#I need this car I’m freaking losing my mind

[prettyboybuck]

when the dealership sells you a car with a bad transmission and now you’re so incredibly fucked and don’t have 4-7k to replace it and selling the car for parts isn’t even close to enough to get a new car 🤩

[hoshifighting]

      wonwoo!best friend's brother

— your best friend's older brother, the guy who dropped out of university a long time ago but still shows up once in a while at your and your best friend's dorm. the thing is, she's in a tutoring class right now, leaving you and him alone after all these years of having a huge crush on him.

WARNINGS: +18, smut, making out, almost getting caught, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, blowjob, spiting.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

you hear the door click as you wipe down the last bit of the counter, the smell of cleaning products lingering in the air. wonwoo’s here again—because of course, he is. once a year, like clockwork, he pulls up outside your dorm building, car keys in hand, sipping some energy drink like he’s the busiest man alive, even though he’s been out of university for, what? two years now? maybe more. it’s almost funny, how he thinks showing up in his beat-up car, leaning against the doorframe, makes him look cool.

your best friend’s not even here. she’s in some tutoring session because she "really needs to pass this bio class." but, of course, she told you, warned you, that wonwoo might drop by.

“hey,” he says, leaning against the doorframe like some kind of model, downing a sip from the can like it's giving him more life than it should.

“she’s not here,” you say, wiping your hands on your shorts. you’re pretending like you’re not even thinking about the way they’re barely covering anything right now. it’s just cleaning clothes, but you catch his eyes flick down for half a second, and your heart skips a beat.

“oh? what, she ditch me or something?” he teases, eyes sparkling with that casual cockiness he always carries around.

you laugh, shaking your head. “nah, she’s at a tutoring session. bio, i think? she’s stressing hard. she said she’d be back in a couple hours, so you can wait if you want... or leave. i won’t stop you.”

“tutoring? she actually studying? i thought she gave that up ages ago,” he snickers, leaning against the couch, tapping his foot like he’s been there forever. “reminds me of my sister, always freaking out about school... only she actually tries.”

you snort, rolling your eyes. “yeah, well, not everyone’s like you, mister ‘dropped out but still thinks he runs the place.’”

“i’m just here for the vibes,” he shrugs, eyes settling on you for a little too long, way too comfortable. way too focused. “plus, i wouldn’t call it ‘dropping out’... i just, y’know, found my path elsewhere.”

you shake your head, pretending not to care. but fuck, that grin? dangerous. absolutely dangerous. the guy is too good-looking for his own good, and the fact that he’s here, all casual like he’s just dropping by, is making your heart race in a way you’re desperately trying to ignore. and those eyes—yeah, you can feel him looking at you.

you turn, grabbing a water from the fridge to cool down because jesus, he’s looking right through you. you twist the cap and take a long gulp, trying to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks, trying to play it cool.

“you good?” his voice cuts through the silence. casual, like it’s no big deal.

you choke a little on the water and turn around, trying not to look flustered. “yeah, yeah. why wouldn’t i be?”

he raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “dunno, just... you’re kinda tense. cleaning stress?”

you laugh it off, but the sound’s more nervous than you want it to be. “something like that.”

fuck, why is this so hard?

he takes another sip of his red bull, his eyes flicking over your legs again, slower this time. it’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing, and you’re just... standing there, pretending you don’t feel it, but inside, you’re absolutely losing your mind. freaking out.

“you always this... jumpy around me?” he asks, smirking like he already knows the answer.

“shut up,” you toss a dish towel at him, more as a distraction for you than him, but he catches it easily, his grin widening.

“what, can’t take a little teasing? you’ve been dodging my questions all day.”

all day? he’s been here for twenty minutes. still, your stomach flips at the way he’s just standing there, so confident, so sure. it’s unfair how hot he is when he’s like this, leaning against the counter, arms crossed like he’s just waiting for you to crack.

“i’m not dodging anything,” you lie, crossing your arms, even though you know your face is giving you away. “you’re just being annoying.”

“am i?” he steps closer, his voice dropping slightly. “or am i just... distracting you?”

“wonwoo,” you start, your heart’s pounding, your skin tingling. “don’t.”

“don’t what?” he’s closer now, and fuck, he’s standing way too close, his breath brushing your cheek as he leans in. “i’m just talking, y/n.”

just talking, but the way his eyes drop to your lips says otherwise, and you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend this isn’t happening.

you’ve never been this close to him before, and it’s making your pulse race, your head spin. his hand hovers near your hip, like he’s waiting for permission, waiting for you to crack. it’s not fair how good he smells.

“you used to play dolls with my sister, you know,” he mutters, his lips brushing your ear. “now look at you.”

his fingers graze your waist, light at first, but the way his eyes lock on yours? there’s no going back. you shiver, heat pooling in your gut, and his hand slips lower, gripping the curve of your ass like it belongs to him. he laughs softly when you gasp, his other hand trailing up your side, fingers brushing the thin fabric of your top.

“wonwoo, you can’t just—” your words cut off as he cups your tit, thumb running over your nipple through your shirt, the sensation making your knees go weak. it’s so subtle, but you feel everything—his breath on your neck, the rough texture of his palm, the way his body presses against yours like he can’t stand the distance anymore.

“what? can’t just what?” his voice is low, mocking, as he leans down, his lips inches from yours. “you’ve been staring at me like that for years, y/n. you think i didn’t notice?”

your brain short-circuits as he presses his mouth to yours, starting slow, teasing, like he’s waiting for you to snap. and when you kiss him back—hard, desperate, craving more—he groans against your lips, his tongue immediately slipping past them. he sucks on your tongue like he’s savoring the taste, his hand squeezing your ass, pulling you closer as you try to remember how to breathe. it’s wet, sloppy, and so fucking messy, the sound of your lips meeting, tongues sliding against each other, filling the small kitchen.

you moan into his mouth, gripping his shirt, trying to keep up with the way he devours you, his other hand now fully under your shirt, palming your bare tit. it’s so much—too much, and you arch into his touch, losing yourself in the heat of it all.

and then you hear it.

keys, fumbling at the front door. shit.

you push him away so fast he stumbles back, eyes wide, lips shiny and swollen from your kiss. his fingers are still brushing his bottom lip, eyes flicking to the door in disbelief as the knob turns.

“fuck,” you whisper, trying to catch your breath, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, but you can’t stop shaking. you dart back to the sink, pretending to scrub some nonexistent spot, heart racing a mile a minute.

the door flies open, and your best friend bursts in, barely even noticing the two of you. “i forgot this fucking book,” she mutters, rummaging through her stuff on the couch. her back is to you both, and wonwoo’s standing there, hands in his pockets, trying his best to look casual.

he smirks at you, and you glare back, your mind racing, heart pounding. does she know? she can’t know.

“you two good?” she asks, barely glancing your way as she grabs her stuff. “i’ll be back in like, fifteen minutes. sorry. tutor’s gonna kill me if i don’t bring this. see you in a sec.” and just like that, she’s gone again, the door slamming shut behind her.

the second the door clicks, wonwoo bursts out laughing, dragging a hand through his hair, and your face is burning.

“did you just shove me away?” he teases, stepping closer again, his hands now resting on the counter behind you, trapping you. “scared of getting caught, huh?”

you shove at his chest, but you’re laughing too. “you’re insane. she could’ve seen us, you idiot.”

“what, and ruin the fun?” he grins, biting his bottom lip, and your stomach flips at the sight. “you should’ve just let her. i think she’d approve.”

you roll your eyes, but before you can say anything else, his mouth is on yours again—rougher this time, more desperate. it’s like he’s making up for lost time, kissing you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted, hands roaming over your body like he’s been dying to touch you. you’re pressed back against the counter, trapped between him and the hard surface, and it feels so fucking good.

“wonwoo, the couch,” you murmur between kisses, pushing at his chest just enough to make him move. he gets the hint, pulling you toward the couch, his hand never leaving your waist, never giving you a chance to breathe.

the second your back hits the cushions, he’s on you again, kissing you so hard it leaves you dizzy, his hands wandering everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your tits. he’s fucking everywhere, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, all you can feel is him, everywhere.

his fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, teasing the edge, but you grab his wrist, pulling him back. “not yet,” you whisper, eyes locked on his. “let me…”

you trail off, sliding off the couch, sinking to your knees between his legs. wonwoo’s eyes widen, the teasing smirk on his face replaced with pure shock. “wait—”

“shh,” you murmur, already tugging at his belt, pulling his jeans down just enough to free him. your mouth waters at the sight of him, long, hard and already dripping. you can’t help but smirk up at him before leaning in, taking him into your mouth in all in once, in the most greedy way.

wonwoo groans, his head falling back against the couch, his fingers threading through your hair as you start to move. you take him like your favorite popsicle, hollowing your cheeks, loving the way his hips buck up into your mouth, the way he can’t control the sounds he’s making.

he pants, his voice strained, and it only spurs you on, sucking harder, swirling your tongue around the tip before taking him all the way down again. the sound of your mouth, wet and sloppy, fills the room, and it’s the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

he tightens his grip in your hair, guiding you as he thrusts into your mouth, his eyes squeezing shut as he moans your name again, louder this time. you can feel him getting close, his thrusts making you gag slighty, his hips jerking up more urgently.

“fuck, i’m—” he chokes out, but before he can finish, his hips stutter, and he comes with a loud groan, spilling into your mouth. you swallow every drop, not slowing down until he’s completely spent.

you pull back, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand, grinning up at him.

his hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you back on his lap. “c’mere,” he mutters. and before you know it, his lips are on yours again, urgent, like he needs to taste you all over again. the mix of your spit and his cum lingers, and when his tongue swipes along the side of your mouth, to catch more of the taste of him.

his hands slide down to your shorts, fingers curling around the waistband like they’ve been itching to take them off from the second he walked in. you flinch when he pulls them off, showing your panties. his fingers brush against it, and then pulling to the side, and you’re already losing it, but then he spits.

right on your pussy.

you tense when two fingers slide inside you rough, curling just the way you like—coincidentally. you clench around him, moaning, but it’s not enough. you need more, and he knows it.

“so fucking wet for me,” he groans, his other hand pushing your legs open wider. “you’ve wanted this for how long, huh? wanted me to fuck you like this?”

you can’t even answer, your brain is mush, overwhelmed by the way his fingers pump in and out of you, quick and dirty, making you arch into his touch. and then—without warning—he pulls his fingers out and lines himself up, slipping inside you so easily, you gasp.

he’s still sensitive, you can tell by the way his breath catches, how his hips jerk forward a little too fast, but the way his dick stretches you out? it’s perfect. too perfect. your eyes roll back, a shaky moan leaving your lips as he starts thrusting, slow at first, like he’s trying to control himself, but that doesn’t last long.

you’re in his lap, legs spread, every little reaction of his face right there in front of you—the way his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth falling open, all the little groans and curses spilling from him as he fucks into you. it’s like he can’t hold back anymore, can’t resist, but still needs to fuck you, to please you.

he lays you, grabs your knees, pulls them up to your chest, bending you in half so he can get even deeper. the angle’s brutal, his cock hitting that sweet spot with every rough thrust, and the room’s filled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, his low grunts, your breathless moans.

you’re a wreck under him, fingers clutching at the couch cushions, barely able to keep up with the way he’s pounding into you. his thrusts are rough, fast, almost desperate, like he’s chasing something he can’t quite reach, and every time he slams into you, your whole body shakes.

“wonwoo—fuck, i’m—” you try to warn him, but the words don’t come out right. everything’s too much—the way his hands hold you down, the way he’s fucking you so deep, the pressure building low in your belly until you’re falling apart. you clench around him, your orgasm ripping through you hard, your back arching off the couch as you moan his name.

he watches you, watching that smile on your face, that one that you have when you win a prize, how satisfied you look by being fucked—especially by him, how your eyes roll in ecstasy, nd how you spasm around his cock. is enough for him.

and then it’s over. you’re both panting, bodies spent. he pulls out slowly, leaving you feeling empty. you’re barely conscious as he reaches over, grabbing the nearest blanket and draping it over you, his touch surprisingly gentle for how hard he just fucked you.

“don’t move,” he mutters, smirking at you as he gets up, still zipping up his jeans. “you look good like this.”

you’re too tired to respond, sinking deeper into the couch, eyes half-closed. the door opens again—shit—and your best friend barges in, completely unaware of what just happened.

“ugh finally,” she mutters, tossing it onto the table. “you two good?”

he just grins, wiping his bottom lip with his thumb as he leans against the counter, casual as hell. “just keeping y/n company, we were waiting for you” he says, winking at you when your best friend isn’t looking.

you’re still sprawled out on the couch, barely able to move, trying to act normal, like you weren’t just fucked within an inch of your life, like you weren't just fucked with jeon wonwoo. your best friend glances between the two of you, raising an eyebrow, but she doesn’t seem to notice the way you’re completely knocked out.

“whatever,” she mutters, grabbing her stuff. “i’m going to take a bath.”

the door of the bathroom slams shut, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. wonwoo walks back over to you, chuckling softly as he sits down beside you, leaning in to kiss your forehead, the teasing smirk never leaving his face.

“you should’ve seen your face when she walked in,” he murmurs, his voice low. “but don’t worry. you looked so innocent.”

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!! I wanted to request a story where doctor!Remus and you are dating. You're out with James and Sirius whilst he's at work and you pass out/are sick/whatever you think fits the story and they freak out and take you to the hospital, where Remus sees you and loses his mind. He takes care of you and the guys are there for moral support. Also, reader is afraid of doctors in general but specially needles so putting that IV on is a hassle in itself hehe.

Thanks in advance!!!!

Hi, thanks for requesting!

cw: fear of hospitals and needles, somewhat angsty, mention of vomit (in the past tense, if that helps), this was sort of weird to write because I don't usually write reader arguing with their love interest like this but I hope it came out okay

doctor!Remus x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re alerted to Remus’ arrival by Sirius’ shrill voice. 

“Finally! I’ve been texting you.” 

“We’re not really encouraged to be checking our phones during busy shifts,” says Remus. He sounds sharp and tired, and you look up from where your head rests on James’ shoulder just as he comes to a stop in front of your chair. A creased brow and gentle hands feeling at your forehead. “Hi, darling. Seems like that flu’s gotten a bit worse, hm?”

“You told us to check in on her,” Sirius goes on, “and we did, and we found her basically in a puddle of her own sick.” 

“She’d been sick in the toilet, and then fell asleep on the bathmat,” James clarifies. “But she seemed really very ill.” 

“Let’s go back,” Remus slides an arm around your waist, hoisting you up against his side and helping you walk towards the double doors that lead out of the waiting area. “What was her temp at when you found her?” 

“We don’t know.” Sirius trails behind, exasperated. “We couldn’t figure out where you kept your thermometer, and she was hardly in a state to say.” 

Remus makes a worried humming sound. “How are you feeling, dovey?”

“Tired,” you sigh, hoping you’re not leaning too hard against him but having a difficult time recalling what walking normally feels like, “‘nd my head hurts.” 

“She seems a bit better than when we first found her,” James says. You think you detect some worry in his tone as well. “She was just waking up then, and Sirius got her to drink some water in the car.” 

“Doesn’t sound like you’ve been taking very good care of yourself,” Remus murmurs, just for you. He kisses your head. “Poor love, I knew I shouldn’t have come to work today.” 

“M’alright,” you say, letting him help you onto a small cot in a curtained-off room. Sirius and James file in behind you, and Remus shuts the curtain once they’re inside. 

You look at him, and your surroundings, the machines and tools and the overwhelming harshness of it all, start to sink in for you. 

“Can you take me home?”

Remus’ expression is gentle. “Not yet, sweetheart. You should be feeling much better once I do, though, yeah?” He brushes a piece of hair away from your face, encouraging you to lie back on the pillow. “Would one of you want to hop up here with her?” he asks the other boys, then to you: “You don’t mind sharing your bed, do you?”

“No,” you say, somewhat bemusedly. Sirius grins at you, climbing over you to lie down by your side. 

“Thanks. I’m just gonna get your vitals now, dove.” 

You feel a bit silly, but your nerves worsen as Remus checks you over, sticking plasticy things in your ear and cold metal on your back and making his various concerned faces. He must notice something when he takes your pulse, because he thumbs over the skin of your forearm comfortingly. Sirius, noticing, works an arm under your shoulders and pulls you close to his side. 

“Alright,” Remus says in what you recognize to be his most soothing voice, “look at Sirius for me, please.” 

You, of course, look in the opposite direction of where he wants you, and he’s taking your arm, pushing up your sleeve. 

“Remus.” Betrayal sounds in your voice as you pull away from him, holding your arm close to your side. 

He sighs. “You need fluids and medicine to get better. You want to go home, yeah?” 

“I don’t want an IV,” you say in a tight voice. 

Remus softens. He rubs your leg through your pajama pants. “I know, babydove, but you need to have one. I’ll get it over with as quickly as I can.” 

“I had to have one last summer, when I got dehydrated,” James pipes up. He’s stolen a small stool likely meant for the doctor and is swiveling back and forth restlessly. “It wasn’t as bad as you might think. I hardly remembered it was there most of the time.” 

“I just don’t want to,” you say again, voice going quiet and frail. Your vision starts to blur. 

“Take a deep breath,” Remus coaches in that lulling voice. It’s half working, a familiar sort of comfort wrapping like a blanket around your frazzled nerves. You feel torn between your trust in your boyfriend and your absolute terror of everything that happens in a hospital. “You’re alright, yeah? This is the last thing you have to do for me. After, you can rest or have a nap, and when you’re well enough you can go home, okay? I might even be able to go with you.” 

You shake your head wordlessly, feeling ridiculous and childish but altogether petrified as you wipe tears from underneath your eyes. 

“Oh, sweetheart.” His brows pinch, and he leans over, kissing your temple. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Look over at Sirius, yeah?” 

You cry but don’t resist as Sirius uses the arm around your shoulders to turn your face away, feeling Remus take your arm in his grasp. His fingers press gently into the crook of your elbow. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” Sirius says quietly. He touches his lips to your forehead. “You’ve got this, babe, it’ll be over before you know it.” 

Remus is obviously doing his best to make good on this promise. He ties the tourniquet quickly, and something cold and wet swipes over your skin. The bite of the needle doesn’t come as a surprise, but you take in a tiny, petrified breath anyway. It rasps wetly in your throat. 

“You’re alright,” Remus murmurs, undoing the tourniquet as he speaks. “You’re doing so well, almost done now.” 

You’re not in pain, necessarily, but the sensation of a foreign object in your arm is distinctly unsettling, and Sirius makes a soft sound of distress when your weeping worsens. None of this is helping your headache, either. Your sinuses throb. 

“There.” You hear tape ripping, and then Remus is pressing it carefully over the spot in your arm. “There, done.” 

Sirius lets go of your face. The moment you turn around Remus’ is on you, brushing away your tears and kissing your hairline apologetically. 

“That’s it, darling, you can relax now. You did so well. Do you feel alright?” 

“He means are you cross with him,” James translates helpfully. 

Remus gives his friend an exasperated look, but his smile is sheepish. “That too, I suppose.” 

“Honestly?” Your voice is pitchy. It scratches against your flu-torn throat. “A little, but not really. I’ll get past it.” 

Remus gives a little laugh. “Oh, my love.” He bends forward, wrapping you up in a hug. “Thank you. I can live with that.” He holds the back of your head, rubbing between your shoulder blades firmly. When he lets you go, it’s with a kiss to your brow. “Sirius, get out of her bed. She needs to rest.” 

“Excuse me?” Sirius is affronted. “I think I’ve just proven I make an excellent pillow. And where am I supposed to sit? James has taken the only stool.” 

“He can stay,” you tell Remus. 

“Thank you, gorgeous. See? Jamie, come over here so we can watch a film on your phone.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, stepping aside to let James scoot by on his stool. “Fine, but try to get some actual sleep. I want your temperature down when I come back to check on you, yeah?” 

“You’re the doctor,” Sirius points out, getting cozy on his side of the bed as you and James scroll through films. “What’s she supposed to do, will it down? Sod off.” 

Remus heaves a long-suffering sigh, pulling off his gloves and dropping them in the trash can. “So glad you’re here.” 

“And where would your girl be if we weren’t, Rem?” asks James, looking up from his phone to raise his brows. “She’s lucky to have us.” 

Remus rolls his eyes, leaving the room. “Aren’t we all.”

[rose24207]

I saw requests and I've read some of your Mafia Lando fics, can you do something where reader and Lando broke up and a few days later reader gets into a accident and the hospital calls him because he's next of kin when they were dating and when he gets there he's freaked and the doctors surprises him by saying the baby's fine.

Bound by blood and fate

Summary: After a devastating breakup, Lando is pulled back into your life when an accident reveals not only your fragile state but also the existence of the baby he never knew you carried, forcing him to confront his love for you and his vow to protect his growing family

Genre: Mafia!Lando, angst, fluff

TW: Mafia, car accident, pregnancy

A/N: thank youuu for the request. I really love all of your ideas! I hope you like it! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist

The breakup had been ugly.

Ugly and inevitable, or so it seemed. The constant arguments, Lando’s late nights, the secrets he wouldn’t share—it all built up until the tension became unbearable. When you’d finally walked out of his penthouse a few nights ago, neither of you had looked back.

You told yourself it was for the best. You weren’t meant to live in Lando’s dangerous world.

He had tried to shield you from it, tried to convince you that his darker dealings wouldn’t touch your life. But the cracks in his promises had widened over time, and you couldn’t ignore the risks anymore.

The days since then had passed in a blur of loneliness and regret.

Each moment away from him felt like a weight pressing down on your chest, but you reminded yourself why you’d left.

You couldn’t stay in the shadow of his empire.

You couldn’t live in fear.

But even as you repeated those words to yourself like a mantra, there was something you hadn’t told him. Something that made your stomach churn with every passing hour.

You were pregnant.

You’d found out two days before the breakup. The test had been positive, and your mind had spiraled in every direction—joy, fear, uncertainty. You’d planned to tell him that night, but the fight had derailed everything.

And now? Now it was too late. Lando was gone.

The accident happened on the fourth day after the breakup.

It was raining hard as you drove down the winding roads outside the city. The windshield wipers struggled to keep up, and visibility was poor. You had been heading to your doctor’s appointment, determined to make sense of your next steps alone.

But fate had other plans.

Your car skidded on the slick pavement as you rounded a corner, the tires losing traction. You tried to correct the steering, but it was too late. The vehicle spun out of control, slamming into a guardrail before flipping over and landing in a ditch.

The world went black.

When Lando’s phone rang, he almost didn’t answer it. He had been drowning in his own misery since you’d left, throwing himself into work to avoid thinking about you.

But something about the unknown number on the screen made him pause.

“Hello?” His voice was sharp, impatient.

“Is this Lando Norris?” a calm, clinical voice asked.

“Yes,” he said, his brow furrowing.

“This is St. James Hospital. You’ve been listed as the emergency contact for [Y/N]. She’s been in an accident.”

The blood drained from his face. “What? Is she—” His voice cracked. “Is she okay?”

“She’s stable, but she’s in critical care,” the doctor replied. “We need you to come in as soon as possible.”

He didn’t think twice. Grabbing his keys, he was out the door in minutes, driving faster than he had in his entire life.

Lando burst into the hospital, his heart racing as he approached the front desk.

“[Y/N] [L/N],” he said, barely able to keep his voice steady. “I’m her emergency contact. Where is she?”

The nurse nodded, quickly directing him to the ICU. He didn’t even thank her, his focus solely on reaching you.

When he stepped into the room, the sight of you lying in the hospital bed made his chest tighten painfully.

You looked so small, so fragile, your face pale against the stark white sheets.

A doctor stood at your bedside, checking your vitals. He turned as Lando entered, offering a calm but serious expression.

“You’re Mr. Norris?” the doctor asked.

Lando nodded. “What happened? Is she going to be okay?”

“She suffered a concussion and a few broken ribs, but she’s stable,” the doctor explained. “We’ll need to monitor her closely for the next 24 hours, but she’s a fighter.”

Relief flooded through Lando, but it was short-lived as the doctor continued.

“And the baby is fine as well,” the doctor added.

Lando froze. “The… what?”

The doctor frowned slightly. “You didn’t know? She’s about 10 weeks pregnant. The impact was severe, but there’s no sign of harm to the baby. It’s a miracle, really.”

Lando’s world tilted on its axis. Pregnant? You were pregnant? His heart pounded as he looked at you, the realization sinking in like a punch to the gut.

He sat by your bedside for hours, his hands trembling as he held yours. Memories of your last fight replayed in his mind, and guilt twisted in his chest.

If he had known… If you had told him…

But it didn’t matter now.

All that mattered was that you were okay, that both of you were okay.

When you finally stirred, your eyes fluttering open, his breath hitched. He leaned forward, his face hovering inches from yours.

“Lando?” Your voice was weak, but the surprise in your tone was unmistakable.

“I’m here,” he said softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’m here, love.”

Tears welled in your eyes as the reality of your situation came rushing back. “The baby—”

“Is fine,” he interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re both fine. But why didn’t you tell me?”

Fresh tears spilled over as you looked away. “We were already falling apart. I didn’t think it would change anything.”

“Change anything?” Lando’s voice cracked with emotion. “Everything changes, [Y/N]. You and this baby—you’re my everything.”

You turned back to him, searching his eyes for the truth. “But your world, Lando… it’s dangerous. I didn’t want to bring a child into it.”

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenching as he considered your words. “You’re right. My world is dangerous. But I’ll protect you—both of you—with everything I have. I swear it.”

Your lip quivered, but before you could respond, he leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve lost too much already. I can’t lose you,” he whispered.

The days that followed were a blur of recovery and quiet conversations. Lando rarely left your side, his protective instincts kicking into overdrive.

He made calls, tightening security around your home and ensuring that anyone who even thought of causing trouble would think twice.

You saw a new side of him—a man willing to go to any lengths for the people he loved. And as much as you’d tried to deny it before, you realized that love had never stopped between the two of you.

It wasn’t going to be easy. There were still battles to fight, both within and outside of Lando’s world.

But as he sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your stomach, you knew one thing for certain:

You weren’t alone anymore.

Thank you for reading!

[stevie-petey]

episode two: trick or treat, freak

 “Why do you only ever care about me when I’m some kicked fucking puppy?” Steve’s words are vicious, and you flinch at his tone. “You know that’s not true,” “It’s not?” He scoffs at you. “Then explain what happened this summer.” “I…” You can’t.  Steve sees your reluctance to say anything and lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, whatever. Some real fucking friend you were.”

Summary: you and nancy have a bonding session in the library (kinda hot tbh), billy gives jonathan and steve a common cause to unite on: Protect Y/N, you're a chauffeur to a very sad steve harrington, and dustin uses will's trauma to his advantage.

Rating: general, slight cursing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, slight sexual harassment (billy corners reader and is gross), cursing, alcohol

Words: 7.9k

Before you swing in: hello ! new chapter, we've arrived at halloween !! i finally get to have a fun authors note comment: i crashed my car lol. i'm fine tho and i hope yall enjoy and like what ive done and changed a bit with this episode. i had fun coming up with costume ideas for the reader, i think the character fits her well :) and before i go: i start school next week, so updates will def be coming a bit slower after this. anyways, happy reading !

-

The Henderson house is pure chaos morning of Halloween. 

Dustin is running around the house, screaming about how his costume has to be absolutely perfect and that if you don’t hurry up with the jack-o-lantern pancakes then he’s going to just leave without eating breakfast. Meanwhile your mother is running after him, straightening his suit and tidying his hair. 

“The pancakes are almost done, my god.” You flip the last pancake, but in your rush the jack-o-lantern’s smile turns into more of a grimace, but hey, food is food. You quickly set Dustin’s plate down on the table and practically shove him into the seat. 

“Eat.”

“But my proton blaster–”

“Is on the steps, I’ll grab it. Eat, I want pictures with you.” You kiss the top of your brother’s head and then run over to grab his costume’s prop. 

“I’m thirteen now, I don’t need my sister doting on me–” Dustin complains, but then his eyes land on the mini Reese’s Pieces you’ve decorated his pancakes with and quickly changes his tone. “Oh! Candies! Yummy!”

You laugh at him and bring his backpack over. The Ghostbusters matching costume idea that boys have planned for today makes you want to just sweep them all into your arms and kiss their tiny little faces. They may be getting older with crushes and angsty feelings, but they’re still the same nerdy little boys you met when you were twelve. 

Dustin wolfs down his pancakes and your mom prepares her camera. You woke up earlier than usual this morning specifically so that you could make Dustin’s annual Halloween pancakes and then take pictures of him with his costume on. As soon as he’s done eating, you and your mom whisk him towards the fireplace for pictures. 

“Oh, I want to see those pearls!” Your mother squeals as she takes a million pictures of Dustin. When he smiles, she loses her mind. “Yeah! Lovely, I love it!”

You’re just as ecstatic as your mom. “Who you gonna call Dustin?”

“Ghostbusters!” He sings along, holding up his proton blaster with an even wider smile on his face. 

It’s a happy morning. 

Dustin puts on a show as he poses for your mom, and you even join in for some. Sure, you aren’t in costume, but who knows how many more mornings like these you have left? Dustin is getting older, all the boys are, so you plan on cherishing these mornings for as long as possible. 

You and Dustin are giggling as you now stand back to back, him holding his blaster and you holding up finger guns, and your mom is taking multiple final pictures when Jonathan arrives. He knocks on the door before letting himself in. When he sees you and Dustin posing, he starts loudly belting the Ghostbusters song. 

“God, bee. At least let my coffee kick in before you subject me to your horrible singing.” You playfully groan, grabbing your own backpack and pancakes to eat on the road. 

Jonathan ignores your teasing and ruffles Dustin’s hair. “Nice costume, bud.”

Dustin, seemingly still holding a grudge against the guy after your conversation from last night, slaps his hand away and glares at him. “Don’t mess up the hair.”

Your brother proceeds to stare Jonathan down, gives him an “I’m watching you” gesture, and then walks out the front door without any further words. You, Jonathan, and your mom all stand in the living room in varying states of emotions. You’re trying not to laugh at your brother’s antics, your mom is happily looking at the photos she took, and Jonathan is standing there in complete confusion. 

“What was that about?” He asks you, slightly hurt by Dustin’s rebuff. 

“Shhh,” you hand him a plate of pancakes and then walk towards the front door. “Let’s get to school, bee.”

– 

At school, the mullet guy from yesterday finds you at your locker as soon as Jonathan has walked away. The two of you had been running behind schedule, so you’d told Jonathan to head to first period so at least he’d be on time while you tried to find your history textbook. 

As you’re digging through your locker, the mullet guy stalks up behind you. 

“I never got your name,” he says with a breathy voice, standing way too close behind you. 

You straighten your back, but don’t turn around. You know that if you do, the guy will only get a kick out of having your face close to his. “You never asked.”

“So there’s some sass to you underneath all that sweetness.” His breath hits the back of your neck and you shiver, but in a way that makes you feel dirty and unclean. 

“What do you want?” You ask the guy, your fingers wrapping around the textbook that you’ve finally found. If needed, you’re sure it’ll make a handy weapon. It’s only you and the guy in the hallway. Everyone else has holed up in class and you’re now regretting sending Jonathan away. You feel trapped, vulnerable, and you hate it. 

Mullet man chuckles deeply, his voice reverberating against your back. “Nothing yet. Just thought I’d introduce myself to such a pretty face.” 

You don’t say anything, your fingers only tighten around your textbook. If he gets any closer, you’ll swing. 

Though you can’t see him, you can feel his eyes flicker to your textbook and he lets out another cruel laugh. “Loosen up, sweetheart, I won’t hurt ya.” You don’t move, and he seems to get another kick out of this. “My name is Billy. Remember that for me, alright?”

Finally Billy steps away from you and you slowly release all the tension that’s built up within you. You still don’t turn around, he hasn’t left yet, but your hands are shaking a bit and you feel unsteady. 

“Would you do me a favor, Billy?” Your voice is steady, there’s no trace of the fear within you.

“I’m listening,” Billy is practically purring and you want to gag at how much his cockiness oozes around you. 

You turn, now finally facing him, and slam your textbook against Billy’s chest. “Learn some fucking personal space.” 

Billy’s only reaction is a smile, which only makes you more uncomfortable, but you refuse to show him this. Instead, you square your shoulders and walk towards your first class. You’ve dealt with assholes in the past; you’ve known Steve Harrington since you were twelve. But Billy is different. 

You’re not sure if you want to find out just how different he is from Steve. 

– 

Another small highlight of your school year so far has been your study sessions in the library with Nancy resuming. The two of you had drifted apart this summer, you just rarely ever saw the girl in between your hectic work schedule and her dates with Steve, but from the first day of junior she’s helped you with your math equations and you’ve helped her with her English essays. 

It’s a good trade off and you’ve enjoyed spending time with the girl. Unlike last year, Jonathan doesn’t join anymore. He can’t be too close with her now that she’s back with Steve. So, it’s just you and her for an hour every day during study hall. It’s nice, if you’re being honest.

Today though there’s something off with Nancy. 

She’s been tapping her pencil on the table for the last few minutes. Right before you can politely ask her to stop, the tip of the pencil snaps in half. She sighs. “Shit,” 

“There’s a sharpener over by the window,” you point towards the general direction. “Sharpen your pencil before these equations officially end my life.”

Nancy laughs, excusing herself and walks over to the sharpener. 

You focus back on your homework, the equations swimming around in your brain. It’s not that you’re necessarily bad at math, but you’re no whiz at it either. You get lost in the practice problems, erasing and re-erasing frequently, and you don’t realize just how long Nancy has been gone until she returns. She sits down, and you’re about to make a horrible joke about how stupid it is to find x, when you notice how shaken Nancy looks. 

“Woah, hey.” You set your pencil down and turn your attention to Nancy. “Are you okay? You look upset.” 

Nancy looks towards one of the library’s private study rooms and you see Steve’s retreating figure. You gather that something’s happened between them, but it confuses you because they’ve been nothing but lovey dovey ever since they got back together. What could possibly cause strife between them? 

“C’mon, you can talk to me. I’m known for my fantastic advice.” You probe again, and this time Nancy lets out a soft chuckle. 

“It’s… complicated.” 

“Take all the time you need. I’ve been stuck on question five for like, twenty minutes now. Any distractions are welcomed.” 

Now Nancy lets out a genuine laugh and you find yourself laughing as well. The storminess behind her eyes from earlier has lessened, she looks more relaxed now. Once she’s done laughing, she takes a deep breath and starts from the beginning. “Steve and I have been having dinner with Barb’s parents.”

When Barb’s name leaves Nancy’s lips, you feel your stomach twist with guilt. Had you known this would be about Barb, you wouldn’t have pestered Nancy so much into speaking. You know how much she misses her best friend still, no one blames her. 

“Well that sounds nice,” you try to comfort. “I’m sure they appreciate your company.”

Nancy bites her lip and looks away from you. “They wouldn’t if they knew Steve and I killed Barb.”

Shock washes over you. “Can I ask for some context?”

“Steve and I… When I forced Barb to come to his stupid party with me, we–we left her alone that night. By the pool…” Nancy’s voice cracks, and you grab her hand to encourage her to keep going. “We went upstairs to have sex, and Barb–she didn’t want me to leave her alone but I–I did and–”

You remember the photos Jonathan took last year, specifically the one where Barb had been sitting all by herself along the pool’s edge. Behind her had been a shadowy figure, a monster you soon would learn was from an alternate dimension with an intent to kill. 

“You think Barb died because you left her alone to go have sex with Steve.” You finish for Nancy, her tears rendering her unable to say more. 

She nods, looking away again as more tears stream down her face. You feel horrible for her, knowing first hand just how cruelly guilt can eat away at someone. Jonathan doesn’t know this, but you still think you’re the reason Will disappeared last year. You were the one who left him alone that night. If you had been there, if you had dropped him off at the Byers’ doorstep, you’re sure that he would’ve never ended up facing the horrors that he did. 

As for Nancy, you understand everything she’s feeling and more. It isn’t fair how one simple choice, one moment of selfishness, can lead to such tragedy and pain. 

Cautiously, you ask Nancy a question. “Does Steve know about the guilt you feel?” 

“He knows, but he doesn’t understand.” Nancy’s voice laces with grief and bitterness. “He found me by the pencil sharpener. There was this girl, she looked so much like Barb and I just… I zoned out. I was stuck there, thinking about her, when he found me.” 

“Did he notice you were upset?”

“Of course he noticed. He’s Steve, I could shed a single tear and he’d be all over me like I’m some baby.” Nancy scoffs, which makes you frown. You’re not sure what’s so wrong with that, having someone so attuned to your emotions because they love you that deeply. 

You push aside your thoughts, however. “What happened, then?”

“We went into a study room and I snapped.” Nancy’s close to tears again. “I just… I want to tell Barb’s parents what really happened. They’re selling their house, Y/N. They’re selling their own home to afford this private detective who promised them he’d find out what happened to her. What–what kind of person would I be if I let my best friend’s parents go bankrupt for being worried about their only child?”

“Nancy…”

“And Steve, he just… He told me it was a bad idea, that–that our families could get hurt and all that bullshit, but what am I supposed to do? I’m trying to figure something out, to fix this, and Steve just wants to go to some stupid party and pretend everything is okay?” Nancy is almost shouting now, and you nervously look around to make sure you're not disturbing anyone. It’s still a library, after all.

Nancy takes a few seconds to collect herself, to steady her breathing and control her anger. You let her take all the time she needs, and when she seems calm enough, you speak. “I understand where you’re coming from and why you’re upset. What happened to Barb is despicable, but… Well, I also agree with Steve.” 

“Y/N–”

“No, okay. Listen for a second,” you pause, trying to figure out exactly how to say what you’re thinking. “I think Steve means well, he doesn’t have a malicious bone in that silly body. The Halloween party can be a good thing for you if you let it, a way to destress. You have to move on, you have to allow yourself to move on.”

Nancy tries to argue some more but you continue. “I understand your guilt better than anyone else, I was the one who lost Will that night. But we all signed those contracts, Nancy. If we told anyone what really happened to Barb… It wouldn’t be fair to everyone who gets hurt, all our family members, because we broke a legal oath. You understand that, right?”

“I understand, but it’s not fucking fair.” Nancy’s eyes have a determination in them that startles you. You’ve always known that she was fierce, but seeing the edge in her eyes almost scares you. She’s angry, more than you’ve ever seen her before. 

You sigh. “I know, I wish I could do more, but…”

Nancy nods, understanding that there’s not much else you guys can do. You hate to let her down like this, you know she needs to hear something else, to feel supported, but you don’t know what else to tell her. 

Steve’s right in his own way, and so is Nancy. 

“Can you at least come to the party tonight?” Nancy softly pleads. “It’s just, I’ll feel more comfortable with you there, like I’m less crazy… I mean, that is if you even want to come and–”

“Of course I’ll come, Nance.” You don’t even hesitate to promise her this, nor do you realize that you’ve just called her “Nance”. It slipped from your tongue naturally, as if solidifying your friendship with the girl. You hate parties and loud crowds, but if Nancy needs you there by her side, to hold her hand and remind her of how brave she is, then you’ll happily do so. 

Nancy sinks into her seat, relieved. “Thank you, I owe you one.”

“I’ll hold you to that, you know.”

Nancy throws a piece of paper at you and you dodge it, throwing your pencil at her in retaliation. The two of you break out into a fit of giggles until the librarian eventually snaps at you guys and reminds you to be quiet. 

You reluctantly get back to work, and as you’re writing down more complex equations, you notice that there’s still a far off look in Nancy’s eyes. You know that she’s still thinking about Barb, the guilt eating away at her, and you know that the topic is far from settled.

–  

Halloween has arrived when Jonathan drops you off at home from school. There’s already kids milling around up and down your block in an assortment of costumes, all squealing with joy as they collect their candy. 

“Meet you in two hours?” You ask Jonathan as you unbuckle your seatbelt. 

“Yeah, but remember that I’m not wearing a costume.”

“C’mon, bee! It’s Halloween, where’s your holiday spirit?”

Jonathan groans. “Nag at me all you want, I’m not dressing up. I will, however, offer to be your arm candy.” 

“That’s the spirit!” You kiss Jonathan’s cheek and run out of the car and straight into your house. You have two hours to wrap up goodie bags for the neighborhood kids and then get dressed in your costume. It’ll be a tight schedule, but luckily you’re off of work tonight. 

It takes you about an hour to assort all your gift bags, separating the boys’ bags from the local kids’ bags, and before you know it you’ve successfully hand packaged goodie bags for an entire army. Once you’re done, you run to your room and throw on your costume. The dress slips over your head and settles gently over you.

You stand in front of your mirror and smile. 

It’s perfect. 

You’re going as Princess Buttercup tonight for Halloween. You read the Princess Bride around the end of summer and quickly fell in love with Buttercup. You’re not sure if you fell in love with the character because you read the book right after pushing Steve away, or because you saw yourself in Buttercup, but you came to adore her. 

Buttercup may have been a bit ditzy, but she loved with everything within her, and with such a passion, that you couldn’t help but admire her. It was her love for others that ultimately drove the story further, and you think there’s something beautiful about that. 

The red dress fits perfectly around you and you grab the gold chain that will serve as your belt. Once you’ve secured it around yourself, you place Buttercup’s golden circlet around your head. The costume had been pricier than you would’ve preferred, but as you stand in front of the mirror, you truly do feel like a princess. 

Your bee necklace, a wonderful gift from Jonathan, catches light from your window and you smile, bringing your fingers up to the pendant. It’s the only jewelry you need.

“Y/N! Are you almost done? Will radioed that they’d be here soon.” Dustin pounds on your door. 

You fling the door open. “I’m done, I just need to put on some makeup.”

Your brother makes a face as he walks into your room and plops himself down onto the beanbag. “You own makeup?”

“Yes, dear brother. I’d wear it more often if I had the time, but between herding you around and my school assignments, I can’t.” You dig through your makeup bag, opting for just mascara and a shimmery pearl eyeshadow. You’ll put on your lipstick in the car to save some time. 

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Jonathan, does it?”

You roll your eyes at Dustin. “No, believe it or not I can choose to do things without the influence of others.”

“Hmm, alright. Hurry up though, Mike had this awesome plan to hit up every house with the big candy bars and–”

“Dustin!” You throw a pillow at the boy, shutting him up. “Shush so I can focus.”

He grumbles but remains silent, now watching as you put your makeup on. It’s been a while since you’ve last worn any, so you’re slower than usual. Just as you’re finishing up your mascara, a car honks outside. 

Dustin runs out the room and you quickly grab your lipstick and follow after him. You’re wearing your mother’s mary janes again and they pinch your feet as you run, but whatever. You feel pretty tonight, you’re somebody else for now, a princess free from any burdens and stress. 

Jonathan is standing outside his car, waiting for you, and when you see him you practically fling yourself in his arms. “You dressed as Westley!”

He spins you around a bit, his plastic sword hitting against his leg. “You wanted me to wear a costume, right?”

You nod, inspecting his costume with glee. He looks amazing, dressed in Westley’s iconic all black attire, his sword by his side, and a mask tied loosely around his neck. To anyone else, Jonathan would look like a regular guy with an affinity for black, but to you, he was dressed as your knight in shining armor. 

He’s the Westley to your Princess Buttercup. 

Jonathan kisses your knuckles. “Well then, as you wish.”

His words are smooth velvet against your skin, they warm you as the late October air encases you. As you wish, words that became their own I love you within the book. A promise, similar to the one Jonathan made you last year in the passenger seat of his car, pinkies intertwined. 

Something stirs within you, seeing Jonathan’s proud smirk on his face because he’s once again managed to surprise you, and the feeling is sickly sweet like syrup. It runs through you slowly, covering every inch of you, and you bask in it.

For now, he’s still yours. 

“Can we go now? You guys are gross.” Dustin calls from the car, annoyed. 

You and Jonathan spring apart in embarrassment. He laughs, rubs the back of his neck, and tells you, “You look beautiful, Y/N.”

“Why thank you,” you curtsy. “You look rather dashing yourself, good sir.”

“I wasn’t kidding. You look… you’re beautiful.” The sincerity in Jonathan’s voice cuts through you, it cuts through everything between you, and you can only smile. 

“Thanks, bee.” You try to keep your voice playful, light and airy as always. “Now, open my door like the brave hero you’re dressed as.” 

Jonathan opens your door with a bow, causing you to laugh. You’re sitting in the backseat with Dustin, Will is in the passenger seat, and once you’ve buckled up, Will spins around in his seat to talk to you as Jonathan starts the car.

“Do you think it’s lame that you and Jonathan trick-or-treat with us?

You blink. “What did I miss?”

“I think it’s kinda lame,” Dustin voices next to you, but he lets out a pained squeak after you’ve elbowed his ribs. 

Jonathan turns onto the main road and scoffs at the boys. “You think we’re lame?”

“No, but…” Will sinks into his seat, and you watch as he begins to fiddle with the strap of his bag. He’s nervous. “It’s not like Nancy’s coming to watch over Mike, you know?”

Jonathan’s silent, and you catch his eye in the rear view mirror. You know what he’s thinking: Will has been having even more problems in school, he’s sick of being babied, and yet here you guys are, babying him. 

You sigh. “Look, Will. We like trick-or-treating with you guys, we don’t go are your babysitters. We go because it’s fun and I get to enjoy free candy as a sixteen year old.” 

Will looks out the window and doesn’t acknowledge what you’ve said. You sigh again, knowing that nothing will appease him. He’s only allowed you to see a small portion of how much he’s struggled this year, but you can see his foundations crumbling. 

How is he expected to adapt if you and everyone around him refuse to let him do so?

You catch Jonathan’s eye again in the rear view mirror and he seems to be thinking the same thing. 

Mike and Lucas run out the Wheeler’s house as soon as you guys park in the driveway. Dustin immediately bolts out the door to greet them, obviously uncomfortable with all the tension, leaving you and Jonathan with Will.

Jonathan looks at you one last time and you nod your head in encouragement. He has to do this, he has to let Will grow on his own. 

“Hey, listen.” Jonathan says, stopping Will from leaving. “If I let you go on your own, you promise to stay in the neighborhood?”

Will’s face lights up. “Yeah! Yeah, totally.”

“And be back at Mike’s by 9:00.”

“9:30?”

You reach over and pat Will’s back. “Now you’re pushin’ it, buddy.”

“What Y/N said. Be back by 9:00.” Jonathan instructs, but there’s a fond smile on his face. “Deal?”

“Deal!”

The brothers shake on it and you watch them with a smile. Jonathan hands Will one of Bob’s cameras and makes a poor Dracula joke and you love these boys so much. You wave goodbye to Will as he quickly gets out of the car and runs over to his friends. There’s a new skip in his step, he’s happier than you’ve seen him in a while.

“Alright,” you crawl over the passenger seat and plop yourself in rather ungracefully. “I’d say that went well.”

“We made the right choice, right?”

“I hope so.”

Jonathan sighs and watches the kids, who have now started hitting each other with their candy bags. You flip down the windscreen and use the small mirror in it to apply your lipstick. When Jonathan sees what you’re doing, he does a double take.

“Wait, are you putting on lipstick?”

“Mhm,” you knit your brows together, focused. “We’re going to a party.”

“We are?”

“Nancy begged me to come, and we just left the boys to go trick-or-treating on their own, so what else are we supposed to do tonight?”

“Nancy begged you to come–”

You finish your lipstick and flick Jonathan’s nose to shut him up. “Stop asking so many questions and just start the car, doofus.”

– 

The Halloween party is in full swing by the time you and Jonathan arrive. There’s a bunch of drunk teens in an array of costumes, ranging from classic heroes to dumb movie references, and the music is so loud you could hear it while you were still five blocks away. 

Jonathan parks the car and looks around wearily. “Are we really doing this?”

“Unfortunately I hate disappointing people, so yeah. We are.”

“One day your people pleasing needs will get you in trouble.”

“I will stab you with your plastic sword.”

“So sweet to me,” Jonathan quips, which you roll your eyes at. 

As you’re walking to the front door, you hear a crowd chanting Billy’s name. You freeze, knowing it could only be that awful mullet guy from earlier, and quickly shove Jonathan inside the house. 

“Who’s Billy?” He asks, confused.

You shake your head. “Don’t worry about it, let’s try to find Nancy–”

“Nice costume.” A girl dressed in goth attire interrupts you, her eyes only on Jonathan. 

Oh great. Another girl interested in Jonathan. 

Jonathan looks between you and the girl. “Huh?” 

“Nice costume. Going as a goth with a sword?”

“Actually,” you step in front of Jonathan now, forcing the girl to acknowledge your presence. “We’re matching. He’s Westley, I’m Princess Buttercup. Do you like it?”

The goth girl rolls her eyes. “Yeah, totally.” She steps past you and faces Jonathan again. “I’m Samantha.”

Jonathan is again looking between you and the girl, this time with even more fear and confusion on his face, and you almost want to laugh at him in pity. He’s never had a girl so blatantly hit on him, it’s almost hilarious if you ignore the fact that you’re in love with him. 

You leave Jonathan to handle the situation himself, scanning the room for Nancy. When you finally spot her, your heart sinks. She’s dancing with Steve, who looks fucking criminally good in his costume. You’re not sure who he’s dressed as, but he puts his Raybans in his mouth and smirks at Nancy and suddenly you understand why so many girls whisper in the halls about his lips. 

Nancy looks even better, her white blouse accentuating her beauty even more. She’s dancing with her arms around Steve and now you suddenly really want a drink. Seems like they’ve made up, then. 

Right as you’re about to pull Jonathan away from that Samantha girl and call it quits for the night, defeated and pride wounded, you see Steve and Nancy begin to argue over by the punchbowl.

Shit. 

You head towards them, shoving past hoards of people who seem to refuse to move. Nancy sees you approaching and only seems to become more upset. Her movement is unsteady, her eyes droopy and glossed over, and even before you walk up to her you know she’s heavily drunk. She’s in a tug of war with Steve and a cup. It’s clear he’s trying to cut off her alcohol intake.

“Hey, Nancy is everything okay–” Your words are cut off as punch splashes all over her white blouse.

Everyone around the couple gasps, and you wince at all the attention. Everyone stares between you, Steve, and Nancy. You quickly find some napkins and begin blotting at her blouse, trying to get as much of the punch out of it, but she drunkenly bats you away. 

“Don’t need help,” she slurs, but you shush her. 

“I got it, why don’t we go get some water?”

Steve steps in front of you now, aware of the fact that everyone is still staring, and says his first words to you in months. “She’s my girlfriend, I’ll take care of her. Just… just go, Y/N.” 

He dismisses you with a wave and you feel hurt wash over you. He hadn’t even spared you a single glance, he just treated you like some annoying fly in his way. You watch, defeated, as Steve guides Nancy to a room and you’re left alone at a party you hadn’t even wanted to go to in the first place. 

How fun. 

You crumble up one of the napkins in your hand and will away your anger. You don’t deserve to feel angry at Steve’s actions, you’re the one who was so dismissive of him in the first place. He’s just following along, doing what you’ve forced him to do. 

As you’re lost in thought, Billy corners you in the kitchen.

“We meet again, sweetheart.” His breath reeks of alcohol and you cringe, the smell burning your nose. 

“Didn’t I tell you to learn some goddamn personal space?” 

Billy laughs dryly, stepping forward every time you take a step back. Too late, you realize what he’s doing. Before you can stop it, he has your back pressed against a nearby wall. “Now where’s the fun in that?”

You look around, but everyone who had been in the kitchen earlier seems to have left or are far too drunk to realize what’s happening. Billy is peering over you and every part of you wants to run away, to cower. You’ve never been able to handle aggressive men well, no matter how much of a front you put on around Lonnie, you always trembled when he was near. 

Billy is no different, and he sees your unease. “Aw, is the princess nervous?”

“I’m surprised Max taught you what a princess looks like.”

At the mention of Max’s name, Billy’s cocky grin slips. Confusion masks his face now, making him appear more human than obnoxiously handsome. “So you know my little sister?”

You try to shove past him, but Billy plants his feet down and places both arms against the wall, trapping you. He’s surrounded you, he wants a reaction out of you. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to steady your heartbeat and appear indifferent. 

“I have my ways,” you shrug, but your heartbeat still pounds rapidly. 

Billy raises an eyebrow. “Pretty and intelligent. Why, look at you. I’m impressed, and yet I still don’t know your name.”

You try again to move, but Billy leans his head down and brings his lips to your ear to whisper, “I’ll beg for it, if you want me to.”

“Get off–” He’s too close. He’s too fucking close and his lips against your ear makes you want to throw up, you don’t like this and you feel so fucking pathetic being cornered by such an egotistical asshole. 

“Tell me your name, and I’ll go.” There’s a smile in Billy’s voice, you can hear it without even having to look, and it enrages you. You fucking hate men like him. 

“Just get the fuck off of me–” You’ve closed your eyes now as you shove harshly against his chest.

Suddenly there’s a thud, a loud “oomph”, and a collective gasp from onlookers at the party. Your hands meet the air, there’s now no one there to push against. Slowly, open your eyes. There, standing in front of you, is Steve holding a very angry Jonathan back while Billy is on the ground.

Jonathan yanks his arm free from Steve and stands over Billy, who is laying on the ground with yet another unnerving smile on his face. Your friend shakes his fist out, which you now see is red, Billy’s face showcases a matching mark. “She told you to get off of her.” 

A silence falls over the crowd.

Billy slowly stands up, wipes himself off, and then takes a bow. “Not bad, loner boy.”

Jonathan tries to step closer to him, but Steve grabs his shirt and shakes his head. “He’s not worth it, man.” 

“And what do you know about worth, Harrington?” Billy chuckles, now practically in Steve’s face. “Where’s that little girlfriend of yours? You should go ask her what she thinks you’re worth.” 

Steve’s face hardens, but you can see dried tears in his eyes. Seeing him about to crumble, you step between the boys. “Enough.”

They look at you, but you ignore them and then wave to the crowd of people still watching. “Show’s over! Go back to drinking away your sorry fucking lives.”

Jonathan pulls you close to him. “Bug, are you okay? Did he hurt you? We need to go home, I’ll bake you brownies and we can just–”

Jonathan’s concerned rambling is enough to make you smile, albeit faintly. “I’m fine, bee.”

Billy observes the interaction, he notices how Steve’s eyes flicker between your interlocked hands with Jonathan and the way your hair frames your pretty face. He sees it all, and he understands exactly what’s happening here. 

“Oh, Harrington.” Billy can’t wait to see what happens next. “You’re fucked.”

Steve watches as Billy leaves, confused by his words but too tired to think much of them. He’s had the worst fucking night of his life. His girlfriend just told him she doesn’t love him, then he came outside to see Billy pressing himself against you like some fucking creep. He hadn’t even gotten to help you, Jonathan had beaten him to it. All Steve could do was hold the guy back afterwards. 

Now Jonathan is holding your hands and whispering comforting words to you and you’re dressed in Steve’s favorite color, your lips an even prettier red, you’re wearing a goddamn tiara on your head like the princess you truly are, and Steve’s had just about enough of tonight. 

“I’m glad you’re okay, Y/N.” Steve tells you tiredly. He then turns to Jonathan. “Uh, Nance and I sorta… Can you just, give her a ride home? She doesn’t…”

Steve’s words catch in his throat and you grab his hand before you can stop yourself. “He’ll take her, won’t you, Jonathan?”

Jonathan stumbles over his words. “Sure, uh. Yeah, I can do that… What about you, though?”

You think about your conversation with Nancy earlier, how she seemed so upset with Steve, and how not even ten minutes ago they’d been fighting over by the punchbowl. There’s a hurt between them, one you think may be too big to patch up with just one conversation, but Jonathan doesn’t know all of this. 

“I’ll drive Steve home.”

Both boys stare at you like you’re insane, and honestly? You can’t blame them. 

You haven’t spoken to Steve in months, and Jonathan knows this better than anyone. 

“Y/N,” Steve lowers his voice. “I haven’t had anything to drink, there’s no need–”

“Too bad. I’m taking you home. Jonathan, go find Nancy and make sure she gets back okay.”

Jonathan and Steve try to argue, but you yank Steve’s hand and make him come with you. It’s long past time the two of you had a talk, anyways.

– 

When you exit the house, the weight of everything that’s just happened catches up to you. Your skin still feels raw, Billy’s presence lingering on you. Steve’s hand is warm in yours, but he isn’t holding on the way you secretly hoped he would. Jonathan’s confused and concerned eyes remain in the back of your mind, the image of him standing alone in the party makes you feel guilty. 

But you have to do this. You’re tired of being a coward.

Steve is silent as he guides you to his car. He’s parked pretty far, which you hadn’t been expecting. “What, do you not get a special parking spot as King Steve?”

He ignores your attempt at a joke and instead drops your hand. 

Okay. You deserved that. 

When you get to his car, Steve throws you the keys and silently gets into the passenger seat. You inhale, willing this to end well, and get in the driver’s seat. You start the car and the engine warms your fingertips. 

You start to drive. 

Steve is looking out the window, and you’ve never seen him appear so small. He’s closed into himself, his shoulders are hunched and his carefree smile from earlier is gone. 

“Not to make this awkward, but I kinda don’t know where you live.” You break the silence.

“Make a left up here.”

“Do you want to talk about what happened tonight–”

“Why do you only ever care about me when I’m some kicked fucking puppy?”

Steve’s words are vicious, and you flinch at his tone. “You know that’s not true,”

“It’s not?” He scoffs at you. “Then explain what happened this summer.”

“I…” You can’t. 

Steve sees your reluctance to say anything and lets out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, whatever. Some real fucking friend you were.”

You take a shaky breath. You knew this would be hard, but it still hurts more than you thought it would’ve. While you can’t tell Steve everything, you can offer him a half truth. It’s all you can afford, and it isn’t nearly half of what he deserves, but it’s all you can do. “I got scared.”

Your confession causes Steve to turn to you. “Scared?”

“Yeah, scared.”

“Gee, Y/N. That really explains a ton.”

You’re losing him again, so you offer him more. “I’m sorry, Steve. I really am. It’s just… I got scared, I’ve never been good at letting people in. I know it doesn’t excuse my actions, and you didn’t deserve any of it, but you just… You scared me.”

Steve is silent again, only mumbling a quiet, “Turn right after this light.”

“Look,” you push down your fear, you need him to hear you. “You came crashing into my life in such a violent way, and it became the best goddamn thing that happened to me. There you were, spending every day at my job just to talk to me. You asked me questions about myself and noticed things no one else had before and I just… I couldn’t do it.”

You look over at Steve and soften your voice, putting every ounce of your guilt and sincerity into your words. “I missed you.”

“Missed?” There’s something in Steve’s voice that you can’t quite decipher, it’s almost too delicate to examine. 

“Miss. I miss you,” you correct, and it takes everything within you not to confess more. To tell him you miss how his eyes turn a warm toffee in the late afternoon light, that you miss his obsession with his mom’s banana bread and that you have a recipe at home that you never got to make for him. You almost tell him that even though you pulled yourself away, you can’t seem to separate him from you. He’s everywhere. 

But what you can’t tell Steve, what would break you if he ever found out, is that you’ve come to love how he’s everywhere.

Steve is silent, and you swallow down your tears. It wasn’t enough, but at least you tried. 

As you turn into his driveway, Steve finally speaks. “All my life, all I’ve ever wanted was for people to like me.”

“Steve…”

“And every time I think someone finally likes me, I’m wrong. They leave me. I mean, you left me without a fucking word, Nancy lied about loving me, and my bullshit friends at school have replaced me with Billy.” 

Nancy lied about loving him?

Steve looks down at his hands, his eyelashes are wet with fresh tears. “I don’t know what I keep doing wrong.” 

You throw yourself across the car’s console and wrap yourself around the boy. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Steve places one arm around you, then slowly he places his other, and for the first time in months you’re finally back in his arms. He’s surrounded in you again, and he never, ever wants to let you go. 

“You won’t leave me again?”

Steve asks this so softly, as if too scared to bring the words into the light and risk them scaring you away. You tighten your arms around him and bury your nose into his neck, his cologne making your brain dizzy. “Never. 

And it’s enough for now. 

The pieces settle between you and Steve. Something clicks into place and you know that he feels it, too. He tightens his own arms around you, draws small circles against your back, and you stay like that for what feels like hours. 

Eventually the two of you break apart and head into his house. He offers you something warm to drink, but you decline. It’s late, you should be heading home soon. You ask Steve where his phone is and then call Jonathan, telling him to come get you from Steve’s.

Jonathan doesn’t ask any questions, his own voice sounding off on the phone. You know that tomorrow you’ll have to explain to him what happened with Steve, and he’ll have to explain what’s happened with Nancy. But tonight, you both settle on ignoring the topic for now. 

Steve waits with you downstairs for Jonathan. 

“If we’re going to be friends again, then I demand my nickname.” 

You look up at the boy and laugh. “What if I told you I still haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Can you at least give me a hint?” Steve bats his eyelashes at you and you shove him away with another laugh.

“Hm,” you think for a moment, reveling in the simplicity between you two again. “It’s lovely. That’s all I can say.”

Steve makes a face. “Lovely? That’s all I get?”

“Mhm.” You poke his face. “For now, please just trust that I’ll stay.”

Steve looks away for a moment, and you admire his lovely side profile, before he finally seems to settle on his thoughts. “Fine, but I expect some type of baked good every day from here on out.”

“Deal.” You raise your pinky and offer it to Steve, who smiles and shakes his head, but wraps his own pinky around yours.

Steve’s eyes are still red, from exhaustion and heartbreak, and yours are probably no better. You know there’s so much the two of you have to face tomorrow morning, to talk about and deal with. Nancy, Jonathan, Billy. But for now, Steve’s pinky is around yours and you couldn’t ask for a better end to your night. 

It’s a start.

It’s all you could’ve asked for. 

Jonathan arrives later and waits in the car, seeming to sense that you want some privacy as you say goodbye to Steve. 

“That’s my ride.” You nudge him. “Oh, don’t think I forgot about the Nancy thing. We’ll talk about that tomorrow.”

“What–”

“We’re friends again and I nag all my friends about their emotions. You were spared last year, but this year? Buckle up, buddy.”

Steve lets out a tired laugh. “Do I have to sign another contract?”

“Nah, you just have to trust me.”

“I do.” He says, no ounce of hesitation. 

You squeeze his hand. “Then that’s all I need. Goodnight, Steve. Get some rest.”

Steve nods and watches as you walk towards Jonathan’s car. He stays outside for a while, long after the car has faded in the distance. The cold air makes him shiver, but after everything that’s happened tonight, he welcomes it. His mind is spinning, he’s not sure if he feels more heartbreak or relief, but he decides he doesn’t care. 

For now, he’s content. 

Now that he has you in his life again, no matter what happens between him and Nancy, he knows he’ll get through it with you holding his hand. 

– 

The drive home is quiet. Both you and Jonathan seem to be lost in your own thoughts. When you get to your house, you simply tell your friend, “Tomorrow. We’ll talk about it all tomorrow,”

Jonathan nods, his eyes as tired as yours. “Tomorrow.”

You walk inside your house and notice all the lights off. You’re home later than you originally planned, your mom must be asleep already. You kick off your shoes and sigh tiredly. Tonight has exhausted you. 

However, you feel bad about skipping out on the boys, so you walk towards Dustin’s room and quietly knock on the door to apologize. After a few knocks, Dustin cracks his door open. “Yes?”

“Hey, just wanted to ask how tonight…” You notice Dustin’s stance, how he seems to almost be trying to block your view of something. “Is everything alright?”

Your brother quickly repositions himself. “Fine! Nothin’ to see here!”

He’s definitely acting suspicious. 

“Open the door, show me what’s inside.”

You go to shove your way in, but Dustin scrambles and ends up shouting, “Will had another episode tonight!

“What?” You freeze. 

Dustin lets out a breath of relief. He knew using Will’s episode would be a good distraction from what he has in his room. “Will, he had another episode. He’s fine, though… Just thought you should know.”

“Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it?”

“Actually,” Dustin lets out a yawn. “I’m kinda tired. Ya know, trick-or-treating is hard work. Can we just call it a night and talk about it tomorrow?”

“I mean, I guess?” Your list of things you need to talk about tomorrow keeps growing. 

“Sweet! Goodnight, Y/N!” And with that, Dustin slams his door in your face. He presses his back pressed against his door as he steadies his heartbeat. That was close, too close. After a couple seconds, he walks over to his turtle’s tank and greets Dart again. “Sorry buddy, had to get Y/N away. She’d freak if she found out about you.”

Dart lets out a small screech in response. 

“Wonder how long I can keep this from her.”

Meanwhile, you stand in the hall for a moment, completely bewildered as to what’s just happened. It feels like you missed a few important details. There’s something happening, but you have no idea what.

You go to your room and make a plan. Tomorrow, you’ll order a code blue with Dustin and demand information. For now, all you can do is get ready for bed and hope that whatever he’s hiding, it isn’t as monumental as El had been. 

Tonight, you go to bed thinking of Nancy and Steve, worried about them both.

-

⌑ series masterlist

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[leighsartworks216]

Angel, Please

Zayne x gn!Reader

Went shopping with my roommate thinking it would be really quick, and then spent like an hour in there just pushing the cart for them and losing all energy and ability to think. This is the result of that

Title is from the song "Angel, Please" by Ra Ra Riot

Warnings: sensory overload, anxiety, avoiding a mental breakdown, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, established relationship

Word Count: 2,103

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You stare down at the shopping list in your hand, written in a mix of handwriting. Some items listed were written down by Zayne, others were added by you. A culmination of a week or so worth of groceries. It’s harder to read the words than it should be.

You have milk, cereal… You look back and forth between your cart and the list, but you can’t connect the dots. Nothing is clicking together.

Milk. Check.

Cereal. Check.

Your skin feels uncomfortably hot and itchy, but you don’t take off your sweatshirt and you don’t scratch. Your chest is tight, and you can’t seem to get a deep enough breath in. You zone out while staring at the list, urging your body to get a hold of itself.

“Excuse me,” someone scoffs as they invade your space to reach for something on the shelf behind you. They give you a look, judgemental and cruel, and walk away with a huff. Their basket bumps your cart with a clang that makes you twitch.

God, could they please turn the music down? The lights down? You just- You just need everyone to disappear. You just need to disappear.

You bite your cheek long enough to suffer through a self-checkout. You rapidly scan whatever you do have - more than just milk and cereal, but you don’t even process them anymore - and pay as quickly as possible, conscious of the eyes of other waiting customers trying to check out boring into you, judging you, urging you to just fucking move already.

The cool autumn air doesn’t soothe you enough. You throw everything into the trunk of your car. The pavement of the parking lot vibrates your hands as you push the cart to the nearest return. You rub them on your sweatshirt desperately.

You have to keep it together. You can’t break down in a parking lot at a grocery store just because all of your senses were freaking out. You are a Hunter! You fight Wanderers! You put your life on the line every single day! Why are you losing it here of all places?!

Your hands shake as you find Zayne’s number. It connects to the bluetooth in your car and you pull out of the parking space.

Are you really 100% fit to drive? No. But you need to get away from here as soon as possible. As tempting as it would be to ask to be picked up, you don’t want to be a burden.

“Hello?”

You swallow thickly. Your hands rub restlessly at the steering wheel. “H-Hey.” You clear your throat. “Hey. I’m heading home now.”

“Are you alright?” Zayne asks.

You want to put your head on the wheel and cry. You feel pathetic.

“Did something happen?” You picture his frown. The way his eyes sharpen when he tries to pick apart a little mystery. You want him with you right now. “Please answer me.”

“I-I’m fine,” you answer quickly, a knee-jerk reaction to the question. You know you’re trying to convince yourself. You know he doesn’t believe it for a second. “Just… Just stay on the phone with me until I get back. Can you…? Am I bothering you?”

He hushes you softly through the phone. “You’re not bothering me, darling. I’ll stay with you.” You sigh shakily. His voice sounds so nice right now. Your left leg bounces restlessly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You scramble to think of anything. You anxiously wait for traffic to clear enough to let you turn out of the parking lot. Your mind is taking in too much and too little information at the same time. Cars are just colored shapes, but you know where every single light source is around you. They keychains hanging from the key in the ignition rubs your leg like someone is drawing fire across your skin with a paintbrush. You try batting them away, but the jingle grates in your ears like it’s been amplified.

You pull into the flow of traffic, at last.

“Why don’t we talk about that show you enjoy so much?” he offers carefully. “The one with the girl caught in a love triangle? What was her Evol again?”

“She…” You swallow and check your speed. As badly as you want to get home, you don’t want to get pulled over either. “She can feel other people’s emotions. And, and in one episode she changes them, too.”

He hums thoughtfully. “Does she feel the attraction from the other characters? The men from the love triangle. What are their names?”

“Joseph and,” you turn on your blinker and wait at the stop light, “Damien. She can, but she feels bad because she’s not interested in either of them. So she pretends she doesn’t feel it.”

“So if she’s not interested in the prospective love interests, who does she like?”

You slowly pull up as a yellow arrow blinks, waiting for a gap in traffic to pull through. Once you’re driving steadily again, you answer. “She has a crush on her bed friend in the show, Melina. It’s really sweet, actually. But Melina has no clue, even though Therese, the main girl, keeps hinting at it, because Melina thinks Therese is interested in Damien.”

“That would be a tricky situation to be in. Who do you think she’ll end up with by the end?”

You laugh, but it’s slightly airy and strained, like someone punched it out of you. “I hope she gets with Melina, obviously!” You turn your blinker on again at a stop sign and turn after a second. This road doesn’t get too busy. “There’s actually some hints that Joseph and Damien will end up together. Everyone online thinks they’re competing for Therese’s love to try hiding their own feelings for each other.”

He doesn’t respond for a second. “Are you almost home, darling?”

You blink, and just like that, you’ve been snapped back into your body, aware once more of your surroundings. You’re in the middle of pulling into the apartment’s parking lot. You don’t even remember the drive to get there. “Y-Yeah. I’m here, actually,” you murmur.

“Okay. I’ll meet you down there. Do you need me to stay on the phone until then?”

You fiddle with the keychains, considering it. Everything doesn’t feel so itchy anymore. Your eyes hurt, but it feels more like the sting of exhaustion. Your head still thuds with a headache, but the noises that fueled it before feel more bearable now. “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Call me again if you need to. I’m on the way.”

The call ends and you turn off the car, pulling the keys from the ignition and holding them in your lap. You feel surreal, like your brain hasn’t quite caught up to your body now that it’s not screaming about every little thing. The parking lot outside your window doesn’t feel real. The bike you parked next to, your bike, feels out of place.

You groan and rest your head against the steering wheel, shutting your eyes tightly. Why can’t you just feel normal already?

A finger taps on the glass. You look up and watch as Zayne opens the door for you. “Are you alright?” he asks again.

You bite your tongue to avoid answering automatically. But the real answer eludes you. You don’t think you’re gonna freak out if your sweatshirt happens to brush your neck in a weird way, but you’re not exactly sure you could just calmly ignore it if it did happen either.

You slip out of the seat and out of the car. Zayne has that concerned look on his face, like you’ve just told him you haven’t slept for a week straight, but he doesn’t say anything, just shuts the door behind you.

He opens the trunk and begins gathering messily thrown-together bags of groceries. You grab one of the lighter ones that he leaves for you, and close the trunk. The car beeps when you hit the lock button on the fob.

Once you’re inside, you sit at the kitchen island and watch as he puts away everything you got. You find the crumpled list in your pocket. You have the clarity now to see just how many items you missed, including things you needed to make dinner tonight. You want to crumple yourself up into a ball like this paper.

Zayne’s hand comes into view as he slides the paper over to where he stands. He has a notepad and a pen, and he goes down the old list to write out what you missed.

“I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t answer until he finishes the list, clicking the pen and setting it down. Then, his full attention is on you. “Can you tell me what happened now?”

You can’t meet his eyes. It’s hard enough admitting actual health issues to him, let alone stupid shit like this. Logically, you know he’s seen this happen to you before, know he wouldn’t think it’s stupid like you do. But it’s still difficult.

“I just got overwhelmed,” you mutter. You trace shapes into the marble countertop. “Everything was so loud and bright and… And I panicked, that’s all.”

“How do you feel now?”

You sigh and cross your arms on the counter, resting your chin on them. “I’ve got a headache, and I’m tired. But I’m not? I don’t know how to explain it. It’s like I’m in a dream. Nothing feels real right now.”

He hums in understanding. “I can think of several treatment plans that may help.” You finally look at him and he shoots you a wry grin. “First, I suggest you take some pain medication for your headache, before it gets any worse. After that, you have a few options. You can go take a nap or spend some time alone to decompress. You can put on your noise-cancelling headphones and listen to music or a podcast. Or we can watch that show you told me about, and I can make you some tea.”

“That’s a lot of choices, doc.”

“It’s in the patient’s best interests to have a lot of options,” he says. “You’re not beholden to any one choice.”

You look away as you think about it. What do you want right now? What do you need? “Can I mix and match?”

He nods. “Of course you can.”

“Tea sounds nice,” you start. “I don’t want to sleep right now, but I can listen to music, I think. But I just want to be with you.” You look at him again. “Is that alright?”

He smiles, answering you without words. Instead, he moves around the kitchen to fill a kettle with water and sets it on the stove. He disappears down the hall to retrieve two pills and your headphones, setting both on the counter in front of you. He fills a glass with some water for you to take the meds. You grab the headphones and slip them on, and head over to the couch to get comfortable. They connect to your phone once you turn them on. You scroll through your playlists for a while, but the more you look, the more unappealing it sounds to you.

Zayne comes in with a steaming mug of tea, prepared how he knows you like it. You hesitantly take off your headphones. “Actually, will you read to me?”

“What would you like to hear?”

You shrug. “Anything. I just want to hear your voice right now.”

He browses the bookshelf nearby. You set your headphones down and blow on the tea to cool it down. He slips one of the books out and carries it over to the couch. You curl into his side the second he’s sitting down.

The book is one of your favorites. You’ve never seen him read it before, but he’s seen you pull it out lots of times ever since you moved in together. You smile. A comfortable warmth emanates from your heart.

The paper slides gently from one side to the next as he turns the pages. It’s not grating. It doesn’t send shocks of discomfort through your body. You cradle the mug close as you rest your head on his shoulder, letting your eyes relax as you skim the familiar words. His shirt on your cheek isn’t scratchy at all. It’s nice and soft.

He begins reading and you close your eyes. You breathe in deep the cool scent of his cologne, the fresh smell of his body wash, the slightly bitter, rich essence of the tea.

You can relax here. You can exist here. This feels real.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope

[323cutie]

pull me closer when the night is over. | kys

pairing ୨୧ bff yeosang x reader

word count ୨୧ 775

genre ୨୧ fluff, bffs to lovers (kind of. hehe), confessions, y/n lowk freaking out but we ball, sleepovers, hand holding <3

warnings ୨୧ none i think !!

author's note ୨୧ ik i said the mingi fic was gonna be next but my mind said No.. Yeosang so here we are!!!!! I love him

“Yeosang?” You call out into the dark, staring at what you can make of the ceiling.

It’s late. Really late, and probably not the time to tell him. But you don’t think you can lay next to him in bed much longer without thinking about it and borderline freaking out. Not that he probably isn’t already asleep anyways –

“Hm?” comes his sleepy reply, and you feel like shit. He was probably so close to falling asleep and now you’re here, heart pounding in your chest as you gaze at the moonlight coming through his blinds like it’ll calm you down. “Y’okay?”

You swallow. No, you want to answer. “I need to tell you something,” you say instead, turning on your side so you can face him. He’s turned with his back towards you, but shuffles around on his other side. His hair is messy from rolling around on the pillow, eyes bleary even in the dark. You yearn for him. 

“What’s up?” He murmurs, blinking at you like he’s trying to wake himself up. He says it so casually, like you haven’t been losing your mind the last three months. Like you don’t think about pushing his hair out of his eyes all the time. Like you don’t almost always instinctively reach for his hand when you’re walking around campus together.

You were so stupid for thinking a sleepover would make you get your shit together.

You don’t know what you were trying to do – honest. You thought maybe just sleeping over at Yeosang’s the way you used to do practically all of sophomore year would kick your brain in the ass to remind you hey. He’s your best friend. Yes, he’s handsome and sweet and funny and even helped wash someone else’s vomit out of your hair at a party one night and then piggybacked you home just because you asked –

Okay, well. You can’t be blamed for it.

“So, um,” you whisper. You kick your feet under his covers and gulp, looking past Yeosang’s shoulder and hoping he doesn’t notice your lack of eye contact in the dark. But you really can’t help yourself, anyways, because you see the care and worry shining in his eyes in the moonlight, and you’re gone. “I like you.”

You see his eyebrows shoot up and think Fuck.

Maybe you say it out loud too, because Yeosang kind of huffs out a laugh the way he does when he’s nervous. “Oh my god,” you say next, moving to lay on your back, hands covering your face. “Literally, just – fuck, forget I said that. I mean don’t – but – just, like, forget I said it right now. I wasn’t gonna – well I was, but. Clearly this was not the best time. Holy shit. I’m going home.”

(You are not. It is too late to walk and you don’t have a car. Both you and Yeosang are well aware of this.)

You hear Yeosang giggle and you think it’s the only thing keeping you from bursting into tears. Hands still covering your face, you hear him shuffle and his weight dip the bed a little differently. Then his hand is around your wrist and you turn to look at him and he’s closer than before and you don’t know what he’s doing. 

“Stay,” he murmurs, something extra shining in his gaze. You think you know the word for it, but you don’t want to say it in case you’re wrong. His hand at your wrist slides up to your palm, your fingers, and then his lacing his hand with yours and squeezing, soft, telling. You can’t help the little gasp that leaves your lips.

“Yeosang,” you whisper, turning on your side to face him again. Your intertwined hands rest between the two of you. You need to know, to hear him say it –

“I do too,” he says. His voice is quiet and even in the dark you know his ears are bright red. It makes your heart pound and you think it’s shaking the whole bed, the weight of your care for him – and now his for you – too heavy for his stupid IKEA bed frame that took the two of you way too long to put together. But the world is still quiet outside of his room, and he is still close, a promise etched into his words. “We can talk about it more in the morning. But I do.”

Like you, his unsaid words float in the air.

“Okay,” you say, trying to hold back your smile. You scoot a centimeter closer. Yeosang squeezes your hand again, his thumb running over your knuckles.

Well. You hope morning comes quick.

[loviingpedri]

one of his girls tonight - hector fort

prompt: he can’t get enough of you.

warnings: cursing, drinking, clubbing, suggestive content, grammar issues, not intense smut (viewer discretion is still advised)

please let me know if more since this is going to be a little explicit.

any italicized texts are lyrics

credits to owners for all images

what else do young adults do in their free time? party, of course.

nothing like a hot saturday night in barcelona when the city was awake as people went out.

“y/n! my sexy girl, let’s go!” going out with your friends at least once a month was a must. meeting new people, kissing strangers, waking up next to someone random.

everything felt like a fever dream. especially that one boy you shared an unforgettable kiss with. last month, you were drunk out of your mind. you met this one guy, he had brown fluffy hair and touched you in the right places. your friends always said you were gonna go home with him and make him yours for the night. until, a random girl walked up to you and slapped you. either you just made out with someone’s boyfriend or someone was a complete control freak over him.

you hoped to see him tonight. some reassurance of what happened last month. and if he’s single, maybe you’ll keep him wrapped around your finger this time.

“alright! i’m ready!” you grabbed your small purse that barely fit anything in it and ran into the uber with the 10 other people in it. “a bit crowded?” you laughed as some people were sitting on each other’s laps.

“anything to save money and not have a designated driver tonight. today’s the day where all hell will break lose.” going out with a group of people was safer, calmer, and more fun.

lately, your life had been hitting every single positive goal in life. you spent your days with the people who brought out the best. little did you know, you would meet the person who would see you inside and out.

getting out the car was a hassle. thanking the driver and running to show your ids to the bouncer. already pre-gamed at your tiny apartment, it was finally time to let loose.

“it’s fucking hot in here.” one of your dearest friends spoke to you as you tried to mingle on the dance floor.

“i just finished my makeup 20 minutes ago and i can feel it melting already.” you fanned yourself to keep composed.

“y/n, that guy keeps staring at you.” looking behind your shoulder. you saw the one and only boy, the one with the best lips you’ve ever felt on yours.

“holy shit. that’s the guy with the crazy girl that slapped me.” you looked at your friend in disbelief. he must’ve went out to the clubs a lot if you continued to see him.

“go up to him. i don’t see her around. ask him what that whole fight was about. take a shot though, you’re gonna need it.” turning around, you could already see his eyes going up and down from behind you. meeting with your friends at the bar and downing shots after shots. finally feeling the alcohol in your system, a new boost of confidence was found.

walking up to him, you spotted different girls surrounding him. as you got closer, he sat up straight and tried to distance himself. sitting down next to him, he sat there frozen.

“hey, aren’t you the guy from a few weekends back?” for a guy who seemed popular around the ladies, he seemed pretty fucking nervous around you.

“yeah i am. sorry about that slap. i don’t know what happened. she’s not my girlfriend by the way. just someone random.” he spoke so fast, fidgeting with his hands. considering you already made out with him, there was no reason for him to be scared.

“you seem very popular. met anyone you like?” he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants. you listened closely to the song in the background as he tried to form an answer.

push me down, hold me down.

spit in my mouth while you turn me on. i wanna take your light inside.

“you. can’t ignore a pretty girl like you.” he began to play into your little game. slowly, you touched his shoulder and sat closer to him in a comfortable position.

“oh yeah? well, this ‘pretty girl’ has to know your name first.”

and i’m screamin’ out. give me tough love.

“my name is hector. yours?”

“i’m y/n. you have a little something on your neck.” spotting a red kiss-mark on his neck, obviously not from you, you smudged it off.

we don’t gotta be in love no. i don’t gotta be the one, no.

i just wanna be one of your girls tonight.

“wishing it was your lipstick?” he give a little grin, trying to rile you up. you looked at him, his way of words trying to get into your pants was working.

“i don’t need to wish.” within seconds, your lips happened to be on hector’s. your legs straddling him while he rubbed your thighs.

he knows how to get the best out of me.

his hands were grabbing your waist as you felt the material of his pants under you. he continued rubbing your thighs, but he slowly made it up to your ass. as you gasped for air, he decided it was a good time to slip in his tongue.

finally breaking the kiss, you hear him whimper for more even over the loud music. smiling at him, you made your way to his neck and jaw. you planted a few kisses here and there, then you could feel his hand start to go under your dress.

“not here, but i know a few places.” making eye contact, you already knew where this was going.

hector wanted to you to be his girl every night.

————————————————

author’s note: author gone wild. imagination got the best of me and i know this is not likely of my stories. let me know if i did good for these kind of storylines!

[kooqitas]

how are we now? ... ★ with: bsk

#pairing: seungkwan X f.reader #synopsis: your best friend show a jealousy towards you after seeing you kissing a random guy... #tags: pwp(!), vaginal sex, friends sex, eating cum, spit as lube, dirty talk, soft dom!bsk, unprotected sex, i little a bit of praise kink? #wc: ~1300 #notes: pls save me boo seungkwan (nd fuck me).

★ m.list | inbox

seungkwan tries to act natural but the truth is that he was freaking out!

he watches you and mingyu getting close and close. actually, seungkwan is not the kinda of guy to show jealousy towards a friend, but being honest, for him you are really more than ‘just a friend’

he has a crush over you for the past two years, since he met you in college. at first he saw you just as a friend, but he fell in love with you…

he bites his own lips when mingyu and you get closer. god, is that possible? the scene is killing him, his breathing heavy.

then mingyu kisses you, in a wild way...

seungkwan's stomach churns, he sees mingyu squeezing your hips, and he can't think. when 

mingyu takes your ass in his hands, seungkwan makes the decision that it’s too much for him to handle. and in the next second, he separates you and pushes mingyu off.

“what are you doing?” you ask.

“nothing, i just… i…”

“just what, seungkwan? are you crazy?”

“you’re drunk, let me take you home!” he looks a pretty angry.

“i’m not dunk, i’m horny!”

seungkwan feels his stomach churning again,mingyu just left when this hole whing started.

“c’mon, you need sleep”

of course he’s lying, you always stayed up late watching movies or playing games when you were at home, it was still early.

“fuck, i hate you, i haven’t kiss anyone like… in months, you ruined it. god, have you seen mingyu?” you yell.

“i didn’t ruin anything… i just…”

“whatever, he’s gone now!”

“good, he didn’t have any right to touch you like… like he was touching”

seungkwan is angry, he feels so jealous that another man touched you, and that fact is clear from the looks on his face.

“but i want a touch”

“then i…”

he certainly wasn’t sober when he started approaching you. that was just the excuse he gave himself.

“you?”

of course the whole scene doesn’t make seungkwan just feel jealous… he is… he is horny.

god, just the thought of mingyu touching your hips touching makes him jealous but… he wants to be in mingyu’s place. and giving the fact that he is not the most sober person at the moment…

“what are you doing?” you ask when you feel his hands touching your waist.

“nothing…” he whispers right next to your ear.

he was very close, and his hand now is touching your hips.

“seungkwan…”

“i just wanted to…”

seungkwan is losing his mind, he could feel your breath.

“what?”

“nothing, i…” he is still close to you. “i just… just… fuck, let me…”

he tries to kiss you.

what’s the surprise?

you kiss him back.

he is surprised, but doesn’t stop. the kiss is getting more and more intense.

“wait. what the hell was that?” you say.

his lips didn’t move away from yours, and his hand is still on your hips, it’s so obvious what is happening.

“i want you, so bad”

“what? since when? seungkwan are you okay?”

“since… two years ago to be honest…”

“is that why you stopped me and mingyu?”

“i can’t accept the idea of some idiot touching you… i want to be the only one doing it…”

it was too much to process, you were still dizzy from the kiss, and fuck, he’s in love with you?

“if i’m being totally honest, i can’t even think properly right now”

“do you… do you want to go to my home?”

“seungkwan…”

“just… let this happen”

maybe is the alcohol? maybe the lust? maybe perhaps the fact that seungkwan is very hot (and a good kisser)? you just don’t know.

the car ride to his house was filled with a lot of silence. seungkwan had his right hand resting on your thigh as he drove, and both your head and his were in a mess at the moment.

when you entered his apartament, you joked about how the house was organized, but he didn't pay much attention, he just took you to the bedroom and kissed you in a somewhat desperate way.

“hey, seungkwan, slow down, i’m not going to run away” you tease him.

"god, you have no idea how desperate i am to fuck you.."

you thought it was a joke, but the next second seungkwan was throwing you on the bed and taking off your shoes

he kisses your ankle, moving up to your calf until he kisses your knee and then your thigh. god, this is crazy! seungkwan’s lips on your body show devotion, and you didn’t even notice that his head, that was once between yours legs, is now close to middle of your leg. he lifts your skirt and kisses your wet panties.

