alive? Gin saw what Aizen did to pawns who disappointed him. Even Tousen, one of his top favorites, occasionally earned himself a scolding look that spoke of authority and displeasure... would Gin risk everything he had worked for thus far simply to confide in a stranger, shopkeeper, who had stolen him away from it all? No, not worth it.

          Besides, Gin knew it wouldn’t be much longer here.

          Weeks turned to a month, or something close to it.

          But Gin knew it’d be soon. Aizen was, after all, a thorough man.

          So was Urahara, as he had Gin moved downward, below the shop, across an an expansive underground training area  ( Gin didn’t bother trying to wrap his head around the fact that the ceiling looked like the sky outside, save for that ladder and opening... a strange set-up indeed )  A SMART MOVE, ultimately, as it kept Gin from being able to run away without first crawling from the single exit and entrance to the underground space, and it also kept him from getting absolutely leveled alongside the shop the moment Aizen’s reiatsu became known overhead. 

          Gin was accustomed to Aizen’s reiatsu in that he hardly even shuddered upon its weight thrashing downward, and the subsequent explosive force that wrecked the shop above. The Third Seat simply sat upright, looked upward, and held his breath. IT WAS BROAD DAYLIGHT UNDERNEATH THIS FALSE SKY, BUT GIN KNEW BETTER, he felt the chill of the air above flowing in from cracks, drafts, he knew too that Aizen would not act so boldly within a blanket of sunlight -- not yet, at least -- but still how odd it was to see moonlight begin pooling in, downward, from a sunny ceiling crumbling to give way for its visitor.

          A visitor who descended from the false sky’s wreckage as a nightbringer would, doused in darker hues, an ethereal world-ender he was making himself to be -- to become -- before Gin’s own eyes. A PART OF GIN’S UPBRINGING IN THE RUKONGAI URGED HIM TO RUN AND HIDE AT THE MERE SIGHT, seeing such a display of desperate might  ( Aizen was desperate, Aizen was pissed off, he had come for Gin and Gin alone in this moment and it both sickened and pleased him ) ... and part of Gin wanted to turn and run and not look back. HE WANTED TO STAY, HE WANTED TO WATCH THE KOI POND AND THINK NOTHING OF DEATH, CLEAN FINGERNAILS, THE PURRING OF A BLACK CAT, WARM CLOTHES... HE WANTED TO CRY, NO, TAKE ME HOME, I MISS HER, SHE’S WAITING FOR ME, PLEASE -- AH, HE WANTED TO GET OUT WHILE HE STILL COULD, STAY AWAY FROM ME, NO, HELP ME.

          Part of him lingered in shadow, stepping half a step backward rather than forward, into visibility, into Aizen’s frantic range of sight. He could hide himself still, wait for Urahara to step up to challenge Aizen’s wrath, wait for them both to clash and destroy... and then slip away. Or he could open his mouth now, and seal his fate to remain tethered to the man’s side forever more.

          He teetered there, for a second alone, at the precipice. 

          Then the boy called out to Aizen. A quick response, a signal; I’m here!

          Gin had never been one to listen to self-preserving advice.

#[ roleplay ] predator; murder on his mind & hymns on his tongue #[ verse: third seat ] and from that mouth that devours i cry out to you #au where aizen gin and tousen get actually wreckt by urahara and tessai before they're properly framed #a lil mix/hint of #shikzue #'s lil au of urahara taking in gin when he's still a kiddo because aizen's lost custody of the child(tm) #except gin's not gonna open up because he knows aizen's out looking for him and he can't just dabble willy nilly with two sides when #without his weapon and without experience Playing Chess with the Big Boys. #better to just stay quiet and wait ---- #rip this poor kiddo. #URAHARA'S TRYING TO HELP YOU BUT YOU'RE ALREADY TOO FAR GONE. #THINKING AIZEN'S THE BETTER OPTION #AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA