#flood games is getting updated tonight

[katniss-evermeme]

Snowy days are for writing 😌

[highqueenofelfhame]

oh, hi.

it has been a hot ass minute but i'm back baybeee. seriously though, if you're still here, still reading this, and still excited there was an update, thank you from the bottom of my heart. i love u guys to pieces!! enjoy <3

The cotton candy hues of the sunset were fading to nothing as he pulled into the long driveway to his house. Lights illuminated the edge of the path, but his house sat dark at the very end until he opened the gate, passed through, waited for it to close behind him, then signaled the garage to open. As soon as he opened the garage, his phone began to ring. 

The shrill ringtone was enough to make his heart skip a beat in his chest before he realized the name and photo on his screen. Golden Boyo flashed across the top accompanied by a picture of the two of them holding a World Cup trophy high above their heads. 

A heavy sigh escaped deep from within Rowan’s chest and he almost didn’t answer. His heavily tattooed thumb hovered over the deny button until he realized he had hardly texted anyone back all weekend. The thought of leaving his friends in the dust didn’t sit right with him when he knew for a fact that Aelin would likely yell at him for it until she was blue in the face and needed to lie down. 

Against his better judgment, he answered. Even worse: he showed up at the bar his teammates were meeting up near Lorcan’s place. While he needed to be fully ready for practice, his friendships needed nurturing as well. It didn’t matter that he felt old and tired. It had been awhile since he met up with the guys and by the time Rowan was a few beers in, he felt better about the whole situation. 

“We have practice tomorrow,” Lorcan reminded Fenrys. His tone was stern, his words were the law. It didn’t, however, change the way Fen’s eyes were roaming the bar looking for a body to explore all night. Rowan smirked, feeling the buzz from his drinks.

“That’s never stopped me before.” Fenrys winked at a man near the dartboard and Rowan watched as a rosy blush crept over the man’s face. No, it had never stopped him before. It was a lesson he still hadn’t learned: a sex marathon the night before practice or a game never did him any good. In fact, it made him play like absolute shit most of the time. “Speaking of people we’re bedding, how’s Aelin doing?”

“We aren’t sleeping together,” Rowan muttered into his pint glass. “She’s been sick a lot. Thankfully she can work from home most of the time.”

“Are we sure—“ Lorcan began, but Rowan held up a hand to stop him. He wasn’t dealing with his bullshit tonight regarding the legitimacy of the pregnancy. Rowan had no doubts, and was even happy. Lorcan was just looking out, but it didn’t stop the irritation that flooded him when he brought out his accusations and reservations. 

“We’re positive. They’re the best ace I’ve ever gotten.”

“That’s cute,” Fenrys swooned. His chin was propped on his fist while he looked at Rowan.

“What?”

“You called them an ace.” Warmth bloomed up his neck, all the way to the tips of his ears. The alcohol had loosened his lips and let the truth flow freely.

“Well,” he grumbled. “All it took was once and now I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“You’re pathetic,” was all Lorcan said in response. Rowan couldn’t disagree. He was nothing if not a love sick puppy waiting for his girl to really come around to the idea of them. 

Pathetic, indeed.

~*~

The blender was a blur of green and entirely too loud. Rowan was definitely getting old if the few beers he had the night before led to such a hangover. Being out so late last night was probably a mistake, but it had been fun to hang out with the guys outside of practice for once. Rowan was feeling it this morning though, already several pain killers deep. Water. He needed a lot of water. 

 He knew the greens and hydration would cure his ailments, but the sound of his phone buzzing might send him over the edge first. When his phone started ringing, he wanted to throw it into the blender, too. 

Rowan wiped a towel over his face. His pulse pounded in his skull while sweat slipped down his face in lazy rivers from the workout that had kicked his ass. He stared down at his phone, the screen lighting up with the one person he truly had been avoiding since his relationship with Aelin began.

MOM CALLING…

He needed to call her. It was bad enough that his relationship was now public and he’d barely told his mom anything about Aelin, but he really needed to clue her in on the pregnancy. If that got out before it came from him she would be deeply wounded and he didn’t like the sound of that. 

The texts she sent him were always a myriad of questions about Aelin. His mom wanted to know what she was like, where she was from, what her hobbies were. Most of that could be found on a google search, but his mom was old and barely had a grasp on the internet. Iris Whitethorn preferred books and newspapers to even learning what the internet had to offer. It was the only reason he had hope that he would beat the world to the pregnancy announcement. Regardless, the papers weren’t how he wanted to find out about his relationship, and she had.

He needed to be a better son. 

That little fact hit him harder when he looked through his texts with his mom. All of them were incoming with varying questions about the girl in the photos. What was going on? Who was she? She’s awfully pretty. Rowan felt like he barely had any answers, so he hadn’t responded. While he sipped down his green juice and devoured his breakfast, he vowed to respond to her later today. A phone call was in order for all the shit he had to relay to her at this point. 

Was a phone call enough to tell her about the baby? Probably not. Fuck. 

Rowan’s hands raked through his hair while he gave himself a moment to groan his frustrations into the universe, hoping the answers would come back to him. There was no time for him to go see her soon. By the time he found a date that would work for both he and Aelin, it might be too late. She could be showing by then with rumors swirling through the media. He had no fucking idea how to tell her anyway. A flurry of emotions ran through his mind while he changed and got ready for practice. All of this would, unfortunately, have to wait.

Nothing yet from Aelin.. Rowan frowned. Sure, it was a bright and early 7 AM, but she was usually already up and getting her day started. He texted her first, wishing her a good day with hopes she felt better. 

Rowan sighed heavily.  The secret he was keeping curled into a ball in the pit of his stomach. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could avoid telling her. Well, avoid wasn’t the right word. He just didn’t have the words to tell her he got a girl he barely knows pregnant and, yes, it’s actually his baby. It was still early, anyway. Still, it wasn’t sitting right with him. He would make a trip to go and see her soon and tell her then.

>> Mom: I want to know about this girl you’re seeing, Rowan Matthias.

<< Rowan: I’ll call you after practice. I promise.

>> Mom: You better. 

~*~

Last night had been fun, but all the sprints and drills during practice were making Rowan nauseous. For the second time today, sweat was streaking down his entire body while he squirted water into his mouth. Gods, Coach was on one. It was like he knew every time there was a night out and made them work even harder. 

Rowan was relieved when they were told to hit the showers. The guys followed behind him, Fenrys groaning about a persistent headache between his eyes. Even Lorcan, who was an absolute tank when it came to alcohol, was cursing and moaning. It would have been funny if he wasn’t in the same boat.

The steaming shower he stepped into was almost holy. Hot water pelted his body while he washed himself, taking a little more time than usual because of his ailments. He could feel his muscles loosening with every breath he took and Gods, it felt so good. When he finally wrapped it up, he quickly dried and got dressed. His friends were teasing each other while they did the same. 

“Go a little too hard last night, Lorcan?” Fenrys crooned, wrapping his golden curls into a messy bun atop his head.

“I really don’t think you want to go down this road, pup,” he grumbled back. A smile twitched at the corner of Rowan’s lips as he grabbed his phone, deciding now was as good a time as any to call his mother. 

“Hello?” Her sweet voice chimed after two rings.

“Good morning, mama,” he said, zipping his bag and tossing it over his shoulder. 

“You’ve been ignoring my calls.” Not a question, though there was some hurt behind her words. Rowan rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Just busy with practice and games.”

“Is that Aelin?” Fenrys called from across the room. He pulled a shirt on and began to walk over to Rowan. “Is she still sick?”

“Is who still sick?” His mom inquired. Again, he sighed and shot Fen a warning look. 

“Aelin has been feeling under the weather,  Mom,” he emphasized her name and Fenrys looked immediately apologetic. Great. 

“Well, what's the matter? I might have some good advice, you know. You better be taking care of that girl. Has she gotten you sick?” 

“Nausea, maybe a stomach bug, no I’m not sick, and no I’m not taking care of her. She won’t let me. Aelin is so independent that I can’t get her to depend on me for anything right now.” It was probably a bigger truth than he was ready to share with his mom, much less all his friends. He made his way out of the locker room and Fen shouted an apology after him. Rowan flippantly waved his hand as the door shut behind him.

“Well, let's start with some remedies. I have just the thing that will help. It’s a tea I drank through my entire pregnancy to fight the nausea and it works like a charm.” Rowan almost choked at the mention of a pregnancy. Did she somehow know already? She couldn’t find out from anyone but him. It would destroy her if she discovered the news on a tabloid site. Fuck. 

“That’d be great, I’ll send it to her.”

“Better yet, I’m due for a visit. How about I drive up and make it for her myself?” Shit. Fuck. Godsdamn the universe.

“Mom, right now isn’t really–”

“It’s never a good time,” she interjected. “You’ll be busy regardless. I don’t mind a little time on my own while you practice. It’ll give me plenty of time to get to know Aelin, too.”

“She lives in Varese,” he told her, trying to get her to back down. 

“I know she does. Tabloids have pictures of you hanging around there any chance you get. And anyway, Fenrys has loose lips. Tell me her name again?”

“If you’ve seen the news articles, you know her name already.” There were plenty of grainy pictures of them sipping drinks at The Neon Moon, plus pap shots of them everywhere else. Rowan wasn’t used to quite so much attention. Sure, there were the occasional paparazzi that snapped photos of him around town, but with Aelin at his side it seemed to be more than usual. 

“Aelin. Her name is Aelin Galathynius,  but you already know that.”

“Well, since you aren’t taking care of Aelin I’m going to drive up and do it myself. Sometimes us women just don’t know how to ask for help when it’s needed. Besides, the poor girl doesn’t have her own mother close by to lean on for support. Maternal comfort goes a long way.”

There was no getting out of this. Maybe it would be a good thing, he pondered. They could tell her in person and maybe she wouldn’t go ballistic if Aelin was there. Stressful as all hell, but maybe it could work if he could get Aelin to come stay for a day or two. 

“Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow, then?”

“I’ll be there in the morning,” she swore before hanging up. Now he just had to get Aelin to come down.

Rowan slumped down into his car and immediately called Aelin. His thumbs drummed on the steering wheel while it rang and rang, his anxiety building in his gut. A thousand things ran through his head: Was it too soon? Would it be weird? What if they didn’t get along?

“Hey you,” she said when the call connected, her voice like music to his ears. It soothed his anxiety, just talking to her. Just by being her.

“Hi.” It was impossible to stop the smile that crept over his face as he dropped his bag in the backseat and got in his car.  “I have a favor to ask and an apology to give.”

“I’m intrigued, do go on.” Rowan chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. Hervoice filtered through his car speakers, surrounding him wholly. 

“Fenrys accidentally told my mom you’ve been sick and now she’s determined that you need her special tea and maternal comfort.”

“Ah,” she said, clearing her throat. “So is the favor meeting your mom? And is the apology for Fenrys?”

“The favor is that you come stay with me for a few days to meet her and let her mother hen you to death because there was no way I was getting out of this scenario while talking to her. But if you refuse I can try to get her to back down.” When Aelin laughed, a weight lifted from his chest. “The apology is for roping you into this mess. And for Fen.”

Aelin laughed, “I accept both. I’d love to meet your mom. Plus, maybe we can tell her about the baby while she’s here.”

 Rowan was relieved she was so open to the whole ordeal. His heart squeezed in his chest that she wanted to meet his mom. Fuck, he was so gone for this girl. He was on a free fall and only she could catch him. He wasn’t looking forward to finding out what would happen if she didn’t.

“She’ll be here tomorrow. Is that okay?” He could hear papers shuffling in the background, the sound of a zipper and a small sigh from his girl.

“I’ll pack a suitcase and be there in a bit. I’ll bring my work stuff with me and set up in your office, if that’s okay.”

“What's mine is yours,” he swore. 

“Okay,” she said softly, and Rowan could hear the smile in her voice. He was grinning, too.

“Okay. See you soon.”

“See you soon, Ro.” Ro. Was she trying to get him to crash his car from a heart explosion? He disconnected the call as he pulled into his driveway and took a deep breath. This was a good thing, right?

~*~

“Ro?” Aelin called out, stepping through the front door. He’d left it unlocked for her in case he was busy when she arrived. 

“Kitchen!” He called back, so Aelin slipped off her shoes and padded through the house until she rounded the corner and saw him standing at the stove.

His sleeves were pushed up above his elbows and an apron was around his neck. A cutting board of vegetables sat on the counter while he stirred something in a pan. It smelled devine, and wasn’t making her stomach turn which was a huge win. Everything was setting it off lately.

“I know tacos are a safe food right now, so I thought we’d try fajitas to switch things up,” he said over his shoulder, turning briefly to grab the cutting board. The contents were dumped into the pan and she circled the counter, pausing beside him. Rowan stirred with his left hand and wrapped his right around her waist. Her stomach fluttered at the contact, but she didn’t pull away. 

“Thank you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“Always.” Aelin smiled up at him before stepping away to get a glass of water. 

They made small talk while he cooked, everything from their days to little tidbits of what his mom was like. According to Rowan, she was the best mom in the world. He gushed about her cooking, about how he raised her alone after his father passed away when he was ten. She’s fiercely loyal to her people, and loves Rowan more than anything in the world. If the sun revolved around people, Iris would surely revolve around Rowan. He insisted it would be the same for Aelin and their baby. 

The thought warmed her. This baby would have the best community in their corner. Not having to worry about the lack of a village was a huge relief. Everyone was dying to be involved on both sides, and many of Rowan’s teammates contacted Aelin just to check in on her. Aedion and Lysandra were already vying for favorite aunt/uncle. No, this baby would never know what it was like to not feel wholly loved by their people.

After dinner, they cleaned up despite Rowan’s protests that she didn’t need to do anything. Aelin dismissed him with the wave of her hand and worked on the dishes while he put away leftovers. He was right; it was a refreshing change to eat something other than tacos. 

“I’m gonna shower,” she sighed, arms stretched above her head. Even though it was still pretty early, she was more than ready to don pajamas, curl up, and decompress from work and the drive down. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” was his reply, and she knew he meant it more than just right now. Biting her lip, she slipped out of the kitchen and made her way upstairs. 

The best shower in the house was Rowan’s. It had a rainwater shower head that felt so luxurious that Aelin swore she was going to get one for her house in Orynth. As soon as she stepped in she felt the day simply melt away. Hot water trickled down her skin while she carefully washed her body, then her hair. She really needed to get this showerhead. It was the height of luxury at the moment. 

After drying off and changing clothes, she went back downstairs and found Rowan on the couch. He had changed clothes and was now in sweatpants and a t-shirt. Something about it was really doing something for Aelin. His tattooed bicep was along the back of the couch and she wanted to trace the lines everywhere they turned. When he looked up at her and grinned, something fluttered in her stomach. Gods, she was so screwed.

“Good shower?”

“Mhm,” she hummed, sitting close enough that his fingers brushed her shoulder. Rowan toyed with the ends of her damp hair for a moment, and Aelin was stunned at how comfortable the silence was. Nothing was being said, or communicated in any way, but it was such a cozy silence. She’d never experienced anything quite like it before. 

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Rowan said carefully, “but you look exhausted.”

Aelin took no offence, laughing as she rubbed her face. It was true. She wasn’t sleeping much, and when she did it was restless. Her hips were already beginning to ache and she wasn’t looking forward to it getting worse as her body grew and changed. Still, she was so tired. Most of the time she was asleep by nine-thirty. 

“Because I am,” she sighed. “There’s so much that needs to be done for the foundation before the office launch  here. I feel like I’m treading water because there’s always more to do. I love my job, and I can’t wait to see the effects it has on the community, but I think I forgot how much it is. All the events I need to organize, getting the office picture perfect. My team is amazing but some days I get asked so many questions that I never want to speak again.”

“What you’re doing is fantastic, and I will be at every event I can be. However, if you need to take a breather, take one. A day off is okay. You can do all of this, I don’t doubt it, but you are growing a human. It might slow you down a little, but you’ll get it taken care of.”

“I haven’t told my staff yet. I want to wait until my next scan to make sure everything is good before I tell anyone else. Except your mom, if you want to do that while she’s here. Family doesn’t count. Anyway, I think they’ll understand my work-from-home days a little more once the cat is out of the bag. I think Luca is on to me, though. Kid is way too perceptive and I’ve been spending way too much time with him working on the website.” 

“I’m sure they’re sympathetic now. Plus, you’re getting everything done you need to, right?”

“Of course. I think that’s part of why I’m so tired. I’ll stay until like eight, and then go home and eat, shower, and go to bed.” She sighed again, fingers running through her hair.

“Why don’t you get some sleep? My mom can be a lot,” he admitted. 

“I think I’ll take you up on that offer. I swear I’m usually a lot more fun than this,” she laughed, and he joined in with her. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb running over her skin. There were calluses on his hands that always felt strangely good. 

“Goodnight, then.” His hand dropped from her face and she was glad. Heat was creeping onto her cheeks and if she didn’t get out of there, she would look like a tomato soon. It was ridiculous that his touch set her aflame so easily. Aelin wasn’t sure she would ever get used to it. 

Upstairs, she wasn’t sure which room to enter. There was Rowan’s room, and then the guest room. They didn’t say anything about sleeping together tonight. Hell, Rowan didn’t broach the topic at all. It was tempting to crawl into his bed, but she turned into the guest room, which was unofficially her room, instead.

~*~

Aelin couldn’t sleep. It was just after ten, and she had maybe dozed off once for a few minutes. Otherwise she was watching the ceiling fan whirring above her head. The house was so quiet. Much better than her apartment, where upstairs neighbors were sometimes a little heavy footed. Not too long ago,she heard Rowan walk down the hall and close his door. She chewed on her lip, gave herself a little pep talk, then pushed out of bed and opened her door before she could talk herself out of it.

Two knocks on his door, followed by a soft, “Rowan?” 

“Come in, love,” she heard, muffled through the door. Once it was open she was treated to a shirtless Rowan sitting up in bed. Glasses were perched on his nose and he seemed to be reading a book. 

“Hey,” she said, lip tucking between her teeth while she rocked back and forth on her heels.

“Hi,” he chuckled, shutting the book and putting it on his nightstand. “What are you doing awake?”

“I can’t sleep. Plus, like, your mom is under the assumption that we’re together so we probably need to sleep in the same room anyway. Why not start now? And we’re not not together, so it would be weird if we weren’t sleeping in the same room. You know?”

“I think if we’re not not together, that means we’re together, Aelin.” A smile was tugging at his lips and she wanted to kiss it until she saw all of his teeth. She took it as her chance to walk over and get in bed with him, wiggling down in the blankets and pillows until she was fully enveloped in his scent. 

“Call it what you want,” she shrugged, the blanket covering the little grin on her face. 

“What are you calling it?” Rowan tilted his head slightly, glasses sliding down his nose. Gods, he was so… there were so many words for what he was right now. All of them were positive because this look and banter was really doing it for her. 

“You know I’m calling you my boyfriend.” Aelin’s eyes rolled in an attempt to seem nonchalant. 

“You can trust me, Aelin,” he said softly, hand reaching to cover hers. Their fingers slid together seamlessly, and more of that fluttery nonsense took over her stomach. She licked her lips, eyes focused on their hands.

“I know.” And she did. They barely knew each other, yet she knew he was becoming a safe person for her. There weren’t too many of those anymore. Her inner circle was small, yet she knew that because of Rowan, it was growing. 

“Yeah?” His finger bumped beneath her chin and she looked at him, fighting the tears that threatened to pour over.

“You’re going to make me cry, and then your mom is going to be here in the morning while I have a puffy, red face. I’ll look like a little tomato and I’ll be really mad about it.” Rowan snorted, leaning forward to kiss her forehead.

“A beautiful tomato,” he said, lips pressing to the top of her head like he couldn’t help himself. Beneath the blankets, she was smiling. 

“Maybe after your mom leaves… maybe we can talk before I go back to Wendlyn?” She lowered the blankets beneath her chin and looked up at him. A single tear had managed to escape and he wiped it with his fingertips. 

“It’s a date,” he promised, nodding his head almost too-eagerly. Clearly he was waiting for this moment. Aelin hated that she had to be so guarded these days, but there was too much damage in her past to not be. Her heart had been crushed into oblivion before, and she couldn’t risk it. Now that a baby was involved? Gods, she had to be so, so careful. 

“Why haven’t you kissed me yet?” She finally asked, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth. Rowan’s eyes widened at the inquiry, mouth opening and closing several times before he found letters to string into a sentence.

