#'i've been having a year-long mental breakdown and the last five months i've been in so much pain i can barely walk most of the time'

[verifiablebot]

got an injection yesterday in my hip. i really hope it works but i'm also sitting here lowkey panicking because i have been in survival mode for so long that i feel like i will never be able to catch up with the things i needed to have been doing. not just for the last few months but the entire last year. how you deal with that feeling that everyone hates you because you haven't been able to fulfill your promises because your life and your body have been beating you further and further into the ground at every opportunity

[headfullofpresley]

Paper Rings

Pairing: Elvis Presley x reader

Summary: Your boyfriend surprises you with tickets to a Taylor Swift show. And then some.

Word count: 6,6K

Warning(s): modern!Elvis, kindergarten teacher!Elvis (only mentioned briefly lol but i'm soft), no covid so therefor the Lover Fest tour exists, mentions/appearance of miss Swift herself obv, fluff, use of pet names, smut; oral (m. receiving), vaginal penetration, creampie, unprotected sex, getting caught (kinda??).

Author's note: i hate this now that i've proofread it but oh well :'). enjoy luvvies <3

masterlist

Elvis had been awake since dawn, trying not to have a mental breakdown at the sound of his alarm screeching through the bedroom at the ungodly hour he had set it at the night before. It was his day off from work seeing it was Saturday, but he had a job planned for today that was so much more hellish than having to deal with screaming children at 8 in the morning on a week day.

To the toddlers in his class he was a God, he could actually handle them and they’d hang on to his every word.

But he knew people on the internet were ruthless. Especially when it came down to scoring tickets for Taylor Swift’s newly announced tour. He would much rather be doing anything else, preferred to be covered in paint by dozens of tiny hands and run back and forth whenever the kids in his classroom would call his name every five seconds. Or you know… sleep a few more hours.

But he wasn’t doing this for himself – he was doing it for you, his girlfriend of two years. Your birthday was in three months and when you nearly screamed his ear off when your favorite singer announced her tour, he knew he just had to get these tickets for you. He didn’t tell you about his plans though and made up the excuse that Jerry was celebrating his birthday on the same day Taylor performed in Memphis. Seeing Jerry’s birthday was indeed somewhere in the same month, you didn't question it.

You were pouty about it, but accepted the fact that you wouldn’t be able to see the blonde singer in the flesh this tour. You didn’t have enough money to travel to another city just for a concert, so unfortunately there wasn’t much you could do. You tried to hide your disappointment as much as you could, but Elvis saw right through you, which only made him more determined to get these tickets. He hated seeing you sad, even when you’d try to hide it from him.

He did not have to get up as early as he did since the sale wouldn’t go online until 11, but he was scared that he wouldn’t wake up in time and would have to watch his surprise for you pour down the drain. You had been staying over at your friend’s house last night, so today truly was the perfect day to do this since he knew you probably wouldn’t get home until noon.

You liked sleeping in just as much as he did.

He took a long shower to wake himself up before he fixed himself a quick breakfast, turning on his laptop that was placed on the dining table. There was literally no use to take position for the cold war he was about to step into, but he was nervous. This was the perfect gift for you and he would be damned if he would fail.

How hard could it really be? He was confident enough to admit that he could handle a couple of excited teenagers and twenty somethings over the internet.

But boy, was he wrong.

As the clock creeped closer to 11, he had Ticketmaster open on both his laptop and phone. He made a second account on the website, in hopes that would give him an advantage of getting the tickets he needed.

“What? Are you kidding me?” he mumbled to himself as he got flung right into the waiting queue as the tickets went online, not even giving him a chance to pick the tickets that he wanted. No, that he needed.

He grasped his phone from the table, quickly refreshing the page on it before he clicked on a date that was a few days later than the Memphis show in a nearby city. Once more, he was placed in the queue.

“C’mon, c’mon, please...” he begged at his laptop as he saw how slow the waiting process was going. He was pretty sure a lot of people were in the exact same position he was in right now – he didn’t care, though.

They were only slowing his process down even more.

The urge to refresh the page was big, but he didn’t. He shouldn’t. It would throw him right back at the end of the line. He was growing more impatient and even a little frustrated. He didn’t even listen to Taylor Swift himself other than when you’d blast it through the house and sure, some of her songs were good, but was it really worth waiting in front of a damned computer for this long? He had been sitting here for 20 minutes already.

If it wasn’t for you, he would’ve clicked out long ago.

Hell, he would still be sleeping.

He got up from his seat and grabbed his pack of cigarettes from the corner of the table, wanting to step out onto the balcony of your shared apartment for a smoke until he saw the page on his laptop loading and jumping to the next screen. He sat back down so fast he almost lost his balance, throwing the cigarettes back on the table as he looked at his screen.

“Fuck! No!” he exclaimed in frustration as the website let him know the Memphis show was completely sold out. He ran his hands through his hair as he groaned, flipping his screen off.

God, he looked like an idiot.

“Fuck you, Ticketmaster. Fuckin’ scammin’ assholes,”

He grabbed his phone again, letting out a laugh in disbelief as he saw the Nashville show was sold out as well. His hands were starting to get sweaty, his nerves never fading as he started looking at other dates of the tour. He didn’t care if they were far away, didn’t care about the fact that it would cost him a lot more if he’d buy tickets in a city that was across the country.

His eye landed on a few Los Angeles dates. He must’ve refreshed the page for thirty minutes, not caring that it kept telling him there weren’t any tickets available.

Sold out. Sold out. Sold out.

He still had hope, though. Still praying and wishing, begging to get some good karma back into his life.

He was a good son, a good boyfriend and a good neighbor.

He deserved these tickets.

You deserved these tickets.

He nearly screamed when he saw two tickets pop up for one of the LA shows after refreshing the page for about ten more times. He didn’t even care on what date the show was or that it was 1615 miles away from Memphis.

They were actually good seats, and expensive as hell, but he managed to get them. He figured someone must’ve waited too long before they checked out their purchase and he was glad that he waited.

One man's misery is another man's fortune.

 

Three months had passed and he actually managed to keep the concert a surprise for you. It worked out well, maybe even better, since the show he got tickets for was in the same month as your birthday. He planned to keep you in the dark about seeing Taylor until you’d get to the venue, but he did tell you where you two were going when he mentioned the trip he booked for a long weekend.

He told you it was for your birthday and you couldn’t be more excited. You barely left Memphis, only went to other cities in Tennessee to visit family every now and then, and you had always wanted to go to LA. You had no idea Elvis had more than one surprise up his sleeve.

 

“C’mon, El. We’re in Los Angeles, the city of angels,” you preached to your boyfriend as you stood by the end of the bed, which your boyfriend was currently hogging as he laid in the middle of it, in your hotel room.

“It’s only nine. We’re young, we should be out there and getting drunk!” you pointed at the window, to the bustling city below you, in hopes your point would come across better.

It was Friday night and you wanted to go out and explore the city more since the two of you arrived late last night. You had been out and about all day, but everyone knew big cities were more exciting at night. You had no idea why Elvis was refusing to go out tonight, because he had seemed just as excited about this weekend as you were.

“Baby, I’m tired. My feet are killin’ me,” he lied with a small pout, hoping you’d give in to his cuteness and crawl into bed with him. He opened his arms as he smiled sweetly at you, but you just sighed and crossed your arms as you walked over to the window to look out of it.

Such a drama queen, he thought.

“Tomorrow we’ll go out,” he told you as he kicked the blankets off of him, slipping his arms around your waist as he stood behind you. He leaned his chin on your shoulder, turning his head to kiss your jaw. “I already have a whole day planned for us, but you don’t want to waste sunlight because you have a hangover, do ya?”

You puff out a sigh again and leaned back in his embrace as you nodded. You knew he was right. You wouldn’t go home until Monday afternoon, so you still had enough time to go out and party like you usually barely did. Sundays were better for hangovers, anyways.

“Fine,” you grinned as you turned your head to look at him, stealing a kiss. “What are we doing tomorrow?”

“It’s a surprise, for your birthday. The only thing you need to worry your pretty little head about is what you’ll be wearing,”

“Casual? Formal? I need to knew these things,” you snapped your fingers at him playfully and he laughed as he grabbed your hands and brought them back down.

“Casual… chic?” he suggested with a chuckle, knowing you liked to dress up whenever you went out. “Fancy, but not too fancy. Oh, and don’t wear heels. You’ll be standing and dancing a lot,”

You raised your eyebrows at him, trying to think of what he had planned. Honestly, the only thing you could think of was a club or a bar, or something in that direction. Taylor’s show that was tomorrow never popped into your mind, because you knew it was sold out faster than you could blink.

“I like dancing so I’ll forgive you for tonight,” you joked, looking out of the window again. While you did want to go out and see more of the city right now, you weren’t actually mad at him.

As long as he was with you, you didn’t really care what the two of you were doing or where you were.

“I need a little more convincing. I think you’re still mad,” he grinned against your skin as he kissed his way down to your neck, his hands releasing yours to wander up your stomach and to your chest. You knew the words he spoke were a joke, but his actions were definitely not.

“I thought you were tired?”

He laughed softly as he walked backwards, tugging you along to the bed. He spun you around in his arms and grabbed your chin, grinning down at you.

“Never too tired for this, you know that,” he stole one more kiss before he had you on your back on the soft mattress, hovering above you before you had time to protest.

Not that you were planning to. You never told him ‘no’ and if you did, it was very rare. And getting lost in a sea of sheets with your boyfriend couldn’t compare to the nightlife Los Angeles had to offer.

 

You and Elvis slept until noon the next day, because after getting a noise complaint from the people in the next room, you two decided to raid the mini bar. No major hangovers slowing you down, thank God. You felt better after getting some food in you, not giving Elvis the chance to tell you ‘I told you so’.

“Why do I have to wear that? It’ll ruin my make-up,” you whined as you looked at the sleeping mask that was dangling from his fingertips. You just came out of the restaurant you had an early dinner at, because Elvis insisted you needed to eat enough for tonight’s activity, and you were starting to get nervous.

You could handle the elements of surprises but blindfolded?

Rather not.

“Babe, put ‘em on,” he told you as he took a step closer to you, placing the elastic of the mask over your head before you could protest. You gasped as you widened your eyes at him, trying to grab his hands when he pulled the mask over your eyes but he swatted them away every time. You were sure people were looking at you two as if you were complete idiots, but then again, this was LA. Nobody probably cared.

“Don’t be so stubborn and just follow me,” he whispered in your ear as he wrapped one arm around your shoulder, taking your hand in his. “You trust me, don’t ya, little?”

You shivered at his warm breath tickling at the shell of your ear and sighed softly as he kissed it. You nodded your head, slowly walking forward with his guidance. You did trust him and you doubted this surprise would be anything bad or crazy, so you really had no other choice than to put your faith in his hands.

You were quite proud of yourself for not completely freaking out or losing your shit – after walking for what seemed like forever, you were placed in an Uber with your boyfriend next to you. He was too busy talking to the driver about God knows what and you kept trying to sneak your hand up to the mask to lift it and look out the window to see where you were. Elvis noticed every time though, lacing your fingers together with his, trapping you. You huffed in annoyance, pouting as you sat there in the backseat, feeling like you were being kidnapped.