“shit, i lost count of how many times i came imagining that cunt in my face!”

he pulls the lace to the side, salivating at the sight of your pussy exposed to him, it doesn't take five seconds for him to put his mouth there, sucking it as if it were the necessity of life.

you always thought seungkwan was very handsome, but there, between your legs, rubbing his face in your juices, he was the most handsome guy you had ever seen in your entire life.

his right hand pulling your strapless down and when he managed to do so, he rubbed his fingers over your nipple, making you moan.

“i need… god, i really need…” he spits on your pussy.

he took off his own clothes, and you understood, you opened your legs a little wider and let seungkwan penetrate you.

seungkwan on top of you was a sight you would hardly forget, his wet mouth biting and sucking your nipples as he pushed every inch inside… opening you up wide for him.

“you are so wet, fuck, can you feel my fat cock opening your tight hole? my princess being stretched by me?”

when you feels his balls hit your for the first time you moaned so loud that it scared you, and that only motivated him.

and he shoves once, twice, three, and on the fourth time he couldn't keep things slow any longer.

you knew seungkwan was strong due to the gym, but you didn’t expect him to fuck you as hard as he was doing at that moment.

“my pretty princess, you're going to be my toy now, hm? my personal whore”

and then he stimulated your nipple again, making your eyes roll back.

“can i fuck you all day now? please say yes, say that your cunt is mine!”

in all of the two years that you have know him, you never thought that you’d hear him talking in a such dirty way to you, however, it would be a lie if you said that you weren’t enjoying it.

“i want make you cum everyday, with every part of my body, my fingers, my cock, my mouth, my thigh, i will make you cum in every room and piece of furniture in this house”

seungkwan grips your hips tightly, the bed shaking with the speed at which things happened.

“i’m gonna-” you scream.

“oh, wait, please, can you wait? be my pretty girl and wait!”

you didn't understand why seungkwan asked you to wait, because in the next second he removed his fat cock from you and jerked off a few times, cumming on your belly.

he takes a deep breath, his body a little soft, and then he bends down, putting his tongue back into your hole (now opened by him).

“please, cum on my tongue, god, i need feel you so bad”

his arms made a kind of lock on your leg, you could barely move, and that was great because the next minute you were cumming.

“so sweet, so good!” he said as he swallowed every drop of your juice.

〰

“how are we now?” you ask.

“i know you are not feeling things in the same intensity, i won’t force you into anything. but can i at least take you on a date?”

“oh, even two if you want…”

everything would be fine, seungkwan is your best friend… (and future boyfriend, of course).

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Regrets & Apologies -Oneshot

Word count: 2338

“For fuck’s sake Bucky,” Y/N huffed, running her hands through her hair.  “I understand that you feel protective over me, and I love and appreciate that about you, but my god if you follow me to the grocery store again–”

“So sue me if I’m worried about you,” Bucky retorted angrily.  “If the wrong people were to find out you’re with me–”

“Don’t,” Y/N said.  “Stop it.  I don’t want to have this conversation again.  You are a free man, in both mind and body.  And in case you forgot, I can take care of myself,” she said, holding her hand up as a ball of fire emitted from her palm briefly before closing her fingers around it, making it disappear.

“I know you can,” Bucky groaned.  

“Then you obviously don’t trust me enough to do it,” Y/N said sadly.  “And I don’t know what’s worse: being tailed at all times because you don’t trust other people, or knowing you don’t trust me to be able to handle danger by myself.  You know what?  Never mind, the second one is worse,” she sniffled, her emotions getting the best of her.  “You’ve seen me in the field, and you still don’t believe in me?”

Bucky’s eyes widened.  “No, no that’s not it at all.”

Y/N shook her head and shut her eyes tight.  “I can’t do this.  I’m taking a walk.”  She turned and started heading for the elevator.

Bucky was angry, and now hurt, and reacted badly.  “Fine, go run away from handling our problems!”

“I don’t have a problem, Barnes,” Y/N shot back at him, punching the elevator button then walking inside, turning to look at him with near-literal fire in her eyes.  “It’s just you.”

Her glare haunted him as the elevator doors closed, leaving him alone on their shared floor.  Bucky tried to breathe evenly, the panic setting in at not being near her.  He knew he had a problem, he just wasn’t willing to admit it.  Ever since they had first started dating each other his protectiveness had kicked into overdrive, making him follow her while she was out running errands to make sure she was okay, constantly checking in, and even worse, getting in the way on missions because he wouldn’t leave her side.  She was well trained and had her powers to protect her, yet he for some reason was constantly on edge and afraid of losing her to something in his past.  God I need more therapy, he thought.  He paced back and forth in their apartment, trying to let her go on that walk alone.  They both needed space to cool off and think.  He had to let her be.  He had to show her he could trust her.  Bucky let out a loud yell in frustration and holed himself away in their room.

***

2 hours later

“Doll, I’m sorry, please come back home.  Let’s talk about this.”

***

4 hours later

“Okay, I’m trying not to freak out, but you need to text or call and let me know you’re okay.  Where are you?”

***

7 hours later

Bucky was rocking back and forth on their bed, holding himself as he held his phone tight in his flesh hand, waiting for it to ring or buzz.  It was almost 11:00 at night, and he hadn’t heard from her.  Something wasn’t right.  This wasn’t normal, even during a fight.  She would at least let him know where she was and that she was safe, even if she didn’t plan to come back that night.  He felt like he was in withdrawal, the unknown eating away at his heart by the second.

The phone rang and he nearly threw it from how bad it scared him, but he quickly answered it.  “Doll?  Where are you?  Are you okay?”

“Is this James Barnes?” A voice said.

Bucky froze.  “Yes.”

“This is Dr. Harris at Mount Sinai Hospital.  Miss Y/N Y/L/N is here.  She just went into surgery after being struck by a car in downtown Manhattan.”  Bucky gasped, a chill running down his spine.  “You’re listed as her emergency contact.  I would suggest coming down as soon as possible.”

“I’m coming now.  Doc, how bad is it?” he asked hesitantly.

“She was stable going into surgery.”

That wasn’t a good enough answer for him, but he choked back a sob in relief that she was at least still alive and fighting.  “I’ll be there soon,” he said quickly, then hung up.  Bucky ran through their floor, gathering things for himself and for Y/N, then had Friday inform the other Avengers about what was going on.  When he reached the parking garage he flung the duffle onto his back and hopped on his motorcycle, revving out like a bat out of hell.  He reached the hospital in record time, parking then running inside inhumanly fast.

Bucky dashed to the receptionist desk.  “Y/N Y/L/N, just got into surgery, what floor is that on?” he barked at the receptionist.

“Visiting hours are over, sir,” the receptionist said, barely glancing at him.

Bucky smacked his metal arm onto the counter, making it crack and she jumped and stared at him.  She seemed to recognize him and shrunk back when she saw the metal hand.  “Floor number.  Now,” he demanded.

“Four,” she whispered.

Bucky gave her a curt nod then ran over to the elevator.  He pushed the button and took the elevator up to the fourth floor, his entire body feeling jittery with anxiety.  When the doors opened he ran down the hall to the second reception area.  “Y/N Y/L/N, in surgery.  Dr. Harris called me?” he huffed at the nurse.

The nurse’s eyebrows raised in recognition then turned and picked up a phone, dialing a number.  “Dr. Harris?  Y/N Y/L/N’s emergency contact is here.”  He hung up the phone and turned to Bucky.  “He’ll be right out.”

Bucky nodded and stepped back towards the chairs in the waiting area in front of the reception desk.  A couple of minutes later a man came walking down the hall.  “Sergeant Barnes?” he asked Bucky.

“Dr. Harris?” Bucky replied.

Dr. Harris shook his hand.  “She’s still in surgery.  They’re fixing a major fracture in her tibia, along her shin.  Otherwise she was really lucky with a minorly fractured collarbone.  No other injuries.”

Bucky sighed, his jaw tightening.  “That’s…that’s good.  What happened?”

Dr. Harris minutely shrugged.  “From what the paramedics said, she was in a crosswalk and some idiot came barreling around the corner through the red light.”

“Were they caught?” Bucky nearly growled.

“Yes.  They had the good sense to not hit and run,” Dr. Harris said.

Bucky nodded.  “Okay, good.  So…what now?”

“She’ll be in a boot for six months, and she’ll need a wheelchair then crutches during that time until she heals enough to walk.  Her collarbone will be set with her arm in a sling, and that’ll take about 10-12 weeks.  It’ll be a lot of physical therapy and patience, and she’ll need a lot of help.”

“No problem.  She has plenty of help,” Bucky said quickly.  “When will she be out of surgery?”

“Should only be about another hour,” Dr. Harris said, glancing at his watch.  “The surgeon will come out when it’s over and give you an update, then when she’s put in a room for recovery you can see her.”

Bucky nodded again and thanked him before Dr. Harris walked back down the hall.  Bucky paced the waiting room for another few minutes, his phone pinging over and over again with texts and calls coming in.  He finally sat down then started answering the messages, giving the Avengers reaching out to him an update.  When he was done he leaned back in the chair, his head thudding against the wall.  He fought back tears, but a few fell through his tightly shut eyes.  He was feeling a million things at once, unsure of what emotion was going to win out in the end.  Was she distracted from their fight that she didn’t see or hear the car coming?  Or was the driver just an idiot, like Dr. Harris said?  He’d never forgive himself if he was to blame for this, even partially.  

***

An hour later Y/N was out of surgery.  Bucky was now surrounded by the rest of the Avengers, waiting to hear anything.  A different doctor came walking out of the double doors down the hallway and Bucky immediately stood and walked over to her.  “How is she?” he asked quietly.

“Y/N is doing great,” the surgeon said with a smile.  “Her leg was set beautifully, and the collarbone was a lot more minor than we thought.  She’s in recovery right now.  We’ll monitor her there for about half an hour then we’ll be moving her to a room.  The reception nurse will tell you which one soon.”

“Thank you,” Bucky said and shook her hand.  

Forty five minutes later the nurse directed him to her room.  Bucky jogged to the room number and walked in as another nurse was getting Y/N set up.  The nurse gave him a short, polite smile.  “The anesthesia will take a little longer to wear off.  She should wake up soon.”

Bucky thanked the nurse as they walked out, and he walked over to Y/N.  She was hooked up to multiple machines, tubes sticking out from her hands and one hooked into her nose.  She was sleeping soundly, and his heart broke as he looked over the bruising peeking out from her hospital gown near her collarbone, her left arm in a sling.  He slowly lifted the blanket covering her legs and saw the boot on her left leg, the skin looking badly bruised and scraped up by her knee.  He set the blanket down and pulled up a chair by the wall to her right side, sitting down and reaching for her hand, holding it firmly.  All the emotions came flooding back and he started crying as he looked up at her face.

“Babydoll,” Bucky sniffled.  “My babydoll.”  He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers, holding her palm up to his face.  “Please wake up.  We need to talk about all this, and get over it, just like we always do.  Please?  Please…”

“Buck.”

His head snapped up at the sound of his name, and he saw her eyes fluttering open.  “Y/N?” he whispered, standing up and looking at her.

Y/N’s head turned to look at him, making her wince.  “What happened?” she asked.

Bucky sighed heavily.  “Do you remember anything?” he asked.

Y/N frowned, blinking slowly.  “I was walking.  Then I heard tires screeching.  Then…pain,” she said.

Bucky nodded.  “You were hit by a car,” he said, his hand reaching up and tucking her hair back.  “Some idiot turned the corner too fast and was not paying attention.”  Y/N frowned deeper, then tried to sit up, gasping at the pain.  “Woah, babydoll, no no no.  You’ve got a minor fracture in your collarbone, and a broken leg.  You need to stay still.”

Y/N’s head leaned back as she hissed through her teeth.  “Well that sucks,” she groaned.

Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.  “I know.  But I’m gonna be here to help you every step of the way.”

Y/N relaxed against the bed and looked up at him sadly.  “I’m sorry.  About the fight earlier.  And that I didn’t answer your texts.”

Bucky shook his head quickly.  “I’m sorry.  You were right, I’ve been way too overprotective, and it made me not trust you to take care of yourself.  Though, in my defense, you did just get hit by a car while I wasn’t around to help you.”

Y/N grinned, biting back a laugh.  “True.  But you can’t always be my hero.  Life happens.  Shit like this happens, no matter what we do to try and stay safe.  You have to trust me enough to know that I’m going to do my best to come home to you.”

Bucky’s lips tightened as he fought back more tears.  “I know, I’ll work on it.  I promise.” They stared at each other for another moment before Bucky leaned forward and nuzzled her nose with his.  “For now, just kiss me once, then I’ll kiss you twice, then kiss me once again.”

Y/N hummed at his song reference.  “It’s been a long, long time,” she whispered before angling her head up and kissing him softly.

***

“This is so humiliating.  Every single time,” Y/N griped, holding onto Bucky’s arms as he helped lift her carefully into the bathtub, keeping her left leg that was wrapped in saran wrap above the water.

“You don’t need to feel embarrassed, Y/N,” Bucky said as he eased her down, making sure to prop the broken leg over the edge of the tub before grabbing the soap and lathering his hands.  He reached out and started at her legs first, making sure to get all the little nooks and crannies up her body as he washed her.

“Well, I’m embarrassed,” Y/N said with an annoyed tone.

“You’re healing really well, but it’s only been three months.  Tibia fractures take up to–” “Six months to heal, yes, thank you Dr. Barnes,” Y/N huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.  “Possibly longer.  I get it.”  Bucky sighed and gave her an arched eyebrow.  Y/N’s face softened.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“I know you’re frustrated, doll,” Bucky said, pulling her arms apart so he could wash her stomach and up her chest.  “But you know I don’t mind helping you.  None of us do.  And this, especially, is my favorite helpful thing to do,” he smirked as his hands washed over her breasts.

“You’re shameless,” Y/N laughed, swatting at his hands.

“But you love me,” Bucky said, leaning forward and kissing her.

Y/N kissed him back.  “Yes, I do.”

[swanimagines]

X-Men: Imagine being a "created" mutant and Jean Grey reassuring you it’s okay and that you are welcome at the school even though you aren’t technically born a mutant.

requested by anon

Note: nowadays all requests are done straight to asks, this is my old template of posting and I no longer have their asks!

Ever since you were freed from captivity, you knew you weren’t among either world, not fully. You weren’t a human, but you also felt like you weren’t a mutant. You felt like you were something unnatural, in between the two worlds.

Charles Xavier had come to meet you when he heard of another mutant roaming the streets, causing chaos because you couldn’t control your powers. Whenever you got scared, your powers flared up, and sometimes people got hurt. And soon, you found yourself in a car, on your way to his school he told you about. 

The hallways of Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters were much quieter than you expected when you first stepped in. But still, you couldn’t help but feel judged as you walked through the hallways, clutching the stack of books in your arms. The voices in your head kept whispering, kept telling you how you would fail, how everyone would shun you here too. You don’t belong here. You aren’t welcome.

So, you mainly kept your head down, avoiding eye contact, hoping you wouldn’t bother anyone. You were sure that if you even tried to make contact with anyone, get to know anyone, they would shun you, tell you you don’t belong here. You found a refuge from the library, from the far corner of the couch where you could also see the garden. You studied by yourself a lot, reading book after book, learning about the history of the mutants, trying to find a point that could be used to pressure yourself that you belonged here.

One day, as you were at that corner again, you saw a figure walk into the library and stop by you. You waited for a moment, but then looked up to see Jean. She smiled. “How are you settling in?”

You frowned, but then shrugged. “I guess well enough.”

She took a step closer. “I haven’t seen you at our after school activities. You could get friends if you came along.”

You stared at her for a moment. Sure, Jean was one of the nicest teachers since you moved in, always looking out for you, but you know that she didn’t know what it was like to be the outsider either. Or not like that. You knew she was the most powerful of you all, but at least… she was an actual mutant and not a freak like you.

“I… I don’t know,” you murmured, averting your eyes from hers. “I don’t think I’d fit in.”

You narrowed her eyes, clearly confused. “Why do you think that?”

You shook your head, closing the book and placing it aside. “I’m like the only one around who’s not born a mutant. I was kidnapped as a child and tested on, injected with fluids, forcing my body to become something it wasn’t and… I don’t think I can ever fit in either world anymore. Even I don't know who or what I am either, how can I ever belong?”

Jean was quiet for a moment, before she took another step forward and slowly sat down beside you. “If Professor Xavier would think you don’t belong here, he wouldn’t have come to meet you and invite you to come here. He saw into your mind, and concluded that it’s best to bring you here, to learn to control your abilities, and find a community. He knows the best. And everyone can see you belong here, even if you don’t.”

You crossed your arms, glancing at the window where you saw some of the children playing, kicking the ball around. “But what if they will never accept me?”

“They will,” Jean said quietly. “We’ve all been through our own struggles, and we’ve all had to find our place here. It might take some time, but you’ll find people who understand you, who care about you. And if you ever need someone to talk to, I’m here. You’re not alone.”

You thought for a moment, before you looked at her again. “What happens if I lose control again and hurt someone? Will I get kicked out?”

She shook her head. “Professor Xavier isn’t kicking you out for something you aren’t able to control. He only punishes you if you do something like that on purpose.”

You swallowed, remembering how the last time went. Your powers had flared, you had overturned a tram, trapping and injuring multiple people. The police had tried to shoot you for that, everyone blamed you, thought you wanted to do that. “What if he thinks I did it on purpose? Last time I—”

She interrupted you, putting her hand on yours. “Non-mutants only see us causing chaos and may think we’re in full control. And it may seem like it in their eyes, as some go into a trance as their powers cause chaos.”

You nodded slowly, dropping your gaze onto your lap. “It just feels like a curse most of the time.”

She was quiet again for a moment. “Some who are born mutants may also feel like that when their powers first emerge, if they weren’t there from birth. Or they may be dissatisfied with their powers because they’re harder to control than what their family has. I remember how one of our students was a boy whose family could spit fire, teleport, fly and grow into a giant on will, and his powers were plant-based. When he came here, he could only make some flowers grow slightly faster, and he thought he’d end up as a professional super gardener while his family is out there saving the world. He also felt like he didn’t belong among ‘real’ mutants. But now he’s able to make trees move, and have plants trap people.”

You thought about her words for a second, staring at your feet. Then a bell rang, interrupting your thoughts. Jean nodded towards the hallway. “Would you like to come eat lunch with me?”

You paused for a second or two, but then nodded and smiled slightly, following Jean out of the library. 

Maybe things will get better from now, you found yourself thinking. Your little talk with Jean did make you feel better, even when it felt useless at first. Maybe you’d feel like you belong here soon after all.

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[woso-dreamzzz]

*klumpig is dating an insanely older person (like klumpig is 18 and the other person is 40) and magda tells frido to not react bc it’s for attention and they’ll break up soon*

Klumpig: Yeah, we want to go spend the night at a town a few hours away

Magda: Nice! Frido is okay with that! Give them your card!

Frido: *silent but holds out her credit card*

Magda: *trying to pull the card from frido’s hand and finally gets it* Have fun!

*klumpig and the person get in the elevator*

Frido: *freaking out, repeating hitting the elevator button* Why did I listen to you, Magda!? Now she’s gone off with a 40 year old!! What happened to ‘oh it’s just for attention?!

*magda watches as frido frantically gets into one of the elevators, as soon as she’s gone, klumpig comes out of the other one*

Klumpig: She was gonna let me go with them?!

*Frido coming back from the other elevator, not noticing Klumpig*

Frido: Magda! Give me the keys for the car! I’m going after her! I need to let her know that no one is good enough for my little girl!

Klumpig: *tears in her eyes, slams into frido, hugging her*

Frido: *surprised and just realized it really was for attention*

Magda: See

Frido: *glares at magda* Shut up, you’re still dead

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTF7LJNUX/ inspo from here

Frido absolutely loses her mind from stress when Klumpig starts dating

[tikosblogg]

Best Friend Noah taking you to get your wisdom teeth out…

(GIF not mine. Credits to @thefallennightmare !)

As the nurses walked you out of the building, Noah stood up from the railing where he had been resting. With a grin that always melted your anxiety, he opened the passenger door. “Alright, princess, your chariot awaits!” he said dramatically, bowing with an exaggerated flourish before helping her climb into the car.

"Just breathe, y/n. Try to focus," he chuckled, trying to suppress his own laughter.

You were deep in a haze of laughing gas, a warm, fuzzy feeling wrapping around your mind. Every slight bump in the road sent waves of giggles through your body, and you found yourself groaning theatrically, “Why does my mouth feel like… like a balloon?!”

Noah glanced over, a wide grin splitting his face as you popped another exaggerated groan. “Because you just had three teeth yanked out, dummy”

“I can’t feel my mouth!” you declared dramatically, your hands moving to your cheeks in an attempt to find some sort of reality amidst your giddiness. As if in a bizarre parade of dramatic reveals, your hand slipped to your mouth and, with a gentle tug, the bloody gauze fell right out.

The world around you dulled—and then brightened—as panic surged through your loopy mind. “NOAH! MY TONGUE FELL OUT!” you screamed, eyes darting around the car, searching desperately for the lost appendage.

“Your tongue didn't fall out! It’s just the gauze!” Noah’s laughter spilled through the car.

“No! I can’t taste anything! Help!” you continued, freaking out in your pea-sized brain.

Noah tried to keep his composure, shaking his head with an amused heart. “Just hold on, alright?” He slowed down as they approached a red light, giving you a moment to spiral softly amid your panicked giggles.

Your loopy imagination kicked into high gear. The moment the car came to a stop, you flung the door open and unbuckled yourself—half stumbling out of the vehicle. “HELP! MY TONGUE! SOMEONE!” you shouted, waving your arms like a crackhead.

“Y/n!! Get back in the car!” Noah shouted, laughter edging into his voice as he jumped out after you, rushing to intervene before you took off on some wild adventure in search of your elusive tongue.