“I wasn’t sure you were ready for that,” he said slowly, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. Aelin smiled, a whisper of a laugh escaping her mouth.

“I’m ready to be kissed, Rowan.”

It seemed that he didn’t have to be told twice. Rowan leaned in and kissed her lips softly as if testing the waters. Aelin was the one to melt into him, fingers braiding into his hair to pull him closer. He groaned quietly, parting his lips and she was more than eager to sweep her tongue against his. 

Gods, yes. This. There had been moments where she wondered if the tension was only that. Just tension that fizzled out after the first entanglement. The feeling in the pit of her stomach told her otherwise. Butterflies fluttered up her ribcage and she gasped. It wasn’t a one time thing. If she played her cards right… she could have this forever. 

The thought clanged through her, sobering her enough that she tugged on his hair a little. Rowan groaned and it really didn’t help dampen her desire. The sound was delicious, something she wanted to eat like cake until he had nothing else to give her.

“Rowan,” she finally sighed, his lips closing over her pulse. Fuck, it felt so good. “We said slow.”

“This is slow,” he murmured, teeth grazing her skin and tongue doing the laziest swirl over her skin. Oh, gods.

“Slower,” she laughed, taking his face in her hands and pulling him away herself before her resolve withered into nothing. 

“Whatever you want,” he promised, licking his lips. Rowan’s cheeks were flushed and she had to lean in and kiss them both, planting one more on his lips. It would be a lie if she said she wasn’t melting at the sight of him, rosy cheeks and crinkles by his eyes from smiling. 

“I know it’s not easy–”

“I’ll do anything you want. I’ll wait until you’re ready. Not just for sex. For everything.” Everything. Aelin’s heart fluttered madly in her chest, shaking her ribcage. Wasn’t that the part she was most scared of? It excited the hell out of her at the same time. Everything with Rowan was scary, and yet… Aelin found herself looking forward to it. 

It was easy to curl up in his arms, head on his chest. One of his hands traced sleepy shapes over her back and shoulders, and when sleep came to claim her, she had no say in the matter. Feeling safer than she had in awhile, she counted the beats of his heart until she fell asleep. 

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[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms. 

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

here's my masterlist!

wanna join my taglist? I don't have one! follow hellishfics and turn on notifications to see the next time I update!

[collapsedglasshouses]

FIC RECOMMENDATIONS

Hello! I've decided to update my recommendation list and give it a bit more structure, this is why I'm making a new list and try to keep it updated as often as possible. (The old list will still be available don’t worry)

To my fellow fanfic creators, I can't even put into words how much I appreciate you all. You're all so good at what you are doing. Thank you for sharing your masterpieces with us! ♡

Please read the content warnings for each piece of fiction! Most of them are NSFW so MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

LAST UPDATED JUNE 2 2024

BAD OMENS:

Noah Sebastian x OC/Reader:

✫ JUST PRETEND by @thefallennightmare & @thescarlettvvitch

✫ ENTOMBED by @thescarlettvvitch

✫ MERCY by @thefallennightmare

✫ I TOOK YOUR KEYS, IT WAS ME by @badnoahmens

✫ SWEEP ME OF MY FEET by @badnoahmens

✫ PULLED FROM THE GREY by @crimson-calligraphyx

✫ SWEETENED BREATH, TONGUE SO MEAN by @rottingfern

✫ SCREAM by @foliosriot

✫ THE ROTTEN AND UGLY by @foliosriot

✫ THE INEVITABILITY OF LOVE AT SECOND SIGHT by @veronicaphoenix

✫ TO HOLD YOU, TO HEAL YOU by @veronicaphoenix

✫ DISCIPLINE by @sorrowsofsilence

✫ TOGETHER by @darksigns-exe

Nicholas Ruffilo x OC/Reader:

✫ SAFETY NET by @measuredingold

✫ DISGUISED IN YOUR SHEETS by @deathblacksmoke

✫ DELICATE BEGINNING RUSH by @concreteburialplot

✫ JUST CRASH (IT'S OUR TIME NOW) by @sitkowski

✫ TOGETHER by @deathblacksmoke

Joakim "Jolly" Karlsson x OC/Reader:

✫ LITTLE ONE by @cowpokeomens

✫ ABSOLUTION by @cowpokeomens

✫ SCAR by @ladyveronikawrites

✫ LIKE BRANCHES IN A FLOOD by @the-way-of-words

✫ TOGETHER by @circle-with-me

Nick Folio x OC/Reader:

✫ CLUTCH by @kingdomof-omens

✫ LIMONCELLO by @sinkingteethinwhitenoise

✫ HARDER by @sorrowsofsilence

✫ THE CRAZIER I CAME by @deathblacksmoke

✫ TOGETHER by @malice-ov-mercy

Matt Dierkes x OC/Reader:

✫ FOR YOU? NEVER by @thefallennightmare

✫ JUST FOR TONIGHT by @withcrossesandframes

✫ MATT DIERKES FRIENDS TO LOVER REQUEST by @thcfountain [Matt Dierkes x ace afab!Reader]

✫ MATT DIERKES SMUT by @artificialbreezy

Other Pairings:

✫ LOST IN THE CONCRETE JUNGLE by @ladyveronikawrites

✫ CALL ME WHEN YOU GET THE CHANCE [Noah Sebastian x Nick Ruffilo x fem!Reader] by @deathblacksmoke

✫ DOMINATE THE GAME [Coach Davis!Noah Sebastian x female reader x Coach Cerulli!Chris Motionless] by @ladyveronikawrites & @nerdraging4point0

Love Triangle:

✫ VIRALITY [Nicholas Ruffilo x fem!OC & Noah Sebastian x fem!OC] by @concreteburialplot

MOTIONLESS IN WHITE:

Vinny Mauro x OC/Reader:

✫ SURPRISE by @ravieisunhinged

✫ BABY IT'S COLD OUTSIDE by @beaker1636

✫ SWEET BOY by @circle-with-me

Ricky Olson x OC/Reader:

tba

Chris Motionless x OC/Reader:

tba

Other Pairings:

✫ EVERY ROSE HAS ITS THRONS by @cookiesupplier [Ricky Olson x OFC x Chris Motionless]

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[padded-piss-pup]

I'm drunk so this might be a little scattered but... I wet myself in my partners lap tonight!!

We had planned on getting in diapers tonight because some other abdl friends were supposed to come down from Raleigh for our city's pride festival, but his friends didn't end up coming down. I was worried he wouldn't want to do diaper stuff anymore since his friends weren't here, but I kept my hopes up all the same. We went out to my city's pride festival and I debated wearing a diaper to pride, but I decided I wanted to dress like a whore and wore some super risque booty shorts. I wore panties underneath (I still had some from when I was a girl) and wearing those made me feel so horny. I don't think I have a detrans kink, but I really enjoyed wearing women's clothing for a bit. It made me feel so perverted but also so comfy.

We got home from pride and chilled for a little bit, but all I could think about was how my partner said he wanted to do diaper play tonight. After relaxing for a little bit we went out to the bars and drank a lot - I was the drunkest I've been since college, and he was the drunkest he's ever been. At the last bar we went to I asked him "do you still want to do diaper stuff tonight?" To which he answered "absolutely!" 🥰

We took an Uber home and after a smoke break (my last cigarette of the year!) we headed upstairs. I immediately asked him to put me in diapers and he wasted no time in putting one one on me. After I was all diapered up he put one on himself and I couldn't resist kissing him. He looked so fucking cute laying there in his diaper I couldn't help but want to kiss him. As we kissed I hoisted my leg over his body and straddled him in bed, relishing the feeling of his body between my legs. The alcohol was acting quickly on my bladder and I asked if I could pee. He gave his consent and I let go immediately, warmth flooding my diaper as I kissed him deeply. It felt so erotic peeing in my diaper in my partner's lap as I kissed him! When I was done I pulled back and sighed contentedly. He told me that that was hot, and we made out for a bit.

He told me he had to pee, but he's only able to pee standing up. I let him get out of bed and stand and I kissed him, rubbing his diaper as he peed. The warm feeling of piss flooding his diaper was so hot, I could feel slick dripping from my pussy as I rubbed his dick through his diaper as he pissed. That was the first time I had experienced feeling someone pee in a diaper - he had felt me pee in my diaper, but the tables had never been turned. We made out a bit before pulling away, and we both commented on how hot that whole experience was. He sat at his computer and started playing video games, and I'm here writing out this post about how hot the whole night was. I'm so excited to see how this night plays out because it's been sooooo fucking hot so far.

I'll keep y'all updated if anything else kinky happens! 😘

[sleekervae]

Wicked Games ❅ 7

Masterlist

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x socialite!fem!reader

Summary: Coriolanus confides in Sable

Warnings: blood and flesh wound, mentions of violence and murder

Word Count: 5,073

It was no surprise that the attack had been the forefront of the news tonight, instead of highlighting any details from the debate. There was talk of whether another debate should be rescheduled to make up for the lost time, while some late night news outlets had the gaul to call the attack a "publicity stunt". After all, Coriolanus was a hero -- to some people, at least.

He had been rushed to the infirmary, besides the wound in his shoulder he only suffered some minor bumps and bruises. Garrison and Tigris finally managed to rendezvous with Coriolanus as well, fearful yet so, so grateful that he was okay. Sable wasn't family, so she wasn't allowed into the infirmary ward. Nevertheless, she sat outside in her dress and her heels, staring blankly at the stone white wall as she waited for... something. Any update would at least give her reeling mind something else to focus on.

Coriolanus killed a man.

Growing up in the rebellion, Sable had unfortunately come across her fair share of deaths; some more violent than others. She never really watched violence become so glorified until she came to the Capitol, where she couldn't escape the wretched Hunger Games no matter where she went. Oh sure, she'd do her best to avoid the violent acts the best she could, but tonight there was no getting away from it.

Terror flooded Sable’s veins, raw and relentless. It wasn’t just the nightmarish vision of blood spilling across the convention floor that clung to her, or the horrific sounds of panic from the crowd—it was Coriolanus. He had stood on that stage, unflinching, so utterly composed as he loomed over the poor soul’s lifeless body. His face was a mask, devoid of emotion, as if the violence had merely been a task to complete, something mundane. That was what truly frightened her.

She replayed the moment in her mind, over and over again. The way his grip had tightened on the microphone stand, the lethal focus in his eyes as he stared down his attacker. And afterward, the eerie calm that settled over him, like nothing had happened. Like taking a life was just another part of the game. There was no trembling, no shock in his demeanor. Only cold, calculating detachment.

Sable’s heart twisted, her stomach knotting with unease. It was one thing to be ambitious, to make strategic moves in their political arena, but to be so unaffected by the death of a man—that unnerved her in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

She had no qualms about continuing their partnership. It was still mutually beneficial, and they both needed this arrangement to further their ambitions. But now, she had something new to look out for. Coriolanus had always been driven, determined, and a little dangerous, but now she understood how far that danger could go. It wasn’t just a game for him anymore—he was willing to do whatever it took, no matter the cost.

The realization weighed heavy on her chest. She had always prided herself on being able to read people, to anticipate their next moves. But now she wasn’t sure what Coriolanus would do next, or how far he would go to secure his position. And that scared her more than she wanted to admit.

Sable drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady herself. She couldn’t afford to show weakness now. Not when the stakes were so high.

"Sable," Tigris's voice carried down the hall, effectively snapping the socialite from her own head, "You're still here," she sounded more surprised than anything, though she appeared grateful as she came to stand before her.

Sable nodded, her shoulders tense as her face flooded with concern, "Yes -- I... I mean I wanted to know if he's... is he--?"

"He's fine," Tigris assured her, taking the seat next to her, "The wound is superficial but the doctor wants him to rest for a couple days. Good luck, I guess," she simpered anxiously.

The girls sat side-by-side, their eyes drawn to the far wall as if the chaos from earlier still lingered in the shadows. It was only now, in the heavy silence of the room, that Sable realized how little she truly knew about Tigris Snow. Despite their occasional meetings and the growing partnership between her and Coriolanus, she had never really spoken to Tigris, never dug deeper into the woman who had been by his side for so long. Their connection was shallow at best—much like her connection to Coriolanus himself.

"That was scary," Sable admitted, her hands gripping the fabric of her dress until her knuckles turned white. The tension was still humming in her veins, her thoughts spiralling back to the bloodshed and the disquieting calm in Coriolanus’s eyes, "I haven’t seen such chaos since… the rebellion, I guess."

Tigris nodded, her expression distant but knowing, lips pursed as if she, too, was wandering down those dark corridors of memory. The rebellion had been a lifetime ago, yet the scars it left were still visible, woven into the very fabric of their world, "It never really leaves you," Tigris said quietly, her voice low and measured, "The fear. The uncertainty,"

She didn’t need to say more for Sable to understand. They all carried the weight of the rebellion on their shoulders, some heavier than others. For Coriolanus and Tigris, it was not just the loss of their family’s fortune or status—it was survival. The things they’d done, the lines they’d crossed, and the decisions made during those desperate times had shaped them into who they were now.

"He’s changed," Tigris continued, her eyes lowering to her lap as though the admission cost her something. "Corio… he’s not the boy I remember. So much was taken from him. Not just the rebellion, but the Hunger Games. What you saw tonight… it’s not the first time..."

Sable swallowed hard, her stomach twisting at the thought. The rebellion had been brutal, sure, but it hadn’t stripped her of her ability to feel. She could still remember the panic, the helplessness, the way the Capitol turned against itself. But Coriolanus? He had been in the thick of it, navigating survival in ways she couldn’t imagine. Even in the Hunger Games, eighteen-years-old and despite all the chagrins, he somehow managed to keep his head on.

"He's always been able to detach like that?" Sable asked, though she already suspected the answer.

Tigris looked away, her gaze distant as though reliving moments from years past, "There have times he had no choice. It’s how he survived." Her voice was tight with emotion, a trace of sadness lacing her words. "But now… I don’t know if he remembers how to stop. Or if he even wants to,"

Sable bit her lip, the weight of Tigris’s words settling in her chest. This wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about power. Control. Coriolanus was chasing something far more dangerous than mere victory, and she was tethered to him, willingly or not.

"Is that what this is for him?" Sable murmured, almost to herself. "Another battle to survive?"

Tigris glanced at her, a faint sadness in her eyes, "Perhaps. But it’s also a battle he intends to win at any cost,"

Sable shivered, her mind replaying the way Coriolanus had stood over the attacker’s body, unbothered, unshaken. She had agreed to this partnership knowing it was dangerous, knowing that Coriolanus was driven by ambition. But now, she was beginning to realize just how far that ambition could go—and how little room there might be for her, or anyone else, should they get in his way.

"Be careful," Tigris said softly, her voice barely above a whisper, "Whatever this is between you two… just be careful,"

Sable nodded, though she wasn’t sure what else to say. The line between her and Coriolanus was becoming dangerously blurred, and for the first time, she wondered whether she was in over her head.

Coriolanus went home that night, though sleep remained elusive. He lay in the dark, his mind racing, the events of the evening playing on a loop in his head. The moment the attacker had rushed the stage, the instinctual way he had grabbed the microphone stand, the sharp crack of the impact—those seconds had felt both agonizingly slow and lightning fast. Even now, hours later, the adrenaline still hummed faintly beneath his skin.

He turned over, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts drifting to Sable. What must she have thought as she watched him, calm and calculated in the midst of chaos? He had caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye—her wide, shocked expression, the way her body had gone rigid in her seat. She’d seen him in control before, but never like this. Never so cold, so utterly detached from the violence.

There was no denying it—she had to be scared of him now.

He couldn’t blame her. The calm that had come over him wasn’t something he could easily explain, not in a way that would make sense to her. She hadn’t been through what he had—hadn’t seen the Hunger Games and its fallout the way he did. He learned to keep his emotions in check because emotions were liabilities, distractions. And in the world he was aiming to rule, there was no room for those.

Still, a part of him wondered if he had overplayed his hand. Sable was his ally, a vital part of his campaign. He couldn’t afford to lose her trust. But after tonight… had that trust been shattered? He knew how observant she was, how quickly she could read a situation, and tonight she had witnessed something deeper than the charm he’d usually wrapped around himself like armor.

He thought back to her gaze when their eyes had locked after the attack. There was no relief, no reassurance. Only fear. It was a look that he couldn’t shake.

What would she do now?

Sable was smart, calculating in her own way, and he knew better than to underestimate her. But he also knew she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t built for the kind of ruthlessness that came as second nature to him. Would she still see him as her partner, or would she start seeing him as a threat? Would she try to distance herself, put space between them as a way to protect herself? Or would she play along, pretending nothing had changed while silently reassessing everything?

He couldn't quite predict her next move.

He winced as he rolled over again, the wound under his bandage tugging painfully at his shoulder. Coriolanus shut his eyes, trying to block out the thoughts swirling in his mind. He had bigger things to focus on—the debate, the campaign, his rise to the top. But in the back of his mind, Sable lingered like a shadow, and he knew that this partnership, whatever it was becoming, had shifted. She had seen something tonight that couldn’t be unseen.

And she wasn’t the only one.

Coriolanus knew the audience had been watching too. Every move, every reaction, carefully documented and filed away in their minds. He had remained cool in the face of chaos, but was that what they wanted? Or had they seen a man too comfortable with violence, too detached from the humanity of it all?

Was this the beginning of his rise—or the start of his downfall?

In the shadows of that question, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when he heard the doorbell reverberate through the penthouse. Coriolanus sat up sharply, the chill of the night air biting at his skin as he glanced at the clock. It was far too late for visitors, and his security detail was supposed to prevent unannounced guests from even reaching his door. Tigris or Garrison would've let him know beforehand if they dropped by.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, pulling on a robe before padding silently toward the entrance. His mind raced with possibilities, each one more unsettling than the last. The events of the night had already left him on edge—was this another escalation?

As he neared the door, Coriolanus took a steadying breath, his hand hovering over the handle before he yanked it open. His eyes widened in surprise.

There, standing in the dim light of the hallway, was Sable.

"How did you get in here?" His voice was sharp, more out of confusion than aggression. He searched her face, noting the tension in her jaw, the slight tremor in her hands as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Sable shrugged casually, but there was an edge to her voice, "Nice to see you, too,"

"Sable..."

"Your doorman likes me, what can I say?"

Her answer didn't satisfy him. His grip tightened on the doorframe as he scanned the empty hall behind her. No guards. No sign of how she had bypassed the extensive security measures.

"You shouldn’t be here," he said, though his words lacked conviction. A part of him was relieved to see her, despite the suddenness of her appearance.

Sable took a step closer, her gaze piercing as she looked up at him. "I wanted to see you."

"For what? To tell me you want out?" His words hung in the air, heavy still. He studied her, trying to gauge what had driven her to show up at his door in the middle of the night.

"I don't want out," she said softly, though he could hear the waver in her voice.

"Then what do you want?" He leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms, his eyes narrowing.

For a long moment, Sable didn't answer. She just stood there, her eyes locked on his, as if searching for something—maybe the man she had thought he was, or maybe a glimpse of the one who had calmly taken a life hours before.

"I wanted to see if you're okay," she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "You're my friend."

Coriolanus stared at her, her words hanging in the air, heavy and unfamiliar. Friend. The weight of that single word settled over him like a shroud, pressing against the image he had so carefully crafted of himself. There was no simple answer to that sentiment, and he knew it. Sable had witnessed something tonight that couldn't be undone, something darker—something that had always existed beneath the surface, now laid bare for her to see.

He looked into her eyes, searching for any sign of fear or doubt, but all he saw was concern. Genuine concern. And that unnerved him more than anything else.

"I don't need you to worry about me," Coriolanus replied, his tone measured but distant. "I'm fine,"

Sable took a step closer, the tension in the space between them thickening. "I know you're fine. But that doesn’t mean you’re okay." Her gaze softened, lingering on him as if she could see through the layers of composure he wore.

Coriolanus let out a breath, his eyes narrowing slightly, "This is what we signed up for. What I signed up for," he said, though it felt like a hollow justification even as the words left his mouth.

Sable didn’t respond right away. She simply stood there, watching him with that same unreadable expression, "It doesn’t mean you have to go through it alone,"

Her words, simple as they were, stirred something in him—something dangerous, something he couldn’t afford to feel.

"...Are you gonna' invite me in, or do I just get to stand here and look pretty?" Sable teased, the tension between them shifting with her playful tone, though the weight of the night still lingered.

Coriolanus blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the change in mood. Her lightness was disarming, and for a moment, it almost felt like things could return to their usual banter. He stepped aside, gesturing for her to enter, "I’m sure you’re more than capable of doing both,"

She glided past him, her usual air of confidence intact, but as she crossed the threshold into his space, there was a subtle hesitation in her step. Coriolanus noticed. It was as if, despite the teasing, she was still processing what had happened. And, in truth, so was he.

As he closed the door behind her, a part of him wondered why he had let her in—why he hadn't kept her at arm's length, as he had with everyone else.

Sable had changed out of her dress from before, now wrapped in a cozy grey wool sweater and a black skirt that fell just above her knees. It was the first time he’d seen her in anything other than blue, and the sight made him simper as she settled into his couch. She wasn't so much sultry now as she was... cute. Plainly and simply cute.

“So, you do own other colors,” Coriolanus remarked, sitting across from her, his tone lightly teasing.

Sable met his gaze, smirking back, “That’s more than I can say for you,”

He let out a low chuckle, leaning back, "I have other colors," he assured her. Sable cocked her head, glancing up and down at his broad physique in the rich red housecoat, "... Besides this,"

“Oh, of course,” Sable nodded, her eyes softening with a hint of concern. His bandage was peaking from under the lapel of his house coat, a faint shade of red soaking through, “How’s the wing?”

“Fine,” Coriolanus replied, though the physical wound wasn’t what truly ached. “I just have to take it easy for the rest of the week.”

“Did the doctor tell you that, or is it more of a 'suggestion'?” she asked, an eyebrow quirking up.

“I’m fine, Sable,” he assured her, a touch more firmly this time, trying to dispel the topic with his tone. He didn’t want to discuss it, not when other wounds—the deeper ones—were still fresh.

She leaned back slightly, her fingers absentmindedly grazing the edge of the couch. There was a silence between them, the kind that felt loaded, waiting for one of them to break it.

“You’ve… done it before, haven’t you?” Sable’s voice was barely above a whisper, but her words sliced through the quiet like a blade. Her eyes met his, no judgment in them—just curiosity. Maybe even fear.

Coriolanus stared at her, the weight of her question sinking in. He could feel it—the unspoken horror of what she’d witnessed, still hanging between them. She had seen him in a way no one else had -- no one still alive, anyway -- and that knowledge made this moment heavier than it should have been.

“Why do you ask?” he finally responded, his voice low, cautious.

“I don’t know,” she murmured, looking away for a moment as if searching for the right words, “The way you handled it… You were so calm. Like it wasn’t anything new,”

She glanced back at him, waiting for him to fill the silence with an answer that could either draw them closer or push her further into the distance.

"... Are you scared of me?” he asked, his voice hesitant.

Sable shrugged, her eyes drifting down to the coffee table between them. An empty mug sat there, faint tea stains lining the inside—clearly neglected for some time. Next to it, a well-worn book on chess lay open, its spine cracked and frayed from overuse. Of course. Coriolanus treated life like a chess game. Every move calculated, every decision a strategy. That much was obvious.

But this? This wasn’t just a game.

"No," she murmured, though her voice faltered, uncertain. Her gaze remained fixed on anything but him. "I grew up in the peak of the rebellion. District 3 was in chaos—neighbors turning on neighbors, people killing over the smallest scraps of food. There was a time when we had no housing, and we had to sleep in the church basement… surrounded by rats," she paused, a shudder passing through her, "So many nights I'd wake up screaming, finding them chewing at my fingers,"

Coriolanus's eyes drifted down to her hands, now perfectly manicured and moisturized. He again noticed the faint, almost invisible scars that lined her fingers and palms, remnants of a past she’d never spoken of until now.

"That's terrifying for an adult, let alone a child," he noted.

"Yes," she looked at him again, "You've killed before, haven't you?" she asked again.

With bated breath, Coriolanus tentatively admitted, "Yes, I have,"

"Who?"

"... three or four people,"

Sable scoffed quietly, "We're not counting candies, Coriolanus. Was it three or four people?"

Coriolanus slumped back in his seat, weighed down by memories that clung to him like shadows. The faces, the names, they never left him: Bobbin, Mayfair, Sejanus... He hadn't pulled the trigger on his friend, but his actions had sealed Sejanus’s fate. He may as well have been the one to execute him. And then there was Lucy Gray...

“I don’t know if... the fourth might’ve gotten away,” he muttered darkly. “I never found her again.”

He half-expected Sable to recoil, to stand up and walk out of his life. It would’ve been the smart choice. She should’ve left him sitting there, a man with too many bodies weighing on his conscience. But she didn’t move. Instead, she stayed rooted in her seat, her gaze fixed on him, watching an exhausted predator licking his wounds.

"Were they a means to an end?" she asked, her voice a careful balance between cautious and curious.

“Yes,” he admitted.

"... Would you kill again if you had to?" she asked.

He hesitated before he answered, the weight of his actions bearing heavily on him. The answer however was clear in the depths of his conscience:

"Yes,"

Sable’s eyes never wavered, though he could see the gears turning in her mind. “And if pushed far enough, would you... do the same to me?” Her question hung in the air, both fair and terrifying.

"I can't think of a reason—"

"If pushed, would you hurt me?" Sable asked again, leaving no room for ambiguity.

He didn’t want to answer that, didn’t want to admit the truth that gnawed at him in the quiet corners of his soul. But he knew better. His nature was too greedy, too ruthless. He’d take what he wanted, just like she would. Only, there was one stark difference between them: Sable had never crossed that line. She’d never killed anyone. He wasn't sure if she ever could. She was delicate in a way he no longer was.

But him? He had crossed that line long ago. He’d become something else, something darker—a ticking freak who could snap at any given moment.

And if Sable ever pushed him far enough, he feared the truth. He feared that he could snap at her, too.

"If pushed enough, yes," he finally admitted it, "I don't want to... but I could,"

A tense silence settled between them, the weight of his answer hanging heavily in the air. Two months ago, Coriolanus might not have cared. Sable would have been just another casualty, someone who could easily be added to his secret body count. He could make her disappear with a perfectly crafted lie, something so convenient no one would question him.

But now? Something had shifted. He'd grown to like having her around, grown to appreciate her wit, her sharpness. There was something magnetic about her presence. He might have even been attracted to her in ways he hadn’t fully acknowledged.

Yet that was the problem. One stray decision, one wrong move, and he could destroy her completely. The thought lingered like a dangerous temptation, reminding him that, no matter how close they became, he was capable of destroying her.

Sable should be terrified.

However, she stayed on the couch, looking at him -- through him, really -- and he had to wonder what gears were turning in her mind. Her gaze averted to his bandage, her brow quirked.

"You should change that," she noted, "It's bleeding through,"

Coriolanus followed her gaze to the bandage, brow furrowing as he peeled back his coat lapel. Sure enough, the white gauze was stained with fresh crimson, seeping through in small patches. He hadn't even noticed.

"I’ll manage," he muttered, brushing it off as if it didn’t matter.

But Sable didn’t seem convinced. Without hesitation, she stood from the couch, crossing the room before he could even think to protest.

"Oh, please," she insisted, already finding his bathroom, "Men say they're fine one day, then they're having catheters put in the next,"

Coriolanus blinked, momentarily stunned. The last thing he expected was for her to offer help like this, especially after his... admission. It wasn’t just that she cared, it was that she didn’t seem rattled by the idea of getting close, even after what he’d just admitted to her.

He followed her to the bathroom, finding her rummaging around in what little he had in his medicine cabinet. Her brows furrowed in frustration, "God, you really need to fill this up! Maybe with some pain meds, at least. Some bandages, burn cream..." she huffed, "Everybody burns themselves in the kitchen,"

Coriolanus couldn't help but be amused by her frustration, "You may find this a shock, but I don't cook often," he reached for a drawer in the bathroom counter and pulled it open, revealing a basic collection of gauze and medical tape. Sable glowered back at him.

"Now, was that so hard to tell me?"

"Maybe I just like watching you struggle?"

She hummed as she picked through his supplies, "You must truly be a sadist. Sit," she directed him to the lid-down toilet.

Coriolanus sat back, unsure, watching as she kneeled down beside him, delicate fingers carefully peeling away the blood-soaked bandage. It dawned on him then that this was the closest, physically, they had been in private. No Capitol elites, no rubbernecking reporters, no cameras blinding him. It was just the two of them, blood beginning to stain her fingers as she cleaned up around his gash.

He found Sable maddeningly complex—annoying in her ability to read between his carefully crafted lines, manipulative in the way she twisted conversations to suit her agenda. Yet, despite the frustration she stirred in him, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her. She moved through his world like a puzzle he couldn't quite solve, and it drove him to the edge, tempting him with the allure of understanding her layers. He knew there was danger in letting her get too close, yet her unpredictability only deepened his fascination. Even as she knelt before him now, tending to his wound with a gentleness that clashed with her sharpness, he was drawn to her in a way that defied all logic.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, his voice softer than he intended.

Sable didn’t look up, her focus on his wound, "Maybe I’m just not scared of you like you think," she replied.

"You should be," he muttered.

Her eyes flicked up then, catching his gaze with an intensity that made his heart skip. Those deep brown eyes, flecked with gold, shimmered in the dim bathroom light. Her lips—so soft, so close—shimmery with gloss, full and inviting. The thought flashed through his mind again, unbidden but undeniable, wondering how they would taste, how she might react if he leaned in just a little closer, if he dared to cross that line.

"Are you telling me, or threatening me?" she asked, her gaze never wavering.

"I'm telling you," he assured her, "I might not be the shiny gold prince you think I am,"

Sable’s lips curved into a faint, knowing smile as she continued to tend to his wound, "Well," she said, her tone light but thoughtful, "I'm not exactly a polished princess either, if you think about it. And yet, here we are,"

Coriolanus chuckled, the sound low and amused, “Are you joking? You're the very definition of 'princess'” he said, his gaze still locked with hers.

"But I got parts of me I'm not gonna show to everyone, just like you," she told him.

"I told you that I could kill you not five minutes ago," he reminded her.

“And do you want to?” she asked, sitting back on her knees, her gaze unwavering and challenging.

The question hung in the air, charged with unspoken tension. Coriolanus observed Sable as she knelt on the bathroom tiles, the flickering light casting delicate shadows across her face. Her position made her appear vulnerable, her delicate frame small and exposed in the dimly lit room.

He couldn't help but notice the way her breath hitched slightly with each movement. Their proximity stirred his thoughts, he could think of a plethora of things he could to do to her... even right here in the bathroom, up high in front of the full scale window. No one in the Capitol would be the wiser to all the carnal things he could do to her, no one would hear how he would make her scream.

Coriolanus shook off the darker thoughts, his gaze returning to her eyes, which remained steady and defiant. The contrast between her calm demeanor and his tumultuous thoughts only deepened his fascination.

“Not right now,” he finally replied, his voice softer, “But I can’t promise you forever,"

Her smile widened as she continued to tend to his wound. "I'm not asking for forever, remember? Just until after the election," she teased, her tone light, "After that—you can do whatever you want with me,"

Coriolanus raised an eyebrow, "Sable..."

Her hand rested on his knee, the warmth of her touch seeping through the fabric of his trousers. She sat back on her knees, her gaze steady and her voice serious, "But if I ever do something that irks you or makes you angry... talk to me first before you consider murder. I'd appreciate it more,"

He couldn’t help but smile at her nonchalance. Despite the gravity of their conversation, her ease brought him a strange comfort, "You're crazy," he remarked.

"So I've been told," she shrugged, rising to her feet.

Coriolanus watched her head toward the sink, his eyes lingering on her for a moment longer, "You might be even crazier than I am," he admitted, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Sable glanced back at him, a playful glint in her eye as she washed her hands, “I’ll take that as a compliment,”

[pynkhues]

For the game!! Top fav fics atm! 💝

Ooo, I'm kinda all over the place with my fic reading at the moment, haha, but off the top of my head:

Delinquents by phloxmagpie. Good Girls. Beth x Rio. T. 120k words.

-

“Yeah,” she breathes, and then she finds that he’s half an inch closer to her on the hood now, that the tip of his pinky fanned out on the metal nearly, nearly touches her thigh through the thin material of her dress.

She wonders what it would be like to touch him. It feels like it would be the easiest thing in the world right now, to reach down and lay her hand on top of his. She wonders what he would do. Then a door slams and more people spill out of Jeremy’s house. Beth swallows and looks up, focusing on the stars. They’re bright tonight. Electric. 

“Guess it’s startin’ to wrap up. You know how you’re gettin’ home?”

“No,” Beth admits. “Dean and all his friends are still drunk.”

Rio gnaws on his lip.

And then, because she suddenly feels light, because she suddenly feels dangerous, and because the bubble between them feels like it’s worn so thin, she becomes entranced by the idea of making it POP. 

“You could take me.”

-

A highschool AU of Good Girls never feels like it should really work given so much of the context of the story is steeped in how women are made invisible in their own lives, but Megan really, really delivers. She transplants the story in a way that just makes sense, and the worldbuilding is so immersive that you can really sink right into it. The way it builds and grows and breathes just really hits all the right notes for me in a story, and it's one I was so delighted to see her update this week!

-

Million Dollar Baby by phoenixgryffin. Succession. Gen-fic (although a little Kendall x Rava). M. 10k words.

“Yeah,” says Kendall. “There was a. A, a scare, I was supposed to be watching Sophie, and…uh. Probably you heard—”

“Heard something, yeah.” Roman’s not looking at him. “Was over in jolly old England paying Mumsy a call—”

“But that’s. That’s over. I’m turning—uh, turning over a—new leaf or whatever. DIY sobriety.” 

“Can’t fuckin’ OD with the mini-me around, huh.”

“Uh-huh,” says Kendall somberly.

“God, Ken, learn to take a joke.” Roman lightly punches Kendall’s arm, glances at the sleeping Iverson again. “Fuckin’—unconscious, huh.”

“Don’t wake him up,” says Kendall, suddenly aware of how loud they’ve been talking. “Don’t fuckin’ do it, Rome, he was screaming for four fucking hours last night, we could hear him through the walls—”

“Okay, okay, keep your hair on,” says Roman, but he moves to the other side of the room. “Hey, you dye it now? Looks awful.”

“No,” lies Kendall.

-

The Roy siblings meet Iverson! God, I just love this fic so much. It really leans into the pre-canon world of the Roy's in a way that resonates, and the differing levels of discomfort all of them have with a newborn being in the room - much less a newborn that's their cringefail brother's son - feels really true to character. The author has really captured the tone of the show too, which is to say it's equal parts heartwrenching and funny. I only read it for the first time recently, and since then, I think I've re-read it a dozen times.

(One more Succession, an IWTV and a Stranger Things rec under the cut)

-

I Figure You with Love by alaczije Succession. Kendall x Stewy. Explicit. 6k words.

-

The caption reads: can we get @realkendallroy a welfare check

Below this, the top reply laments: 

bruh he DEAD dead 😭😭😭

“Oh, what the fuck,” Stewy says blankly.

He taps the thumbnail to view the photos full size—which, in hindsight, was a terrible idea. They flood the screen, blurred but unmistakable, in pixelated technicolor. Stewy recoils, as though ducking a slap to the face, then closes Twitter and stares stupidly at his phone. It buzzes in his hands a few seconds later. He takes the call without hesitation.

“Have you seen it?” Sandi Jr. demands. “Is this real?”

“I literally just saw it,” Stewy says, bouncing to his feet and giving into the urge to pace around his spotless kitchen. “And no, I don’t know. Who’s the source?”

“ATN.”

“Wow.”

-

There are a lot of fics out there that deal with the aftermath of 3.09, but this really is one of my favourites. The dialogue is so good, and the way it hits all these different beats in terms of the business, the characters' histories, and Stewy's despite-himself-worry makes it feel like it was written just for me. Plus it's hotter and funnier than it has any right to be.

-

Body and Blood by i love you bug (A_Stranger) Interview with the Vampire. Lestat x Louis. Explicit. 2k words.

He stuck a cigarette in the holder, the holder in his mouth, and lit it indulgently. Lying back against the furs with his arms bent to the sides and smoking as some blood ran lazily down his exposed pecs into the strained folds of his once-white undershirt, he looked a picture of rich debauchery. Louis wanted to rip his throat out. He pulled his pants off instead.

Lestat barely moved to help but watched him, smoke curling between their faces, eyes wide and youthful as if he was curious what Louis would do next, as if he hadn’t started something and abandoned it half-cocked to relax and pretend he was a wealthy Italian housewife.

Louis felt his eyebrows raise.

“Are you busy?”

Louis smirked around his cigarette holder. Louis felt his eyebrows drop.

“Mamma just needs a little break,” he simpered. “Can’t you take care of me?”

-

There's been a lot of really fun fic for IWTV since the terrific AMC series aired, but I have a real soft spot for this one. It's funny and sexy and it really messes around with sex, gender and the family unit in a way only a story about a family of vampires can really pull off. It's a ball, and if you like the show, it's defs one to read.

-

Modern Medicine Falls Short of Your Complaint by sansbanshees Stranger Things. Chrissy x Eddie. T. 5k words.

-

Chrissy nods, reassured. Her brow furrows after a second though, eyes squinting as she strains to listen, too. “I don’t—I don’t get it. Why are his shoes different?”

It’s the way she asks, so serious, that gets him. He can’t help but laugh, which makes her burst into giggles, and she looks so confused by the whole thing, yet somehow still so weirdly sunny and just—it has to be a crime, right? Chrissy Cunningham has absolutely no right to look that fucking cute, as blitzed as she is.

Maybe it’s the wings? They suit her. Shit, he’s buying her as an otherworldly, ethereal being, but it’s almost too obvious of a costume, in her case. 

“You’re funny,” she says, even though he didn’t actually say anything, flashing him the beaming, megawatt smile of a truly drunk girl at a party.

It’s cute. She’s cute. It’s also close enough to a compliment that he feels a little heat building beneath his collar, creeping up his neck, and he has to remind himself that this is not actual reality and there’s no way she’ll remember any of it come Monday.

-

Look, I just still love them a lot, and also I have a total thing for pre-canon moments of connection (as you can probably tell from the Succession rec above, haha). This just gets me, and I love it a lot.

Ask me for my Top Fives

[gothfoxgirlboy]

Prompt: pirates 🏴‍☠️

We had been attacked by the pirate queen. She rapidly took out my crew and captured me. They threw me into a cell they had on their ship, promising me I would be useful later in the night.

They weren't wrong. I heard the sounds of partying on the deck that night. Celebrating their conquest.

Two drunk pirates come and grab me bringing me to pirate queen. Her face is flushed with drunkenness. Chuckling and saying that I'm going to be tonight's entertainment.

She stands up, drunkenly putting her fists up. The two pirates let go of me. The pirate queen gives me a sucker punch that knocks me flat on my ass.

She waits for me to get up, stripping to her underwear to "not get blood on her clothes" as she says. Even when I'm ready she easily lands blow after blow, quickly getting me down on the floor once again.

This time though, she puts me in a leg lock. The nearby pirates cheer as she shoves my face into her musky bulge.

Months on the seas with rare chances to bathe made her scent incredibly potent. She pulls her panties down and rubs her sweaty cock against my mouth.

She pinches my nose until I need to open my mouth. She shoves her cock in my throat until my nose is fully buried in her bush.

The smell was strong but the taste was intoxicating. The sweaty taste was saltier than the ocean and as overwhelming as a storm. She starts thrusting, using my mouth to jerk herself off.

It's not long before she floods my mouth with pungent cum, clearly having been backed up for a long time.

Support your matey on Patreon and get plenty of booty*.

*booty consists of stories and game updates.

[jungkxook]

—out of the blue. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader 

⟶ genre: youtuber/gamer!jungkook + fluff / smut 

⟶ words: 5,204

⟶ rating: 18+

⟶ summary: catching your boyfriend bleaching and dyeing his hair for a livestream is definitely not what you expected — but it certainly has its perks.

⟶ warnings: established relationship, some attempt at humour, .2 seconds of sort of sub jungkook (you just like seeing him on his knees), you call jungkook a good boy, shower sex, hair pulling, oral sex, face riding, standing sex, breast play, cum eating, doggy style, unprotected sex, creampie

⟶ note: because blue haired jungkook has me feeling all sorts of things. also dedicating this to the lovely ryen @kithtaehyung​ because blue haired jungkook is getting her too and i hope this helps!! and thank you to the wonderful @gamerkooks​ and @stanrandomthings​ for always giving me inspiration for gamer jungkook <3

“What the hell are you doing?”