Which you were, in a way. Only willingly and with lots of reassuring kisses from Elvis.

 

You heart skipped a beat as the car came to a stop, nerves intensifying tenfold when Elvis helped you get out of the car and said his goodbyes to the driver. You weren’t in the right mind to do the same, squeezing his hand which earned you a deep laugh from his side. You felt him move behind you and place his hands on your shoulders, his voice right next to your ear as he spoke.

“You can take ‘em off now, Lover,”

You frowned slightly underneath the mask, thinking the pet name was weird. Formal, almost. He had never in your relationship called you that.

You didn’t need to be told twice though – as you pulled off the mask and blinked a few times to let your eyes get used to the light again, you noticed the huge banner that was plastered on the SoFi Stadium.

Taylor Swift – Lover Fest Tour

You stood there. You stood there and stared without speaking a word.

Now Elvis was getting nervous, afraid that he made a mistake. Afraid that this isn’t what you wanted. He was even starting to doubt if this was your favorite artist at all, despite the amount of records you had at home or the fact that he knew the names of every single one of Taylor’s cats because you wouldn’t shut up about the celebrity.

He even listened to her music on his way to work for the past months so he could remember the lyrics and sing along with you, not wanting to seem like a fool in a sea full of die hard fans.

But when you turned around and he saw the tears in your eyes, his nerves faded away completely. A small huff escaped his mouth as you practically jumped in his arms, squeezing the air out of his lungs with your firm embrace.

“Oh my God, I love you,” you cried in excitement.

“Only because of this?” he grinned teasingly as he looked at you when you pulled back to look at him.

“What? No! I love you, always always always,” you giggled as you grabbed his face, kissing him all over. He grabbed your hands as he laughed, looking at you.

“I love you too, little. You deserve it,” he told you, pecking your lips as he slipped his hands in yours. “You’ve been so busy with work and everythin’, I couldn’t let you miss this,”

“Thank you so much, baby. You’re the best, you know that?” you sighed happily as you squeezed his hands, stealing another kiss. “How did you even manage to get tickets? It was sold out in minutes,”

He grinned as he let go of one of your hands, swinging his arm over your shoulder to take you to the back of the queue. He raised his chin, smug smirk sitting on his face.

“You know, I got my ways,” he looked at you as you laughed, slapping his chest softly before you wrapped your arm around his waist, hugging into his side. “And you just said it, didn’t ya? I’m the best,”

You rolled your eyes, but allowed him to bathe in the size of his ego. As long as it wouldn’t drown him, you thought it was rather attractive.

 

“Y/N, now you’re takin’ it too far,” Elvis told you as his shoulders slumped on purpose as you pointed at a t-shirt at the merch stand. You had just bought one for yourself and Elvis was about to drag you away from the goodies until you spotted the shirts for males. He had already seen them but hoped you wouldn’t.

“Why? You’ll only have to wear it tonight!” you laughed as you wiggled your eyebrows at him, pointing out the shirt to the employee.

“Exactly, a waste of money. Let’s get a drink and find our seats,” he told you but you stopped listening. You took the shirt the girl handed to you and held it in front of him, smiling brightly as it seemed it was the right size. You turned back to the girl as you took your wallet out of your purse and Elvis sighed, knowing that he couldn’t stop you.

As he looked around, his eyes met those of another guy who was obviously here with his girlfriend. The redhead next to him was all dressed up – cat ears and glitter on her face and the whole shebang. Just like him, his girl had him dressed in a tour shirt. A baby pink and blue one.

At least you gave him a white one and you weren’t dressed up like a cat. Could be hot, but not outside of the bedroom.

He gave the guy a sympathetic nod before he turned back to you, taking the shirt you handed to him to pull it over his head.

As long as you were happy, he was too. And right now, you were all smiles as excitement basically oozed out of you. He already forgot about the shirt and didn’t give a damn about what anyone would think, not even Jerry who you were definitely sending the picture that you just took to.

 

You were happy that Elvis told you not to wear heels, because as soon as Taylor appeared on the stage and the show started, you were up and out of your seat to move to the music. Elvis was standing as well, arm hung lazily around your waist as he sipped on his beer, ever the supportive boyfriend.

He didn’t recognize every song but the ones that he did know, he sang along to. It warmed your heart and he could see it made you happy, especially when he’d sing the lyrics of the sweet songs to you.

You were over the moon. There was not a single worry on your mind. No work stress weighed you down and despite this not being the music he listened to, Elvis felt the same. There was something magical about concerts, about an artist connecting with their fans through music. And although some girls were dressed up all silly and too much for his taste, the vibes in the venue were perfect.

He immediately recognized the song Paper Rings and he downed his beer, throwing the empty cup on his seat. You were too occupied with cheering and singing, not noticing he took a small box out of his pocket.

“I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

Uh huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want, and

I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this

Uh huh, that's right

Darling, you're the one I want

In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams

Oh, you're the one I want,”

You turned to him to sing the lyrics to him and that’s when you noticed he was down on one knee, the ring sparkling in the lights as he held it out to you in the box. You gasped as you widened your eyes, hiding your mouth behind your hands. His actions caught the eye of the people around you as well and they were all watching in both excitement and anticipation.

You two even caught the attention of Taylor herself, since you were on the second row. Not only did you have a perfect view of her, she had one of you and your boyfriend as well.

She laughed in excitement while she sang, pointing at you and Elvis so everyone would look at you two. You hadn’t noticed the camera that was pointing into your direction as well, or the fact that you were currently on the huge screen, showing your boyfriend’s proposal to the entire stadium.

Elvis wasn’t aware either, but he didn’t care. He wouldn’t care if there were thousands of people around them, or just you and him. He loved you more than life itself and had been planning this before he even got the tickets – he knew this would garantuee him a definite yes, though.

He didn’t even have to stay the words, because you were already nodding and screaming your answer. As he slipped the ring around your finger and he stood up to kiss you, he did ask you again. Just because he wanted to hear you say it again.

“Will you marry me, little?”

You cried as you nodded, kissing his lips.

“Yes! Thousand times yes!” you yelled above the music, laughing as you wrapped your arms around his neck to hug him as tight as you possibly could.

“She said yes!” Taylor yelled excitedly into the mic as she looked at you two, clapping her hands. You nearly died as she blew you a kiss and Elvis laughed as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, smiling at Taylor before he attacked your face with kisses.

The rest of the show you and Elvis danced and your heart skipped a beat every time he sang along, his head right next to yours as you were still in his arms. You loved and appreciated him so much and you already had a few ideas of how to properly thank him.

You were ready to leave as soon as the show was over, but before you and Elvis could leave your seats, a blonde middle aged woman approached you two.

You immediately recognized her as Taylor’s mom and almost had a heart attack on the spot, though you had enough self control not to scream in her face. When she asked you two to come backstage because her daughter wanted to meet you, Elvis had to do the talking because you were starstruck.

“We would love to, mrs. Swift,” he smiled politely at her as he held onto your hand, tugging you along to follow her to the backstage area. You could barely speak and Elvis couldn’t stop laughing at you, pulling you into his side to talk in your ear.

“Please don’t scream in her face, baby. Just hold my hand and you’ll be all right, hmm?” he whispered and all you could do was nod, inhaling a deep breath through your nose to blow it back out. It did nothing to calm you down.

The three of you stopped walking as you reached Taylor’s dressing room and once the door opened and the blonde that you had been admiring from the crowd came over to you with her arms wide open, you squeezed Elvis’ hand firmly before you quickly let go and wrapped your arms around Taylor.

The singer was absolutely wonderful to you and your boyfriend. She congratulated you on your engagement, which you were still trying to wrap your head around, and she signed anything you asked her to. She signed Elvis’ shirt as well, which you were definitely going to tease him with later because he seemed rather happy about it.

His music taste was on the complete different spectrum – mostly punk and rock bands that you forgot half of the names of.

The louder, the better, he always said.

But he always accepted your taste just as you did his. Neither of you would mock each other’s music and you freely let him play whatever he wanted through the house. Perhaps it was only something simple, something normal for a couple to not be assholes to each other, but to you and Elvis it was a sort of respect. Music meant a lot to the both of you and just because he didn’t know every Taylor Swift song by heart, didn’t mean he wasn’t secretly excited to meet her face to face.

After talking some more and taking pictures, you and Elvis left the dressing room and got escorted to the exit by Taylor’s mother again. The woman seemed to be trusting of you two, or just busy, because she said goodbye before you and your boyfriend actually left the building.

The backstage area was just as huge as the venue itself and it seemed like your boyfriend had other plans than leaving. He tugged you away from the exit door and laughed softly as he placed a finger against his lips, pulling you along through the long hall ways. You squealed softly as he dipped into a room, taking you right along with him.

It was an empty green room that hadn’t been used you came to realize as Elvis turned on the lights and locked the door from the inside. If anyone had a key, which you were sure everyone that worked here did, they could open the door from the outside. Elvis didn’t give you a chance to unlock the door and walk out, pulling you into his chest as he grabbed your hands.

“Elvis! We can’t do this!” you whispered with a giggle, trying to ignore his hands that were now snaking around your waist and slipping down to squeeze your ass.

“Why? Nobody is here,” he grinned mischievously as he leaned in to kiss your lips. His lips were so plumb and soft that you couldn’t resist him. You never could.

“We don’t live in this city, anyways. What’re they gonna do? Kick us out?”

You wanted to protest once more, tell him that you and him should move this to your hotel room, but the words died on your tongue as he kissed his way down to your neck, sucking on that little sensitive spot underneath your ear. That’s when you turned to putty in his hands and he damn well knew it.

“S-someone.. m-might hear..” you managed to whisper, your words coming out stuttered. His lips and tongue against your warm skin was distracting you too much, so even though you voiced out your worries, you couldn’t get yourself to really care if someone would hear or not.

You were aware that this green room was a risky place to have sex. Especially because the artist that just performed at the stadium was still freaking present somewhere down the hall, but as he lifted you up and put you down on the couch, you were already too far gone. It wasn’t the first time you two fooled around outside the comfort of your own home, but for some reason it felt even more exciting in a place like this.

You were sure the green room had been used for worse things.

Elvis didn’t stop you when you pushed him back and got on your knees in front of him, quick fingers working on his pants. There was a hint of surprise in his eyes though and you didn’t miss it.

“Wanna make you feel good,” you told him in hushed voice, your eyes meeting his as you gave him the sweetest smile you were capable of.

“Oh? And why’s that, huh?”

He already knew the answer, he just loved hearing it.

“I was proposed to and met Taylor fucking Swift in one night,” you grinned at him as you pulled his zipper down, fingertips hooking underneath the elastic of his boxershorts. “And I like the taste of your cock,”

He lifted his hips up a little, allowing you to pull his pants and underwear down to his thighs, groaning softly as you immediately wrapped your hand around him. “Good enough for me,”

You raised an eyebrow at the smirk he wore on his face – so confident and cocky.

