#read it earlier just after waking up and i was delirious and happy

[stevie-petey]

hello your honour (m), me and my partner, val @southelroy would like to take this opportunity to defend our client, one steven marie harrington. we intend to prove, beyond reasonable doubt, that his behaviour and actions are born from a place of genuine trauma, that his intentions, while marred in teen angst, are clear, and finally, that his bearing is better than certain past, shall we say........bonds.......cough johnathan cough.

idk how longer i can keep this bit going, but seriously, guys c'mon cut the guy a break, all steve and bug have been doing since midway season 1 is drive their car to struggle citadel and pray at its pews. Also m this season is so crazy delicious i will get into singing your praises in a minute, after i prove my case with evidence. thank you.

firstly, i'd like to establish a baseline from which we can work upwards from. frankly, steve clears. he has been worshipping the ground bug walks on since the day he saw her, and he made clear his high regard of her the moment he got to develop some sort of friendship/relationship with him. even just taking these last three chapters, the amount of outward steve shows bug, completely unabashedly, is ridiculous. it was the most physical, outward admiration bug has gotten out of her peers, aka, the teen boys her age. I'd like to point to one moment in particular, "You exhale deeply, wrapping your arms around his body, and Steve nuzzles his face into your neck and presses a gentle kiss there.". This parallel to johnathan and bug ending their closeness at the end of season 2, as well as the phone call/car ride johnathan takes in season 3, posits steve as the new "love interest", the new What-if/maybe of bug's love life. However, his romantic intentions are much more straightforward than johnathan's ever were. The end of season 2, he very clearly stated that he wanted to, eventually, be in a relationship with bug, that he would need some time before it happened, and bug understood this, and agreed to it. This is drastically different from Not Talking About It for years on end. I would argue that bug herself knows, at least to some extent, steve's feelings for her. She certainly knows the care he feels for her, "You know he doesn’t want to scare you, that he’s always trying to make things easier for you, so you tilt your head at him and nod slightly; you want him to tell you." The ease with which they kiss each other's cheeks is an openness bug did not experience in season 1, especially when shit with nancy and johnathan started becoming #real #deep. there is a certainty that is present in these interactions that bug and johnathan did not have until they were literally doing a friend break up.

Now that we've established the evidence of steve's background, i'd like to move the jury to view evidence of motive, with your permission your honour (hi m <3). As stated in the opening statement, bug and steve are getting stamps on that struggle card like their featured on tlc classic, extreme couponing, and baby they are making cashback! Bug's daddy issues are well documented, as are steve's. In fact, they are so well established, that the defense would like to claim that throwing a gren@de at mr. harrington's car would be an all round net positive to society. We know that steve thinks highly of bug, including post spring summer of '85, and that while they have moved past it, o would argue that a fear of abandonment is not unfounded in the young man's mind, particularly when his own self image is currently being shredded by a medieval torture device known as mr. harrington. Steve is being beaten down, it sounds like quite frequently, "He hadn’t turned into who had expected to become, something that you know his father reminds him of every time he comes back from some business trip. ", and it's showing in his relationship(?) with bug, "Steve leans into your kisses and smiles at the praise, relieved that you don’t think he’s some idiot." We see this when he rants to robin in episdoe 1, he is an, ultimately, scared and insecure teen, who is getting requited affection for the first time in a long time, from a person whom he deeply respects, admires, and holds dear in his heart, and, unfortunately, was unable to maintain a relationship with him during the beginning of their friendship. I ask you, the court, were we not understanding of bug then? Could we not see the place where she came from? While we disagree with her actions, did we not see the ultimate place she was coming from? Surely we can extend that grace to mr. harrington.

I'd like to perhaps bring in a new angle, that steve and bug's tiff at the end of episode 3 is not their fault expressly. We know bug has a giant guilt complex that makes my religious background look carefree. We know she has a very real fear of having a relationship pass you, due to someone whose name rhymes with bonathan, and is perhaps more sensitive to being strung along than she otherwise would be. We know steve's battling daddy issues, a need to prove himself with a great opportunity right in his lap, and a fear of relationships changing because of someone noticing his inadequacy (very incheresting to me that he's relieved that bug doesn't think he's an idiot.........he's my unmedicated undiagnosed adhd baby.....we're twins in that sense. also in the sense that we like women :P), which could happen when they are in a full blown relationship. Him not knowing how to ask bug out is valid, he's on a new man journey of shedding his old self off, he feels like he's batting way out of his league (he is), and he has a girl who fell out of love with him on his scoreboard, and a girl who used to be in an intense codependent friendship with a boy who is now currently dating said ex. That is a situation to be in!

While me and my partner understand bug's frustrations and empathise fully, and make clear our support of her, we only ask the jury lay the blame not at our defendant steve's feet, but rather the circumstances that have brought them here. And if they really want a target, feel free to aim towards one johnathan byers and mr. harrington, local triple f, (flop failure father).

The defense would now like to play offence. Johnathan, what the hell are you even doing here???? Get out of our family's business! What in the good lord's name are you doing ringing up a girl's number in the dead of the night??? The one you were a hair's breadth away from dating if you hadn't strung her along for a marathon length of time at that???? And then venting YOUR relationship problems, the very relationship you strung her along for, about a girl you left her for!!! The audacity of mr byers!!! While we understand this to be an affront to Ms. Henderson, we posit this is an affront to Ms. Wheeler as well. We ask you, the jury, how comfortable YOU would feel if the guy you were dating, told HIS ex best friend-turned-complicated-situation-turned now friends with boundaries all about your relationship problems while driving around at night, a deeply date like activity? While you may posture and say "oh, well, if it's a girl like Bug!". Girls..... That would make it worse. AS IT SHOULD! We maintain this isn't bug's fault as it isn't her relationship to protect, but mr. byers!