Jungkook has less than a second to react when he hears you bursting through the door of his bedroom, a guilty expression plastered on his face as if you’ve caught him in the midst of a much worse act than what he’s already currently doing ━ but the flustered scowl deepening your countenance is enough for him to certainly feel that way, because how else is he supposed to casually explain why he’s currently sitting shirtless in front of a camera?

Admittedly, the sight is odd enough, and there’s a split moment where your incredulous look is enough to make him feel as if he’s wronged you, and your six month long relationship with him, entirely before he remembers that he didn’t actually do anything wrong like cheat on you, but is actually just trying to dye his hair.

He’s sat in his gaming chair, camera and lights set up around him, and the monitor of his desktop all recording his face to the hundreds of thousands of viewers currently watching his livestream. He had told you well in advance about his aim to do a twenty-four hour live broadcast for his subscribers to both raise money for a donation and to countdown to his next subscriber milestone with the help of his friends ━ and had even asked you to help him plan the event, discussing it animatedly with you for the past month on various occasions ━ but mainly just because Jungkook is crazy enough to sit through a twenty-four hour stream and call it fun.

You had known most of how the entirety of the day would go. Starting from noon the previous day to now, almost an hour before the stream ends, thus far he’s done various gameplays from Minecraft to Overwatch to Among Us simultaneously with his friends who had offered to marathon with him the twenty-four hour event; had a period of time in which Jimin and Taehyung were over and cramped in his room to answer questions and talk to viewers but mostly just to create absolute chaos. You had been there for most of it, though you’re still trying to figure out if it’s a blessing or a curse that you were suckered into paying rent for your three bedroom apartment by Taehyung more than a year ago, and subsequently falling madly in love with Jungkook and forcing you to aid in his antics. You’ve been in a handful of his videos before, appearing in Twitch and YouTube streams, and in the background of vlogs in his channel and the channels belonging to the other boys; and, on that day for Jungkook’s twenty-four hour event, you had joined him at the start before being dragged away for work and then tried to pull an all-nighter with him until you crashed on the couch in the living room, and checking in on him occasionally to give him food and water and to just generally make sure your boyfriend isn’t dead.

Now, with the remaining final hour dwindling down, you had been in your room trying to finish last minute essay writing for school, with your phone propped up on your desk and Jungkook’s livestream playing as background noise to your studying. One minute, he had been playing a round of Among Us, and the next, when you had glanced up, he had the bottle in hand and the detrimental blue dye coating his hair in slick globs. It wouldn’t have been so shocking, had you not seen Jungkook an hour ago when he had his natural dark hair still, and now he had somehow managed to sneak in bleaching his hair in the time you had left him. Maybe it was your fault for not catching it sooner, if only because you had sheepishly taken a small nap amidst your studying only to wake up to a nightmare.

Which is where that leaves you currently, dishevelled demeanour standing at the threshold of his door after chasing over to his room, watching as Taehyung helps Jungkook sufficiently ruin his beautiful hair which you love so much.

“Uh… Dyeing my hair?” Jungkook finally answers, dumbfounded. He’s fortunate he had pulled off his shirt to avoid getting hair dye on it, an old towel now draped around his shoulders to catch any excess mess. He adds brightly, “We asked for suggestions on how to end the stream and someone said I should dye my hair, so Tae got the stuff.”

“You bleached your own hair?” You retort, exasperated. “When the hell did all this happen? I’ve been next door to you the whole time! What if your hair falls out? You should’ve gotten a professional to do it, not Tae━”

Taehyung looks inexplicably offended by your slandering remarks on his (lack of) hair styling skills, retorting with, “Yo, what the━?”

Jungkook blinks, as if just being made aware of what he’s actually doing.

“My hair’s gonna fall out?” he gaps. “Guys, what the hell? Why’d no one tell me?”

He looks from you to Taehyung then over at the comments on his livestream which are currently flooding with the sole topic of you. His eyes snag the first few that appear to him in the frenzied influx of words:

uh oh jungkook’s sleeping on the floor tonight

oh shit run bro

f in the chat for jk’s hair

get him y/n!!!!

“Dude, she’s just being dramatic,” Taehyung waves you off. He ducks out of the way when you reach out to Jungkook’s bed for a pillow and chuck it at the older boy’s head.

“And when he’s bald, then what━”

“No!” A helpless Jungkook exclaims suddenly. He gestures wildly to the stream, “Don’t give them ideas. The edits are gonna start pouring in.”

“Jeon, look, it’s too late to go back now,” Taehyung says. “You’ve got half your head covered in dye and three minutes to go with the stream. How bad can it be?”

A groveling sigh eclipses your lips as you push yourself forward. “Then at least let me help before you ruin it completely.”

Jungkook’s fortunate, to say the least, though he’s left wondering if you’re truly upset with him.

He finishes the countdown to the end of his twenty-four hour stream with you and Taehyung putting the last remaining globs of dye on his hair, a heartfelt goodbye to his viewers who marathoned the stream with him, and a promise to update them on the status of his hair when he washes the dye out.

And, just as soon as he’s shut his camera off, the mundane world returns to him.

It’s no longer millions of anonymous and faceless viewers watching him from the other side of their screens in the tiny bubble that is his room, but just you and Taehyung and the older boy’s frisky little Pomeranian dog and the threat of a wallowing regret as Jungkook thinks to himself, what the hell did he truly just do to his hair?

At some point, Taehyung retreats to his girlfriend’s house taking Yeontan with him, leaving you alone with Jungkook and he basks in the sudden cozy quiet after twenty-four hours of madness as the adrenaline rush begins to fade and mellow out. Back aching, joints cracking and popping as he stretches and moves, and eyes burning in the similar way they do from having stared at a screen for too long, but tenfold, he craves nothing more than to find your sweet and comforting touch to end such a long day.

He finds you in the living room already scrolling through your phone and your Twitter feed to read and marvel at all the comments and memes made by his viewers during his stream and his heart threatens to burst through his chest because you’ve always been so supportive of him and his fans, and they’ve always adored you and your endless interactions with them. So, surely, you can’t be mad at him for bleaching and dyeing his hair. Right?

As his arms come to wrap around you from behind, face nuzzling in the crook of your neck, he hears you bemoan, “You look like a Smurf came on your head.”

Wrong.

Well, not entirely, he guesses. You do lean into his chest, practically melting against him. A sluggish grin tugs at his lips and, instead, he chooses to ask, “Shower with me?”

“Aren’t you tired, Koo?”

“Baby,” he deadpans, and your heart flutters just a little bit, “by this point, I’m running solely on Red Bull and coffee that I’m positive I could fight the gods with my bare hands and win. In fact, I’ve had so much caffeine that I’m fairly certain I’ve ascended to the astral plane. Besides, I need to wash this dye out, and I could use some help. Sleep can wait.”

“Help,” You snort. “You’re such a liar. I already know what you want.”

“To spend time with my beautiful girlfriend? You’re right.”

“I’m not sucking your dick.”

He pulls his head back to look at you. Though he tries to look offended, there’s the tiniest of smirks on his face. “Wasn’t gonna ask you!”

You turn to properly face him in his arms and shoot him a dubious glance. He leans down to press a chilling kiss to your jaw, then nudges his nose against you in the same spot so that you’ll move your head. You do so, despite your prior scolding, and let him kiss the underside of your jaw down to your neck.

“Okay, fine,” You huff finally.

You relent, miraculously, but Jungkook had already guessed you would the moment he had found you in the living room and he couldn’t be happier.

He cherishes the moments alone with you, has come to know them well as he falls into a comfortable routine with you away from prying eyes over the last few months. Because sometimes, as he comes to learn, it’s hard to establish a relationship when his job requires him to be in the spotlight often. What is authentic and what is simply fabricated for views is difficult to discern, and yet you’re patient with him. Not everything to him is money and views and numbers, or what his next big plan is, or how you could potentially help him in some way (despite knowing that any video featuring you seems to skyrocket his views and land his videos on the trending page of YouTube more often than not because he knows everyone loves you more than him). You know when he’s his online persona and when he’s simply just Jungkook, and while there’s hardly any difference between the two, his online personality surely has to maintain a level of privacy and happiness that may not always be true.

At least with you, he can just be himself. He can finally be at ease.

Showering together is just one of the many acts of normalcy he cherishes with you. So, he turns on the shower and lets the bathroom get all warm and balmy as you undress. He’s the first one inside, hissing in delight as he lets the water run over his sore muscles, washing out the dye in his hair firstly so as not to get it on you and fortunately not making too much of a mess of blue dye in the tub. You’ve joined him in an instant when he’s nearly done, squeezing into the space in front of him as you shut the glass door behind you, the pane already beginning to fog and slick with droplets of condensation. He pulls you into him once more, nestling his chin on your shoulder as his hands come to wrap around you. They slide across your front, all wet and soapy, briefly gliding across your breasts, palms brushing against your nipples before traveling down to your navel.

“Congrats, baby,” You coo gently. “Twenty-four hours.”

He murmurs into your hair, “Missed you loads though.”

You turn to look at him finally, and it’s hard not to stare. Your eyes land firstly on his abdomen and the toned muscles there, trailing up to his arm and the pretty tattoos that decorate every inch of his skin, to his soft pink lips and his big eyes. Then, there’s the matter of his hair. The water has done most of the work in washing out the dye from his hair, now falling across his forehead and into his eyes and cheekbones, and it’s only then that you fully register the dye has worked as you struggle to find any remnants of his once-ebony-then-blonde locks. The blue hair is an obvious stark contrast to his natural hair and, you think, it is pretty, accentuating his radiant skin and making his eyes pop.

“I didn’t think you were actually serious all those times you said you wanted to change your hair.” Your lips are pursed as you survey him now, your fingers twirling a strand of his tresses around and around as you inspect it.

He smiles, catching your hand and pressing a quick peck to your knuckles. “Neither did I,” he admits sheepishly. “It sort of just happened.”

You pout. “I’m gonna miss your natural hair.”

“Do you really hate it blue?”

“I don’t hate it. Was more scared you’d ruin your pretty hair and make it all fall out.”

At this, Jungkook flashes you a cheeky smile. He holds his head a little higher. “So you still think my hair is pretty?”

“I think you’re a dork,” You clarify. “And, aside from the fact you almost gave me a heart attack, I’d say the blue is so pretty. Beyond pretty. Kinda hot, if I’m being honest.”

Because you’re not really mad, but it’s fun just to tease Jungkook and see his reactions. At the very least, he can sense this, as it’s apparent with the way his smile stretches even wider on his face.

“Hot, huh?”

“Mhm. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

He feigns a look of mock hurt. “Oh no. You must be really mad. Want me to make it up to you?”

“How are you gonna do that?”

“Well, what do you want from me?”

You take a moment to think it over, but the answer is already obvious enough. It’s one that even he knows, and one that has won you over the moment Jungkook was freed from his stream. You hum aloud, “You, on your knees, head between my legs, like a good boy. Think I can get a better viewpoint of your hair from down there anyway before I judge it.”

“Like a good boy?” A dark smirk tugs at his face. “So now who’s the needy one?”

He lowers his head so that he’s leaving a trail of sloppy wet kisses down your neck to your collarbones. As you let yourself get carried away for a moment, you wrap your arm around his neck, pulling him backwards until you’re pressed up against the glass door. He ducks even lower, kissing just above your left breast and then catching your nipple between his teeth. You swallow thickly, rubbing your thighs together, reminding yourself to respond to him.

“It’s not my fault when you were busy for the past day,” You pout. “And the blue hair really is sexy.”

“Aha!” he straightens up in front of you suddenly, a crooked smug smile on his face. “So I’m not just hot. I’m sexy.”

“You’re literally always sexy. And beautiful too. It’s almost unfair.”

“That’s even better.”

You tug your fingers at his damp locks. When you speak, your voice is a mix between urgency and a whine. “Jungkook. I could’ve already gotten off with my hand at this point.”

“Ouch, feisty!” He pokes his fingers at your sides. Then, nipping a little more firmly on the soft skin of your breast, murmurs huskily, “Alright, alright. But only if you call me a good boy again.”

Part of him is taunting you, but there’s a small sliver of intrigue that makes the thought in his head and the pretty words on your tongue excite him to no end.

Still, you choose to entertain him, maybe a little drowsily and entirely consumed by him, “I will if you let me ride your face.”

A rumble of a chuckle resonates from him. You find him on his knees in the next moment, wedging himself between your thighs. He nudges one of your legs and you follow the wordless command, hitching one thigh over his shoulder as you settle back against the glass door of the shower. He kisses at your hips as he dips his head lower and lower to where you want him, before swiping his tongue at your cunt, tasting all of you at once.

“Mmm, Koo━” A soft whimper sounds from you, making his head swim.

He wastes no time in lapping at your folds, tongue delving into you deeper and deeper as he cranes his neck. The wetness that pools between your legs and on the tip of his tongue is a sticky mess that he basks in just a little longer.

“Fuck,” he groans into your pussy, “you taste so fucking good. Missed this so much.”

His hands are big as they come to hold you close, cradling your ass, your thighs, your hips, anything to pull you into him while simultaneously pushing your thighs further apart.

You manage to find your voice and quip weakly, “Missed me or having your head between my legs?”

“You, definitely,” he murmurs. He busies himself by reaching out with his thumb to press circles against your clit. Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, hips rutting into his face. “All of you.”

“Jungkook━ Fuck━”

He burrows further into you, humming in response. His nose brushes against your clit, the muscle of his tongue a pleasant wet that makes you warm all over. You give another experimental swivel of your hips, grinding against his tongue just right. He pinches at your hips as if to probe you onward, and then you do it again, and again, desperately rocking your hips back and forth against him. Your fingers reach out to grab a fistful of his hair, clutching it so tightly he hisses. But you’re right. The blue locks look dazzling between your legs, being pulled by your hands as you push him further into you.

His eyes meet yours from below your waist, hooded and idle, enjoying the view as you squirm and writhe above him, shamelessly riding his face. Grinding against his chin, nose, and tongue, the slick wetness you leave behind glistens on his skin.

“Ah, Koo━” You cry out. “Fuck, I’m gonna━!”

Your orgasm hits you violently, sending you keeling. Your hips continue with reckless abandon, and Jungkook presses his finger against your clit a little harder, a little faster. The abrupt gushing warmth between your thighs sends your mind spinning, as the steam from the shower and your panting breaths begin to fog the bathroom. When your hips begin to slow, Jungkook laps at the rest of your leaking core before pulling away with a grin brandishing his shimmering face. He lets you pull him up eagerly, clumsy hands fumbling to hold either side of his face as you tug at him.

“God, you’re so hot, babe,” he sighs wistfully, smothering your lips with his for an all too chaste kiss, before leaning in once more to nibble at your lower lip.

“Wanna feel you, Koo,” You prompt urgently. “Want you in me.”

Jungkook hastens to comply, his hands falling to your waist. “Go on, then. Turn around for me.”

You don’t need to be told twice. You spin so that you’re facing the glass sliding door, your back to him. You watch him over your shoulder, momentarily admiring his well built stature, the tattoos that ink his body, and the water that shimmers on his skin. He has to push his wet hair up and away when it falls across his forehead and then he reaches down to grasp at his length, grip tight around his shaft so that he can pump himself sluggishly a few short times. It’s almost painful to watch him jerk himself off in front of you, the tip a burning red and glistening. He catches you staring and decides to catch you off guard when he grabs a hold of your hips with one hand. He yanks you towards him, your ass pressed firmly against his hips, making you jump from the startle, and grins when you look back at him.

Then, ever so slowly, he runs the length of his cock along your folds. Before you can brace yourself for the overwhelming rush of pleasure, he’s sliding his cock past your folds, burrowing into you deep. He curses behind you, his other hand flying out to steady himself by digging into your hip.

“Fffuck. Shit.” He dips his head so that his cheek is resting against your shoulder and sputters for air. “Jesus, fuck━ Been dying to feel you all day.”

He fits so snugly in you, so perfectly, just like always and you take him so well, coaxed by your own arousal. He ruts his hips forward into yours and you nearly fall forward before catching yourself by pressing your palms to the glass. Then, he’s grinding against you, small and precise thrusts that roll into your hips.

“Mmm, Jungkook,” you choke out. “You feel so━ So good.”

“Ah, shit,” he hisses. “Wanna wreck you so bad.”

He angles his chest a little more, pummels his dick into you in such a way that he’s hitting a different spot in you. His eyes stay fixated on the soft, round flesh of your ass and the way his cock slips so easily into you, brows screwed in concentration, jaw clenched. The slight bounce of your ass each time he rolls his hips firmly against you, the way you ricochet forward each time in tandem with his moves. You bow your head, pressing your temple against the glass door now tinted with condensation, only marked up by the imprints of your fingers grasping at anything. It’s almost sweltering hot in the shower now but you both pay no mind to it. He fucks into you with such languid, steady strides, cock beginning to throb and twitch in anticipation. You feel so wet, such a pitiless mess between your thighs already that it makes him growl.

“H-Harder,” You mewl. “Oh, Koo━”

He almost slips behind you in his eagerness to obey, awakening something animalistic in him, a yearning to just release all the tension in his core. This time, he adapts a measured pace, forceful thrusts that have you crying out in delight each time. One hand reaches up to grip at your shoulder to steady himself while his other slithers around your front to grasp at your breasts, all wet and supple, pinching at your nipples.

“So good,” he moans, pressing sloppy kisses just below your ear. His breath is hot as he pants behind you, sending tingles down your spine. “Fuck━”

His voice is cut off by a whine, hips bucking forward in an unsolicited manner as he feels his high drawing near. You lean your head onto his shoulder, stretching your arm out so that you can tug desperately at his hair. It’s a silent, simple command, but it’s one that he immediately understands even without you speaking.

“Wanna feel you━” You whimper. “Wanna see you.”

Jungkook nearly slips as he fumbles to pull out of you, hissing at the loss of warmth and friction. As soon as you’ve turned to face him, he wastes no time in closing the distance between you. He pushes his leaking cock past your folds once more and continues at the same pace as if he had never even stopped to begin with.

“Fuck,” he whines. “Not gonna last━”

You wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him even closer to you, as he presses you against the glass. He hitches one of your thighs around his waist, spreading your legs just wide enough to hit a certain spot that has both of you crying out. You’re clinging so tightly to him, fingers digging harshly into his skin in an attempt to alleviate the building pressure you feel. He knows you’ve almost reached your end when you resort to a gasping, moaning mess, writhing beneath his broad stature.

“Close, baby?” he hums.

You open your mouth to respond but can only muster a whimper. His pace treads over to heedlessly frantic, the sound of skin against skin and the lewd wetness filling the shower. Despite his hips pounding into yours so harshly, his fingers flutter so delicately under your chin, grasping it and moving your head just enough so that you’re facing him.

“Lemme see you,” he grunts. “Wanna watch you when you cum all over my cock. Always so pretty.”

“I━ I’m━ Fuck, Koo━”

But you can’t finish your thought.

You keep your gaze fixated on Jungkook’s, however exhausted and weary it may be. Your lashes flutter, brows knit together, and you suck your lower lip between your teeth, biting so hard Jungkook’s certain you’ll bruise it. Another few hard thrusts and then you’re reaching your high, overcome by such an intense burning that you can’t help but look away out of instinct. You cry his name, face contorting in pure pleasure, and chest arching to meet his. You’re clenching so tightly around him has him sputtering for air, nearly collapsing entirely against you. You’re near dripping around his cock which only means he almost slips from you with each draw of his hips that he makes. It’s why he sloppily rocks his hips into yours, desperate to reach his own high as well.

When you return to your senses, blinking away your blurry vision, you can make out Jungkook cooing into your ear, “That’s it, baby. Doing so well.”

You meet his gaze once more, only this time you’re perhaps even more tired. Hooded eyes watch him, silently probing him to his climax. He comes tumbling towards it, a few more short thrusts of his hips and, finally, he’s there. He slams his hips up into yours one final time, crying out, and then he’s releasing into you in an overwhelming abrupt gush. Only he can’t quite enjoy it because, out of genuine accident and driven by impatience to just get off, the last jerk of his hips hits you a little too hard.