Once you brought your hand up to caress your thumb over the head of his cock before you brought it back down again, the cockiness was smacked right off of his face as he parted his lips, a soft moan rolling off his tongue. He tangled his fingers in your hair to keep it out of your face as you took him in your mouth.

Usually, you’d take your time when giving him head but you were aware that you didn’t have all the time in the world and you weren’t leaving this room before he fucked you.

“Shit,” he groaned softly as you looked up at him when you brought your head back up, tongue tracing the most prominent vein on his cock before you lapped it around his sensitive tip. “Do that again,” he told you as his teeth sunk into his lower lip, half lidded eyes watching you as you repeated the action. When you grinned up at him, he let out a moan and threw his head back on the couch.

He tried to be quiet, he really did, but as you got sloppier and sucking him off like it was the last time you’d ever do so, he couldn’t keep his big mouth shut. His hips were bucking up to try and follow your mouth every time you moved up and he threw his arm over his face, biting down on the short sleeve of his shirt.

“Fuckfuckfuck, s-stop,” he gasped as he felt his orgasm nearing, looking down at you as he caressed some hair out of your face when he took his fingers out of it. He was just as eager as you were and while you loved having him come undone in your mouth, you moved fast as you got up and pulled your denim skirt up, slipping your panties down.

“G-God… Hold s-still for a second,” he groaned as you sank down onto him, his hands grabbing your hips to keep you in place so he could get used to being inside of you.

He was sensitive and you were just so tight and warm.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, leaning in to kiss him. He immediately slipped his tongue inside of your mouth, deepening the kiss and you didn’t move until you felt his hands moving down to your ass, squeezing the flesh in his palms. You knew it was one of his signs that he was ready for it.

You moaned into his mouth as you moved onto him, immediately at a steady pace. You were sure your ass would have his hands imprinted on them with how hard he was squeezing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care – the slight sting mixed deliciously with your pleasure.

“F-faster baby,” he whispered as he pulled back from the kiss, leaning back as his hands moved up to your clothed breasts, squeezing them softly through the fabric of your shirt. It didn’t do much for you since you still had another top on underneath the tour shirt you bought together, but you didn’t stop him. Instead you did as he told you and moved faster, moaning shamelessly as you chased your own high.

He moved one hand down in between your bodies, fingertips having no issues with finding your clit as he started rubbing it with skilled movements. He knew just what you liked and knew that this would get you where he wanted you faster – your nails dug into his shoulders as you moaned a little louder, your eyes meeting his.

He gave you a small smile. It looked sweet and innocent, not matching the pace of his fingers and your thrusts at all.

You smiled back at him, moving your hands to his chest and right on top of Taylor’s face that was printed on his shirt.

You didn’t need an extra pair of eyes watching the small sin you were committing.

“I’m close, so close, baby,” you grunted as you clenched your fingers in his shirt, eyes fluttering shut as your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks. Thighs shaking, walls convulsing erratically around his length.

A smark remark laid heavy on his tongue, something along the lines of you ruining his autographed shirt, but he swallowed the words as he came undone not long after you did. He removed his fingers from your clit and held onto your hips, holding you still as a deep moan escaped his throat, hips stuttering up into you a little.

You ran your fingers through his hair before you collapsed on top of him, both of you catching your breath as he was going soft inside of you.

“I love you, little,” he hummed in your ear as he kissed your cheek and you slowly lifted your head off his shoulder, smiling at him as you caressed the back of his neck with your nails. The way he shivered made you giggle. “I love you more, babe,”

He was only seconds away from protesting, telling you that simply was not possible, but he was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. You both widened your eyes at each other, panic settling in your stomach as you got up as quick as you could. You pulled some tissues out of the box that stood on the small coffee table in front of the couch and cleaned some of his cum that was dripping down your thighs, shoving the tissues to the bottom of the trash can by the door.

“Someone in here?” A deep male’s voice barked from the other side of the door and you and Elvis quickly got decent. Just as you pulled your skirt down and smoothed out your hair, a key was stuck in the keyhole of the door to turn the lock but Elvis swung the door open before the person on the other side could.

A broad shouldered security guy stood in front of you, looking angry as he stared you down. “Passes,” he simply said, holding his hand out.

You grabbed Elvis’ arm and Elvis scratched the back of his head, his other hand feeling his pockets as he gave the guy an awkward smile. He was looking for something neither of you were in possession of and while he had been so confident and careless at the start of this, he was starting to panic now too.

He was pretty sure you could get arrested for something like this. And that was not how he wanted this night to end – although it would make for a funny story to tell your future children and grandchildren.

He had absolutely no idea what to do or what excuse to use, but like an angel fluttering down from Heaven itself, Taylor and entourage walked down the hall way, on their way to leave the stadium. The security guard was currently having a go at you and your boyfriend and you were close to tears until Elvis nudged your arm and nodded his head in Taylor’s direction.

“Is there a problem here?” she asked as she appeared next to the man in front of you, her question aimed more at him than at you and Elvis.

You slipped your hand in Elvis’, sucking in a deep breath of air and keeping it in your lungs. The man didn’t waste time in explaining what happened and how he assumed that you and Elvis had done… something inside the room.

Taylor wasn’t an idiot – she saw the hickey in your neck and the flush on your cheeks. The both of you also completely forgot about the hint of red lipstick that was stained on Elvis’ lips.

“That’s a serious accusation to make, isn’t it? I know these two and I’m positive that the thing you’re accusing them of is simply not true,” the singer spoke confidently as she crossed her arms, smiling as she looked at you. “I’m sure they just lost their way back here,”

You and Elvis widened your eyes, nodding your heads.

“Y-yeah, that’s it. It’s so big back here, we got lost on our way to the exit,”

“Huge place. Very cool, though! You must love your job,” Elvis squeezed your hand firmly to get you to stop talking and you immediately did, pressing your lips into a thin line.

Taylor laughed softly, nodding as the security guard started apologizing, a shade of crimson creeping up his neck.

“It’s alright. Just try not to judge people so quick, hm?” she told him, patting his shoulder as she nodded her head while starting to walk away. You could see her mother laughing softly at the two of you and Elvis quickly pulled you along, following the others out of the venue.

You talked with Taylor for a little bit, apologizing for not leaving the building after you exchanged your first goodbyes but she could only laugh about it.

You probably wouldn’t have survived if she would’ve been angry with you. Elvis was thankful that she was as nice as you always told him – he really was not looking forward to going back to the hotel with his girlfriend being completely inconsolable.

 

“Did you have a good time, beautiful?” Elvis asked as you both sat in the back of an Uber after you both came down from the crazy events of the evening. You leaned into him and looked up, placing a kiss on his chin as you smiled.

“The best, because you were there,” you whispered, sprawling out your fingers that were in his lap. “Anywhere I go with my fiancé is fun,”

He laughed softly as he looked down at your hand, caressing his thumb over the ring he put on you tonight. He couldn’t stop smiling, kissing your temple. “You like the ring?”

“I love it,” you told him as you looked at it, lacing your fingers with his. “But you know I’d marry you with or without a diamond,”

“Even with paper rings?” he grinned and you looked back at him, laughing softly.

You leaned in, softly pressing your lips against his.

“Especially with paper rings,”

[weirdkpopgirl]

Warmth | Jisung Imagine #2

Title: Warmth

Genre: Hurt/comfort, a little fluff

Warnings: mention of poor mental health, touches on depression and anxiety a little bit, no breakdowns this time though.

Word Count: 951

Author's Note: First off, I'm so sorry for how inactive I've been lately. I have some pending fics for Mark and Haechan that I've been working on over the past two months now. I'm honestly not sure when they'll be posted. I still wanted to post something this week, so here's a little comfort story for Jisung. On a side note, I've been meaning to show more Park Jisung appreciation. Despite him being the youngest member of his group, he has a lot of maturity that I admire. Anyway, thank you for reading ^ - ^

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You let out a heavy exhale, tearing your attention away from the book in your lap to gaze out the window. The storm from earlier in the evening had settled a bit. Now the rain drops were falling in a soothing, rhythmic pattern. Typically, you found these kinds of nights to be quite peaceful. Particularly when you were nestled in the corner of your sofa, snuggled underneath a soft blanket with a book in the gentle glow of your dimly lit living room.

Yet, the gloomy cloud in your mind quietly returned, preventing you from fully enjoying this precious alone time. That’s when you knew things were getting bad again. When sleep was out of the question, and even your favorite book couldn’t block out the dark thoughts entirely. All the nice days full of smiles and laughter from the past month seemed to be bulldozed over by life’s reminder of your misery.

This time, it was the news of your brother cheating on his wife of five years. After last year, you didn’t think things could get worse after your parents finalized their divorce. And it took a hard slap of reality to make you realize what fool you were to believe that. Now the confirmed fact of how broken your family was, you’ve never felt more alone.

Just when you were being drowned by those depressing thoughts, the phone on the coffee table vibrated. Your heart raced when you saw the message notification from Jisung. 

“I’m here, can you come out to meet me?” 

You hesitated for a moment, wondering what drove your boyfriend to come here at 11:12 pm. But you forced yourself up off the couch and made your way outside your apartment. Once the front door was pushed open, you were met with the sight of Jisung standing in the pouring rain. The tall boy was drenched from head to toe, his dark hair plastered to his forehead, and his clothes stuck to his skinny body.

“Jisung…what are you doing here?” You asked, bewildered. A part of you wanted to scold him for not bringing an umbrella. 

The boy’s eyes dropped down to his feet in embarrassment. “I couldn’t sleep back at the dorm, and I don’t know…I had this weird feeling that something was wrong based on the last time we talked.”

A lump formed in your throat as you listened to him go on about how it’s been a long time since you’ve gotten to see each other in person, and how he just had to make sure you were okay. The young male’s thoughtfulness didn’t fail to touch you.

“Are you okay though?” He asked after a short pause, gently pulling you in closer.

His sudden clinginess took you by surprise. Not many people saw this side of him, not even his members. The two of you locked eyes and in that moment, you could see he was trying to hide just how exhausted he was. Jisung didn’t need to say anything for you to know the stress of his work was beginning to pile up again, making him feel like he was carrying the weight of the world.

You almost didn’t want to let Jisung know about the whirlwind of emotions you’ve been experiencing. But you couldn’t lie to him, knowing he had walked all the way here to check on you. 

“I don’t know what to do,” Your voice trembled as you spoke. “Everything is falling apart.”

Your teeth sank into your lower lip, to keep the tears from escaping. But the way Jisung was looking at you made it difficult. His hand practically covered the side of your face when he cupped it.

“I’m here for you, (Y/n)-ah.” He almost whispered. His deep voice sounded so reassuring at times like this.

As he spoke you felt all the emotions you’ve tried to bury, surge through your body. You couldn’t find the right words or actions to express it. All you knew was that you needed Jisung right now, more than ever. Then as if he read your mind, he leaned in and kissed you without warning.

As Jisung’s lips met yours, the rain began to fall harder, creating a soft pattering sound that filled the air around you. You could feel the cold wetness seep through the thin gray long-sleeve you were wearing. But neither of you cared. The warmth radiating from the kiss was enough.