“But Noah, it’s gone! It’s just—” you waved your hands wildly, still trying to comprehend the loss.

Noah closed the door behind him, plant foot firmly in your path. “You’re being ridiculous! It’s gauze! Just gauze!”

“GAUZE?! What’s??that?!” You turned your gaze skyward, likely contemplating your new life without a tongue when all you needed to do was sit back down.

“Okay, listen!” Noah said, bending down to your height, a hand still resting against the car for support. “You still have your tongue, alright? I’m serious. You didn’t lose it!” He grabbed your shoulders, steadying your wobbling mind. “It’s sitting pretty where it should be, I promise.”

Gazing into his dark brown eyes, the words began to sink in even through your loopy haze. As cars honked, because you and Noah are blocking traffic. Perhaps he was right, after all. You touched your tongue with your finger, still bewildered but calming down.

“Fine. You’re right. But… what if you’re lying?” you surrendered, tilting your head at him.

With a chuckle, Noah lightly bumped your forehead with his. “It’s still there! Now, let’s get back in the car before you make me lose my tongue!”

After a second’s hesitation, you slipped back into the passenger seat amidst peals of laughter from both of you. Once your seatbelt was fastened, you looked over at him, warmth spreading through your cheeks.

“Hey, Noah?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for… for everything. My tongue is lucky to have you as a friend!”

He laughed, the sound melodic against the backdrop of the fading light. “I’m just glad your tongue is still where it belongs. Now, let’s get you home without any more drama, alright?”

As he pulled away from the light, the laughter continued in waves, and while your head spun. He quickly got you into the car, buckling you back in as you watched him.

He opened the goodie bag you got from the dentist, pulling out new gauze. He gripped your jaw gently before you instructing you to open your mouth. You closed your eyes, leaning your head back. “Cmon y/n open your mouth.”

You slowly opened up, flattening your tongue and letting it hang out of your mouth. “Good girl” if you weren’t so high at the moment, you probably would have clocked the slight change in Noah’s tone. He popped the gauze in your mouth, before shaking his head with a smirk.

He walked around getting back in, and started driving home. You leaned back against the seat, almost completely passed out at this point, mumbling. “I’m a good girl.” Noah chuckled, keeping his eyes on the road. “Yes you are y/n, the best girl.”

[ppushable]

276 times i died for you

jean kirschtein x fem!reader / oneshot / wc: 9.0k

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Love. Of course I love him.

(YOU'RE OBSESSED WITH HIM.)

I'm infatuated.

In which my dreams come true. (IN WHICH YOU LIVE IN A FANTASY.) In which I kill myself this many times over. For *him*.

This time around, it will all work out.

IT WILL ALL WORK OUT!

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ao3 tags:

this has been sitting in my drafts for months because it's edgy but what the hell sure / Reincarnation / Angst / Unrequited Love / Implied/Referenced Abuse / reader is kind of a loser / no y/n / Hurt No Comfort / Reader-Insert / POV First Person / Present Tense / Inner Dialogue / Self-Hatred / Implied/Referenced Suicide / But its chill / Reader Is Crazy / reader is obsessed / you freak / Bad Ending / Cross-Posted on Wattpad / Cross-Posted on Tumblr

hi!

i'm not really sure what culminated in this? maybe i woke up a touch more delusional than usual.

reader has her flaws but don't we all. (killing-yourself-275-times-for-a-fictional-man kind of flaws. also she's a total loser. but i think a lot of you guys can relate.)

you reincarnate, you fail, rinse and repeat. the sections are pretty short. that's pretty much all of it.

also up on ao3 and wattpad

enjoy, as always <3

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prologue

The clicking of the keyboard. The rhythm of my fingers against the caps, words a constant steady stream from my mind to the glowing document. It comes so easy to me, recording the thoughts and desires that have been running through my mind for so long they’ve eroded a deep cavern through my consciousness. Fancies and yearnings that have since become a fundamental part of me, threaded into the fabric of my being. Same fandom, same character, same love.

“And then I just… understood. How it’s the little moments you hold on to the most.” And then he grins.

“Maybe,” I murmur, swiping my thumbs over his palms, “it’s the other way around.”

He blinks. “Yeah.”

Losing my train of thought, I lean back dangerously in my chair. It’s one of the swivel ones that can go way back, but I’ve fallen over before. I lean back as reality comes rushing in, flushing away the comforting warm waters of fantasy.

Rent’s due next week. Fuck, I have to work today. Did I make a lunch? Well, whatever. Maybe I should call in, haha. When’s the last time I cleaned the floor? Laundry? Should I fix the AC or just buy another one? Need to call the mechanic about that weird noise in the car. And renew my license before it’s too late. I need to wash dishes before I leave. I need to keep track of my income. I need to start thinking about my retirement. I need to I need to I need to—

The computer screen whisks out of view as my stomach lurches from its safe spot — I’m falling, fuck! My body prepares for a landing

that never comes.

Nothing comes.

I can’t hear the buzzes and sighs of background noise I didn’t even register until they’re gone.

I can’t see, I can’t open the eyelids that are supposed to be there, can’t search for the light.

I can’t feel. The breeze against my skin, the tickling of my hair on my face, the weight of a human body.

I can’t breathe, but I have no desire for air, nor pain from the lack of it.

Everything is… still. Paused, stale, bated. Nothing.

Am I dead? I’m dead, aren’t I?

Never would I have expected this. All the jokes and profound thoughts lying in bed, thinking about what lies beyond without fear. Well, I’m fucking fearful now. Everything is over, nobody will know who I am, I’ll never amount to the person my younger self would have imagined (but who am I kidding, I never would have), the shift manager will curse my name when I don’t come in, my computer is still running, the state they will find my body in is nothing short of deplorable. I’ve squandered my chance.

Did I… do what I wanted in life?

Did I? Did I?

No, I never did what I wanted. I only ever did what made me comfortable.

And the realization eats away at me, turns me into a yawning cavern mouth that leads to naught.

I just wasted myself.

OH WELL.

It is what it is, right?

IT IS WHAT IT IS.

At least I was happy when I was writing.

AT LEAST.

I could’ve had it a lot worse.

YOU COULD’VE.

I could…

YEAH?

That voice wasn’t always there. That echo of my internal monologue. Unbearably loud yet inaudible. Identical in nature, so seamlessly me that I haven’t been noticing that it’s not.

I’m not alone.

YOU’RE NOT.

And it’s this that makes me feel as if I should be afraid, if I had the body and capacity to do so.

IT’S HARD TO BE SCARED WHEN YOU’VE NOTHING LEFT TO PROTECT.

What is this, some kind of joke? Am I already going crazy?

NO.

I don’t know where I end and when… that begins.

IT DOESN’T MATTER.

Oh my god.

And then it’s quiet.

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU WERE TRULY HAPPY?

Was I? What kind of question is that?

YOU WERE, WEREN’T YOU, WHEN YOU WERE WRITING THOSE STORIES.

I… was happy. Happiness isn’t a constant state of being, it’s— it comes in little moments. I was happy enough.

DO YOU WANT A CHANCE?

… What?

DO YOU WANT TO LIVE IN A FANTASY?

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1st reincarnation - modern au

I nearly fall over when I’m slapped in to this body, and I nearly collapse again when something bumps into me. But my fall is broken by something soft and hard and solid.

“Woah… there.”

Neon lights, stale and heavy air. Out of reflex I suck in a huge breath. Puke and alcohol and bad breath and sweat and body odour. Silhouetted bodies writhing before me, all around me, in tune to the gaudy noises blaring from all corners of the area that’s supposed to be music.

I’m at a club. I’m alive and in a club.

“You okay?”

And that voice…

I spin on my heel, nearly tripping — since when was having a body so difficult? — and he’s there.

Jean. Jean Kirschtein.

The man I’ve been fantasizing about since the sixth grade, the man I’ve broken keyboards writing for, the man I’ve loved over a thousand lifetimes. It’s him.

I know things about you that you don’t even know about yourself. I’ve fucked you. I’ve killed you. I’ve had your children. I’ve seen you at your very worst and cheered for you at your best. I’ve held you as you breathed your last breath, my name on your tongue, and you’ve done the same for me.

And now you’re here, in this club, with me… drunk out of your fucking mind.

Real. Real. Your eyes, unfocussed, the strands of your hair against the light, your posture. Just as I’ve described, hundreds of times over, except no words can truly begin to explain the entity that is you.

“Why are you staring? Like what you see?”

And that voice.

LET’S DANCE.

I push my palm flat against his broad chest, I’m fucking touching him, and bring the rest of my body closer. And dance.

I was never much of a dancer. I’m still not. But if I let it all get to me, the music, the vibration of the ground of others’ feet, the feeling of Jean against me… I don’t have to worry at all. My body moves without discretion, and the music and noise envelopes me completely.

I notice too late that he’s gone. So I stop. And it doesn’t take long to find his tall frame poking out of the crowd in another part of the club.

He’s bathed in a red light, dazed, but not drunk-dazed. In-love-dazed. And I would know, because I’ve imagined and written that expression so many times before.

Only it was always directed at me, the reader, and not the girl he’s looking at right now. The girl who dances without care, the girl who is more beautiful, stronger, the girl I could never hope to be.

No. This isn’t happening.

Blood in my mouth — I’ve been biting the inside of my cheek. There’s nothing left inside except a sinkhole, one that yawns impossibly wider with every second and threatens to take me over entirely. Breath comes shaky. That’s supposed to be me. That’s supposed to be me! Right?

Right?

She twirls with this unearthly kind of grace and Jean takes her hand midway, leading her through the action, and end off in a close embrace. And it’s like it’s scripted.

They lean in closely for a delicate kiss.

A friend — Connie — approaches.

They break it off nervously.

End script.

I mean, who am I kidding? Of course he would go for her. She’s perfect, and I’m just… the warmup. Someone jostles into me from behind and now there’s nobody to catch me; I land hard on the linoleum, arms numbly blocking my fall. Fuck. Fuck. My hands curl into little fists, collecting grime. What the hell am I doing here? Who the hell do I think I am?

Eager, blissfully unaware feet land on my dress. I need to go. I can’t stay here.

But when I try to stand a sudden swell of bodies comes rushing in and knocks me back down. Well, fuck you then, just let me die here.

A high-pitched, obnoxious laugh reaches my ears. With another quick look-around I heave myself up. Damned if I die here. Before anyone else has the chance to move me I haul myself to the wall and stick to it.

The two of them and Connie are gone now.

I just… my only chance.

Look at me, playing the heartbroken maiden.

Bathrooms… I shuffle along the wall until I find it and slip inside.

Contrary to everything else, it’s brightly lit in blue. The sinks are decently clean and the stalls, for the most part, appear empty. It sounds empty, anyways. The music here is muffled and echoey; even the smallest movement seems to be exemplified by the tiled walls.

I enter the closest one and lock the door, sitting on the seat even though a thousand people’s asses have touched it. Whatever.

When I saw you here before…

What am I doing here.

Couldn’t look you in the eye…

Who the hell plays this song at a club?

You looked like—

The door bangs open; feet barge in. A feminine gag, a stall door smacking against the wall. More gags, vomit slapping the toilet water, an acrid stench.

“You’re okay! You got this…”

That’s a guy’s voice. How sweet, he came to the bathroom to help her out. Maybe I should pop out of here and yell at him. Haha.

Gently, so as not to make noise, I press my palm flat against the door.

They’re probably taking a cab or something. Leaning against each other in the backseat while Connie gabbles on about whatever to the driver. I smile for about a second before I have to clamp my lips between my teeth again.

I’m not their friend. I’m an imposter. (Among us!) I’m the one that fantasizes in the dark of their companionship. Writing all the time. I’m… well, frankly, I’m a creep.

And I’m a weirdo…

Holy fuck.

YOU GIVING UP?

No.

AND HOW DO YOU SUPPOSE YOU FIND THEM?

Go away. How did this happen?

YOU’RE THINKING IN LOOPS.

It’s not a big deal.

RIGHT.

Shut up. It’s not a big deal, I can just come back here. Maybe it’s a slowburn.

OR MAYBE SHE’S ENDGAME.

DID YOU SEE THE WAY HE LOOKED AT HER?

JUST LIKE HE’S SUPPOSED TO LOOK AT YOU.

IF YOU THINK THAT’S PLATONIC YOU’RE KIDDING YOURSELF.

Let me think. Just let me—

The stall door suddenly jolts as if hit from the outside; my hand comes flying off.

What—

“OPEN IT.”

What?

“OPEN IT.”

The voice in my head. That’s the voice in my head, someone’s talking with it—

“OPEN. IT.”

I stare at the latch.

“YES, THERE, RIGHT THERE.”

Fuck. Fuck, this is the moment Jean swoops in and saves me—

“OPEN THE DOOR. NOBODY IS HERE TO SAVE YOU.”

The puking couple—

“I WON’T ASK AGAIN.”

I try to swallow. Open. I raise my hand — when did my fingers start trembling? — and unlatch the door.

Cli-cli-click.

It swings open to… a brunette with puke dribbling down her chin.

…!!?

Oh my fucking god.

What the hell is this?

??!

“STAND UP.”

I do, leaning heavily against the wall.

“COME.”

We walk to the sink. She pulls something out of her purse. A needle.

My voice is but a tremble. “What?”

“IF YOU WANT ANOTHER CHANCE, YOU HAVE TO DIE.” She mimics inserting the needle into her arm. “THIS IS ONE WAY.“

“I can’t do that. I don’t do that.”

She turns fully to meet my eye but I drop my gaze. “IF YOU INSIST.”

“Wait, no—”

On the marbled counter is a pocket knife.

What if I don’t want to die?

“WOULD YOU RATHER LIVE LIKE THIS? IN THE SHADOWS, WATCHING ANOTHER LIVE YOUR DIRTY LITTLE FANTASY?”

THINK ABOUT IT. HAVE YOU TRULY DONE ANYTHING WITH YOUR LIFE EXCEPT PRETEND?

Stop.

“TAKE THE BLADE.”

When I look into the mirror, she’s not there.

Death by blood loss.

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92nd reincarnation - canon

Breathe. Breathing in. The human scent.

Temptress is the smell, reeking over the wall, always unreachable.

But now… wall is now open now… and the smell… the smell. The presence of man.

Cannot control myself

cannot.

GOD, YOU’RE A REAL BEAST.

Others push and shove. Claustrophobic between… buildings. Buildings crumbling on my shoulders.

The humans try. They buzz around like birds. But more of them are crushed into red pulp under my feet. More of them scooped up and put into my mouth. More, more, more. Warm and writhing and in my mouth, crack open.

It’s right. It’s the right thing. I do it again and again. The only right thing.

Another bird-human, buzzing up to my face. Too slow, I cannot grab it. Too fast, it soars closer.

Prick! Eye! It pricked my eye! But I close it, and it’s stuck. The prick is stuck in my eye.

I take it and put it in my mouth. Crack open.

More bird-humans now. Fast bird-humans. Screeching. Pricking.

DID YOU SERIOUSLY JUST EAT HIM? I HOPE YOU CHEWED.

Too fast. Too fast!

“Bastard! You’ll pay!”

Bird-human… who…

“You’ll fucking pay!”

Bird… Jean? Human? On my back. Crack. Bird—

Jean?

Chest feels prick but no bird-humans are in it. Mouth doesn’t crack. Mouth makes noise. Mouth says…

“…Jean.”

Prick!

“I’m sorry.”

Death by spinal cord injury.

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165th reincarnation - canon

Nobody told me the steam would make noise.

It doesn’t come in puffs, but continuous streams, each with the force of a newly-awakened geyser, raw with festering rage.

His voice is nearly inaudible over the hiss that just about renders me deaf, just a strained whisper.

“Here! Over here!”

Out of complete reflex I bring my hands to point at the behemoth bone structure that is Eren and shoot. I don’t hear the ODM but feel its mechanic workings against my lower back, the painful tightening of the straps against my skin, the pressure in my head and gut as I’m jerked forward. The horror and chaos of the world shooting past.

I’m coming…

Someone screams again and I’m yanked forward, limbs and neck snapping back uselessly, painfully, the back of my head hitting my spine. Pulled like a yo-yo. Straps digging into skin. Everything turns into a whirl of heat and steam and sky and blackness. Everything mixing together as my brain and eyes, most trusted, can’t comprehend what’s going on around me. Can’t tell up from down. The breaths I try to take in are sucked out before I get a chance to replenish my increasingly burning lungs. It’s too tight. It’s too fast. I can’t— I can’t move.

The cord… a bone titan grabbed my cord…

Fuck,

   fuck,

      fuck, 

I’m getting closer,

it hurts,

I’m getting closer!

Fuck!

!!???!!!

The impact, as much as I might try, I can’t brace for the impact. With a crack! I hit the bone chest-first, and in that little moment before the pain inevitably comes I know it’s all… punched in and wrong inside and bad bad bad.

The titan doesn’t stop dragging when everything blooms into fresh agony, it hurts, it hurts, it’s all wrong inside it hurts it’s wrong I’m hurting someone please help me please fuck I’m hurt someone get me help help help

And then it all… goes still. And the pain comes back in a fresh new wave. Breaths come now, ragged and holey and painful, I don’t want to look at myself, my grimed hands scratching at the bone I’ve landed on, searching for purchase so I don’t fall off. Which, frankly, would be a better fate. I’ll let go and start again. Yeah. Yeah…

It hurts. If I could scream, I would.

“Hey!”

Fuck, not now. I swear my nails are splitting. Is my chest… wet? Not now…

But he appears anyways, despite it all, always despite it all, in the familiar garb of canon and that brushed-aside hair that’s screwed over to hell and back, eyes wild and pupils dilated, mouth wired in an unreal smile. Painful to look at. Falling to his knees at my side.

“Hey, look at me, okay? You’re gonna be okay, alright? Alright? Hey!”

The way he speaks, so desperately. The way he looks around for help. The way he sees none, because how could there be any, so he focusses back on me.

Helpless.

Absolutely helpless.

“Hey…”

There’s a different peal to his voice now.

“Look at me, would you?”

But I am…

“H— hey. Come on. You— you’re strong, huh?”

Oh, Jean.

My breaths come a lot shallower than before and my muscles burn with the effort. Jean notices, it seems, from the way he cranes in close, blotting out the steam-scattered light. “Don’t…”

What happened to the proud, selfish boy who was hellbent on joining the MPs? The one who laughed at others’ misfortunes and bragged about his feats, the one who started more fights than he could finish. The man in front of me now is crestfallen; everything is falling apart, and here he is trying to comfort even a small part of it. Holding back a tsunami with his trembling, bloody hands.

Thanks, Isayama…

When I try to inhale deeper, I only inhale faster. Nevertheless I open my mouth like I have so many times before, croak out the words because it’s natural.

“I love you.”

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, he’s confused.

Confused. Not relieved, or heartbroken. Completely, utterly, childishly confused. He smiles, though his expression is just about splitting in half.

And that’s how I know.

“I— I love you too.”

LIAR.

Death by internal bleeding, blood loss.

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274th reincarnation - past

June 16, 1921 2:04 PM

“Can you believe it’s been three years since the war ended?”

I look over at Sasha from under my veil. “I really can’t.”

“And now you’re getting married.” She giggles like a schoolgirl behind the basket of flowers in her gloved hands. “Oh! The music’s starting!”

The knells of the organ behind the curtains in front of us rip through me like a wave. It’s happening. It’s finally happening.

I’m getting married to Jean Kirschtein.

It was a rough ride. Getting with the times, learning how to housewife, staying up late reading and re-reading the odd letters sent home from my… friends. Yes, they are truly my friends.

I’ve been living here for over seven years.

I haven’t heard that… voice in over seven years.

I’ve been alive for over seven years.

Perhaps the toughest part was the war. Watching Jean and Connie and Eren and Armin and everyone else disappear, never knowing if they would come back.

Most did. The expected ones.

At least Sasha is still alive.

But we still have to get through the depression, not to mention the second war. Provided this is… a strictly historical account.

But enough of that.

Erwin offers his remaining arm to me and I take it. Another technicality.

Without restrain, I grin.

Today will be the best day of my life.

July 30, 1921 7:43 PM

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

My breaths come in small, doglike pants as he towers over me, silhouetted by the socket light behind him, still swinging from when he clipped it with his fist.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, okay?” He’s trying to be quiet, trying to suppress the screams he had let but a few seconds ago. “I just— you know how I get angry, right?”

Breathing but never getting any air.

“Fuck, would you look at me?!”

July 31, 1921 10:08 AM

“Don’t mean to pry, but you look like hell. What’s gotten into you?”

I look up from the tea I’ve been stirring for the last… I don’t know. Children scream in the background and the sun beats relentlessly on the concrete around us. “Just a little tired is all, Connie. I haven’t had a great sleep lately.” Not a complete lie.

He smacks his lips. “You were doing that research stuff again, huh?”

“Research stuff?” Sasha pipes, looking up from her eggs.

“Yeah, this little cheese—” he points at me with his spoon— “is hellbent on buying a whole farm. Isn’t that something?”

One of many, Connie.

“Can’t say I blame her.” Putting another scoop of eggs into her mouth, Sasha raises her eyebrows haughtily. “Your own unlimited supply of food? Fancy that.”

“Of course you would agree with her,” Connie mutters.

“Nothing wrong with having a little— a little cush to fall back on,” I smile.

“Don’t be a bunny. Nowadays, we’re all rich men.”

“And women!”

For now. Provided this is a strictly historical account, it won’t be long until the economy’s going to crumple in on itself. I’m just making preparations, because I’ll be damned if any of you die during the depression.

I just don’t know what to do about the second world war. The tea leaves swirl with my spoon. And Jean…

“By the way, where’s your other half?” The buzzed man blurts, jolting me from my unborn stupor. “Don’t suppose you came out here all the way on your own?”

“I took a cab— a boiler with Reiner.” I smile again, heart fluttering. “Jean’s out with his father today.” Again.