It’s what causes you to slip backward and he, so lost in his own reverie, hardly has a proper grip on you or where he’s standing. When you lose your footing beneath you, slipping on the wet porcelain of the tub, and comes crashing down, he’s brought along with you. “Oh, fuck━!”

The both of you yelp from the surprise, your hands flailing out to brace yourself for the fall.

Fortunately, you land on him when you reach the bottom of the tub, courtesy of him grabbing onto you last second so that he can soften the blow upon impact.

Unfortunately, the breath is knocked out of him from the startle and from the sudden added weight of you on top of him with no warning.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans.

“In hindsight,” You wince as you shift your weight above him, “maybe having sex in the shower again wasn’t the greatest idea. Remember last time when we knocked the shower curtain down and I had to get stitches on my elbow? It’s why we got the glass door installed, and then we had to lie to Tae about it.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” He tilts his head back, rubbing a hand over his face. Then, he flashes you an all too charming smirk. “Was kinda worth it though.”

You giggle, sounding so sweet and angelic, even despite the way his cum still leaks from you. Somewhere in the fall, his dick had slipped from you and now lays softening on his stomach which, really, is probably the worst part of the accident to him. He already misses the warmth of you wrapped around him, your mingling cum a dirty mess around him. You prop yourself up on his chest with your palms, but before you can even think to respond, you notice something out of the corner of your eye.

A small mass of fur in the shape of little Yeontan has just poked his head through the crack in the door, oblivious to you and Jungkook’s compromising position. And then, shortly following behind him, is his equally oblivious owner who must have forgotten something in the apartment to bring him back so suddenly.

“Tannie, get back here━ We gotta go━ Oh, Jesus, what the fuck?” Taehyung appears at the door for a millisecond before noticing the situation he’s just stumbled upon. Thankfully, he acts fast, and clamps a hand over his tainted eyes, clumsily scooping up Yeontan in his other hand. “Can you guys please stop fucking all over this damn apartment? My son’s eyes are too pure for this!”

And then he’s retreating, but not before bumping blindly into the doorframe, grumbling along the way. It’s silent for a moment as you and Jungkook gawk at one another; then you hear Taehyung leave the apartment once more, and the both of you dissolve into a fit of unabashed laughter.

“Are you okay?” You ask once you’ve calmed down enough as he reaches out to shut the shower off. You plant a kiss in your boyfriend’s hair. “You hit your head coming down.”

Jungkook’s heart swells at your gentle touches and smiles. “I’m fine,” he promises brightly. “You?”

“Well, you did just thoroughly fuck me, so━” You shrug innocently. “I’m kinda still too giddy to even care.”

“I’m gonna make it up to you,” he says. “For almost giving you a heart attack with my hair and for almost putting you in the emergency room again just now.”

The mention of his hair draws your attention to it once more. It’s not as wet as before, damp azure waves falling into his eyes that you brush away gingerly.

“Yeah,” You snort, “but I’ve decided I like your hair. Like, really like it.”

“Yeah?” he grins wide. “What was the deciding factor?”

You pause, as if to think for a moment. Exhaustion riddles your body and you know sleeping curled up next to Jungkook is nearing your future, but for now you let yourself entertain the last remnants of whatever lewd thoughts are still on yours and his minds before they fizzle away completely. You can’t help yourself anyway. The blue really is nice.

“Definitely the view of you eating me out,” You say. “And can’t forget how pretty it looks when I’m pulling at your hair.”

“Say no more,” he beams. “Then I’ll make it up to you by making you cum on my tongue again and again and again.”

The last thing he hears before he grabs at your cheek to softly pull you down to him for one last kiss, slow and ardent, is a bubbly giggle from you that delights him to no end.

“That’s a good boy.”

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work.

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[triptuckers]

Fix her - Kaz Brekker

Request: nope Pairing:  kaz brekker x reader Summary:  kaz sent you out to gather information, and you always return on time with the intel he needs. well, maybe not always. Warnings: angst, language, mentions of BLOOD, BRUISES, INJURIES, typical soc stuff, slight six of crows and crooked kingdom spoilers Word count:  2.2K A/N: hello my darlings it is I and I have read almost every book leigh bardugo has written in the past month. I am now hopelessly in love with jesper, kaz and nikolai. I'll be updating my character list soon! I still have a few wips but I don’t have any motivation / inspiration for those. so have my first kaz brekker x reader instead! enjoy reading :)

It was a rather easy job, really. Kaz had received word that the Dime Lions had an important meeting coming up. Because he always wanted to know what exactly was going on in the Barrel and with its gangs, he wanted someone to listen in on said meeting.

Normally, he would send Inej. She was the obvious choice when it came to gathering information. But she was still recovering from a rather nasty cut in her side, and so you had offered to go.

Inej insisted she could go. But all it took was you raising your eyebrows when she moved to sit up, only to wince and flop back down onto the bed. Though he didn’t quite like it, Kaz had assigned you to the job. 

No one said it out loud, but everyone knew there was something between you and Kaz. Neither of you had spoken about it. There were just a lot of lingering glances, smiles from you and what you think was almost a smile from Kaz, and you even had stolen his coat once when you had lost your own. He didn’t seem to mind though.

When you had left that evening to listen to the Dime Lions meeting from the shadows, Kaz had sent you a look that you knew all too well. He reserved it only for you. It was him telling you to be safe. You’d respond with a wink that basically meant always am.

The rest of the crows started a card game to pass the time as they waited for you to come back. They didn’t worry, you were always careful and are considered one of the most dangerous criminals in Ketterdam. They knew whatever happened, you could handle yourself.

But after Jesper had lost four rounds of card games, the tension began to rise between them. Most meetings typically didn’t last this long. Still, no one said anything as they started their fifth game. You would show up eventually, probably bringing valuable insight with you.

After two more games, there was still no sign of you. Nina was the first one to speak up.

‘She should have been back by now.’ she says, absently looking out the window into the dark street. 

‘Have a little faith, Zenik.’ says Kaz, though on the inside he was filled with worry. He shook it off and focused on the game again.

More than once he’d scolded himself for allowing you to get this close to him. For putting so much trust in you, especially after what happened the last time he’d really trusted someone. But he couldn’t help it. It was like he was drawn to you like Jespers trigger finger was to his revolvers. He couldn’t help it.

Still, he knew your skills. He knew you were smart, and a fighter. Whatever was going on with you out there, he had no doubt you’d show up at the door in a few moments, cheerfully announcing what good intel you’d gathered and wondering how many card games you’d missed.

But you still didn’t show. And one by one, they all lost their interest in the card game. They fell silent and looked out the window or fiddled with their empty glasses. The tension in the room grew. Until Kaz suddenly stood.

‘Finish the game.’ he says. ‘I’ll go and look for her.’

‘I’ll come with you.’ says Jesper, getting up as well.

‘No.’ says Kaz, earning a frown from Jesper. ‘Just me.’ he says. And with that, he pulled on his coat, grabbed his cane and was out the door.

‘Right.’ says Jesper, sitting back down. ‘Anyone fancy another game? I have a feeling I’m gonna win this one.’

They played three more games. They were tired, and it was well past midnight. Still, none of them went upstairs to their rooms. Too anxious to play any more cards or to even have a normal conversation, they settled for silence and more drinks. 

Jesper was fiddling with his rings and bouncing his leg. Nina had her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands. Matthias was trying to not look at Nina. And Wylan was attempting to build a house out of the cards. 

Finally, they heard the sound of the door opening. All of their heads shot up and turned to look who it was. 

Kaz stumbles awkwardly through the door, carrying you in his arms. Nina gasps softly and Jesper murmurs ‘Saints’ as their eyes land on your body. 

It’s bruised and bloody, and your eyes are shut. Was Kaz too late?

‘Clear the table!’ says Kaz loudly, limping toward it with you in his arms. 

Instantly, Matthias and Jesper seize the glasses and cards off the table as Wylan pulls some of the chairs back to make room. Kaz lays your beaten up body on the table and turns to Nina.

‘Help her.’ says Kaz.

But Nina is looking at you body, bruised and bloodied, nothing like the cheerful girl that buys her waffles and laughs as she teases Matthias. It’s almost impossible to find a spot on your body that doesn’t have a wound on it. There’s slashes from knives everywhere, bruising around your neck and the side of your face, and to top it off, blood is slowly leaking out of a bullet wound in your leg.

An expression of horror is written across Nina’s face, her hands pressed against her mouth. 

‘Nina.’ Kaz presses on. ‘I said help her.’

‘Kaz, I don’t think-’ stammers Nina. ‘Come on, fix her!’ says Kaz loudly, surprised of how much anxiety can be heard in his voice. Fix her, he thinks, because I need her to fix me.

‘I can try but-’ ‘Do it.’ says Kaz and then he turns away, he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Memories of Jordie flood over him, mingled with memories of you. Your laugh, how he fights his own smile every time you wink at him or send a flirty comment his way, the way you smell. How you look at him when he catches your eyes. 

Kaz shuts his eyes, attempting to drown the memories out. Taking deep breaths, he tries to focus on the voices behind him.

‘Jesper get the bullet out of her leg.’ says Nina. 

‘Just pull it out?’ questions Jesper.

‘Saints, you’re Grisha, Jesper, pull the fucking bullet out!’ says Nina in a loud voice laced with fear.

After a while of listening to Nina’s murmuring and instructions to others, Kaz finally turns back around to look at you. A wave of nausea hits him unexpectedly and he swallows hard. 

Nina had treated most of the wounds, with Jesper’s help. But your entire body is still covered in bruises, and now bandages as well. Nina’s cleaned the dried blood off of your face, but your arms and legs are still covered with it. 

They’re all nervously looking at Kaz.

‘I don’t know if she’s going to-’

‘Don’t.’ says Kaz, interrupting her. He needed to think straight. He needed someone to help him focus. Normally, you’d be the one to do so. But you’re in no condition to softly talk to him to reassure him everything is going to be alright. He needed to be his own soothing voice tonight.

‘Matthias.’ he says. ‘Bring her up to my room. Nina, go with him, see if there’s anything else you can do for her. Jesper, get Inej up to speed. Wylan, clean this mess up before someone notices.’

Without waiting for their reactions, Kaz walks up the stairs to his floor. Several moments later, followed by Matthias, who is carrying you, and Nina and Jesper. Jesper disappears into Inej’ room, while Matthias and Nina continue to walk the stairs to get to Kaz’ floor. 

When they arrive, Matthias carefully places you on Kaz’ bed as he was instructed. For a while, the three of them look at you. Until Matthias and Nina go to their rooms as well, leaving Kaz alone with you.

None of them had questioned why he insisted Matthias brought you to his room and not your own. Of course, they were dying to find out exactly what was going on between you and Kaz, but they all knew tonight was not the night to push him.

As he looks at you, Kaz feels the strong urge to touch you. Lay his hand on your cheek, to see if it’s still warm. But he can’t. Instead, he merely pulls out a chair and sits down next to the bed. He lets his eyes travel over your body, wondering how much pain you’re in, and who the hell was responsible for it. 

He needed you to wake up. He needed you to tell him who did this so he could send his biggest most muscular members of the Dregs to them. Kaz wanted them to hurt the way they had hurt you. 

His mind is running at an alarming speed. But eventually, even Kaz can’t fight his tired body anymore, and he falls asleep in an uncomfortable position in his chair.

From that night on, he instructed that you shouldn’t be left alone. He doesn’t want you to wake up and realise you’re on your own. The next day, it’s business as usual. The members of the Dregs are coming and going like they always do. The familiar flow of people helps to take everyone’s mind off things, but as soon as they’re by your side, they remember. 

Nina had tried her best to heal you, but it still took you almost a week to wake up.

When you wake up, your first thought is that your entire body feels way heavier than it’s supposed to. You try to open your eyes but it’s like your eyelids are made of lead. After a couple more tries, you finally open them.

You take in the room, and realise it’s not your own. Kaz. 

Why would you be in Kaz’ room? Why aren’t you in your own room? And why does your body feel so damn heavy?

And then all of the memories flood back. Like a tsunami, they catch your breath in your throat, making it hard to breathe. You try to inhale deeply, but it’s like your throat is sealed shut. You start to panic when you notice you can’t breathe. 

Then a pair of hands land on your shoulders and gently push you back onto the bed. Whoever it is, is talking softly to you. You close your eyes and try to steady your breathing. 

Then the voice yells out, but from much farther away, like they’re standing in the doorway, and not next to the bed.

‘Kaz! Nina! Get up here!’

It’s Jesper. 

You try to ask him what’s going on, but it’s still hard to breath normally. You try to focus on something else. Jesper’s voice trying to calm you down, his eyes looking into yours, but nothing’s helping. 

Then you hear a sound you know all too well. A familiar stumbling, of someone walking up the stairs with a cane. 

Seconds later, Kaz rushes into the room and roughly shoves Jesper away, taking his place next to the bed.

‘Who did this to you?’ he says. 

His voice is that familiar rasp, and normally you love it. But now it just makes your head hurt. You shut your eyes and softly shake your head, trying to drown the sound out. 

‘Y/N, who did this to you?’ says Kaz, more firmly this time.

‘Kaz.’ says Nina’s voice. ‘Let her rest. You can talk later.’ Nina’s voice is softer, more gentle than Kaz’. You try to focus on it as you open your eyes again.

Kaz is close. He looks down at you and you’re surprised by the look in his eyes. Was that a hint of worry you detected? You open your mouth to say something, but Kaz is faster.

‘Y/N, tell me who did this to you.’ says Kaz.

‘Couldn’t see their faces.’ you manage to say in a hoarse voice. Your throat feels dry and you start to cough. Immediately, Nina moves to get you a glass of water and helps you to drink it. 

‘Did you notice the way they moved? How they walked? Were they Dime Lions? Could you see any tattoos? What about scars? Clothing? Voices?’

Kaz keeps on firing questions at you, but you can’t focus on his words. Your head feels heavy and you feel your eyelids slowly closing again. 

‘Kaz.’ you say softly. ‘Tomorrow.’ 

You expect him to press on, to find out who did this to you. But instead, he looks at you and holds your gaze. He doesn’t say anything, he merely nods at you. You know what it means. Despite his harsh voice and the million questions, he’s glad you’re safe. And the ones who did this to you will pay for it. He’ll make sure of it.

You offer a weak smile before closing your eyes, already drifting off. You hear two pairs of footsteps leave the room, and assume Nina stayed behind to check on you.

The chair next to you gets moved back and you hear how someone sits down in it. When you feel something brush against your fingers, you assume it’s Nina checking your pulse.

But then you feel a gloved thumb on the back of your hand. It slowly rubs over your skin. To most people it wouldn’t mean anything. But to you, it meant the world. A tiny smile reaches the corners of your mouth, as you fall asleep. 

A/N: If you want to request something, make sure to read my house rules Here’s the list of characters I write for. Everything that I have written can be found on my masterlist. Please don’t repost my work, as I spend much time and effort on it!! Thank you for reading! Much love, Jo

[kpoptwitches]

Kiss Me

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x Reader

Genre: slight yandere + mafia au

Summary: Although you and Hoseok aren’t officially a pair, he never hesitates to show anyone that you belong to him.

Warnings: slight(?) yandere content, possessive, toxic, and unhealthy dynamics / themes

You always preferred bars over clubs when it came to going out on a Saturday night. The music was quieter, allowing you to actually hear people closest to you. Plus, the drinks far were cheaper.

“Don’t go anywhere,” Chan, your blind date, teased while his hand briefly ran up and down the top of your thigh, “I’ll only be a minute.”

A small chuckle slipped past your lips, “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if I’m still here when you get back.”

You attempted to flirt back with the man, shooting him a wink that made you internally cringe. A charmed smile pulled up on his lips, revealing rows of pearly white teeth. Then he left without saying another word, leaving you to mindlessly people-watch until he returns. 

“Well,” an eerily familiar voice suddenly piped up behind you, “Would you look at who it is.”

It couldn’t be, you thought, what were the chances? Every muscle in your body felt as if it had shut down, leaving you utterly frozen on the bar stool. A shiver ran screaming down your spine, initiating a flood of goosebumps to flow throughout your body.

“What? Do I not get a hello, sweetheart?”

It felt like you travelled back in time; back to when you couldn’t remember how to form even the simplest of sentences.

“I was under the impression that you weren’t able to make it out tonight, yet here you are. Out with another man.”

He was toying with you, you knew that. You could feel the smirk which tugged at his lips at your stunned figure. You were like a nervous little Bambi caught in his headlights.

“Hoseok-”

You desperately wanted to defend yourself, to stand up to him, but he made you feel so small. So insignificant. You watched through the reflection of your glass as Hoseok leaned down until his lips found their way to your ear; his voice cutting off your pitiful start at an explanation. 

“What excuse was it this time, again? You’re mom was ill? You had a headache? Your boss called you into work? I’ve lost track since it’s so hard to stay updated on your bullshit.”

His last sentence was spoken with such venomous distaste, making you believe you were actually burned by his tone.

“I swear, it’s like you love watching people get hurt. Isn’t that why you do stupid shit like this, babygirl?”

Your head immediately whirled around to look at him over your shoulder. Panic beginning to swell inside your chest.

“Hoseok, don’t. Please, don’t hurt him.”

His tongue popped out, slowly trailing itself along his bottom lip. The infamous smirk - which is nearly always plastered on his face - grew at your begging. He seemed to ignore your plea, his eyes shifting his attention away from you to somewhere in the crowd.

“Would you look at that,” his lips grazed across your ear as he whispered once again in your ear, “He’s on his way back. I wonder if he can make it over here before my men get ahold of him.”

As if a light has been switched on inside your head, you could now see what you were oblivious to earlier. You noticed each one of Hoseok’s lackies that hid themselves amongst the crowd. In a fit of alarm, you tried to stand up off the stool, only to have a hand clamp down onto your shoulder, roughly pushing you back down.

“Ah-ah, I don’t think so. It wouldn’t be a very fun game if I had you running to save him, now would it?”

“This isn’t funny, Hoseok. Just .. I’ll do anything if you promise not to hurt him,” you tried to bargain as your chest lightly heaved up and down.

“Anything, hm? That’s a tempting offer, sweetheart,” he ponded for a moment, tauntingly tapping his chin, “But if you’re willing to do anything then .. I want you to kiss me. Right now.”

You body jumped off the stool in surprise at his words, but this time he didn’t force you back down. Instead his eyes roamed your figure, taking you in as if you were his most prized possession.

“K-Kiss you,” you couldn’t help to question what he uttered.

His fingers found their way under your chin, tilting your head up into your eyes stared directly into his.

“Mhm, right now.”

You glanced over your shoulder in the direction of Chan; your heart sinking when you noticed how happily he seemed to saunter your way. Nevertheless, you turned back to the smug man in front of you, cautiously cupping his cheek. Your heels lifted off the ground as you went onto your tiptoes, trying to be somewhat around the same height as him. 

Soon after, your lips collided with his, your eyes fluttering shut. It didn’t take Hoseok long to start perfectly molding his lips with yours, ultimately enjoying the situation unfolding around him. However, his eyes remained open, making direct eye-contact with Chan half-way across the bar.

You felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you in until your abdomen was pressed firmly against his. His tongue grazed across your bottom lip, subtly asking for permission to deepen the already passionate kiss; to which you rejected. In return, his teeth bit down at the flesh, delight pooling in his chest when your muffled whimper could be heard.

“Y/n,” Chan’s disheartened voice suddenly rang through your ears. 

You instantly pulled away from the kiss, whirling around to face your now humiliated date.

“Chan, I-”

“Now that you know who she belongs to,” Hoseok’s satisfied voice interrupted, “I’ll graciously let you two continue your little date.”

• • •

|| It’s been a hot minute since I posted, so I thought I would attempt something spicy~🌻 ||

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes, But Your Kisses Do

summary:  in a standoff with an unsub, reader makes a choice: her life or spencer’s. 

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader 

category: angst/fluff at the end 

warnings/includes: canon typical case violence, based off of episode “haunted” so spoilers, guns/gun violence, hospitals, kissing, mentions of hotch’s stabbing 

word count: 3437 

author’s note: i wrote this one a while ago and thought i’d share it. if anyone wants to be tagged, i’m going to figure it out and i’ll add you to a tag list!!  