The kiss was full of longing and comfort, leaving you breathless. But the way his lips pressed gently against yours, the way he held you so securely, it all made you feel like the world stopped for a moment. 

Your hands gripped the collar of his hoodie as you gathered the bravery to kiss him harder. The turmoil of your family situation and the pain you’ve indefinitely been holding in temporarily faded away.

Both of you were gasping for breath, but you remained in one another’s embrace. He offered you a soft smile. “Whatever is going on right now, we’re going to get through it together Jagiya.”

You glanced up at him, your heart swelled up with gratitude and admiration. For the first time in a while, you let out a small laugh.

“I love you so much, Park Jisung.”

He leaned down to place another kiss on your lips. “Not as much as I love you.”

Despite the rain continuing to fall around you, this moment of intimacy meant so much. This was life’s reminder that no matter how heavy the storm may be, you had Park Jisung, and he had you. This knowledge left both of you with a sense of warmth. Nothing could break the bond you two shared.

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[trektraveler]

Breathe Free Part One

Summary: You were perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, thank you very much! Dean knew that, he also knew better. He'd seen you sick plenty of times in the past five years, but this was different. This was much more than a cold, but you were so stubborn about doctors! Dean Winchester isn't about to let you slip away, even if it means going against your wishes. He only hopes he's not too late!

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Reader

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Sickfic, Sick!Reader, Hospitals, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 5447

One Shot - Two Parts

Author’s Notes: I have been sick with Covid for a month. Well... down sick for 2 1/2 weeks and recovering my stamina for 2 more. Its been a real bitch. Plus my disabled mother has it now. This is following a nervous breakdown I had in June. Writing has been my passion and my mental health balm, but I've not been able to produce anything in months. So this... this is a fucking triumph!! I'm still working on all my other WIP, so please stick around. I'll get there... eventually :) I'm hoping to finish part two shortly and post in a week... ish.

Thank you all for the continued support!

Masterlist (Part Two)

     You were going to kill him.  Honestly.  If this fucking cold didn’t finish you off, you were going to make it your life’s mission to succeed where every bloody monster, demi-god, angel, demon, and creator of all had failed.  Ridding the world of Dean Winchester would be a public service at this point.  The church would canonize you for this!  There would be bank holidays and parades in your honor.  Maybe an annual postage stamp?  A drink named after you at the local bar, at the least. 

     Of course, you’d have to live long enough to carry out your plan for fame and fortune.  As it was, your odds were 50/50.  Congestion, muscle aches, dizziness, sore throat, non-existent appetite and low-grade fever.  How is it that each of these symptoms alone were minor?  Almost unnoticeable.  You could easily carry out any task battling them one on one.  Yet together they took you down hard.  It was unfair and utterly ridiculous!  Not to mention hugely inconvenient. 

     It was probably that sneezing sheriff from that last case.  You had to introduce him of the concept of personal space more than once.  The douchebag said it was just allergies.  Contagious creep!

     Still, you were home now.  Back at the bunker with three bags worth of pharmacy remedies to ease your pain until the virus ran it’s course.  All you had to do was make it to your room and you could drown yourself in cough syrup and peppermint oil.  Unfortunately, Dean was not making it easy.

     “You sound like shit, Y/N.”

     “Well, I feel like shit, so that tracks.”

     You coughed harshly into the crook of your elbow as you trudged down the metal stairs behind Dean.  Sam followed behind you, carrying your bags and his.  Gentleman that he was.  Levelheaded and sensible, God must have given Dean’s portion of those admirable qualities to his brother. 

     “That cough is getting worse,” Dean said, tossing his duffle down on the war room table. 

     “That’s because you won’t shut up.”

     “What does that have to do with it?”

     “Because you keep baiting me into conversation with all of your pushy opinions.  If you didn’t make me talk so much, I wouldn’t be coughing so much!”  You broke off into a hacking fit that proved your point in your mind.  This was entirely his fault!

     “That’s ridiculous.  You’ve been talking non-stop since we met you five years ago and you never coughed up a lung because of it.”  Dean shook his head and looked to his brother, “Sam, help me out here.”

     Sam usually occupied neutral territory during these debates, but one look at you and he sided with Dean.  “Why don’t we go get you checked out, Y/N?”

     “I got checked out in Billings, they said it wasn’t Covid.  It’s probably just a run of the mill virus.”

     “That guy was like twelve,” Dean scoffed.  “I’m surprised he knew what to do with swab.”

     “He was a doctor, Dean!”

     “Debatable.”

     “There’s no harm in a second opinion,” Sam pointed out. 

     You were so tired you just wanted to cry.  Why were they being so hard-headed about this?  Typical!  Men always think they know everything.  It was all so simple for them, they never had to jump through the hoops that you did when getting care.  It was always the same when you went to the doctor, which is why you never went.  Doctors who dismiss your symptoms and bill you for the privilege.  If you were up to your usual fiery disposition, you’d launch into a lengthy explanation, but you just didn’t have it in you. 

     “If I could get a decent one, I’d consider it.  But the fucking truth is, I won’t.  Not without a fight and I just don’t think it’s worth it.  I’m not dying, I’m not bleeding.  I’ve got a cold, a really shitty one that I hope to God neither of you get because dealing with sick Winchesters might actually finish me off.”

     Dean frowned down at you, “What do you mean?  What is it with you and doctors?”

     “I do not have it in me to explain to you the numerous and colossal failings of the American healthcare system, so I am going to simply say this.  It’s my health and I still get a choice.  So, I’m going to my room where I can die in peace and hopefully tomorrow, I will be rise like the Phoenix with clear sinuses.  If not, then my ghost will haunt this bunker and you two will have to fight over my George Carlin collection.”

     Dean blinked at you for a moment, “You know, we killed a phoenix a few years back.”

     You rolled your eyes and started down the hall towards the bedrooms.  “If either of you wake me before noon, I’m licking every doorknob in this place.”

     “It’s a great story, we had to time travel!” he shouted after you.

     You voice echoed back, along with a few coughs, “I’m using your pillowcase to blow my nose!”

     “I don’t like this, Sammy.”

     Sam picked up his own duffle, “Of course you don’t.  Your mother hen instincts go into overdrive whenever any of us gets sick.  Remember Fort Worth?”

     “Food poisoning, God that was awful.  The pair of you were doubled over the toilet for three days from a damn salad.”

     “And Nashville?”

     “Shark week,” Dean muttered, remembering you curled up with a heating pad while he and Sam hunted vampires.  You wouldn’t even talk to them, just whimpered occasionally and buried your head under the covers. 

     “Right.  She doesn’t get sick often, but when she does all she wants to do is sleep.  The more you try to help the more it irritates her.  Just leave her be, she’ll let us know if she needs anything.”

     That earned a frown from the older brother, as did the sound of another sneeze down the hall.  You were a damn stubborn mule when you wanted to be, but that didn’t bother Dean.  It was a useful quality that served you well in the field.  But you tended to double down when you were hurt or scared, making a challenge for people who loved you to help. 

     And Dean did love you. 

     He came to that conclusion long ago when you burst in on him fighting off a werewolf in your barn.  Barefoot, with a sawed-off shotgun in your hands.  You were fearless, clocked the beast right between the eyes. 

Then:      “Are you alright?”

     Dean rolled the dead body off him and got to his feet.  He quickly took measure of the woman standing in the opened doorway.  Silk short shorts and camisole peeked out from under a worn buffalo check flannel.  Blood ran down bare legs and splattered in the cloud of wild curls that framed a pretty face.  Angel with a shotgun.

     Her expression was one of concern, but she kept a tight hold on her weapon.  Smart girl.

     “I should be asking you that question.”

     You glanced down at the blood stains, “It’s not mine.  My neighbor he, ah…I don’t know.  He went… rabid.  I put him down, didn’t want to hurt him, but he came at me…”

     “If you hadn’t, he would have killed you.  Or turned you.  It was a mercy, believe me.”

     You took solace in that.  With a nod, you lowered your gun and glanced over at the werewolf, dead on the ground. 

     “I don’t suppose there’s a monster removal service we call in a situation like this?”

     “It’s your lucky day Sweetheart, cause that’s me.”  Dean stuck his hand out to you, “Dean Winchester, monster remover extraordinaire.”

     You grinned, pulling your lower lip between your teeth and your eyes warmed up.  It was a look he knew well; he’d seen it in women countless times.  You thought he was cute.  You put your hand in his for a handshake and he winked.  You laughed softly, confirming his theory.  You thought he was adorable, or at least charming.  A good start!

     “Y/N Y/L/N.”

     “Y/N.  Pretty name.  If you’ve got a shovel around here, I’ll take care of this.  Then we can decide what to do about your neighbor.”

     You grabbed a pair of shovels along with your rubber gardening boots that you kept by the potting bench.

     “I built the retaining wall in the west garden by myself last summer,” you said, pulling the boots on.  “I’m handy with a shovel.”

     There was a glint of respect in his gaze as he studied you.  It wasn’t every day he met a beautiful woman who offered to help him dig a grave in middle of the night.  In her pajamas. 

     He glanced at the dead body then back to you.  “You sure?”

     “I’ve been saving this bottle of Canadian whiskey for something special.  I think digging my first grave is the occasion I’ve been waiting for.”

     Dean was a grade-A smart ass and never at a loss for a clever comeback.  But damn if you didn’t knock him speechless.  Standing in the middle of a falling down barn with a dead werewolf only a few feet away and blood splattered all over… you were the sexiest woman he’d ever laid eyes on.  He was a confident man who loved women.  When he met a woman he liked, he turned on the charm, pursued her.  Simple.  But you… you held challenge in your eyes, pride in the tilt of your jaw and confidence in the carriage of your body. 

     You were a match to be met. 

     “Well Y/N, lets earn that whiskey.” 

Now:      The following morning, you didn’t come out of your room for breakfast.  When he still hadn’t seen you by noon, he decided to hell with it.  Even if you bit his head off, he was damn well going to check on you.  He was Dean Winchester, damn it!  He’d faced the Devil himself; he could handle a cranky woman with a head cold.

     He stood quietly outside your bedroom, straining to hear any sign that you were awake.  A moment later you broke into a series of coughs, and he took the opportunity to knock.

     “Y/N?”  He cracked the door open and stuck his head inside. 

     Your room was dark except for the glow from your laptop and the tiny light from the vaporizer billowing out peppermint scented air.  Your bed was huge and took up most of the room.  A king-sized masterpiece of cloud-like fluffiness and ruffles.  Princess and the Pea inspired mattress topper and ivory striped pillows stuffed with goose down.  Dean bragged about his memory-foam mattress so often that you took it as a challenge when they invited you pick a room and make it your own.  The bed itself was so big it wouldn’t fit through any door in the bunker, begging the question… how did you manage it?

     You’d teased Dean for weeks, refusing to tell him the simple cheat.  Castiel did it for you.

Then:     “You’ve gotta be kidding me!  I pray to his feathery ass for weeks with no answer and you just up and ask him to move your princess bed and he does it?  Poof?”

     “Well, yeah.  I said please.”

     “It’s very… white.”

     “I know.  We go so many gross places, skeevy motels and hunts covered in monster goop.  I wanted something clean.  You know?”