“Father, eh,” he muses. “Never heard much of the guy. What’s he like?”

Connie’s eyes are imploring and innocent— well, as innocent as they can be for a war veteran.

Jean’s father. There’s a reason he wasn’t around in the canon.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I say breezily. “Only what little I hear from Jean. You know. Men.” The last statement is mostly directed at Sasha but she’s looking at Connie. He doesn’t respond right away.

“Well.” He puts his hands on the table. “This ol’ grifter could stretch his legs. What’dya say we take a little walk by the water?”

June 16, 1924 3:06 PM

Armin had bought me a carry-on bag for my birthday. It’s heavy and leather, perfect for carrying paperwork. Something that belongs in an antique shop. It’s funny. Even after ten years of living in the past, I still find it hard to call it my present.

Also, it’s our third anniversary. That is, of Jean and my wedding. Three years… together. I purse my lips and focus on the road.

Prep, prep, prep. That’s been my entire life these past few years. Of course, given the day and age, it hasn’t been easy. But it’s possible, and that’s what matters. What’s become of my hard work? I run my thumb along the waxed leather of my bag. Gardens, seeds, non-perishables, connections with experienced farmers… Really, everything I think I need for self-sufficiency. But who even knows. If it all ends up going south…

Truthfully, I don’t know if I’m doing the right things. I know that in five years everything goes down, but that’s about as far as my history knowledge takes me. I’ll just have to keep as much real money on me as possible and prepare for the worst. Just enough for my friends to get by. They think I’m crazy sometimes, but they’ll understand.

All that aside, I somehow got myself into real estate. Do I know what I’m doing? No. But I’m making bank.

God, I really miss Google.

But hey, I’m making it big! Even if it’s technically cheating, I learned and studied and did everything on my own. It’s a little surreal, sometimes. I would never have made it this far in real life.

Real… life. What was I doing all that time?

This world has turned me into a completely new person. I’m— I could be really happy. Except for the promise of impending doom. That, and the man I live with.

It’s our third anniversary. So why, whenever I remind myself, do cold drops of dread form in my organs?

What a stupid question.

I turn into the familiar driveway. Our driveway. Of our house. That we bought with my money. That’s the only reason he keeps letting me do as I please.

Killing the engine, I step out of the car. I hardly expect Jean to do anything for our anniversary, or even remember. I… I don’t know where it all went wrong. The war? The times? The lack of his mother and presence of his father?

Me?

I don’t know.

In any case, I bought this tin can for us. For our special day. The flowers by the path leading up to the door are big and strong, full from the rains of spring and soaked in the sunlight of early summer. Beautiful little things.

I raise the key to the keyhole and pause.

Maybe a note would do. A little memo stuck to the drivers’ seat. I don’t even have to go inside. There’s a million other places I could go for a million different reasons. I could avoid him altogether.

But it’s our anniversary and I might as well… be present. Right?

I grip the bag strap. Right. Right. It’s the right thing to do, given my… history.

Jean Kirschtein. I know him. It’s fine. Fuck it.

I slip the key in and swing open the door.

The bar of light from outside illuminates a strip of the wooden floor. Empty. Okay. I slip off my shoes—

Shoes.

Those… are not my shoes, or Jean’s. And we never put our shoes down outside the carpet.

No. The drops turn into a flood of cold terror. No, no, no. No, I’m just assuming the worst. I slip off my shoes and pad to the bedroom. If I’m employing stealth, I’m not doing it on purpose.

The hall splits off into three. Bathroom, closet, bedroom. A dead end, decorated with a small, discoloured blotch from Jean’s knuckle all those years ago.

Silence. My insides, suddenly much heavier than they’re supposed to be. Wake paralysis.

How many times have I stood here? It… fuck.

Fuck, no, no, no…

If Jean is truly having an affair, wouldn’t it be best if I never found out? Slowly, carefully, I lay my palm against the wallpaper. Fuck.

So the only reason I’m here is to save my friends from the inevitable.

‘My friends’ being… what? A hallucination?

No. They’re just from another universe. AU. That’s— that doesn’t make them any less real.

ARE YOU DOUBTING AGAIN?

No, no, no, no… My nails scrape against the hardened paper. No. I’m going to stay for them. It doesn’t matter about Jean or about me or about if they’re fucking real or not. I’m staying right here. No. I’m happy here. You can’t convince me to leave. No.

HAPPY? YOU’RE HAPPY AS LONG AS YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO DO. BUT WHAT AFTER?

Well, I have my business—

AND IF IT FAILS? IF YOU FAIL? WHAT, ARE YOU JUST GOING TO GIVE UP?

PICTURE THIS. YOU GO BANKRUPT AND LOSE ALL YOUR ASSETS. WHAT THEN?

I would get them back—

YOU WOULD GIVE UP. FACE IT, YOU ALWAYS TAKE THE EASY WAY OUT.

No—

EVEN IF IT MEANS ABANDONING YOUR FRIENDS.

That’s not true.

THEN WHY HAVE YOU ALREADY KILLED YOURSELF TWO HUNDRED AND SEVENTY-FOUR TIMES? HOW MANY TIMES HAVE YOU LEFT THEM FOR DEAD?

YOU GOT LUCKY THIS TIME AROUND AND YOU’RE STAYING FOR THE LUXURY.

Shut up.

NICE HOUSE, NICE CLOTHES, FREE TIME, NEW CAR. IN ANY OTHER SCENARIO YOU’D BE OUT OF HERE.

I worked hard, I fucking earned my right—

YOU GOT LUCKY. YOU WOULDN’T LAST A WEEK LIKE THIS A BEGGAR.

The door swings open.

The door fucking swings open, and the man’s beefy frame is uncovered and on full display.

Blond.

Tall.

Sweaty.

The taxi cab driver, Reiner.

In the bedroom with my dearly wedded husband.

I… can’t do this.

Reiner breathes a curse under his breath and squeezes past me.

I stand there for a moment. Not moving, not averting my gaze from where Reiner’s eyes used to be. Knowing he’s laying there in bed, the dark shadow in my peripheries. He doesn’t move, either.

Somehow, he still knows that he fucked up. Irrevocably.

SO, YOU THINK HE’S TOPPING?

When I speak, my voice is steady, cleared of knots. “I’m doing this for my friends.”

End scene.

November 6, 1935 8:37 PM

The storm isn’t letting up, but we’re warm inside by the fireplace. Sasha and Connie are playing Jenga, except it hasn’t been invented yet, so it’s just ‘stacking blocks.’ I just brushed it off as something I played in my childhood, which is technically the truth. I couldn’t help myself — they always play Jenga.

Armin is reading in a barely audible murmur to Eren and Mikasa, the inseparable trio, their reflections against the snow-covered pane.

Erwin and Hange are trying to do something with the radio, Levi inputting periodically with mild annoyance (at the device. He’s not one for these ‘newfangled things’).

Annie’s trying to teach Reiner how to knit, but his big hands keep getting in the way. Needles click together awkwardly and often drop altogether, clattering on the hardwood. Christa and Ymir sit nearby and the latter spares no insult when it happens.

At the opposite end of the room, I’m curled up in Jean’s arms.

We have more than enough to keep us for the next six years.

I did it.

And if I close my eyes and try to forget, if I try hard enough… I can be so happy.

September 9, 1938 7:47 AM

The doctors are impressed. To be fair, I’ve been crushed, diced, torn apart, and chewed into pieces. You should be impressed.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Kirschtein. It’s a beautiful baby boy!”

It looks just like its father.

I’m going to be sick.

March 8, 1938 4:36 AM

The clock keeps ticking. It’s always ticking. Marco unlatches and starts to whine, and I coo in somewhat of a comforting voice. Jean doesn’t stir.

He never stops crying. It starts as a shrill call and builds up until his lungs empty and his face turns a belligerent shade of red and I’m afraid and somewhat hopeful he might die, but he stutters, sucks in air in choking steps, and does it all over again, building up in volume until his cries are raw and throat-burning and every cycle makes my brain rattle in its jelly cage. Over and over and over and over and over and over…

I’ve lost all my assets. We’ve moved into a crumbling apartment that might be a little bigger than our old living room. The clock never stops ticking.

“Shh, you’re okay,” I murmur, but to whom is a mystery. None of us are okay.

Marco cries anyway and it’s high time I start too.

Why? Why why why?

I did everything right, so why did everything go so wrong?

Sasha died that winter in 1935. How? Speared through the stomach by an angry bull. She just wanted to see the calf.

The irony of it all is… I take a deep breath, of sweat and mold. It’s inevitable. The narrative is going to kill them all, no matter what I do.

Jean stirs behind me, pulling the sheets as he turns away. “Shut up!”

I don’t know what to do anymore except wait.

Wait for the draft.

October 30, 1940 7:10 AM

“Um. Goodbye.”

Jean’s looking sharp in his uniform.

“Wave bye-bye to Daddy,” I croak. Marco only stares.

His Adam’s apple bobs, indicative of swallowing. I wonder what he’s feeling right now. Sad? Regretful? Fearful? How many times have I relived this scenario under such different circumstances?

“Goodbye,” he says again with a note of finality. I stare at his nose, his brow, his ears, perfectly as I described them, but never his eyes, and move on.

“Goodbye, Armin.”

He smiles with his mouth and big blue eyes that should never see the horrors of what lies before him. “Goodbye. And goodbye to you, Marco.”

“Don’t forget to write.”

“I’ll write every day.”

I smile. “Take care of the boys for me.”

He huffs a little in amusement. “That I will.”

Eren’s standing next to him. I wait until he’s done saying goodbye to Mikasa before coming in. “Goodbye, Eren.”

“Don’t you ‘goodbye’ me,” he grunts. “Everyone’s so gloomy. I’m coming back, whether you like it or not.”

I smile. No, you’re not. “I expect you to follow through with your word, then.”

“I will. Right after I take care of those bastards.” He sticks his fingers within arm’s reach and Marco grabs on as he wiggles it. “‘Till we meet again.”

“Don’t forget to write.”

“Yes, mother.”

I bump his shoulder. Next.

“Goodbye, Connie.”

The man turns upon hearing his voice and melts into a small smile. It never was quite the same, quite as full, after Sasha’s passing. “Goodbye.” The second half of the word drowned out by the horn of the approaching train.

Oh, Connie. You shouldn’t have to go out there again. I bite the inside of my lip. None of you should.

I open one arm and he takes me up on the offer, engulfing us with his familiar, comforting embrace; his warmth, the roundness of his chest, the way his ribs move as he breathes, the realness of him. Perhaps for the last time.

“I’ll miss you. Write to me.” I swallow down the waver that threatens my voice. “Good luck.”

He smiles, waves to Marco. “I’ll see you later.”

Then they leave, and I’m there on the platform, and I should’ve brought a heavier coat because a sudden chill breaks through.

YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO GET SENTIMENTAL. JUST KILL YOURSELF!

I hug Marco tighter to my chest and find Mikasa.

November 6, 1940 10:10 PM

The silence is just about settling in my gut like a cold stone. No footsteps or loud breathing or high-pitched whining in the apartment today. Marco is actually asleep today.

For now, it’s just me and him.

Silently, I move to the radio and switch it on.

—joining the war effort despite his extensive injury, here at the East coast we see Commander Erwin and his secon—

I shut it off.

Maybe now’s the chance. My opportunity to get away from it all. While Jean’s out, I can just… up and leave. I have five years. How hard can it be to fake you and your infant’s deaths in the 1940s, in the middle of the war, no less? I can scrape up what I have left and write a will. No, that’s suspicious… well, maybe not too suspicious. I’m sure the men had to do it too, so it wouldn’t be too far-fetched—

“Mama?”

Heart sprinting, I spin on my heel. There’s Marco, chubby little fist curled against the corner, hobbling forward in his striped onesie that looks almost black under the dim light. “Ma-ma?”

This… has never happened before. He’s never walked forward like this.

Marco takes one step forward—

bom

—and his head slams against the floor.

He doesn’t move.

And as much as I might want to, neither can I.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale… “Mar…co?” Inhale. The wooden edge of the radio bites into my fingers. “Marco? Marco?”

The— our— my child stirs, putting his hands flat on the ground and lifting up his heavy head.

There’s a dent in his forehead.

His mouth opens, little pearly teeth gleaming.

“POLO.”

My arms tremble, weak and static.

No.

No.

“Get out.”

Marco flexes his fingers with none of the childlike clumsiness of a toddler. “YOUR CHILD IS ALREADY DEAD.”

“Get out.”

“DARLING…” He steps closer and I shrink into the radio as if I can phase through it, as if I’m a vapour. “SO ARE YOU.”

Death by stroke.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

275th reincarnation - band au

Screaming. The rise and swell of voices like an ocean wave of titan proportions, light flashing and glaring from every possible angle as if illuminating a microscopic specimen casting bizarre and animated shadows everywhere I dare look, the sweat, the hollowness of the ground below me, the way it vibrates. The weight of a bass guitar slung over my shoulders.

The weight of thousands of eyes pinpointed on me.

“Aaalright, Toronto!”

The crowd screams louder at Connie’s mechanically projected voice blasts through the loudspeakers that poke through the crowd, echoing through the dark and damp and open air. 

“You ready for this one?”

Rise and swell. Individuality chewed into a paste and spat back out into the dedicated mass whose cries pierce into me. Into us. Connie — alive and breathing, alive — separates from the mic and shoots me a grin, skin already glaring with sweat. My hands come up, brushing the electric strings of the bass; a metallic shriek replaces the sound of the audience.

No. No, no, no, not this. Not this.

The first step is the hardest, breaking the ice that seals me to the raised stage. The rest come easy and before I know it, before I can get in a single coherent thought the crowd and the lights and the sounds are all behind me, and I’m running into the dark pocket of solace that leads offstage. Somewhere. Quiet. Away.

Hardly do I make it into some pitch-black equipment room and attempt to shut the door behind me before I’m intercepted and the door swings wide open again.

“Hey?”

Guitar strap half-over my head, I freeze.

“What’s going on?”

I dump the instrument on the ground and turn slowly. Brown strands turned red near the edges from the backlight, large, concerned eyes that are hardly visible yet distinguishable. Always distinguishable. Hell, I’d be able to tell her apart from a million plastically altered faces engineered to look just like her.

“Sasha.”

She scans me up and down, analytic, whole, and the single action makes me want to crumple in on myself. “I knew the new schedule was too much,” she murmurs, and I want to hug her. “Damned director never listens, though.”

I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, and I’m sorry I’m going to leave you again.

“Do you think you can get through this one concert? Then you guys'll have a break before we tour the US.” She smiles as if it's the most normal thing ever, as if she's not a ghost or absurd or a figment of my imagination. “I'll make Reiner buy us something really nice to eat, too. I hear the maple syrup here is good.”

How can you talk about maple syrup? How many times have I watched you die, powerless? How many times have I died without you? Can't you see the blood on my hands? Can't you see the blood on my hands? And you're talking about maple syrup?

“Are you—”

“I'm sorry.” The words spill out of my mouth before I can stop them. “I'm kidding myself. I'm stupid and weak and delusional and I never grew up past sixteen because I’m here. Despite everything I’m here. How many times now? I’m here. I’m—”

Everything wound up so tightly inside me like a coil snaps as the anchor is thrown overboard, chains clinking and echoing in the hollow frame called my body. The anchor is never going to touch ground. It’s just going to keep falling, violently accelerating, spewing out every piece of sea gunk and sewage caught in the rusted metal links, endlessly, and I find it in myself to smile because I really don’t know what else I’m supposed to do, I can’t scream, I can’t run, I sure as hell can’t cry. I sputter like an old car because my intestines unwind at Mach fuck.

“This is a secret between you and me, okay?” And vaguely I know I’m sullying her, I’m turning her impure, I’m exposing her to my indulgent sin, but since when did sinners care about that? “I need to kill myself.”

Connie’s voice is somewhere, muffled, trying to appease the crowd. Sasha is still. “What?”

“Jean. I need to kill myself so I can have a chance with him. I need to.” And the sound that comes out of me next is somewhere between a cough and a sob and it makes me feel so shitty I step toward her, the idea of comfort. “This is it. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, okay?” And I touch her and squeeze her shoulder so hard with my strangely calloused fingers that it probably hurts, but she doesn’t flinch.

“Hey... Look, you’re not gonna do that!” she chuckles, and I’ve written her enough to know it’s a fake one, a nervous one, one she keeps tucked away in the deepest parts of her only to come out for emergencies. Glaring emergencies, and that’s how I know she cares so much. “Uh— Jeanboy? He’s such an asshole. You’d want his horse face carved onto your grave?”

Why did I write her like this? I should have made myself detestable. A piece of scum hated by the entire universe, because that’s what I am, a detestable piece of scum that leaves everyone behind over selfish pursuits. Hate me. Hate me. You’re like this because of me.

“You’re... not gonna do that. Right? You don’t— there’s other guys, you know? Or girls!” She pulls out the emergency laugh again and it’s a siren to my ears. “You have so many options! Thousands— no, millions of fans! You don’t have to settle for—”

“You don’t understand. Nobody will understand.” I cough again. “I know I sound like an edgy thirteen-year-old. I— I am edgy! Look at how I’m dressed!” The bracelets and bangles on my arm jingle when I jerk it and now she twitches. Something crashes in the background. “The fact is, you’re not real! The band isn’t real! Everything you know, your life, your friends, the world you live in, is just a figment of my fucking—”

“Calm down. Hey. Calm.” And she says my name and I’m sure it leaves a wound on her tongue. “Look, I think we need to take a break. Let’s shut this concert down, and—”

“You were never there for me.”

She stops talking.

“You were never there for me because you always died first.” My other hand flies to her shoulder before I fall over with the weight of whatever just came out of my mouth. What, what. Wow. I really am a piece of shit! So hung up over Jean. Is this love or something else? Something sinister? Should I have gone to therapy? And here I am destroying the best thing that’s ever happened to me— who am I kidding?

She’s only here because I made her. She should be somewhere else, enjoying korean barbeque. No, she shouldn’t exist at all. She never told me this was okay. I just took her and ran with it. I made her like this. I made her care for me and now I’m kicking out the bricks of her foundation that I laid down so painstakingly, one by one. But the anchor’s falling and nothing can ever stop it. “Sasha. You're never going to fit in. You're right when you think that Connie or Jean or Marco — is he alive in this one? — you're right when you think they don't actually like you. They think you're annoying. And no matter how many crazy jobs you take up— no matter how many you take you'll never really find a place to fit into this society. You should just go home and work in a convenience store because you're embarrassing yourself and your family.” The last sentence ends with an upward turn like I'm asking a question. “You're socially stunted, and…” I taste blood. “I'm sorry you exist.”

She's just a blur because she was never real in the first place. “I'm really fucking sorry.” She's just a blur because the salty tears leak into my mouth. Land ahoy, we're anchored.

“Sweetheart…”

“I need you to hate me.”

Warm hands brush away the hair that falls onto my face. “I could never.”

“That's the pro—”

“What the hell is going on?”

The voice, the rough-around-the-edges arrogant melody lined with a faint hum of baritone. My muscles petrify at the sound.

“Jean—” Sasha starts.

“Hey, we have a concert to do, yeah?” The light is almost completely blotted out now because he's here. “We need you out there.”

“Jean, give us, like, five minutes.”

“We don't have five minutes.” His steps come closer and suddenly there's light again. “What's going on?” Against my ear. “Tell me.”

Bzzzzzz. The whine of a mosquito. That's hysterical. Uproarious. A mosquito, here? Here? Here.

It's here.

It's time!

I've done more than enough here. I need to go. I need to go back to nothing. So without turning my head, I say, “I need to go,” and release Sasha. But Jean's big hands hold me back.

His hands. He holds me in place. What have those hands and I been through together? Every vein, every wrinkle, every tendonous ridge. How many times have we escaped death? Caused it? How many times have I seen them clasped in shaken, silent prayer, praying to an invisible god for a mercy that will never, never come? How many times has Jean wrapped himself up in those hands, clinging to the last semblance of ignorance and bliss and sanity left in his curled-up body?

"Back on stage, right?"

His hands. On my shoulders. Not painful, not gentle, but a third neutral option that somehow hurts the more than of both of them. Friendly.

“I’d rather you hate me, too.”

“What?”

Fuck, who cares? I’ll just kill myself and start over! “Back then. You acted like you loved me when you just hated me. But even then!” Like magnets my eyes lock into his and I nearly puke. He’s so close, I might blush. “Even then! Ha! You still stuck around for me! You screamed, you ignored, you fucking cheated on me with Reiner—” at this his face contorts— “but you still stuck around. You did love me. You always fucking loved me, and— and even if Marco was never born, you still would have stuck around.”

His eyes narrow into slits. “Don’t fucking say his name.”

I smile. “That was our child, by the way, but it’s not like you’d know, or care, because he’s dead. And you don’t exist anymore. And you know what! I should have killed your dad. I should have taken a cab right after you and went to his house and fucking stabbed him.”

“What the hell are you on—”

“Jean.” Sasha makes a motion and he grimaces.

“Concert’s off.” He snaps his head up as the light is blocked out once more, but not as much as when he stood there. The cords in his neck pop. “Concert’s off!”

“What’s—”

“Damn it, Connie, just go tell the audience.”

“But we need you guys—”

“Connie!”

I touch the side of his face and his pupils roll back to me.

“Veggie omelet. Your mom made it for you since you were little and it’s your favourite food.”

“What?”

“It’s also the only thing you’re able to cook, but you know, if you applied yourself, you can be a great cook. Michelin-star level. When you were six you fell off a swing and broke your arm but you told everyone you were fighting off a robber. Your dick curves a bit to the left. Your greatest fear is being abandoned. You can’t stand the idea of being left by people you thought you loved, which is kind of understandable, like I get where that comes from. You’re a big sleeper and a bed hog. You always take up as much room on the bed as humanly possible. Sometimes when you stand up you can’t move right away because the blood drains from your head too quickly. You say you’re a cat person but you love all animals and you think the discourse is stupid. Sometimes you get sad when you see a show you used to watch on TV as a kid but you would never admit it. You saw an emo kid once and seriously considered dying your hair black because you thought it would give you a glowup.” And here the torrent is corked.