Band-Aids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes, But Your Kisses Do

The two agents that sat on swivel chairs facing each other fake arguing about an episode of Dr. Who. Spencer had his legs straight out, resting on Y/N’s lap comfortably. She leaned forward and placed her chin on her hand as she explained to Spencer her thoughts on the episode. 

“Spencer, you cannot tell me that you don't think  David Tennant is hot! I watched the episode with you and I can tell you are-" 

“I’m not going to argue against that, Y/N. David Tennant is,” Spencer started as he fiddled with the lollipop that Garcia handed him when he and Y/N walked into the bullpen.

“Is what, Spence?” A teasing look graced her face as Spencer’s blush grew down his exposed neck and collarbone. 

“He’s hot, okay Y/N is that what you want me to say!” Spencer’s voice rose a couple octaves from his admission over his not-so-subtle-crush on The Doctor.

“That’s exactly what I wanted you to say, Spencer. Least I know we have the same type” She said with a wink. 

“You got a type, Y/N?” Derek called from the doorway of the conference room. 

“Yeah, hot doctors with brown hair”  Emily said without missing a beat. She had walked in behind Derek, the pair  of them discussing her annual Sin-to-Win Weekend in Atlantic City. 

“But they, you know, have to be like Time Lords, or whatever” She said in efforts to cover up her growing discomfort. 

She turned her attention back to Reid, who was in the process of trying to remove his leg from her warm lap. He did not want to give Derek anymore ammunition to make sly jokes at his not-so-subtle-crush on his best friend/co-worker. Secretly, he wanted to keep his leg there, against her soft thigh and maybe she’d drop her hands on his leg in a comforting gesture of….friendship. 

Garcia placed a tin decorated with white and orange cats dressed in bonnets on the table just within reach of Hotch’s usual spot near the monitor. Reid reached forward to open the tin, which he deduced was filled with Penelope’s infamous snickerdoodle cookies. Unfortunately, before the genius profiler could reach the gaudy tin, Penelope swatted his hand away from grasping the cookies. 

“Hey! Those are for Hotch” Penelope shouted as she grabbed the tin and moved them closer to Hotch’s chair. 

“What? You know I love cookies, Garcia. Come on, Hotch hates attention” 

“I just made some cookies, it’s not like I made him a cake.” Penelope argued as Derek and Emily both quietly eyed the cookies. 

“Spence, we’ll make cookies tonight. It looks like it’s just a paperwork day” Y/N said with a slight smile, that, in turn, elicited a big grin from an unsuspecting Spencer.

“Anyway,” Derek started as he chose to ignore the interaction that unfolded before him “we all know he’s going to act like nothing happened” he remarked as he fingered through the dozen case files spread out before him on the table. 

“Doesn’t mean we have to,” Penelope said sadly as she looked down at the cat cookie tin.  

“Maybe we should,” Reid said quietly to his co-workers. 

“But, I’m not built like that!” said Penelope. 

“Hotch is though, Penny,” Y/N noted as she snuck a cookie while Penelope’s back was turned. She broke it in half and handed it to Spencer under the table. He winked at her as she shushed him. 

“Yeah, Y/N,” Spencer said with a mouthful of cookie, “Hotch never blinks” he finished with a large swig of lukewarm, sugared coffee. 

“Classic Alpha Male” Spencer said, looking towards Derek. 

“Do you think he stared down Foyet...you know while it happened?” Emily questioned. She was usually the one who could stomach all these, but when it came to the team, she was as nervous as the lot of them. 

“It’s probably what saved his life,” Derek said somberly. 

“He can’t be okay,” Penelope said with a whisper. 

“I wouldn’t be,” Spencer said with an air of uncertainty, “I’m a blinker” 

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There was an uncomfortable silence during the ride to Louisville. Hotch was more sullen than usual, but, thankfully, Garcia broke the tension with her reports via computer screen. 

“Our point in Louisville is Lieutenant Kevin Mitchell, my contacts don’t report any more attacks related to this unsub” JJ relayed. She sat next to Derek, who was across from Hotch and Rossi. Emily sat criss cross on the table across from the foursome. On the small jet couch, Spencer and Y/N played a game of chess as they listened to the initial reports JJ received from the local PD. 

“Call’s proving hard to track. He never had a driver’s license, so he’s probably still on foot,” Spencer mumbled without removing his eyes from the chessboard. 

“Or public transportation,” Y/N added as she cringed when Spencer announced “check”. 

“Well, he’s not going to get anywhere too far with his face all over the news,” Emily continued. 

“So, what do we think the stressor is,” Rossi nodded. 

“He just lost his job. Worked in a factory since 1990. He made appliances forever. Not a single promotion” Garcia’s voice came across a little staticky. 

“That’s a long time to be bitter,” Derek posed. 

“Or he just doesn’t care,” Reid countered. 

“According, to what you sent over Garcia, he kind of seems like a hermit. Far as I can tell he’s got no one. No wife, no children, no parents.” Y/N added with a sad tone in her voice. 

With a sharp tone, Hotch added “then why didn’t he kill himself?” 

“He’s not finished killing yet,” Reid continued the thought, “check mate!” 

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It was at times like these that it seemed like the case drags on forever. Call had kidnapped a little boy, who, Spencer had figured out was Call’s biological son.  The local PD was getting them nowhere. Those overly macho cops seemed to be having a difficult time taking orders from JJ. Y/N watched as she marched over to Mitchell and demanded that he give a press conference. 

Y/N chuckled quietly to herself as she watched the interaction. JJ was a force to be reckoned with, especially when the life of an innocent child was at stake. That cop had no idea who he was challenging. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Spencer called from his spot in front of the whiteboard. It was decorated with a combination of their messy, rushed handwriting. Spencer grasped his blue marker and looked at Y/N with a painful expression. 

“I’m not getting anywhere with this geographical profile,” Spencer’s somber tone flooded Y/N’s emotions with an overwhelming sense to comfort him. 

“Spencer, put the marker down and look at me, please, for a second.” He obliged as he turned to face her.

Y/N reached up on her tiptoes to gently rub her hands along the base of Spencer’s neck. He could feel the tension melt away. Spencer was not one for physical affection, but he realized that he, in fact, craved the soft touches of people he trusted. Whether it was a brotherly pat on the back from Morgan, a playful high five from Garcia, a proud fist bump from Hotch, Spencer had grown to seek out affection. 

“Y/N,” he said. His voice but a whisper in the loud, hectic bullpen. 

“Shh,” She could sooth his worries just with a graze of her hands across his neck. It was magic to a scientist. Her magical presence set him on fire. 

“Hey, we can do this, Spence, all of us, but we need you,” Y/N voice mirrored his own. A hushed whisper that fueled the flames of his love. 

Instead of kissing her forehead or even hugging her, all Spencer could make out was a small thank you, before, like the wind, she was gone to see if Garica had any updates on the missing boy. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

In a frantic hour, Garcia had discovered a possible location of Tommy and his father, Darrin. Like most the unsubs, they were children of tragedy. Children of abusive homes and of deep rooted violence. It was up to the team, as they raced down the street in their crowded SUVs, to stop the cycle of violence for claiming another innocent child. 

“Hotch, you are on speaker,” Emily called from the passenger seat of the car as Derek sped down the warehouse where they suspected Tommy to be held. 

“Do not go in there without SWAT, do you all here me?” Hotch said sternly. 

“That means you, Derek, don’t go in there till backup gets there,” JJ added from the phone that Emily held. 

“You got it, boss man,” Derek made a sharp turn that led Y/N to nearly fall into Spencer, who sat next to her. 

“Spencer! Where is your vest!?” Y/N asked him impatiently, with a tinge of nervousness and fear laced in her tone. 

“Y/N, Call doesn’t have a gun, he’s been using weapons of opportunity. The profile points to him not even being armed right now. If anything-” 

“Screw the profile, Spencer!” Y/N’s voice was hysterical now. “You need to where a damn vest, you are an FBI agent, if you get-” 

Y/N’s rant to Spencer was stopped short by the disturbing sight before her. From the SUV the four of them could see an even more distraught Call standing out in the middle of the warehouse parking lot. He held Tommy by the neck, with a gun pointed at his temple. Derek stopped the car and jumped out, his gun wielded as he began to try to talk the man down. 

“Call, drop the weapon and release Tommy, right now!” Derek’s voice loomed large and powerful as Emily, Reid, and Y/N each got out of the vehicle and turned their spots with Morgan. 

“You don’t want to hurt Tommy,” Spencer started. “we know who he is to you, we know that he’s your son, and that you weren’t there for him.” He put his gun away in an attempt to show Call that he was not a threat. Y/N could read the desperation in Spencer’s voice from a mile away. Call, like Spencer’s mom lives with schizophrenia. Spencer and Hotch nearly had it out in the middle of the bullpen after Spencer insinuated that Hotch was implying that Call was only going on this murder spree because of his condition.

“Just let the boy go, Call.” Y/N continued the track that Derek and Spencer started. “Just let your son go. We will make sure that you can get medicine, that’s why you went to the pharmacy, right? You need meds to help yourself and then,-” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Y/N could see Spencer inching closer and closer to Tommy. As if it was a chain reaction, Call drew his weapon and fired towards Spencer. Before she even could realize the consequences of her actions, Y/N tackled Spencer to the ground. The bullet lodged itself into the Kevlar vest she wore. Her side burned as she came to understand what had transpired in the last couple of seconds. 

Spencer scrambled onto his knees and clutched Y/N’s cold hands in his. 

“Spence, I’m okay,” Y/N said as she struggled to sit up straight with Spencer practically laying on top of her. 

“No, Y/N! Don’t do that,” Spencer started with tears flooding the corners of his eyes. The little droplets made his sometimes brown and sometimes green eyes sparkle with sadness. 

Spencer moved his hands from the place where the bullet lodged itself in her Kevlar to grasp her face tenderly. But his movement caused her cheek to be painted with a deep red handprint in the shape of the crying man crouching before her hand.

“Spencer,” she let out a small whimper when she saw the look of horror on his face.  Before he could even ask her why she did what she did, Y/N passed out, her limp, cold hand finding its home in the comfort of soft, warm ones. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The rest of the case passed in a numbing hum for Spencer. Once Y/N got shot by Call he let go of Tommy and Derek shot him the leg. Spencer did not even stay for when Emily and Derek apprehended the unsub. It was like his legs acted of their own accord when the EMT showed up for Y/N and he walked with them never letting go of her hand. 

The ride to the hospital in the back of the ambulance was hectic. The EMTs had to monitor her heart rate, her blood pressure, and her oxygen. Even the temptation of numbers could not capture Spencer’s attention as he mulled over the possible conclusions to why Y/N would take a bullet for him. There was no logical reason for it. Not one. Spencer let the steady rocking of the ambulance to soothe him as he gently rubbed his thumb over Y/N’s hand. Even though he longed to hold her against himself, this would have to do, for now at least. Till then, Spencer forced his mind to focus on the pattern that her beating heart created.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hospitals terrified Spencer. The smell, the sick people, the people who were unsavable. Part of him wonders what his life would be like if he became a medical doctor. As a kid, he had a future where he could do anything he could dream of. Cure schizophrenia on Monday, operate on an inoperable tumor on Tuesday- that’s what his life could have been like. 

But sitting there, in the sterile hospital with the white walls and constant beeping, Spencer’s mind was only thinking of another life he could be out living. In the minutes that he sat with Y/N as she lay in pain in his arm, false memories of a life together painted in his mind. Laughing children, family picnics, couple’s Halloween costumes. He stroked her hair and saw a life so familiar that he could almost taste it. He tasted cookies that they baked together as they danced without a care in the world. He tasted Halloween and Forth of July and all the holidays in between. He tasted butterfly kisses with his children that had her hair and her eyes and her smile. 

He was stripped away from those memories that he didn’t even own. Now all he could taste was the bitterness of regret, the sourness of what if, and the tartness of the nightmares masquerading as reality. 

“Family of Y/L/N,” a surgeon dressed in light blue scrubs walked into the waiting area with an unreadable expression on her face.

JJ and Derek stood up immediately as the doctor went to continue to deliver the news. 

“She’s awake and doing okay,” the doctor said with a relieved expression. 

“Oh that goodness,” JJ said as she hugged Emily in a moment of happiness. 

“She’s a fighter,” Derek quipped, “I’m going to call Garcia, she’s probably a nervous wreck” 

“She’ll make a full recovery, but should avoid air travel because her internal bleeding,” the doctor reported, “also, which one of you is Spencer? Even since she’d been lucid, she’s been asking for you,” she said looking around at the remaining group, with her eyes landing on the man in question. 

“She is?” Spencer questioned carefully. He was worried that maybe she regretted jumping in front of him. 

“Yes, why don’t you come with me. It may make her more comfortable having someone she wants with her” 

Y/N wants him. 

Him. 

Spencer was not sure how he even walked himself down the corridor to where Y/N’s room was located. But sure enough, he was met with her ashen face beaming up at his. 

“Y/N! Oh my goodness, are you okay, I mean, obviously you’re injured so you’re not okay. I don’t mean to invalidate your pain, I just...why, Y/N, why on Earth would you do that?” Spencer finished. His voice was more tender towards the end. He looked down at his friend before him and tried to read the expression that graced her face. 

“Spencer, I did what I had to do. You….you would have died,” Spencer noticed the tears that puddled in her eyes and had to suppress the sudden urge to kiss them away. 

“I’d rather die than live my life in a world without you, Spencer.”

Spencer closed his eyes and sat down on the bed with her. 

“Why?” he asked in a voice that was hardly audible. It can’t be, he thought. Maybe this is just something that a teammate does for another teammate. Comrades in arms or something like that, he thought. Trying to make sense of senselessness. 

“Why do you value my life more than yours? Why-how can you do that” there was not stopping tears in his eyes now. She reached out and held his face, like he held her as she bled out in the warehouse only a couple of hours ago. 

“Spence, my life would be dull and gray without you in it. You’re my best-” She stared as he tensed up at what he knew was coming. She only jumped in front of him because it’s what a teammate does. 

“Please, I can't bear to hear that. I-maybe you only can think of me as a teammate or worse a brother, but part of me. A hopeful and romantic part of me that I can't let go of the thought of you thinking about in a different way,” he was so embarrassed, so raw in the moment that he could not bear to even look her in the eyes. 

“Spencer?” he could only watch the way that their fingers laced together. He focused on the patterns between the itchy hospital blanket. 

“Y/N,” he started and took a deep breath. Spencer had never intended to tell her this. Maybe in moments of drunken bravery he thought about it, but he’d always sober up before his dreams could come to fruition. 

“I’m a logical man, I solve problems for a living but sometimes. Sometimes, I can’t use logic to solve some problems, and there’s no logical reason for you to jump in front of a bullet for me. Unless you love me? And I hope with every fiber of being that you do, because I am so desperately in love with you” 

Spencer allowed himself, for the first in his life, to have once of hope and faith. 

Y/N’s eyes met Spencer’s in an uncharacteristically shy moment. 

“I do, Spence. Of course I love you”

Spencer let out a nervous laugh as he, once again, gently placed his hands on her jaw. He placed a kiss on her forehead. The small, tender affection elicited a whimper from Y/N. Spencer jumped back in horror. 

“Oh, honey did I hurt you? You gotta tell me where it hurts” he murmured in a comforting voice. 

“Hmm, no I’ve just been waiting five years for you to kiss me and you settle on my forehead?” Y/N beamed up at him expectantly. 

“Nowhere do you want me to kiss you, my dear?” Spencer questioned playfully. 

“How about in between everywhere and anywhere you want, Doctor Reid,” Y/N, despite the pain, managed a smile for the man that held her hand so lovingly. 

“How about here?” Spencer leaned forward and kissed the left corner of her mouth. 

“Or here?” The right corner. 

“What about here, I’ve dreamed of kissing you here.” He moved his mouth to meet the place on her neck that met her collarbone. Y/N looked up at Spencer dreamily. One day she might chalk it up to the painkillers flooding through her system, but the pure adoration that melted from Spencer’s lips to her skin was something that never knew she’d crave. 

“And here” 

His lips parted slightly as he moved in to meet hers. The feeling was more divine and earth shattering than when Prometheus gave humans fire. Together, intertwined in bedsheets, IVs, and fingers laced with hair, they lit a fire of their own. Kissing Spencer stopped time. 

It was Y/N who broke first. 

“Spencer,” she said with a new reverence that would only be reserved for him. 

“Yes, sweet girl?” 

“You gotta promise me something,” she said as she raked her hands across his arms, feeling him shudder under her touch. 

“Anything and everything for you” he said, mirroring her earlier words to him. 

“Wear a vest next time”

[alldayangst]

lovebug (Tom Holland)

GIF is from gaybuckybarnes here on Tumblr. You can access my masterlist here. This was written for @worldoftom’s lolbrosgetsicktoochallenge. The prompt I had was: ‘Tom self diagnoses himself as sick. He’s got all the symptoms. He’s speechless, over the edge and just breathless. He never thought he’d get hit by the ‘love-bug’ again’. Inspired by the song Lovebug by Jonas Brothers!

A/N: Y/N is an assistant director on Cherry in this fic. This has a lot of Cherry (the movie) references but most are explained if you haven’t seen the film. Such as, it was filmed in Cleveland and Morocco, directed by Joe and Anthony Russo. Some scenes in this fic borrow from the movie & I’ve linked clips from the film if you’d like to listen/watch along. WC: 4K.

“Yeah, Mum, I’ve just got like the sorest throat at the moment.” Nikki’s picture cuts in and out on a scrambled screen on the South side of London, her husband’s hand periodically reaching out for her, rubbing her shoulder, then leaving the frame almost as quickly as it came in. Even through the low quality, the pixels dashing about his screen, Tom can make out his mother’s brows knitting together and can’t remove the feeling of utter guilt when he sees her grow redder and redder out of anger, concern and confusion for her son. “But I’ve got Harry here with me.” Harry waves from behind his brother, his trusty mug swapped for a Phoenix Coffee Cup in his spare hand, just to get a taste of the States.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He barely drinks coffee on the other side of the pond, and would bet good money that an at home PG Tips would beat America’s swankiest coffee joint any day. But now, he’s betrayed his usual routine and his body’s all out of whack and his throat is hoarse, he’s breathless even at times.

Harry shoots his mum a half smile to comfort her, but he doesn’t know what it's like to be a mother, and his and Tom’s mouth both form an ‘O’ when Nikki begins to type so hard her screen jolts and Tom swears she’s put a dent in it. “You know what? I’m going to give them a piece of my mind, Tom! They’re overworking you!” Nikki looks intensely to find her baby boy in drug-addled eyes and his jungle of curls on his newly shaven head. She guesses it becomes easier when Tom pushes his face halfway into the screen and pleads like the child he’ll always be to her, “Please, please Mum! I can’t have any days off. Under any circumstances, I need to finish this film!”

Tom turns to his younger brother for help. “Tell her, Harry!”

And as little brothers do best, Harry spills the beans as soon as Tom’s phone is in clutch. “Tom’s fallen in love with the first A.D., Y/N.”

Nikki immediately loses her frown, knowing how love can knock Tom off his feet and blow all the wind out of him. Tom’s father, Dom, re-enters the frame to match Nikki’s grin. He never misses an opportunity to tease. “Oo, caught a case of the love bug, have you?”

Harry has to whip the phone around to dodge Tom’s protesting arms reaching for it again. “Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot.” Harry mutters. Tom’s family doesn’t budge any further, knowing how bad Tom was hurt after his last relationship. They weren't sure when the love bug would come back to bite him again. So after they all shared a knowing look, Harry handed Tom his phone back. “I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.”

It all started five weeks ago. Tom, at 24, was beginning to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound.  Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour.

He’d say, perhaps, you were the closest thing to the real deal. The problem was, he didn’t know if you liked him back.

“When life was beginning, I saw -”

“When life was-”

“When life was be-fuck!”

“When life was beginning, I saw you.”

Tom could make a picture book out of the day he first met you. He remembers how your hair looked that day, the speckles of genuinity in your eyes, how your ear-to-ear smile seemed to be a mirror because every time he saw you from then on, he brandished the same beam. He recalls how his eyes went low as he dropped his script to his lap and stared at your lips, so soft and kissable, as you repeated his words back to him: “When life was beginning, I saw you.” Then you chuckled softly as Tom waited patiently for his head and his heart to return to him.

“I’m sorry. I’m dyslexic. I have a bit of trouble reading.”

“It’s cool, I'm the first A.D. That’s what I’m here for.”