Now:      With the abundance of pillows and blankets piled on the bed, it was hard to make out your form in the middle of it all.  Dean stepped over your discarded shoes and hunting clothes.  There were piles of crumpled tissues all over the floor, cough drop wrappers and half drank bottles of water. 

     “What time is it?” you asked from the mountain of covers. 

     “Just past noon,” he replied, coming closer to the bed.  “Thought maybe you’d want lunch.”

     You shook your head and Dean could see you a bit clearer in the light of the computer.  Your face was flushed more than it was the night before and your eyes were dull.  You looked utterly miserable.

     He sat on the side of the bed; his hand went to your forehead.  You didn’t even pull away, “Fever.  You take anything for it?”

     Your finger pointed to the table littered with over-the-counter drugs and bottles.  You’d taken everything for it, but nothing really helped.

     “You get any sleep last night?”

     “No,” you said on a sneeze, then groaned.  “This blows.  You should leave so I don’t give you the plague.”

     “Hmm.”  He stood there for a minute, then disappeared out into the hallway.

     You burrowed back under your covers with a shiver, for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester actually did as you asked.  You must be in worse shape than you thought.

     A few minutes later, he reappeared with a large mug in his hands.  “Wanna sit up, Sweetheart?  I’ve got something special for you.”

     With a grunt, you untangled yourself from the bedding and sat up against the padded headboard.  He smiled fondly, you looked adorable, even as sick as you were.  Your hair was held back in twin French braids that were starting to come loose and you were using one of his missing Henley’s for a night shirt.  A few sizes too big, it hung off one of your shoulders.

     “I was wondering where that went.”

     You were confused for a second then tugged self-consciously at the collar buttons.  “It made its way into my rotation after that Wendigo hunt.”

     “Looks better on you anyway,” he held out the mug to you.  “Drink this nice and slow, it’ll take care of that cough so you can sleep.”

     “What is it?” you asked, stirring the steaming liquid with the cinnamon stick that propped against the rim.

     “That is Bobby Singer’s patented, super-secret, cure all hot toddy.  Sammy used to get sick all the time when we were kids, that stuff always put him right.”

     You took a sip, it indeed soothed your throat and although you couldn’t really taste it, the burn of alcohol was distinct. 

     “Wow, how much whiskey is in Bobby’s hot toddy?”

     “Enough to send you off to dreamland.”  He stood and turned to leave.  He knew you didn’t want to be bothered and now that you’d accepted his help, he felt a bit more confident in leaving you.  For a while.

     “I’ll be back in a couple of hours and see if you can stomach some soup and crackers.  Your meds will work better if you eat.”

     He was almost to the door when you stopped him, “Dean?”

     “Yeah?”

     “How’d you kill the phoenix?”

     “It’s a… a long story.”

     You gave a small shrug, feeling silly.  You’d made such a fuss yesterday about being left alone and now you found you wanted him to stay. 

     “I’m not exactly going anywhere.”

     That earned you a genuine smile from him.  He toed off his shoes and launched himself into the middle of your bed with a bellyflop. 

     “Dean!”  You laughed, covering the top of the mug so the contents wouldn’t spill.

     He made a big show of climbing up over the mountain of blankets and pillows, “Jesus, Y/N!  How do you sleep on this pile of marshmallow fluff?”

     “Shut it.  You’ve been dying to try my bed since the day I moved in.”

     “Who says I haven’t?  Remember that trip you took to Jody’s last month?  Sammy and I had a great time painting our toes and talking about boys in here.”

     “Shut up,” you said with a cough.

     “He wanted to try on your underwear, but I drew the line,” he teased, pulling you in close so he could wrap his arm around your shoulders.  “Comfortable?”

     You tucked into his side and let your aching head rest on his chest.  “Mmm.”

     “Good.  So, the year was 1861 and the place was Sunrise, Wyoming.”

     Hours later, long after the hot toddy had done its job, you were deep asleep when Dean woke up.  He was unbelievably hot, and you were the cause.  Obviously, your fever had spiked.  Sweat dotted your brow and soaked through your clothes to the point he was feeling damp where you were cuddled against him.  He gently eased you off, feeling your forehead with a frown.

     “Y/N?  Wake up, sweetheart.”

     You grumbled in your sleep and burrowed deeper under the covers when he pulled them back. 

     “Come on, Y/N,” he urged, pulling a thermometer from his shirt pocket. 

     You were only halfway awake when you realized there was a thin, glass tube under your tongue.  “Wha thmm hemmm?”

     “103.”  He brushed the hair back that had stuck to your temples.  “I think I should take you to the E.R.  High fevers are nothing to mess around with.”

     You shook your head, coughing deeply.  “The meds just wore off.”

     He handed you a box of tissues, “I think you need more than cough syrup and Tylenol.  Let me take you to get looked at.”

     “I’ll be okay Dean; I just need to give it time.”

     Behind the exhaustion and illness, he could see flicker of fear in your eyes, and he was torn.  The last thing he wanted was to push you or take away your choice, but he wasn’t going to let this get out of control. 

     He sighed heavily, “Okay, we’ll try it your way.  On two conditions.  One, you need to eat something, so you keep your strength up.”

     “Okay,” you agreed, trying not to cough again.  “And two?”

     “If this gets worse, you’ll let me take you to the doctor.”  He could feel you instantly withdraw, but he wasn’t going to let you.  This was too important.  He crooked a finger under your chin, gently coaxing you to look at him.

     “I know it scares you, you don’t have to tell me why.  Trust me, I’ll take care of you Y/N.”

     Your reluctance met with his resolve and after a moment, you nodded.  “Okay.”

     “That’s my girl,” Dean praised, brushing a kiss across your forehead.  “Now, if you’re very good, I’ll bring you a bowl of tomato rice soup.”

     “With that bacon cheddar panini you made last time?”

     “Woman after my own heart,” Dean said.  He climbed out of the bed, then noticed you doing the same.

     “Whoa, wait a minute.  Where do you think you’re going?”

     “A shower, I feel disgusting,” you muttered, pawing through the bottles on the nightstand.

     “No way, that fever is way too high.  And you use water hot enough to burn off fingerprints.”

     You tossed back a couple of Tylenol with a generous swallow of water.  “If I smell as awful as I feel, then you shouldn’t be discouraging me.”

     “Y/N…”

     “Super quick, more of a rinse than a shower.”

     “Ten minutes.  Any longer and I’m coming in after you.”

     “Wouldn’t be the first time,” you replied, gathering a fresh set of pajamas.

     “Keep that water tepid,” he called after you. 

     Once you were alone in the shower room, you turned on the water and allowed yourself the coughing fit you’d been holding in.  Dean was worried enough about you.  As sweet as he was, there was a claustrophobic feeling bubbling within you.  It came from a childhood spent as a sick kid.  Parents, teachers, doctors all seemed to hover.  Stealing your air and breathing down your neck. 

     Hidden in the clean clothes were two small bottles of essential oils.  An old remedy passed down from your grandpa.  You striped down and stepped under the water.  It wasn’t nearly as warm as you’d like it, but it was better than nothing.  You uncapped the bottles and sprinkled the contents over the floor.  They mixed with the heat and made a fragrant steam of peppermint and eucalyptus.  You braced your hands against the tiled wall and let your head hang down.  A few minutes breathing in the steam worked to open your nasal passages and more importantly, your lungs. 

     Tightness had been building in your chest since last night and out of all the symptoms, that was the most troubling.  Not even that heavy duty decongestant cut it, and that stuff always helped.  Thankfully, Granddad’s method never let you down.  You breathed as deeply as you could, until the coughing it caused made the room spin and your knees go wobbly.

     You sank down onto the wall bench and turned the water off.  You shivered and tried to work up a bit of strength to dry off and get dressed.  Utterly exhausted, even the thought of standing was enough to tire you.  Of course, you knew if you sat there long enough, Dean would come searching for you.  Potentially naked or not.

     Then:      The shrill scream cut through the bunker, reaching Dean even through his headphones.  He was on his feet and down the hall as another shout echoed from the shower room.  A twist of the handle didn’t yield entry.  Sam was out on a supply run, which meant you were the one trapped inside.

     Dean took a step back and splintered the door off its hinges with a single kick.

     Gun drawn, he burst into the steam filled room, “Y/N?!”

     You were standing on top of one of the teak benches that lined the shower wall.  Soaking wet with shampoo suds cascading down your very naked body.  Your already wide eyes got even bigger, and you screamed again.  You crossed your arms over your breasts and crouched down into a ball, it was the quickest option for modesty.

     “Dean!”

     He peered through the steam and the still running water, gun still drawn, “YN, what the hell?!  What’s going on?!”

     “Spider.”

     He blinked, twice.  “What?”

     You pointed a watery finger towards the middle of the tiled floor, “By the drain.  Huge, HUGE spider.”

     Dean tucked his gun into the back waistband of his jeans, “Damn it, Y/N.  I thought you were being attacked!”

     “Why would I be attacked?  You guys said this bunker is the safest place on Earth!”

     Dean angrily threw a towel at you.  “You were screaming bloody murder!  What the hell else was I going to think?!” 

     You wrapped the towel around your body, tucking It securely under your arms.  “I don’t like spiders, okay?”

     “We just got back from a freaking ghoul hunt, with dead bodies and gore and guts… the whole nine.  You didn’t flinch once, but a bug’s got you clutching your pearls?”

     “It’s an irrational fear, professor,” you replied, switching the water off.  “But since you’re here to rescue me… would you please?”

     Dean rolled his eyes but inspected the drain all the same.  “I don’t see a spider.”

     “What?!”  You looked around frantically, then grabbed Dean’s arm and pointed, “There!  In the corner.”

     He pulled his red handkerchief from his pocket, “Alright, I got him.”

     “Wait!  Don’t kill him!  Just… catch and release.”

     “You’re awfully picky for a damsel in distress,” Dean muttered.  “Is this one of your superstitions, like that cricket in Rhode Island?  Is it bad luck to kill a north-facing spider on a Tuesday?”

     “Nearly every culture believes that killing a cricket brings bad luck.”

     “You know what brings really bad luck?  Going into a vamp nest on no sleep because a fucking cricket was cruising for a date in our bathtub!”

     “That spider doesn’t deserve to die because of my fear.  I just… I don’t want to kill anything else.  Not now, not if I don’t have to.  Do you?”

     You raised your beautiful, luminous eyes and searched out his.  His heart beat in double time and he was suddenly acutely aware of the tiniest details.  Tendrils of your hair dripped water like diamonds on your shoulders and collarbones.  Your skin glowed a healthy pink, you probably used that fluffy loofa thing you always left hanging on faucet.  The scent of your favorite soap hung heavy in the air… what was it?  Ginger peach?  God, he loved it!  You had lotion that went with it and a tiny hand sanitizer that you kept in your purse.  It made his whole car smell like you when you used it, even after you were gone. 

     Dean gave himself a mental shake.  In under five minutes you had taken him on an emotional rollercoaster from panic to irritation to confusion to completely mesmerized.  How did you do that?!  It was happening more and more.  Every time he was around you, he discovered another piece of the puzzle.  He could never predict what you were going to say, but somehow it was always just what he needed to hear.  You voiced the emotions that he had never been able to put into words. 