Jean is shelled. Thrown overboard. He doesn’t lean in to my hand where I touch him; he treats it like an alien. “What are you doing?” 

“You guys? What’s going on?”

There she is. Holding her guitar, disheveled, perfect, framed in the erratic backlight. There she is. “Connie said the concert’s off? Is that true?”

Bzzzzzzz…

It flies so close to the side of my head my eardrum might rupture. Batting around the air with its tiny wings. The crowd screams. It lands on the back of my hand and sticks there when Jean tilts his head away, his beard brushing against my palm. My hand hovers.

“Are you happy?”

The mosquito doesn’t move. Jean moves his lips but says nothing.

“Is this what you wanted?”

It whines again, the slapping of its wings spelling out a rhythm, words that I only hear from the inside of my head.

YOUR LIFE IS WHAT YOU MAKE OF IT, it buzzes. MAYBE YOU’RE THE PROBLEM.

“You just want to see me suffer. You took me from my life and put me through all this. Psychotic piece of shit.”

“Is she okay?” someone says through a wall of water.

YOU HAD EVERY OPPORTUNITY TO GO HOME.

“How could I?” The force of my words might blow the insect away but I bring it closer anyway.

“You guys go back… stage… take care of it…”

“After what you showed me? How can I go back? You showed me what happiness could be but you hang it on a string above my head. Are you a sadist? Is that it? You— you like seeing me miserable? You wanna see me cry?”

I CAN MAKE YOU FORGET.

FORGET EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. ALL YOUR LIVES. FORGET ABOUT HIM ENTIRELY, AND THE SERIES AS A WHOLE.

WHAT THEN? WOULD YOU DO IT? WOULD YOU FORGET EVERYTHING AND RETURN TO YOUR OWN LIFE?

…

WOULD YOU DO IT?

My hand trembles.

I NEVER MADE YOU MISERABLE. YOU ALWAYS WERE MISERABLE. AND YOU ALWAYS WILL BE.

YOU SHATTERED THE FIRST TIME YOU SAW HIM WITH SOMEONE ELSE AT THAT DANCE CLUB. BECAUSE YOUR EGO IS WEAK. YOU SAW HIM WITH SOMEONE ELSE AND YOU JUST COULDN’T STAND IT. YOU JUST COULDN’T LET HIM GO, SO YOU PLAY THIS GAME OVER AND OVER AGAIN.

“Oh, fuck you. Fuck you.”

TOO BAD YOU’RE TOO MUCH OF A COWARD TO TRULY KILL YOURSELF.

I slam my hand against the wall and it stings, it hurts my bones.

YOUR DESIRE TO FULFILL AN IMPOSSIBLE AND SELFISH SCENARIO IS OVERCOMING YOUR HUMANITY.

I do it again. It’s just a small brown stain.

YOU’RE LAUGHABLE.

“I’ll fucking kill you!”

YOU KNOW AS WELL AS ANYONE ELSE.

The metal stands fall over when I crash into them. “Where are you?” Spit landing on the corner of my mouth.

THAT’S WHY YOU ALWAYS WROTE THOSE STORIES.

Warm, strong hands wrap around my shoulders.

HIM, AND AN IDEALIZED VERSION OF YOURSELF.

“Die!”

NOT YOU. NEVER YOU. ALL 276 TIMES.

“Hey!”

And the world becomes nothing before I’m slammed into the wall. By Jean.

YOU DON’T LOVE HIM. YOU LOVE THE IDEA OF BEING WITH HIM.

“What the fuck?” Jean snarls. “Are you on something?”

YOU LOVE THE IDEA OF FULFILLMENT. OF BEING WANTED.

“Fucking talk!”

WHY DID YOU STICK AROUND FOR SO LONG?

The pressure in my shoulders suddenly increases tenfold and I swear my bones creak under the sudden weight. Jean’s eyes are wide, his teeth, previously bared, now gleam as his lips curl into a cold upward crescent. His jaw unhinges and he speaks.

“BECAUSE YOU’RE JUST A SAD PERSON.”

I’M JUST A SAD PERSON!

Death by strangulation.

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

epilogue

I went back home. I finished falling out of my chair, and that was it.

I closed all my online accounts. Ao3, Tumblr, Instagram. All my words and my connections.

I never had that much merchandise in the first place but I trashed it all. Leaving empty spots.

I cleared my camera roll. All the little doodles on scrap pieces of paper left lying around. I scrubbed out every trace of it.

I haven’t heard the voice since and I’m a little afraid to admit I miss it.

How many years have I spent there?

It doesn’t matter.

In the end it didn’t burn my memory. It’s fine. It’s fine.

I found a man. A real one. He’s nice. He likes ice coffees and sports cars. He doesn’t want kids and that’s fine. The only kids I’d want to have anyways are with— they’re with—

I wouldn’t want to have kids with anybody. It’s fine.

He’s a brunette but he dyes it blond. I never asked him to stop. I think it looks good on him anyways. I love him with all my heart and I know he loves me back.

We live in a condo by the 7-11 just like the one from—

I don’t know any convenience stores like this one.

We have a dog. A chocolate lab called Sasha. He loves hot dogs. My man says it’s a Russian name that means “defender of mankind.”

I think that’s sweet.

He calls him “defender of hot dogs.” I think that’s sweet, too. I love him a lot.

When we walk across the street, hand in hand, he suddenly lets go and shoves me aside. Squealing of tires. Plastic crushing. Out of instinct I reach for my ODM—

I don’t reach for anything.

I fall to the ground empty-handed.

Where we were standing there’s a truck. It’s a big one and it blocks out the sun. I can’t see him. I’m stuck to the ground. The drivers’ door opens and—

Nobody steps out. Nothing is there.

I want to puke.

“DO YOU WANT TO LIVE IN A FANTASY?“

⋅ ⋆ ─────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────── ⋅ ⋆

okay we're done! i already kind of regret posting this but that doesn't really overcome the shame of posting anime boy x reader does it. oh well. sorry to everyone who's here for daily jean i'm never gonna stop doing this shit

[hiddenlife-manager]

Dazai Osamu NSFW

Dazai x Fem reader

Extra: drug usage, slight suicidal mentions, Dazai slightly being him, slight inability to consent, mention of blow job, floor sex, simple sex, dazai in a robe, blood, biting, and more

Author's note: So I had this like experience, and it made me just ahhhhh, I freaking love being bit till I bleed. So tmi, but like if a man or woman does it, I am like drooling. Also, I am thinking of getting a new car, but I haven't decided hehe. I really want to go out and eat dinner with friends.

Good Reads

You stared at the lines of cocaine on his desk. Another day, you came home with him high out of his mind. 

"Dazai, you need to be careful with cocaine." You shook your head as the man you cared for laid on the floor, hair tangled, bandages everywhere, and in a robe that covered his lower half while his chest was exposed. There sat a book on his face, a book titled "The Complete Manual of Suicide."  

"I don’t feel like it." He laughed softly, pain in his voice, and your body crouched down to his frame, picking up the book on his face, closing it, and placing it beside his body.There was a line of white powder on his nose. "Don’t lose my page." You sighed, shaking your head. 

 "A little late, love," he groaned. 

"Come down here with me." He pulled your arm, forcing you to fall against his chest. Your legs quickly moved to straddle his legs. "God, you are so perfect. Join me in a double suicide, please." He begged, holding you tightly. His abs flexed slightly as he moved his upper body up to hold you, his head down between your breasts. You shook your head towards him, chuckling at him. "I tried, might as well enjoy the pleasures of being alive." He bit your left breast, causing a yelp to echo through your shared bedroom. Dazai kept sucking at the bite mark and finally he pulled away blood dripping down his chin and your breast. 

"Dazai, we can’t do this, you are under the influence of drugs." He chuckled. 

"Then be drugged out with me, then it’ll be even." You laughed a bit till it turned into another cry of pain, and there he bit into your right breast once more leaving a bloody mark. "Do it with me; it makes everything pleasurable. Make me want to live." He begged. 

"Fine." You took a deep breath in, and he simply pulled out a small bag. He dug his fingers in the open bag and placed his finger towards your nose. This was not your first rodeo, but it simply wasn't an enjoyable one at first. You hated how it stung to snort it and you quickly did. The room began to spin, eventually settling on the man you were straddling. Dazai was not one to react normally to cocaine; he wasn't alert as usual; if anything, he was hornier.

"That's it, baby." He grabbed you tightly, flipped you over, and slammed your back against the floor. His bandages were loose as they wrapped around you gently. "I’m going to ruin you." He grunted his arms pulled at your pants, finally your pants were off and your ass was exposed. Your panties covered your clit leaving everything for the world to see. 

"Osamu I’m cold." Your body shook at the temperatures, and he laughed at you. He could care less. He couldn’t even care about the fact that the drugs in your system weren't fully settled.

"Sensitive." He groaned as he pushed his unclothed cock to your entrance; the only thing keeping it from entering you were your panties and his robes. "I’m so hot." He pulled his robes off his body, his abs glistening from the heat he felt from the drug in his system. 

His cock sprung out harder than normal. He placed his cock at your entrance, pushing aside your panties. He slapped your clit causing you to yelp, there you felt it the drugs you consumed in your system. Your body was trembling from him slapping your clit. 

"F-fuck!" You cried out at his motion. Your hips buckled as you wished to be closer to him, to have him inside you.He pulled you closer, sliding your ass on the wooden floor. His body leaned over you; he placed his mouth on your nipple and sucked. Your back arched quickly at the sudden pleasure; his cock slammed into you tightly, distracting you from the pain as he sucked at your breast. His balls slapped against your ass while your hips shifted slightly. Your breast bounced at the sudden movement. 

"Even better." He let go of your nipple to groan those words. His mouth once more bit you, and the pain turned into pleasure rapidly. Your mouth opened due to the pleasure.He held you tightly, his bandages lightly grazing your skin. Your tank top was lowered at your breast and lifted, not covering your stomach. 

Your hips rocked at his cock, feeling him hit you harshly in your cunt. He always hit the sweet spot, leaving you dumbfounded by the sensation. The drugs overwhelmed your body as you attempted to hold onto him, and he simply grabbed your arms and slammed them above your head with one hand, his other still on your hip.

His mouth once more went straight to your breast, attempting to draw some blood from it. It was clear he loved your breast, the scars he left were obvious, and he wanted to bite you till you bled down your cleavage. He was succeeding in causing blood to slide down your breast, which made your head spin at the pleasure.

"I’m-mmmm so close!" You cried, and he laughed at you and nodded. His body jerked tightly into you, thrusting harshly at a slow pace. His hips pulled back and buckled into yours. With one last thrust, your body shook at the running orgasm. He continued to thrust into your hole as he got closer to his upcoming orgasm.

He thrusted into you his balls once more slapping your ass, there he pulled out of your cunt and placed his hand that rested on your hips onto his cock. His hand twisted at his cock, and the sound of your slick echoed through the room as he jerked off his cock. A cry of pleasure left him as cum spewed onto your stomach. You were able to calm your breathing despite his heavy breathing and moans spewing from his lips.

"How about another?" You got up, the cum dropping down to your lap while you pulled him closer placing his cock into your mouth, as you tasted yourself and him.

[lunarw0rks]

hi! i have a request with ghost or könig, where one of readers parents die, and they start freaking out, crying, panic attack and all. and one of them is there for them through it? if it's not too much, thank u sm and love ur writing!

Summary: After losing someone close, your roommate, König is your support system.

Warning(s): panic attacks, grief, parental death, hurt/comfort, roommate!König, GN!Reader, no use of y/n

Word Count: 2.2k

A/N: My first König work :) [mein Engel = my angel] I hope you don't mind, I chose reader's mother to be the one who passed.

꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ KÖNIG MASTERLIST // have a request? ⋆ ⚘ 🕊 ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ ao3 ver.

Saying Goodbye // Drabble

It was supposed to be an average, mundane day.

Eight hours at work, then stumbling into your apartment with sore muscles and a desire to relax until it all repeats again tomorrow. It was hard enough making it from the door to the couch, especially when barely able to keep your eyes open.

When you did, your eyes fluttered shut nearly instantly. Finally, you were getting some much needed sleep until—

You groaned loudly, palming around the sofa for your phone ringing at full blast. Inside, you cursed yourself for forgetting to silence it, and now you were debating on answering the call. An unrecognizable number, probably spam. The last thing you needed was another problem, another hitch in your relaxation.

The gut feeling you had was unmistakable; you should take the call, something was wrong.

With a hesitant thumb, you pressed the accept button and raised the phone to your ear. You’re wide awake now, you might as well get off the couch and pace while the scammer chews your ear off.

At least, that’s what you wanted to believe at first. It wasn’t a scammer; it was a nurse.

She asks your name, says they got your number from your mother’s phone. That instinctual feeling you had was proven true now—in the worst way possible. Though the nurse was hesitant to get the words out, as if the news hurt her more than you, your brain was scrambling with every possible bad scenario.

A car accident, a heart attack, perhaps even a mistake on the hospital’s end. The logistics didn’t matter, how she got your number, knew your name. It couldn’t be your mother, it had to be a mistake, right?

“I don’t understand.” You wavered, finding any excuse to dismiss her words—if you could call them that, they overlapped and mixed together with the haze in your mind.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Her voice is strictly professional, but to imagine her on the other end, she’s cringing at giving news like this over the phone, probably more than once today.

“You can come down and claim her belongings anytime. The administrator will help you with the arrangements… Do you have anyone—”

You terminated the call before she could continue, phone dropping to the floor below you. How could this happen? Why you, today of all days?

Tears were blinding you, coating your vision in a misty gloss. Next, it was your knees buckling beneath you when the dizziness was too much. Third, it was your inability to catch your breath; heaving and gasping as the sobs became too much for your body to handle. Above all, it was the thoughts and memories of your mother, how this could’ve happened so suddenly.

You hadn’t heard the door opening behind you, your fatigued roommate coming up behind you with concern. His large hands hovered over your back a few seconds, before he gently placed them to get your attention.

“What happened, mein Engel?” He asked softly, eyes wide with concern.

In all the months you’d lived together, conversations were quick but respectful; many days, your schedules would overlap, resulting in rarely seeing one another, or sleeping when you were home at the same time. But that didn’t matter to König, he couldn’t help but involve himself now.

“My mom…” Your weak voice finally spoke, tears streaming from your eyes down to the neckline of your shirt.

His observant eyes flicked over to the scene before him; you, distraught and struggling to breath, your cell phone dropped next to you.

Calling family members of the deceased, informing them of the horrible news, it’s something he’d done before for his job. It never gets easier, but he’d never seen the grieving person on the other side, often it ends with the call ending mid-sentence, just like you had done.

Now, he was face to face with it, and it was personal.

König’s brows furrowed empathetically as he listened to your cries, each one cracking his tough and intimidating exterior. He felt he was awful at comfort, only doing what came naturally to him—which wasn’t verbal.

Instead, it was physical comfort; a perk of his abnormal size.

He used one of his hands to push your head into his chest, while the other remained tightly wrapped around you. You could kick and scream, pound against his chest, get it all out of your system, and he remains still, allowing you to mourn in any way you have to.

He lifted you both up, letting you stand there and grieve against him. König’s eyes shut as he listened to your roars of sorrow, yearning for the parent you would never get back.

This went on for a few minutes, the room silent except for the sounds of your cries against his chest.

His strong arms kept you upright with ease, even though you were visibly trembling. “It will be okay, I promise… I promise…” His Austrian accent was soothing and gentle, a stark contrast to the way he looked.

You lifted your head, eyes bloodshot and quivering open and closed. You weren’t to the point of clarity yet, but the initial violent shock of the news had begun to fizzle; your mother was alone right now, in a hospital bed waiting for you. “I need to go see her, König. She’s all by herself.”

Your shaky hands found the entry table, reaching for your keys, but his hand gripped your arm before your fingers touched the cold metal.

With a shake of his head, he drops his hand. “I’ll drive you, okay?”

—

The city passes as a cynical blur; bars and restaurants packed with partying patrons, neighborhoods with playing children and family get togethers. Then, you, still distraught and with a tightening chest. Each street, each turn, each street sign pointing in the direction of the nearest hospital.

Ten miles; five miles; one mile; then, the bright red sign displaying Emergency illuminated the lot and König’s car.

He pulls into the closest visitor’s space, though most are already occupied. You pull the handle and step out, but the door remains open as you watch the bustle of the emergency room through the large windows.

You meet his blue eyes again, a black surgical mask concealing his true identity. “Will you come in with me?” It’s more of a despairing plea than an honest question.

He kills the engine and removes his hand from the wheel, giving a wary nod. In the face of a panic attack, he’s there for you in an instant. But by your side as you say goodbye? He began to wonder if he was the one you really wanted as moral support.

Your shoes scrape against the pavement, as if your feet are just as hesitant to face the situation.

The fluorescent lights overhead cast an unforgiving glare on the sterile white walls, reflecting the urgency of the environment. The constant hum of medical equipment and the beeping of monitors merge into a symphony of urgency, while the faint scent of bleach hangs in the air.

Nurses and doctors dart from one patient to another, their faces tense with determination, occupied with those in need of more attention than you, here to claim a body, for lack of better words.

The desk in the entrance is just as chaotic; the corded phones going off with an endless stream of calls, papers and clipboards stacked atop the other, and the loud typing of the receptionist’s outdated computers.

The woman behind the counter looks up briefly, carelessly pointing to the waiting area beside the desk rather than speaking to you. Her typing continues, as if no concern for what you might be here for is left, especially after a long shift in this busy chaos.

You look over at the waiting area—depressing and packed with patients who have been triaged and are awaiting further care, and filling the rest of the seats, distraught and impatient family members waiting for results on their loved ones. Some are praying, some sobbing, others clutching minor injuries, but most stare blankly as they tap their feet against the beige tile.

“Actually, I’m here for my mother. She passed.” You tell the bored receptionist, practically forcing her to pay attention to your dead expression.

The once unsympathetic stare she had, now turned the opposite. But once again, without words, she pointed to the elevators in the direction of the ICU. Her pity only lasted seconds, before she raised one of the phones to her ear, full attention on the other line.

You looked back at König for reassurance, who merely kept walking with you, eyes straight ahead with uncertainty.

As the elevator doors close, a sense of tension fills the confined space.

The panel of buttons displays various floors, but the one that stands out is the one labeled "ICU" in bold, red letters.

Inside the elevator, there's a mixture of people, each carrying their own burden of worry and concern. Family members clutch tightly to their belongings, their faces etched with anxiety and sorrow. The atmosphere is heavy with anticipation, despite the icy chill of the ventilation causing goosebumps on your skin.

A few forced smiles are exchanged among the passengers, trying to find comfort in each other's company, but the worry in their eyes betrays their attempts at reassurance, though you keep a straight face, already privy to what lies ahead of the doors.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the elevator slows down, and the doors open to reveal the ICU floor. It’s a morbid contrast to the emergency room; eerie quiet. Nurses and doctors roam, small groups of family members visit, and most of all, patients without any visitors hooked up to the machines.

König’s steps mirrored the pace of yours as you walked down the aisle of rooms, reading each chart until you found the one belonging to her.

You stopped in front of it, seeing her in the bed through the glass window overlooking the room. Your eyes, which had just gone dry, began to tear up again. It was a different feeling, seeing it in person, rather than imagining it over the phone.

“Let’s go inside, alright?” His voice is low and respectful as he takes a step around you, sliding open the pocket door, allowing you to go inside first when you are ready.

The door wooshes shut behind you as you approach the bed. Her chest is rising and falling with each hiss of the ventilator, but there are no signs of life anywhere else. Her hands are cold and lifeless, as is her skin—now drained of any memories and creases of age.

When the nurse steps inside and begins explaining the process to you, you only nod in response, keeping your eyes on the loved one in front of you. It would be your decision, to unhook her and say a final goodbye, or keep her like this, nothing but a corpse breathing through a machine.

“I’ll be here, whatever you decide.” König places a hand on your shoulder, ushering you to the chair beside the bed, while he remains standing in the corner, attempting to keep a respectful amount of distance. He didn’t know her, and now this would be all he knew of your mother—this harrowing image of her, with you beside her.

The silence passed by, hour by hour you spent listening to the beeps of the machines, the wheeze of her departed lungs mechanically filling with air. The warm hand you placed on hers, met with no returning caress, only her stillness.

König would make small efforts, a cup of coffee from the cafeteria, or small comforts in your ear, but they were futile against the waves of grief engulfing you. They were recognized, but not reciprocated with thank you’s or smiles—only silence.

—

The night you said goodbye, he left the room out of respect. He spent about an hour in that busy waiting room, hands folded in his lap as he waited for your return. It was best if he left you to the details, only there in terms of comfort.

He looked up curiously each time the elevator dinged and visitors piled out, until eventually it was you coming out to meet him. Swollen, reddened eyes, and a stack of funeral pamphlets still clutched in your fist.

The moment the ventilator let out its final hiss, the moment they unhooked the tubes, the moment you removed your hands from her—all a constant replay in your mind. He was to his feet instantly, pulling you into an embrace similar to the one in the living room, letting you know he would be there every step of the way.

König remained silent until you both reached his car again, opening the car door for you as he waited for you to climb inside.

You turned to face him, staring up into his sympathetic gaze, “thank you. I don’t know what else to say, except thank you.”

His blue eyes softened, as if shocked by your gratitude. He thought it was a given, being there for you, driving you to the hospital, even just showing you kindness, but it was clear you hadn’t expected that from him.

“You don’t need to thank me.” He mutters softly, his large hand resting on your arm, giving it a light squeeze. He hunches over and places his head on your shoulder, rubbing circles up and down your back.

“I’m always here, hm? Whatever you need to get through this.”