You rubbed your hands on the back of your trousers, your mic jostling in your back pocket as you attempted to rid yourself of your nervous, sweaty palms.

“I’m Y/N.” You reached out for a shake only for Tom to cough loudly into his own hand. 

“Fuck! I’m so sorry! That wasn’t me trying to get out of your handshake. I- I-.” Tom looked at his hand for it had failed him for the first time in his life. His hand that had helped him up during handstands, being his crutch through cartwheels and backflips, but had decidedly run out of luck to be on the receiving end of Tom’s monstrous cough impending a handshake with someone his eyes just couldn’t look away from.

You laugh again. Your laugh sounds like melody, Tom muses. Awestruck, he wishes he could play it again, repeat it like a radio hit and never wash himself of the feeling he got when he heard your laugh for the first time.

“It’s all good. I’ll see you around.” You disappear from his trailer, likely on a venture to your own, when Joe and Anthony block his view of you walking away.

Anthony and Joe take on the ghost of you in Tom’s room, “Tom! The man, the myth and the legend!” Joe comes behind him to rub his newly hairless head. “We’re so glad you agreed to do this movie!” 

“Bummed that you’re not coming to the Browns game tonight, though.” Anthony remarks, throwing a football at Joe who sets it in his lap.

“Harry and I, we’re British, mate. We play football with our feet.”

Joe doesn’t know it then, but his next words are the beginning of the end for Tom. He rubs on his football and looks Tom in his eye when he poses, “It’s a shame ‘cause the whole crew’s going. First day of filming celebrations.”

“The whole crew?”

Anthony mumbles an ‘mhm’ as he picks up a framed photo of Tom and RDJ sitting pretty on Tom’s dresser, posing like father and son.

Tom’s usually self assured when he’s on set, but he’s hesitant to say this next improvised line. His voice trails off as he speaks. “Including Y/N?”

“Y/N?” Joe queries, with a smile that’s half scary and half comforting, and the butterflies in Tom’s stomach are begging him not to fuck this up and suddenly every second a word is not spoken feels like hours have passed and he might have ruined things before they’ve even started, gosh he just met you and-

Tom tries to play it cool. “I don’t- they’re cool.” Tom coughs again. “I mean, I don’t really know them but Y/N seems cool I guess.”

Anthony and Joe smile at each other, scrambling to exit. “Whole crew’s going, baby!” Joe beams.

“Please don’t tell Y/N I asked!” Tom shouts before they’re out of earshot.

“Yeah, yeah. Anthony, go long!”

A few hours later, Tom was sitting next to an unamused Harry, you on his left, foam fingers pointing every which way. 

“Are you a big football fan?” Tom asked, imposter syndrome creeping up on him. He had the best seats in the house, but knew not a thing about this sport he’d come down to watch. Meanwhile, crew and crowd alike sat themselves around you guys, cheering leaving throats raw for days to come and a tussle for a foam finger between Joe and Anthony leading to hundreds of sugary popcorn shells scattered on the stadium floor.

“I mean, I wouldn’t ever turn down the option to look at Odell Beckham Jr. Are you?” you replied.

Tom looked over to his brother who sat with his chin in his hand, lips pulled into a thin straight line as his rusty curls were blown about from the wind of brown and orange flags flown from fans behind him. “We could learn to love it.” Tom flashed you a toothy grin, unsure of where to guide the conversation next. He knew for sure that he wanted to keep talking to you, but his ego began putting up a fight, eager to show himself off if you’d have him in any way. Tom sighed. “Truth is, we have no fucking clue what’s going on.” Tom could hear the commentary about a player reaching the end zone, but they were all just words that went into one ear then came straight out of the other.

You giggled. “I have no idea either. We could make up our own rules if you want.”

Tom likes the way you think. He also likes the way you speak. He loves the way you laugh.

“You have a beautiful laugh.” 

You covered your mouth. “Oh, fuck, I hate my laugh!”

“I’d make you laugh a thousand times if I could.”

You pointed to the jumbo screen as Mayfield made a touchdown, unable to stop laughing from sheer nerves as you felt Tom’s hot, burning haze on you. An advert for Cleveland’s Own Phoenix Coffee flashed on the screen as you spoke. “We’ll make our own rules. Every time we see the quarterback pick up the ball, we’ll cheer.”

By the end of the night, Tom is speechless, breathless and over the edge of his chair in faux excitement and anticipation of the quarterback receiving the ball once again. 

“Another coffee?” The service worker asked.

“Yes please!” You and Tom both say in unison, pumped as the quarterback began circling around to collect the ball in open arms.

The footage of the game is cut abruptly as the camera points to a confused, solo Harry; Anthony and Joe are seen at the edge of the frame whispering suggestively and pointing towards Tom, the camera eventually capturing the superstar who looks back up at his own reflection. Poorly green screened hearts flood the screen and the camera pans to include you in the frame too. Tom looks on in horror when he realises what’s going on and how it could be too late, and turns to you.

“I promise I didn’t know this was going on. We don’t have to.” Tom panics. 

You hear him loud and clear, that you don’t have to, but your heart and eleven thousand people are telling you to kiss him otherwise. “Oh well. We should just do it.” you murmur, the bright pink ‘KISSCAM’ logo flashing in and out.

It doesn’t take more than a moment for the gap between you and Tom to close, for your face to get lost behind his, his lips pressing against yours, eyes closed, trusting each other to share your air. This was probably the first thing that night worth cheering for, howls and whistles erupting around you. 

Tom doesn’t understand American football, but he thinks that the best seats in the house could be anywhere next to you.

Harry’s on the phone to his twin brother, Sam, when you and the rest of the crew make it back to the hotel later on. “-Yeah, and Tom spent half the night with the first A.D. cheering and screaming at fuck all.”

The Cleveland Browns lost that night, but Tom remains none the wiser. He stood in the doorway as Harry continued to relay his day to Sam. “Oh, and Tom, Mum said to give her a call, eavesdropper.” He flicks Tom’s reddening nose before closing the door.

A week and a half later, Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. He never has the time anymore to attend ‘real’ football games back home, and he actually understands the game back in Britain. But now, he’s cheered at almost every given opportunity to impress you stupidly, and his chest and voice is suffering as a consequence.

You and Tom walked onto set with your pinkies intertwined, growing closer and closer by the minute, but Tom doesn’t miss how Ciara’s boyfriend visits set every day for her, doesn’t miss how they rub their nose together in this lovey-dovey affection he wishes he could bestow upon you.

The scene wasn’t working.

The crew was beginning to grow restless and Tom silently became more frustrated as the minutes went by and he was unable to get his lines right. He remembers how a week ago, it felt so easy. You were there to correct him when he stumbled upon his lines and you picked him up so effortlessly, a twinkling smile on your face. But then? Then you were different. Your eyes were scrunched up behind the lens of the camera and you were mumbling something to Anthony about how the sun was due to go down in Ohio soon so you needed to hurry along.

“Alright.” you announced. “Take five!”

And Tom was thankful, Ciara perched upon a swing for the scene they were filming, Tom dwindling the rope of the swing under his finger as her boyfriend approached her once again. “Hey dude, are you okay?”

Ciara looked at Tom with the same concern, hands finding home in her boyfriend’s nest of hair. “Yeah, Tom, are you okay?”

Tom coughed into his hand. “Yeah, guys, I’m good.”

“I think you’re coming down with a nasty cough.” Ciara muttered.

“Yeah. It’s you guys. You’re too cute. You make me sick.” Tom laughed humourlessly for a short while, wanting to be that adorable with someone, maybe not anyone, maybe just with you someday. Then Tom shook his head, a bitter feeling in his throat as he yawned. “It’s the Browns game. I was yelling and screaming every time a quarterback got the ball. Of course I’m a little unwell. I’ll be good as new in a few days though.”

Ciara already knew Tom wasn’t playing a man with the healthiest of habits, but she worried that Tom was getting this bad this early. “Maybe you should talk to the first A.D. about reducing shoot days from five to three?”

Tom didn’t like the prospect of seeing you less. “Yeah.” Harry had a clapperboard between his hands, leading Tom’s eyebrows to furrow as his brother yelled something about it being take 13. “Maybe.” 

Harry resumed to a new position in your chair, with you taking Harry’s place right across from Tom, a coffee waiting for him when the scene was over like Harry always did. Ciara’s boyfriend left the frame to watch supportively on the sidelines.

“Lights. Camera. Action!” Anthony called. “Time is money, you guys! Let’s try to get this one right this time.” 

They’d been over this already twelve times today.

“Hey, I’m really happy you’re here.”

Ciara read her line back. “Why’s that?” 

Tom could hear whispers of the crew, the sound guy glaring at them in case they were picked up in the scene, and he knew it had something to do with the fact that he couldn’t for some reason get the next line out all day. And that reason, unbeknownst to everyone, was because Tom couldn’t say something he didn’t mean - feeling like his heart was locked in a cage for which only you had the key. He looked past his co-star, Ciara, and up at you; feeling so close but you were far away, leaving him all day without anything to say. And overcoming his speechlessness and breathlessness, even in just that moment, he ran his hand over the rope to say, “Cause I like you. A lot.”

Ciara and the rest of the crew broke into a wide smile once Tom finally spoke his next line, but the only person Tom was focused on was you, who wasn’t smiling, but mouthing his words back to him.

Ciara breathed, “Shut up.”

And Tom’s sure to look you in the eye when he says, “I really do.”

When the filming for the day is said and done, Tom makes a beeline for you across the greenery. You hand over his coffee to him, “It’s a little cold now, but a warm hand is holding it.”

Tom quirks an eyebrow. “Are you inviting me to hold your hand?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

“You swapped jobs with Harry, I saw.”

“Yeah, well. It’s good he gets to grips with the job now. You know, in case anything changes.” You pulled your phone out of your pocket. “I should probably give you my number. In case anything changes.”

“Oh no, yeah. Your number is?”

“216-XXX-XXX. Speaking of changes, I heard you’re trying to get your days reduced.”

“You were eavesdropping?” Tom looks at your face that bears no trace of guilt. “You’re just like me!” He pulls you close.

“Tom, if what happened today is because you’re working too much, I’m happy to reduce your time.”

“Nah, nah.” Tom sniffles, rubbing his nose on a jacket probably worth more than your life. “I’m just a bit sick, s’all. I’ll be fine.”

Two weeks pass and Tom’s no better. With the Cleveland game nearly a month ago, Tom has nothing to blame and as first A.D., you’re obligated to reduce his hours. Tom’s on the phone with his mother when you approach his trailer. 

“Don’t listen to Harry. I’m not in love. I just like Y/N.”

“A lot. I’ll keep you updated. Bye, Mum.” 

You’re so quick to skip happily back to your trailer that you miss Harry calling out to his brother, he’s his protector now that his mother was countries apart. “Tom?” Harry starts.

Tom mumbles an ‘mhm’, hoping Harry would make it quick as he sees you FaceTiming him. If only his mother could see him like this. He’d get to call her tomorrow and tell her he’d called you for the first time yesterday, he could hardly wait to utter, 'I've finally found the missing part of me’. Harry sighs as the FaceTime ringing is relentless. Tom’s eyebrows threaten to meet in the middle of his face as he clutches onto his phone.

“Tom.” Harry begins. “Y/N is giving up assistant director.”

Tom’s really not sure where Harry gets the source of his information from, but he’s sure this isn’t true. He thinks you’d tell him before his brother if you were leaving the film behind, leaving him behind.

The film is due to move filming to Morocco soon, and Tom’s well aware that not all film crew joins them when production moves abroad, but to Tom, you’re an extension of this movie universe. And Tom refuses to leave the memories of you in this filming cycle. “How’d you know?”

“I’m taking over.” Tom’s screen lights up with the glow of your call, and as bright as it is, as bright as you are, as bright as your smile surely is on the other end of the phone call, Tom’s in his deepest darkest feelings wondering how he fooled himself into thinking romance could go right for him this time. 

He’s going to Morocco. You’re not. You’re funny, smart, promising, beautiful. You’ll find someone good for you, a better pair by the time he’s back.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t work out, man.” Tom sulks in his bed, the light from your constant calls bleeding through his bed sheets. “I just wanted to warn you.” Tom nods, screaming into his pillow. Harry decides that’s his cue to leave, a glimmer of light from outside seeping through the crack of the door as Harry escorts himself. Tom musters all his might and courage to reluctantly answer your phone, the ear-to-ear grin he knows so well greeting him once again.

Suddenly, he forgot how to speak. Hopeless, breathless, couldn’t you see that?

“Tom?” You call out his name a few times before cutting straight to the point. “Do you like me?”

Tom shifts slightly but not enough to show that he’s alarmed. “Huh? Yeah, I like you.”

He sits up, but doesn’t reciprocate the outrageous smile you wear like a heart on your sleeve. Tom’s eyes are sunken, dark circles forming under his eyes where he and his disturbed character become one. You suddenly remember why you shouldn’t have run away so fast, perhaps Tom was overworking himself. He continues, “But I’m an emotionally unavailable hopeless romantic. So I wouldn’t waste your time on me.”

Tom can’t help the hurt in his heart when he sees your smile drop so suddenly, knowing it was earnest. “Tom, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying, life is unfair. And I’m gonna quit while I’m ahead. We wouldn’t work out. And I like our friendship now. We should stay that way.”

You’re not convincing when you nod rapidly, not letting Tom see your face as you play with your fingers to avoid his gaze. “Yeah, I agree.” You’re much less convincing when the last frame Tom caught of you was a shot of tears dripping down your face, as three rings followed you. Tom’s screen went black in your absence, and Tom falls asleep with eyes even redder from crying, and he wonders when he’s gonna shake this sickness.

It’d been a few days since Tom had got his shots to allow him to go to Morocco. He sat opposite the doctor on set, a coffee cup placed on the desk between him.

Tom reckons that's why he’s sick. Shots always have their side effects, and he’d taken multiple shots in one day. And now, he specifically asked for you to hold his hand during the process, Harry branded in a glinting jaw-drop, only for you to leave directly after. 

“I’m speechless, constantly feeling over the edge, breathless.” Tom explains his symptoms to the doctor. “At first I thought it was because of that stupid football game, then all the coffee I’m drinking, now I don’t know if it’s the shots. I feel like shit, doc.”

“I know exactly what you’re dealing with.”

“What?”

“Lovebug.”

Tom stares at the doctor in utter bewilderment. “You figured that out based on my symptoms?”

“I figured that out based on the puppy dog eyes you gave for your first A.D. when they left without a word.” The doctor begins to laugh softly, but Tom is unamused. How is he supposed to shake this illness after completely ruining your relationship? How is he supposed to mend your bond after talking so recklessly, so emotionally? “Tom, I’m not here to be a fairy godmother, I’m being strictly medical. At a certain point, what you feel in your mind affects your body. So I prescribe that you talk to Y/N and say everything you need to say.”

And while that seemed easy enough, Tom’s ego was at work again, and Tom was feeling far too bruised and wounded to speak to you first. Surely if you cared enough, if you liked him back, if you were willing to be distanced, you would reach out first.

It seems Tom’s pride had forgotten that you already did.

“I heard that this is the exact shit that happened in Cleveland, and he couldn’t get the line out.” Tom hears the whisperings from behind the camera, the amount of familiar faces in the crew dwindling after the change in location. He doesn’t respond. He waits for someone to take five. And when no one throws him a bone, he asks Harry to.

“Alright, everyone take five.”

“Someone get this kid a fucking coffee, he’s always on edge.” Joe instructs.

“And you think giving a kid in twenties coffee is taking him off edge?” Anthony chuckles.

Tom doesn’t care whether or not he gets the coffee, rocking side to side. He’s got all the motion for this role, but he feels nothing. All he felt was for you.

“Here.” Harry sets a Moroccan mint tea down next to Tom, hoping it would calm him down. When Tom takes a few sips, the look in his eyes is less pleading, and everyone’s ready to rumble, this being the last scene of the day.

Harry feeds Tom the line. “Baby, are you seeing bad things?” Tom is seeing bad things. A life without love, a life without you. Unable to contain it all, Tom turns his frustration into laughter. “Why are you calling me baby for, man?” Tom has this ear-to-ear grin but even he feels it's not as innocent, as genuine as yours. He never knew a smile so wide could be so full of pain.

“I have an idea.” Harry saunters off to collect his phone. “Don’t stop rolling the cameras.”

When Harry comes back, there’s sounds of shifting erupting from his phone. “Hi, Tom.” 

Tom didn’t know it would be so bittersweet to hear your voice again. He wasn’t sure if he should put walls up again or if twice was the charm. Even if you worked out in the short term, whose to say Tom wouldn’t get hurt again? And Tom wouldn’t want to hurt you.

“Are they taking good care of you out there? I don’t think I took good care of you.” Tom doesn’t say anything on the other side of the line, so you continue. “I’m not a good A.D. if you’re always sick and tired, and I didn’t want to see you any less, which was selfish of me, so I didn’t change your schedule.” You sigh as you admit why you left. “When you asked, though, I swear I was gonna do it, but then I heard you liked me, and I got carried away. I had to remove myself from the situation to do what’s best for you. Do you understand me? I did it for you.”

“I, uh, I got a diagnosis.” Tom stumbles.

“Oh my gosh, are you seriously sick?”

“I’m speechless. Over the edge, breathless.” Tom laughed dryly, finally feeling like he can choose an ending.

“What did they say it was?”

“Lovebug.” Harry smiles softly at his brother.

Your laugh is like nectar entering Tom’s ear.

“I might just love you way too much, Y/N.”

“Are you sure you’re doin’ okay?” Tom tries his best not to sound dejected that you didn’t say it back, knowing he’s already felt the brunt of this heartache already.

“I just miss you, that’s all.”

“I miss you too. I love you.” Joe stops recording, and Harry lowly whispers ‘take.fucking.five.’ as he and the crew creep away from Tom’s new found love scene. 

“Anthony, can I borrow your phone?” Harry begins to type Nikki’s number as soon as Anthony gives over the phone. “Mum, Tom just told the first A.D. he’s in love with them so guess who’s out of a job?”

Tom knows why he’s sick. He used to feel like love was trudging up a high hill he couldn’t come down from, where every beat of heart was feeling like an ache on an open wound. Tom had yet to meet a lover to prove distance makes the heart grow fonder, finding himself in six month long entanglements and illusions of love before things inevitably went sour. But now, Tom has found you.

[fruitcoops]

Hi, I love your blog so much! I recently got ankle lateral ligament reconstruction done, and as an athlete, it sucks so bad. I watched my basketball team play yesterday, and it felt really horrible to watch them lose by one point in overtime when I know I would have made a difference if I were on the court... I know you have lots of asks and prompts, but if you have the time and want to, could you possibly hurt me more than I’m already hurting with some angsty ankle injury stuff😩 like maybe Cap watching the Lions lose without him.

Thank you for all the awesome fics you write! Your blog is amazing!

Anon, this ask really struck a chord with me and I wanted to do it justice as best I could--going through a sports injury like that is the worst feeling in the world, and watching your teammates play without you just adds salt to the wound. Sending all the love and healing vibes your way, okay? Please keep me updated on how you're feeling if you feel comfortable <3

Combined with an ask for pre-Coops and Sirius' photo of Remus! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove

TW for canonical injury and mentioned scars (Remus)

Sirius felt a nudge at his arm and his irritation flared, but he did not take his eyes off the game. “Fucking hell,” he muttered as James missed yet another blatant pass. There’s three.

The next nudge was more insistent.

“What?” he snapped, sparing half a glance to his left and feeling his stomach swoop.

Remus raised his eyebrows and held the mouthguard out further. “Either put this in or unclench your jaw.”

You’re not my mother, Sirius almost snarked back, just to be even more of an asshole. He was cold from being at the rink without his gear, severely pissed off by the general bullshit happening on the ice, and the itch in the boot locked around his stupid fucked-up ankle was slowly driving him mad.

Remus offered the mouthguard again, and Sirius’ temper cooled by a few degrees at the soft encouragement on his face. Pretty, his brain supplied. He swallowed hard around his sudden dry mouth and shoved the plastic between his teeth, beating back the unruly emotions with a mental baseball bat. Nope. Not tonight. Focus on being angry.

Logan got distracted, and Finn paid the price as an enforcer slammed him against the boards; he bounced back immediately, but Sirius ground the mouthguard so hard it squeaked. “Tabarnak—”

“Come with me for a sec,” Remus said, raising his voice just enough to be heard over the angry shouts of Lions fans.