     “No,” he said at last. “I don’t want to kill anything else either.”

          Now:      Dean was at the stove when you shuffled into the kitchen.  He smiled at you over his shoulder while you sat at the table.  You were in your Christmas leggings and yet another of his missing shirts.  Your face wasn’t as flushed as it had been when you first woke up, a positive sign. 

     “Hope you’ve got your appetite back, because this batch of tomato rice soup is on point.”

     “Your cooking is always on point,” you smiled wanly as he set down a bowl in front of you. 

     “You’re not wrong,” he replied, running his hand over your forehead.  “Fever’s down.  You feel better?”

     “The shower helped.”

     “You smell like a candy cane,” he chuckled, taking a massive bite of his sandwich.

     “Peppermint oil.  For congestion,” you explained. 

     You considered the man across the table from you as you silently ate your soup.  You couldn’t properly taste it, but it was warm and soothed your raw throat.  You’d known Dean Winchester for five years and there were still moments like this, moments where you felt like you were seeing him clearly for the first time.  The delightful domestic behind the swagger and the grit.  He took such pure joy in the mundane that it was hard not to get swept up in it.  The greatest hunter in the world was also the kindest.  Surely there was some sort of cosmic balance working itself out there, but you were too tired to reflect on it.

     “So,” Dean said, pulling you from your thoughts.  “You up for a little movie marathon in the Dean cave?”

     “That would depend on what’s showing.”

     “Lady’s choice.  So long as it doesn’t have subtitles.”

     “La Dolce Vita is a classic!”

     “Die Hard is a classic,” Dean countered.  “Plus, it’s a Christmas movie so it counts double.”

     “Ugh, fine.  You big baby.”  You thought for a moment, covering a cough with the back of your hand.  “How about Ghostbusters?”

     Dean grinned at that, “Yeah?”

     “Or Stripes or um… Caddyshack.  Mom was a Bill Murray fan; we always watched him when I was sick.”

     “Sounds like Mom had good taste,” Dean picked up the dishes and headed to the sink.  “Why don’t you go find a comfortable spot on the couch?  I’ll be right behind you.”

     Laughter always was the best medicine.  And Dean always was the best cuddler.  He brought his gigantic triple thick comforter from his bed and tucked the two of you under it as the 80’s classic played on the flatscreen.  It didn’t take long for the full stomach and the warm hunter to lull you back into a deep sleep.  You were out before the credits rolled.

         Your hacking cough that woke Dean hours later.  It was different this time, you were coughing so much that you couldn’t seem to catch your breath.  He was right behind you as you hunched over the arm of the couch.  As he rubbed your back, he could feel how deeply your lungs rattled.  It was a distinct, wet sounding cough that shook your whole frame.  Heat from your spiked fever radiated through your shirt to his palm. 

     He was saying something to you, but you couldn’t make out the words, only the soothing tone of his voice.  You were truly miserable.  Your head ached with every cough and when you finally managed to stop hacking, you struggled to catch your breath.  A glass of water floated in front of you, and you drank it greedily.

     One word broke through your haze: Doctor.  You didn’t really hear him say it, but the implication was there.

     To his surprise, and as a testament to how awful you felt, you nodded your agreement.  The relief was evident in his voice, “There’s my girl.  Stay put; I’m going to warm up the car.”

     As Dean left, you took stock.  The fever ravaging your system left you feeling disgusting, but you were too tired do anything about it.  Your head was pounding from the coughing fit and your chest was so tight it was painful to draw breath.  You looked down at your pajamas; the snowflake leggings and borrowed shirt were hardly a fashion choice, but they would have to do. 

     There was an awful taste in your mouth had to go.  You could manage a swish of mouthwash, even if you had to sit on the toilet to do it. 

     The minute your stocking feet touched the ground, everything changed.  Your chest got painfully tight.  The feeling of a crushing weight on your chest, as if Dean had driven his car over you and parked it.  The room started to spin and not even holding on to the table made the world steady.  You went down with a thump, landing hard on your ass.  Breathing became like sucking air through a tiny straw, you simply couldn’t.  Your mouth gaped open as you tried and failed to draw air.  Panic swiftly set in as your fingers and toes went numb from lack of oxygen.  Your vision blurred and went dark around the edges.  You dropped to your side and prayed Dean would be quick.

     He was gone five minutes, tops.  The sight of you curled on the floor had him shouting for Sam as he quickly knelt beside you.

     “Y/N!  Baby, look at me, I’m right here...  Sam!!”

     You tired to talk but, no sound came out.  Your hand was on your chest and there was a wheezing sound.  Tears formed at the corners of your eyes. 

     Shit!  He wasn’t sure what had caused this attack, but it didn’t matter.  He had you in his arms as Sam burst through the doorway

     Sam’s eyes went wide as he took in your pale features and distress, “What the hell?!”

     “Hospital now, you’re driving!”

     By the time the Impala was squealing out of the bunker’s garage, you were fully unconscious.  Your limp body sagged against Dean’s chest while he tried to get you to respond.  Sam was alternating between watching the road and checking the rearview on your deteriorating condition.  His foot pressed the accelerator down, pushing the Impala to the limit.

     “What the fuck happened?  I thought she just had a cold.”

     “Its this cough, she couldn’t shake it.”  Dean kept you upright in his lap, knowing it was the easiest position for you to breathe in.  He could feel you losing the battle, even your lips were turning from red and chapped to slightly blue and it scared the hell out of him.

     How the hell did you get this bad so quickly?  He had kept a close eye on you, kept your fever under control, kept you hydrated.  It just didn’t make any sense!  If he didn’t know any better, he’d have thought you had… asthma. 

     Flashes came to Dean’s mind; puzzle pieces fell into place.  The vaporizer in your room billowing out peppermint was not a new addition; you took it with you everywhere.  It made even the grossest motel rooms halfway pleasant.  You always kept a scarf wrapped around your neck if the weather was even a little cold, and you pulled it up over your nose when the wind got bitter.  Even that time you helped them burn a body.  You turned away from the pyre and pulled that scarf up… Dean thought it was the smell that got to you. 

     “Shit,” he muttered, digging through your purse as Sam got closer to the city limits.  He pulled out a metal tube with a plastic dispenser.

     “Son of a bitch!” 

      Sam’s eyes caught the reflection, “Is that an inhaler?”

     Turning it over, Dean read the prescription.  “She’s fucking asthmatic!”

     He steadied your lolling head with his hand and brought the inhaler to your mouth, “Okay, baby… this medicine is gonna help you.  Breathe it in for me.”

     He dispensed two puffs into your mouth and prayed the meds got down into your lungs.  Was it the right thing to do?  Use an inhaler on an unconscious person?  Dean had no idea, but he was going to do whatever he needed to do to save you.  He cradled you on his lap and prayed as Sam pulled into the Lebanon Hospital parking lot.

Part Two TAGLIST @deans-baby-momma @muchamusedaboutnothing @peterpangirl21 @ficbreaks @teresa-67 @sacriceria @verytoadpapersoul @heartbreak-of-a-marauder @savspersonalproperty @deanwanddamons @jenwinchester40 @perpetualabsurdity @starryeyeseunbyul @sexyvixen7 @katsbratsupernaturalwhore @agirlwithdemonblood @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @imthedoctorlove @roonyxx @smellingofpoetry @deanwinchesterswitch @thinkinghardhardlythinking @pink-sparkly-witch @barewithme02 @deadlynightshadeindustries @jc-winchester @mrswhozeewhatsis  @kinderousmaster @lyarr24 @aphorism-001 @onlinecemetery @allonsy-yesiwill @myeagletoadmaker

[septembersghost]

Hi! Sorry for bringing this up and I hope it's not triggering, I just keep thinking about these words you said: "{…}which has made my only recourse a wide chasm of separation, and that's a loss in its own sense. sometimes i think it's a relief to not allow it to take up as much space in my heart and mind, and other times i feel a stinging anger and deep, persistent grief that it had to come to that point. it's VERY hard to separate from something you love and are invested in that has also become a source of pain". The first time I read them, it made me cry. I sooo know the feeling. A small story again (and sorry for it being too personal), five years ago, when I was struggling with a particularly bad depression episode, Dean was there for me. If it wasn't for him, I know I would've done something very stupid, something… irreversible, but he saved me, single-handedly pulled me from the brink. He used to be my comfort ever since. Spn used to be my comfort. Seasons 13, 14, 15 especially and the finale brought that full-on depression and mental breakdowns back. It sucks and hurts that, as an act of self care and healing, we had to cut ties with the show. And that means, by a certain extent, to detach from Dean too :(( He's not part of the show for me or the part of the narrative, nor has he ever been, but even so, there is a level of distance and the connection I felt before is essentially lost now and things don't quite work the same way. I still love him, he is still my dearest boy, I still have his framed self-made portrait (which I drag with me wherever I go), but it's not what it used to be. There's a kind of detachment to it. I tried to rewatch spn a few months back, but I can't. And I wish I could say that it just was too painful and that's why, but no, what hurts even more is that I couldn't, didn't want to care or be invested anymore. I used to care so much. And now it's just… this hollow emptiness, this indifference. It's like what Mike in BCS said, one moment you're gonna wake up, you're gonna brush your teeth, go to work, and then you'll realize you haven't thought about it at all. One evening last year I realized that I haven't thought about spn for a long, long time. Then I burst into tears because it felt like saying goodbye, really saying goodbye this time, and it hurt, and I didn't want that, but I don't know what else could I have done rather then complete separation. There's a line from a song that stuck with me forever. "I'm writing a book on how to stay conscious when you drown {…}/ I'm writing a chapter on what to do after they dig you up/ On what to do after you grew to hate what you used to love". It's SO indicative of my (former) "relationship" with spn (the whole song is, given that it's unironically called How Not to Drown), and your words reminded me of that . It's just… I understand you and I love you ♥ You're the only person I can safely talk to about those things. I wish I could give you a hug right now :(

never be sorry, darling, and i hope you don't mind me posting this. i have a lot of emotional posts and very personal stories linked to this, so you've come to the right place and are definitely not alone.