Sirius shook his head. What he wouldn’t give to be in the heart of the fight, letting off some of the steam that had been building with no outlet for weeks. “Game’s not over.”

Remus pressed his lips together, but said nothing; Sirius’ throat constricted as he looked at the scoreboard. There may have been three full minutes left on the clock, but the Lions had already lost—unless they pulled a miracle out of their asses, this game would be a stain on their record. Or if they just let me play.

Sirius sighed through his nose. The urge had been growing stronger the longer he stayed cooped up and restless, banging at the walls of his brain and bringing headache after headache.

“Cap.” The hand on the back of his bicep was surprisingly gentle and he closed his eyes as Remus gave him a light tug. “Come on. We can at least be productive instead of sitting here and stewing.”

He smells nice. How does he always smell so nice? Sirius stood and followed Remus down the tunnel, not even bothering to force smiles for the people pounding on the glass partitions. Don’t focus on the game.

Focus on his shoulders, something close to his heart suggested. You like his shoulders.

He scrunched his nose up at the thought—if he dwelled on the smooth, strong curve of Remus’ upper back for any longer, he would start remembering the one time he saw them bare, covered in sweat with scars that shone like moonlight and—

“Are you okay?” Remus asked, snapping him back to reality. Sirius jumped and concern flickered over the golden planes of his face. “You’re twitchy tonight.”

“Just…” He made a vague, aborted motion toward the ice before continuing toward the PT room, though he did not miss the worried look Remus shot him. Fantastic, now I look like a dick and an idiot.

“What’s going on, Sirius?” The door clicked closed behind them and Remus leaned against it with his arms crossed loosely as Sirius limped over to the table and sat down, pulling the mouthguard out. He stared at the floor and the hunk of plastic—don’t think about how nice his voice sounds around your name. Don’t.

He shook his head; through the door, the sounds of the game were faint. “They’re better than this.”

“Yep.”

“They’re all going to be angry tomorrow, which makes them sloppy.”

“Probably.”

“Coach will be upset.”

“No question.”

“It’s the Badgers.”

Remus made a face. “I know, right?”

“They’re a good team, but—” He tightened his jaw again and looked away.

“But we’re better,” Remus finished for him.

“Yeah.” Silence fell between them for a few moments, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. Being quiet around Remus was never uncomfortable, and Sirius was pathetically grateful for every scrap of it he could get. “I—the game would be different if I was out there.”

“Would it?”

“It would.” He had been going over every mistake for two and a half hours, placing himself in like a chess piece to stop the missed passes, fumbled pucks, and thoughtless plays. “They need me with them.”

The paper crinkled as Remus sat down next to him, and every one of Sirius’ senses went on high alert. “They need to you get better,” he said simply, those caramel-apple eyes making Sirius’ knees go weak. “Have you been doing your exercises?”

“Of course,” he scoffed.

“Good.” There was no defensiveness or indignation in Remus’ voice—guilt snapped, a firecracker behind his teeth.

“Sorry.”

Remus smiled wryly. “When you’re around injured hockey players all day long, you get used to a little bit of bitchiness.”

“I’m not bitchy!” Sirius spluttered. The poorly-concealed amusement on Remus’ face made mortification heat his cheeks. “I’m not!”

“Uh-huh.” The note of smug disbelief should not have been as attractive as it was. “Alright, lay down.”

Sirius swore he heard a few crackling noises as his brain short-circuited. “Quoi?”

“I’m not kneeling on freezing linoleum to check out your ankle, Cinderella,” Remus snorted. “Now get a wiggle on.”

“You have the strangest sayings,” he said as he laid back and stretched his leg out, bewildered and yet somehow relieved.

“And you—” Remus pulled the top buckle free. “—have no appreciation for the great American north.”

“I can take it off,” Sirius mumbled, feeling redness rise once again.

He cocked an eyebrow. “The boot? I might not be a muscle-bound athlete, but I’m pretty sure I can manage a couple strips of Velcro.”

“No, it’s—doesn’t touching people’s feet freak you out? Like, the sweat and everything?”

“If it did, I’d have to find another profession, because I’m damp all the time from you fuckers and you all seem to have a habit of breaking things below the knee. Bend.”

Sirius complied, drawing his knee toward his chest. His bare foot looked weird in the bright lights, pale and still swollen, but Remus was as golden as ever. You can watch from afar, he conceded when the cute little furrow appeared on Remus’ forehead while he felt around the bone. Just for a little while. “Your hands are warm,” he said before he could stop himself.

Remus glanced up, and his small smile caused a flood of butterflies in Sirius’ stomach. “Thanks. They’re usually pretty cold, so I’m glad I’m not accidentally giving you foot hypothermia.”

“Is that real?”

“No,” Remus laughed. Sirius wished he could keep that sound forever. “How’s that feel?”

“Uh, fine.” He blinked a couple times to come back to himself as Remus put light pressure on the sole of his foot. “Still fine.”

“You’re a lot more flexible than before. Things are healing well.”

A loud buzzer went off outside—Sirius closed his eyes as disappointment and frustration fired up once more. The crowd wasn’t cheering. The windows weren’t shaking. He didn’t even want to look at the TV to check the score. I should be out there, he thought for the umpteenth time. I’m letting them down.

“I’m sorry,” Remus said quietly as he worked through a few more exercises.

“Not your fault.”

“It’s not yours, either.”

Sirius wanted to believe him. “I’m the captain.”

“And you’re being responsible by doing this with me so you can heal faster.” People rushed past the door outside, but the PT room remained peaceful. Sirius stared at the plain ceiling and wished for a miracle. “They miss you.”

“Y’know, that’s not exactly making me feel better.”

“Sorry.” They lapsed back into silence. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Cool.”

Sirius chewed the inside of his lip for a solid two minutes, following Remus’ simple instructions without looking at him. He should have been out there with them, ankle be damned. It was basically healed anyway; they were just tying up loose ends, and maybe Remus needed to be a little less careful. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m gonna give you five seconds to ask a different question.”

“I’m just saying, it feels fine and—”

“Time’s up.” Remus let go of his foot and Sirius only spared a moment to mourn the loss of his comforting touch before he caught the stormy, mulish stubbornness that took the place of Remus’ concentration. “Sit.”

“I am.”

He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius dragged himself upright with a huff. Arguing with Remus Lupin was about as useful as arguing with a brick wall, and that was coming from someone who won the ‘Most Stubborn’ superlative at their last end-of-year party. “First of all, ankles are annoying and the soft tissue will still be damaged even if the bone is healed. Second, it’s my job to fix you up so your boys stop whining to me about healing you faster. And third, I’m not giving up on you.”

Sirius paused for a long moment. “What?”

“I’m not giving up,” Remus repeated. His jaw set and he made direct eye contact. “I would love nothing more than to kick Snape in the kneecaps and let you go out there as soon as you can stand on your own, but that’s not what I’m here for. I’m here to make sure you’re ready to kick ass and take names no matter what that little shit was trying to do. So don’t you dare sit there and try to chicken out at the finish line, because I know you want this even more than I do.”

In his chest, Sirius heart was hammering like he had just run five miles. I’m not giving up on you. Sirius had never wanted to kiss him more. “Thank you.”

Remus softened with a slow breath. “We’re in this together, Sirius. You and me.”

“I know.”

“Then let’s get to work. Next time you play the Badgers, make ‘em regret this game.”

--------------------------------

Sirius walked back toward the locker room feeling rather nauseous. The whole team leaked their bad moods into the air—Arthur had barely looked at them before sending them home with a quiet “we’ll talk more tomorrow”, the equivalent of an arrow through Sirius’ heart. I need a pick-me-up, he thought as the rest of the guys trooped out in a melancholy raincloud. He fist-bumped each of them, per tradition, but their responses were weak at best.

Ice cream sounded good. Maybe a milkshake. Oh, who was he kidding, he needed a solid hug and something other than ice to look at. Not for the first time, he contemplated getting a dog, just so the house wouldn’t be empty and dark when he returned.

Laughter rang out ahead and Sirius inhaled sharply, letting the sound roll over him. “I’m not kidding!” Moody chuckled.

“Bullshit,” Remus countered, still snickering. “There is no way—”

“I’ve been around here longer than you’ve been alive, kid.”

“Yes, yes, I know,” Remus groaned, though Sirius could hear the smile in his voice even from around the corner. “You only bring it up every goddamn day.”

“Brat.”

Sirius entered the room just in time to see Remus playfully knock the side of his foot against Moody’s; both were grinning. “Isn’t it past your bedtime, old man?”

Moody nodded to him. “Night, twelve.”

“A demain,” Sirius called, offering a slight smile as his eyes lingered on Remus. He was leaning back against the wall with stick tape in his hands—his hands, which never failed to make Sirius throw caution to the wind—and raised it in farewell. “See you, Loops. Thanks again.”

“No problem, Cap.”

He grabbed his duffel off the floor and slid his keys, wallet, and phone into his pockets as Moody and Remus resumed their conversation. He wondered how long they usually stuck around, and if they would oppose him staying—he wouldn’t interrupt, but being around people who weren’t going through the five stages of grief already felt nice.

An idea struck as Remus’ laugh raised goosebumps on his arms once again. With a careful glance over his shoulder, he slipped his phone out and snapped a picture before hurrying off toward his car. His breaths were shallow; that was such a creepy move, and surely one of them noticed—

No voices chased him. Nobody gave him strange looks. He waited until he was safely in the front seat of the car before unlocking his phone, and all the air in his lungs left in a rush.

The photo was perfect. It caught the lopsided tilt to Remus’ mouth, his slender-but-strong fingers, his long legs, the scrunch of his nose mid-laugh. Everything Sirius never let himself look at for long. He didn’t have much space left among the collection of paper memories on his dresser, but maybe if he put it in the back where nobody would see it unless they knew where to look…

He turned the car on. Later. He would print it out and deal with the taut rubber-band-ball of feelings later. Until then, he could settle for the imprint of Remus’ warmth taking away the pain in his ankle and the determination on his face as he promised to bring Sirius back from the personal hell he was living in. You and me, he had said, and Sirius wanted nothing more than to believe it.

[hockeyboysimagines]

Ashes and Wine

Chapter 6

Warnings: Some angst, language, implied sexual talk, and Kaitlin being a total bitch.

A double update whaaaaaaat? Enjoy! Let me know what you think!!!

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

5 stages of grief and Leighton had gone through them all. First she didn’t believe it, it had been a bad dream or a joke of course. Then she was angry, how could he do this? He still loved her. Then she bargained. If she just had more time, she could change his mind. Then the sadness set in, lots tears and memories flooding back to her. And finally she realized there was nothing she could do about it, and she just had to accept that her chapter with Mat had ended.

But that didn’t mean she was happy or nice about it. Ginny and Beau held her hand every step of the way, but instead of feeling at peace with the situation since she had accepted it, she returned to anger.

She had avoided Mat the rest of the week, but it was unrealistic to think she could avoid him forever.

********

The wedding it turned out, could not be pulled off in 3 weeks but would take 5. After Kaitlin had thrown a small temper tantrum, even though it was her fault for wanting something so extravagant that took too much time, she resumed planning. Mat stayed out of it mostly, allowing her to do her thing. He sat through hours of wedding stuff in between games and practices. It was rather annoying.

He hadn’t heard from Leighton since he broke the news, Ginny was giving him radio silence, and Beau had shot a puck at him during practice the previous day. The absence of all three in his life left a large gaping hole, and the wound on his heart opened up again, bleeding all over. He sighed as Kaitlin and her bridesmaids were chattering away in the kitchen.

Leighton squealed when she felt a pair of hands grab at her waist and spin her around, pushing her against her locker. Mat leaned forward and pressed his lips sweetly against hers. If a teacher rounded the corner they would get in trouble but she didn’t care.

When they finally broke apart he smiled at her “Are you coming to my game tonight?”

“Of course. Ginny too, and my parents wanted to come.”

Leighton’s parents loved Mat almost instantly. They were kind, and welcomed him in. And his parents loved Leighton. His mom gushed about how perfect they were together , and how sweet and beautiful she was. Everything in his life was pretty perfect at that moment. All except for one small thing.

It had been 3 months and every time they tried to be alone to…you know, someone got in the way. It was especially frustrating.

“Awesome. I have to go.” He said making a small noise of disgust. Usually he had study hall at the end of the day, but once a month his free period was filled with a mandatory health class by Mr.Davis. He leaned forward to give her a quick kiss and a smile before turning to walk down the hall. He slouched into health class taking a seat saved for him between Cody and Josh. This was so stupid. All they did in this class was discuss stuff he didn’t really want or need to know.

“Good morning!” Mr.Davis said brightly “Today I expect the highest level of maturity you have. Because today isn’t about health. It’s about Sexual Education.”

Whispers went up around the room, girls giggling and looking around at the boys in the room.

“Are you serious? Ugh.” Josh said lowly.

“What are you complaining about virgin boy?” Cody said smiling.

“Shut the fuck up.” Josh threw a wad of paper at him.

“I need you all to pay close attention. I’m not naive to think that most of you are not, in some way sexually active. But you should know about basic safety and ways to prevent things that shouldn’t happen to happen. Now shall we?”

Mat and his friends spent most of the period holding back laughter while Mr. Davis broke out charts and diagrams, and the girls in the front giggled away. He stopped paying attention after a while, thinking about Leighton and his game until he heard his name.

“I-what?”

Mr. Davis eyed him over his glasses with a small smile “I would think you of all people would be paying attention Mr.Barzal, with that girlfriend your always kissing around school. You must learn to control yourself son.”

“That’s gonna be hard Sir. Have you seen my girl?” The room erupted into laughter, the teacher included, who shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose.

“Just pay attention.”

Mat smiled to himself at the memory, and checked the time. He had practice. He stood, grabbing what he needed and said goodbye to Kaitlin and her friends. There was a few guys already there, Beau included. He pointedly ignored Mat when he sat next to him.

“Are you going to ignore me forever?”

Beau turned to him, meeting his eye for the first time in a week. “I’m mad at you.”

“Obviously.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

“Marrying Kaitlin. You know you don’t love her.”

“Dude don’t -“

Beau held up a hand stopping him “I don’t wanna hear it. I’ve spent the week helping the girl you really love, and who loves you, pick herself back up.”

“If she loves me then why did she say no.”

The other guys had quieted down as they went back and forth.

“Because she was 18 and 18 year olds do dumb things, like spring marriage on their girlfriends.” He said with a scowl “Life isn’t a movie you moron. And she never said no, she said not right now. It doesn’t mean she didn’t love you.”

Mat scowled at him, anger bubbling up “You don’t know anything about it.”

“I think I know enough. I know that your doing this to push her away, and guess what it worked. Happy now?” Beau stood and stormed away, slamming the locker room door behind him, leaving Mat sitting there.

“What was that about?” Marty asked sitting down next to him. Mat sighed and told him everything.

“Sounds like your in a situation buddy. But are you sure you want to get married?” Marty said, running the toe of his shoe along the floor before he spoke again “I mean it’s a big commitment, so…are you sure?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean a few months ago I thought you really loved Kaitlin, but since the other one showed up here I’m not so sure.”

Mat looked at his feet. He wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t been acting like an engaged guy since Leighton came to town. And everyone had noticed, which is why the guys were confused when they received the ‘Save the Date’.

“I love Kaitlin. I do. But I feel like I’m hurting Leighton by doing this, and I don’t want that.”

“I think you should talk to her. If you want to keep both of them in your life you have to fix this.”

********

“I don’t think she’s ready to see you yet.” Ginny said glancing over her shoulder. She wasn’t surprised to see Mat at their front door but she also wasn’t ready to unleash the argument she was sure was going to happen.

“I didn’t come here to fight Ginny. I came to talk to her and to give you both this.” He handed her a card, which contained a wedding invitation.

“I really want you both to be there.”

“I can’t promise that. I’ll head out to give you guys some privacy.”

Leighton was in the kitchen. She could hear him at the door but she was so numb to the world it didn’t make any difference to her. When she finally turned he was standing in the middle of the room staring at her.

“Do you need something?” She asked flatly, arms crossed.

“How are you doing?”

“Don’t you have a wedding to be planning?”

“I wanted to-“

“What do you want Mat?” She snapped.

“I came to formally invite you and Ginny to my wedding.”

She scoffed, swallowing down the bile that rose in her throat “I’m gonna pass on that one, but thanks.”

He sighed. She was looking at him with an expression he had never seen before. Anger, disgust, and like he had stomped all over her heart.

“Look I know your upset with me, but can we just talk about this. We used to be able to talk about anything.”

“That’s over now. It was over the minute you decided to move your wedding date to hurt me, and then kissed me right there.” She pointed to the spot in her living room.

“I didn’t do it to hurt you. I did it cuz I love her.”

“You used to love me, guess that means nothing now.”

“Yeah I did, and you said no Leighton.” He said quietly, arms crossed. He was getting angry she could tell. Maybe she was being unreasonable , but the pain she had felt the last week was pouring out now and she couldn’t stop it.

“Stop it with that lie. I NEVER said no Mat! I said not right now. I just wasn’t ready! You gave up on us!”

He looked up, angry and took a step towards her “I gave up on us? You left! You didn’t even give it a chance!”

“You didn’t follow me!” Her eyes burned with tears and her hands were clenched into fists at her side. She looked almost childlike as she glared at him, stomping one foot.

“How the hell was I supposed to know that’s what you wanted. You took off so fast after I proposed I didn’t even know where you went.”

Tears had now streamed down her face and she couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“You didn’t even try! You said we would be together forever! You said I was the love of your life! You said it to everyone, you said it to me and I wish you hadn’t ever said it at all because you never meant it!”

“I never meant it? You never meant it. The minute things got real you backed out.”

“Then how come every time one of your stupid games is on tv I watch it?! How come I carry that stupid picture around with me everywhere I go?! And how come I’ve put myself through all this pain just to have you in my life again if I don’t care?”

“If you cared you would have come to that autograph signing I told Ginny about 2 years ago.”

“ I didn’t want to text her, but it would be really great to see you both.”

Ginny sighed and drummed her fingers on the table “I’ll see what I can do.” She said goodbye and hung up.

“Who was that?” Leighton asked from the sofa. The apartment was small, which left very little privacy so she knew she had heard her on the phone. Ginny sat down, and turned the tv off.

“That was Mat. He has an autograph signing in Seattle, and asked if we would come.” Leighton swallowed and felt sick. It had been 2 years, 2 years on the run from him. She hadn’t spoken to him or heard from him in 2 years, since she left Seattle.

“You don’t have to go….but he did ask for you. Maybe it’s time to talk about this.”

“I was there Mat.” He froze and turned to her. “At that autograph signing 3 years ago. And I was so proud of you.” She was smiling sadly and his heart fell to his stomach.

“Why- Why didn’t you say anything?”

She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair and wiped under eyes “ Well I was going to but then I saw you with Kaitlin and I figured she was your girlfriend, which is obviously true. I was just glad you were happy.”

He didn’t really know what to say. He had always assumed she didn’t want to see him, so that was the last time he’d made an attempt to reach out to her. But he was wrong.

“Leighton I-“

“I think you should go Mat. Go home to Kaitlin.” She swiped at the tears in her cheek and turned away from him.

He took one last look at her before he sighed sadly and turned to walk out the door.

********

“So you actually invited them?”

Kaitlin flipped her hair back over her shoulder, and took a sip of her wine “Of course I did. She doesn’t get to come back and try to take him from me and then not have to watch him marry me.”

“You are so evil!” The others giggled.

“She gets what she gets. And once we’re married, he will NEVER see her again. Ever.”

[360iris]

The Last of Us part II playthrough update— cleared downtown Seattle on Day 1 and now I’m in the courthouse area… the objective is to get gas but it’s in the garage level

and the more I progress, the darker it gets and MY FLASHLIGHT IN THE GAME HAS A MECHANIC THAT MAKES IT FLICKER OUT

SO YOU HAVE TO LITERALLY SMACK YOUR CONTROLLER TO GET IT WORKING RIGHT…. anyway I had to climb into an elevator that’s flooded from the shaft and now they want me to pry open the cracked elevator doors….

I said— yeah that’s enough for me. That’s enough gaming for TONIGHT! I live in semi constant fear of bloaters and stalkers bc they haven’t introduced them yet… AND IM NOT READY FOR THAT RIGHT NOW