Dean was there for me. If it wasn't for him, I know I would've done something very stupid, something… irreversible, but he saved me, single-handedly pulled me from the brink. <- anyone who's been here since the end of 2020 and well into 2021 is probably tired of me discussing this, but...same. dean was with me from the very onset of my illness, and through some very dark times and terrible moments, real traumas and losses and grief. he was one of my closest constants and a talisman of bravery and strength for those fifteen years, and i can pinpoint some specifically difficult moments where he helped me hold on, or gave me a reason to remember i had to. i've discussed this endlessly with other mutuals too, who felt similarly and turned to spn for comfort - it is not, at its core, a comforting story, it's in fact quite often the opposite, something that unearths fears and directly examines wounds, but a lot of us found a home there anyway, even if it was a haunted one. and we found resilience and courage and an unfailingly loving heart. it's not a secret i despise d*bb era overall, but i could never give the show up, because of him. it's also not a secret (considering it's...why this blog exists...) that the finale drove me to some measure of an emotional breakdown which took me quite a while to even begin to recover from, and felt like such a profound loss that it had not only a detrimental mental effect, but a physical one too, in that it actually affected my illness issues for a bit. the fracture i experienced in november 2020 is only comparable to real grief and heartbreak i've experienced, my mom watched me weep that night and has told me how terrible it was for *her*. i've been over and over it in posts, i've been over and over it with friends, but the ache never actually goes away. once that full year had passed, i got the point where i had no choice but to bury it, in a way. to separate from it in order to protect myself. there certainly IS a level of healing and self-care in that, and i KNOW it's healthier than obsessing and crying about it, i know it's better to put it aside, but that in itself has been a hard choice, because it feels a little like letting him down in letting it go.

that means, by a certain extent, to detach from Dean too :(( He's not part of the show for me or the part of the narrative, nor has he ever been, but even so, there is a level of distance and the connection I felt before is essentially lost now and things don't quite work the same way. I still love him, he is still my dearest boy - honestly, did you extract this directly from my brain? it feels like i could've written it, and there definitely is a transcendence he has apart from the narrative, it was one of the first things i tried to assert and cling to, and no one has the place he has to me in that chamber of my heart, but ultimately the detachment still came. i've had people say that's letting d*bb win or giving the ending too much credit, and i did try to defy that for a while, but ultimately that was more damaging. as it stands now, i can't rewatch either - traditionally, i ALWAYS watch the pilot on my birthday, since it's also the show's anniversary. year after year, that was a part of my day, even last year. i planned to do it this year too, and when it came down to it, i just couldn't press play. last year, when i was still rewatching (i got to 11x01 and then...the comment we talked about before happened and it halted me so abruptly and dreadfully in my tracks, and like, fractured something in my head, and i never restarted it), there was an acute and constant pain in it, but it felt essential to keep. after releasing that somewhat, it was chased by those hollows and shadows instead. what hurts even more is that I couldn't, didn't want to care or be invested anymore. I used to care so much. And now it's just… this hollow emptiness, this indifference. this, so much. the indifference is...it isn't necessarily worse than being angered or agonized, but it's still terrible and unsettling. it's a lack of something. love and grief are intertwined, but what do you call it when you only have a rattling emptiness?

it's serendipitous you would send this today, because on the song topic, i was looking for something else altogether on my old-old blog, my very first blog here, and exactly ten years ago, on september 27, 2012, i rewrote the lyrics from "begin again" to be about him. it sounds silly now, red wasn't even out yet, the song was released as a promo single, and it was so beautiful and cathartic, and somehow i connected it to him, and his meaning, and to hopes that i had. being reminded of that today probably should've been more shattering, but instead it just felt...distant and memorialized. thinkin' all love ever does is break, and burn, and end...like the emotions encased themselves in amber. at some point, it became it's time to go - fifteen years, fifteen million tears...that old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in my soul. sometimes it still does creep up on me and knock me back, but more often there's a terrible numbness to it. it felt like saying goodbye, really saying goodbye this time, and it hurt, and I didn't want that, but I don't know what else could I have done rather then complete separation. yeah. the separation is protective, but it's still a real sorrow and a loss. i'm trying to believe someday it will shift, and something warmer and brighter in it will come back to me, but even if it doesn't, i know all the words that i wrote and love that i expressed was true and still has worth and still resides in me, even if i have to keep it differently.

there are reminders of him around me - the journal on my desk, his little plush, etc - and that's meaningful, i'm glad i have them, and i keep him and the valuable parts of the show embedded here on my blog to prevent losing that altogether, but it's like there's a mourning veil around it.

thank you for sharing and feeling safe enough to tell me this, i understand more than i can say and i love you too. i'm hugging you so tightly from afar. 🖤🖤🖤

[sunsetofdoom]

15 for your five most recent fics? (i just think it's a really interesting question!!)

15: What did you learn from writing this fic?

So, my last five fics on AO3 were:

Burdened With A Sense Of Self

This one was a resounding failure, but I learned a lot about pacing, plot structure, and the limitations of my standard vignette style. I was so frightened of fight scenes that I skipped about 80% of the plot, and it drove me nuts until I figured out what the problem was. Unfortunately, by then, the DBH brain worms had gone on their way to infect someone else.

I had- still have- a great story in mind for this. Wish it'd hit a better writer than me.

information request: processing

I finally climbed back on the horse with this one, after like a year of an insecure mental breakdown. Yet again, all I wanted to write was emotion and introspection, but that seemed to work with me when describing an AU that was radically different from canon. Character voice is a strength that I think I have, so this was playing to it instead of working against it. I also started to get the hang of plotting out the story beats of a long fic, though yet again, it didn't manage to go anywhere.

... or are you just happy to see me?

This was one of the first serviceable fight scenes I ever published. As I wrote stuff for SWTOR, I slowly lost my phobia of heavy action, seeing how it could be used to show character without my trademark navel-gazing. I still really like how it turned out.

Even if I have to die with You, I will not deny You (mature)

-I love writing sex scenes

-I am capable of writing sex scenes without direct language

-I love @the-son-of-dathomir and want to work with her all the time, she's the other half of my brain and it makes me so happy when we have the same fixation <3 love you babe

all my life I've been running towards the fight

I'm still working on this one, and not 100% on what lessons I'm taking from it; but I started it like eight months ago, so at least some of it should be in hindsight by now. In fact, just today I deleted eleven pages of a scene that wasn't working; for a majority of my writing life, it's just been "forge ahead" and I refused to delete things, on the principle that I'm not doing Serious Editing, it takes me too much work to get stuff on page to just dump it. But the scene didn't work, it was screwing up my plot tension, so out the door it goes!

[camilliar]

I've just reread ~get the wine pairings~ which is one of the best zimbits fics I've ever read and I was wondering if you're currently working/planning any new omgcp fics? I really love your writing 🙈

Ahhhhhhh wow thank you, there are so many Zimbits fics to choose from, and you chose the one I wrote while my OMGCP AO3 account was still a sock I never planned to link to because it was too many kinks pasted together. I’m very flattered. I’m still weirdly pleased with that fic!

To answer you question -- which I’m also very flattered anyone would ask? -- I've got two OMGCP fics that’ll be going up in the next, like, month:

You may have seen me insanely blogging about this AU where everyone’s getting MFAs at Samwell. In theory, ideally, I guess this would be like a loose collaborative series me and @tomatowrites both write in? (If she wants to/has time to?) I’ve very near done with the first fic in this series, like, one to five paragraphs away from being done and passing it on to a beta. It’s a PBJ sex fic set over Labor Day weekend; Bitty thinks he’s getting into one thing (group sex) but he’s actually getting into something else. It doesn’t get that much into the MFA part of things but I hope it does an okay job introducing the general themes around the Parse + Bitty stories in the AU? Lots of ???? because I’m just so excited about this entire thing. Please send me + Tomato asks about MFA stuff, I’m obsessed with and I want everyone else to be, also.

I’m also doing @omgcpheartbreakfest, and that fic is due on August 5 and should be posting ... a week later? Ish? Because it’s a blind fest I ought not divulge too much about it, but it’s an idea I’ve wanted to write out for a while, so I’m looking forward to finishing this over the next week or two.

and then OH GOD this list continues:

After those two I’ll probably switch gears to finish up this infamous South Park fic. Further afield, I did start an Ollie/Wicks fic that could be conceptually interesting but a) what is the audience? and b) do I really want to expend energy on digging into the tone and keeping the tone on point? More problematic is that these characters do not have personalities or even biographical information to transform into a story, so it’s tough to know what their relationship would even be like? I guess what I’m saying is I’m not sure if I want to follow through on this. Earlier today, actually, I took a look at it convinced I was going to scrap it -- but I also felt like there was something there that made me almost wistful for whatever conviction I had for this story when I started it. We’ll see where that goes.

Two big fics I have wanted to write in this fandom for a long, long time, like nearly as long as I’ve been in the fandom:

An AU where Jack’s OD is fatal, and a few years into the future his mother has established a foundation in his memory, to which she’s recruited Parse to sit on the board, which requires that he help fund the foundation. The foundation creates a scholarship for a hockey player at Samwell, and Parse is asked to advise the selection process, which results in Bitty being offered the inaugural award. The problem, however, is that Bitty is terrified of checking and if he doesn’t make it on this team, there’s a chance SMH might ultimately reject the gift -- and if this pilot program fails, Jack’s mom is gonna, like, have a breakdown. So Parse decides to intervene to make sure Bitty doesn’t get cut? Long story short, endgame Bitty/Parse, with the basic tension coming from what everyone’s lost if Jack isn’t in their lives: the team dynamic is totally different! Bitty thinks Jack is a selfish monster who ruined the lives of everyone around him, but Parse maintains that Bitty didn’t know him. The Bob/Alicia relationship is almost irreparably frayed and Parse finds himself in the middle of it because they both refuse to let him go! In a lot of ways it’s a story about Jack, although Jack is very dead for all of it. If done properly I would love to get into some of the tough politics around, like, money in US higher ed and some politics around wealth generally.

I have mentioned a few times that I want to write a “normal” not-edgelord Zimbits fic, and that would be an AU where Jack gets a PhD in history instead of going into the NHL -- so it’s basically canon-divergent from the start of Y2, where Jack decides that, for his own mental health, he can’t do professional hockey. The fic is set over the summer of 2017, at which point Jack is preparing to take his exams, write a dissertation prospectus, and start teaching in the fall. He’s at an impasse with his advisor, however, who doesn’t want him to write a social history of hockey because that’s a second book project, not a dissertation. While that’s happening, Bitty’s just graduated college and moved back in with his parents while Jack tries to find them an apartment in Boston -- which he’s having some trouble doing since Bitty doesn’t have a job lined up and Jack’s income is like, a graduate stipend. The conflicts in this story come from circumstances external to the Jack/Bitty relationship, and center around Jack’s doubts about his ability and desire to follow through on his stated goals, especially considering he’s deeply uncompromising. I’ve seen so many arguments that Jack would be so great at grad school or being a professional academic and it’s like, yes, in some ways, he would be; I can see him doing good archival research, or moving through the degree requirements in a PhD program, because he’s goal-oriented and willing to put the work in. But! He’s fucking awkward and so much of this field is just ... networking? Collaborating? Taking advice? Listening? Taking social cues? He had this idea about what kind of dissertation he was going to do, and why is he being told no? Can Jack take “no”? Can he adapt? A random woman has been showing up to his beer league games -- maybe this degree wasn’t the right path after all?

Then, all the way down at the bottom here, it’s like, I have sooo many incomplete Greerverse and lady Jack fics, many of them in the 500-3k range, but some of them in the 15k range, which is like, wow, that’s a lot of unfinished fic! The most profitable of these would be Jack and Bitty taking a 15-year anniversary vacation traveling around Europe for six weeks, which Jack unceremoniously kicks off by announcing a desire to transition--and then saying nothing about it for the duration of the trip while Bitty tries to work out how he feels about this, never mind what Jack even wants.

Aaaand last and probably also least, I’ve got like 15k each of an a/b/o fic I tried to write for Tomato and another 15k of a fic where a career- ending injury leads Jack to reassess his entire relationship with his body and therefore he winds up getting a little drag-curious, and it was fun writing about like, Jack moping around the house on crutches feeling sorry for himself, but also the fic has an OC who’s a big part of the story and I just didn’t feel that guy or care to write about him so I quit! Maybe I should scrap those things, along with the rest of this mpreg fic.

So that’s where I’m at ficwise right now! Who knows a) when the things further down this list would see the light of days, and b) which other crazy ideas will crop up that I have to write in the interim?

Thank you so much for asking! I love chatting about my fic, please ask any time.

[dr-mizmix]

My sunshine(part 1/?)

Many people have already written about this but I couldn't help it. This fic follows the headcanon in which Five kills Dave.

TRIGGER WARINGS

warzone/mental breakdown

Word count: 1500+

13+

Enjoy!

“It's just another name, it's just another mission” Five never thought about who he had to eliminate. It wasn't worth the time thinking about their lives and getting involved in an emotional level. That would be irrational and compromise the mission. It didn't matter if they were innocent, guilty, men, women or children Five just wanted to get the job done so he could move forward to the next one until the day he finished his equations or his contract whatever came first.

“Eliminate Dave Katz at all costs”

As soon as Five read the name, it made him wonder “Huh, this is weird. I wonder what this soldier soldier must have done for the temp comision to send me instead of letting him die at warzone.” He then looked to Dolores who remained motionless “............” Five then tried to act unbiased “You are right Dolores, that's none of ours business," he read again the name and location “we should get going.”

After that he packed for his unusual destination, even for a time traveling hitman like himself 1968 Vietnam.

While Five was onto his grim mission Dave Katz, his future victim, was having a great time with another time traveler who happened to be a Hargreeves too, but whose plans of what to do with him couldn't be more different.  

At the disco Klaus was killing it the dance floor when discretely he winks Dave who has been watching him from the distance. He takes this gesture as a signal and starts to slowly approach him while dancing “Haha, you have some nice moves” Klaus decided to cautiously flirt with him trying to see where he could go “Really? I could teach you some of them if you wanna” Dave followed Klaus’ game “Oh, and how much would it be for the lessons?” he wished this was 2019 and not 1968 “Well, I would usually charge a lot to know the secrets of my moves.” Dave kept getting closer to him “Oh really?” he said with a playful smile “Yeah but because you are obviously desperate I'll make you a deal. I will lower my price to just one shot of whatever it is your favorite drink.” he knew that if he said to anyone else he could get in trouble. But not to Dave “Then it's settled. Bartender two shots of whiskey please! My treat.” After that they danced together all evening with the excuse of teaching each other dance moves.

“Klaus” Dave called him in a really low tone but he caught his attention “Follow me” They went together to a secluded area. “Are we allowed to be here?” Klaus tried being cautious but Dave made his thoughts disappear in less than a second “What, what are we?” Klaus didn't know how to answer. “I don't know, what am I to you?” Dave thought for a moment “I feel like I can trust you with my life, I would say that you are my friend but that would be lying to myself” Klaus closed his eyes “Keep going” Dave closed his eyes too “You are the most kind,wonderful, brave and handsome person that I've ever met” Dave felt like his heart was about to to leave his body, when Klaus wrapped his arms around him “You are very wrong, because you are the most handsome, strong, brave and vulnerable person I've ever met and you clearly know yourself” Dave got as close as he could to Klaus and when their lips were almost touching he whispered “May I?” to which Klaus responded “Yes you can” They shared a long kiss, when they separated Dave was incredibly blushed “Did I do it wrong?” Klaus giggled and started playing with Dave's hair “No! Why would you say that” Dave looked kind of embarrassed “I'm kind of new to this thing” Klaus then gently grabbed his face “Don't worry, we can do whatever you want” Dave hugged him and a slow song started playing “I've, I've never danced to anything like this before” Klaus smiled and placed their hands on the position for a slow dance. “Hey remember I told you I'd teach you how to dance” Dave shaked his head smiling and they continued dancing through the whole night.

Several months have passed since the night Dave and Klaus shared their first kiss. Since then they've been secretly dating. So far no one noticed anything more than them being really good friends. That or they prefer to ignore it. They even got themselves some matching tattoos which Dave chose. In their way to the front, at the bus, Dave seemed distant “Today it's going to be tough” Klaus puts his arm around him “You always say that, and look at us! We only get so emotionally scarred for life!” He tried to joke around it to see if Dave would relax a bit “Right, right” Klaus started to get worried “Are you ok?" “Well It's just that I heard that my squad is going for the front line this time and I I…”Dave couldn't continue. There was a pause “Is that all?Then I will be going with you”Dave shaked his head with a sad smile “Come on Klaus you know that we can't do that. We are in different squads” Klaus though for a moment “Well then tell someone from your squad that today is their lucky day because I'm not letting you go alone.” Dave laughed “You are going to make some lucky bastard very happy”

Five loaded his trusty rifle and waited for the perfect moment when nobody would notice him. It was weird to witness all those people dying in front of him but Five had to constantly remind himself that it was none of his business. Chaos arises in the trenches and Five decided to shoot his target, knowing help wouldn't come. He activated the trigger and the job was done. A man starts screaming with a somewhat familiar voice. Five feelt startled by it and decided to take a closer look. “Something feels wrong”

Meanwhile the in the trenches Klaus was screaming for help “Medic! Medic!” He held Dave in his arms “You're going to ok Dave, you'll get through this” Dave placed his hands behind Klaus head “I'll be ok Klaus I know I'll be” Klaus cried even harder “Stay with me Dave please, I'll take you with me” Dave closed his eyes “Sing for me” Klaus couldn't think of any song until words started flowing almost automatically from his mouth “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…” Dave grabbed his hand “You make me happy when skies are gray…” Klaus tightened his grip “You'll never know dear how much I love you…” Dave's hand relaxed a bit “Please don't take” Dave opened his eyes “my sunshine” they both smiled “I love you” Dave lost all his grip “Away… ” Klaus looked at Dave, he didn't move “Dave? Dave! Medic! Goddammit I need a need a goddamm medic!”. As he realized that help wouldn't arrive, he looked Dave's lifeless body and laid on it crying. “He's dead. He's dead” his mumbling kept going until it became unintelligible.

Dolores in his back as always stayed silent. “Is just the screaming, he shouldn't have found him so fast. We are in the middle of warzone.” He made a pause to get Dolores perspective. “It's just” he squinted his eyes in an attempt to see the man's forearm, Five sighed as he saw the man wore long sleeves and looked back at Dolores “You are right Dolores, I have no family anymore” He closed his eyes trying to forget the familiar pitch. “What would they be doing here anyway?”He picked up his stuff and left as he never had been there. He was now awaiting for his next assignment.

“Eliminate President Kennedy at all costs”

When Five found himself asking “is it worth it? Is it worth killing l so many people to go back knowing that the future is doomed?” He remembered Vanya and the rest of his siblings and found a reason to keep living.

But this was not the moment to think about his siblings, this was a moment of action.

As Five used his briefcase for the last time he thought of his siblings, and while it was kind of hard to admit, he started questioning if they would accept him. They only knew him for 13 years and he is now 58. What is he going to tell them? He'd been alone for 40 years and now the feeling of being able to come back to his family terrifies him. But it didn't matter now, the apocalypse doesn't wait for anybody.

He arrived at his destination, there he started apply his equations to time travel back his family. He'll show Dolores she's wrong. He knew his arrival would probably cause a huge anomaly so he expected his family waiting for him. What he didn't expect was that one screaming man from his last mission in Vietnam. The first face he saw “Klaus” It suddenly became clear. He got distracted over that fact. So much so that his body started morphing into his 13 years old self.He finally went through it.

“Shit”

I will continue this fic in the near future so stay tuned!

[thetwoguineabook]

I'm curious to learn what led you to decide to make a career change to software development from your original field of study (if it's not too personal of course). I'm an undergrad student who shares many of your interests in history and politics, but I've recently been having doubts about the sort of career I want to pursue in the long term, and wondering what I might do should I want to do something else in ten years or so...

(a note of warning: I’m going to talk about some Bad Mental Health stuff here)

Well, it’s something of a long story. The last few years of my life have been a pretty continuous disaster- I had to quit my PhD programme (in Theology), I had a row with my sister that’s caused a rift in the family ever since, my girlfriend of three and a half years dumped me out of the blue a week before Christmas, I was harassed for several months and then evicted by my previous landlord, with the additional stress of the move and the Brexit vote I had a nervous breakdown and had to take time off work, but my mental health only deteriorated and I ended up losing my job.

I was at absolutely rock-fucking-bottom. If I was not as lucky as I am in having parents who helped me out financially I probably would have killed myself. As it was, they were kind enough to cover my rent while I focused on getting better and taking some time to really think about what I wanted to do.

The career I’d imagined in academia clearly wasn’t going to happen, and while the job I got fired from was reasonably well-paid and I got on with my colleagues, it was absolutely killing me intellectually. I was so bored, and when all the other good things in my life started to crumble away, that boredom just made my depression worse and worse. I’d also realised that the kind of career I was pursuing- in government/third sector administration- is an absolute fucking dead end in terms of career progression. You can’t move up into a management job without experience. You can’t get that experience unless some weird fluke happens and a management role gets dumped on you when you’re being paid to do something else. And I can’t imagine that being a manager of a bunch of admin monkeys is massively more intellectually stimulating than being an admin monkey myself. I was doing it because I didn’t see any other options, not because I really wanted to.

It occurred to me that, had I chosen to pursue a STEM field instead of the Humanities, while the job prospects are still pretty dicey in a lot of fields I’d at least have a much clearer path of progression. And I’d been wanting to learn to code and putting it off for years, or attempting to self-teach and then getting intimidated by just figuring out where to start. So I googled things like ‘learning to code’ and ‘career change coding’, and came across the bootcamp I am two weeks’ shy of finishing. And I’ve discovered in the process that yeah, software development is highly paid and there are more jobs than there are developers and there’s a lot of opportunity to advance, but also that I just really fucking love to code. It makes me feel like my brain is really awake, like I haven’t felt since I was doing my MA. And it’s been strangely, intensely therapeutic for my mental health too.

I would say that if you enjoy what you’re studying right now, get all that you can out of that study and that enjoyment. I loved studying Theology. I miss it. And honestly, when you’re in undergrad it can be hard to have any idea of what kind of career you might have if you’re not doing something really vocational (and even then, it’s not simple).

But your intellectual interests and your career don’t have to match, and the kind of job that you pick when you’re just out of university does not in any way lock you down for life. I’m about to turn thirty and I am the youngest person in my bootcamp cohort- there’s people five, ten or more years older than me, from all kinds of different backgrounds, who’ve decided that they want to change direction. 

There isn’t a time limit on this stuff. Stay open to new possibilities, make sure to save if it’s at all possible so you have a fallback either if the worst happens or if you need to fund a change in direction, and let life come at you. The idea that so many of us seem to have that you have to have your whole life figured out before you’re 25 is some serious bullshit. We’re all just making it up as we go along.