Okay we rest our case.

M, I apologise for this stupid essay above, but omg omgo omg omgogkogmogmgomgm I am EATING!!!!! YOU ATE!!!!!! This was so crazy delivious yummy!!!! Love love love the way steve and bug are interacting, all the casual affection has me giggling and kicking my feet like they're everything hehehehe. All the cheek kisses are so so so cute and making me crave affection like a motherfucker. All the flirting vibes between them is driving me up the wall...."So you admit you're flirting with me?" BITCH! I MIGHT BE!!! I am cheesinggggg. I remember you said that season 4 is going to be stug struggle era and my stomach is in knots already becasue the brief glimpse of unhappiness they experienced at the end of episode 3 made me want to cut my heart out of my chest, you have made them too lovable i fear.

SPeaking of cutting my heart out of my chest, may i say, you served with robin. Like. The struggle of being a closeted person really hit well. Not to get heavy, but the crushing weight of it was so subtly put into robin, it got to me alot. "She hates that you’re purposely excluding her and taking Steve’s side in this. You wish you could tell her the truth." This genuinely is sooooo fvnnvbvknsnbfe. I want to shake her through the screen like girl do NOT fall for your friend whose attracted to boys that is NOT a situation that ends well and you will NOT leave unscathed!! It felt like a lot like high school, when its a big thing you have no one else to tell, and there's too much at stake to say it. and omg. this part, "When Robin sees his wink, she only clenches her jaw and turns away before releasing your hand.". Devestating. If I were robin, i would have had a crush on both bug and steve and witnessed carousel kissy face gate, it would have turned me into the joker, i would have no choice but to pull the nastiest stunt this small town has ever seen. I feel absolutely awful for her, and it makes me kinder to my younger self. Just, omg, really excellent work.

Apologies for the length of this, but just on a final note, i really wanted to say thank you for writing this great story. it's been a tough couple of years, and my brain has gotten worse on me and i really have a lot of trouble concentrating on anything, including things i enjoy, and your story is one of the few guaranteed things i know i can sit down for and fully because i know i will love every minute of it. Wishing you luck and love wherever you go and always rooting for you <3!!

u bringing up bug abandoning steve first ,,, oh ur so right and i WILL be addressing that (steve finally asks for the entire reason ,,,, trust)

and ur so right about how grim of a situation it is. steve and bug reflect the hurt nancy and jon gave onto them. steve is afraid of being lead on again and not being enough (nancy lied about loving him and he wasnt enough in the end). bug is afraid that love itself isnt enough, that theres more than just loving one another that goes into a relationship (jon loved her and yet in the end it wasnt enough).

both babies are hurt :((((

LEAVE JON ALONE THO MANS NEEDED TO VENT TO HIS BESTIE AND BUG WAS ENTIRELY OK WITH THIS !!! SHE NEEDED TO VENT AS WELL !!! (nancy wont be ok with it tho lmao)

and im happy everyone is loving robin <333 i have a cute and sweet scene planned between her and bug later that im so excited to share :')

the final part of your ask, im so so so happy my story means that much to you and i am sending you a million kisses my love <3333 im always rooting for you as well and youre such a sweetheart

[raccoonsrummagerostrum]

can you write fluff for gay trans man who just had a simple metoidioplasty and needs comfort from their yautja husband?

A/N1: Thank you so much for the request!! I've written this to be more gender neutral as that's what I prefer. But hopefully it's done in a way where anyone can put themselves into this. 

Yautja vs bottom surgery recovery 

GN!Yautja x GN!Trans!reader comfort

Word count: 1105

Warnings: Mentions of surgery, surgery recovery, pain, taking pills, very slight mentions of bathroom use (really it's nothing, just covering my bases), mild nudity, reader is trans

Summary: Your lover dutifully cares for you during bottom surgery recovery, sharing in both the good and bad moments.

A/N2: For those wondering, a Simple Metoidioplasty is the creation of a penis using existing genital tissue by way of surgically enlarging an already enlarged clitoris. It's one hell of a surgery and my heart goes out to anyone who has had this, y'all are braver than the troops.

Your transition would not be where it was without your friends. There were only a few who you trusted with something this sensitive. Coincidentally these were also the same friends who you trusted with knowledge of your relationship. Predictably having an alien predator for a partner was not the easiest thing. You knew full well that oomans were easily scared of things that they don't understand. It was paramount that their existence not be found out. 

Unfortunately it was due to this fact that they could not accompany you to your surgery. Despite how much they wanted to, and how much you wanted them to, you both knew that it just wasn’t possible. Thankfully your friends picked up the slack. Driving you to surgery, hanging out with you as you woke up, and driving you home. They even picked up your recovery prescriptions. Once you were back home your friends made sure that you were comfortable and that you had everything that you needed, wishing your lover good luck when they left. 

Prior to surgery you and your lover had done extensive research into recovery. And during patient education you had brought back any and all reading material for your lover to read as well. So as you continued to wake from the anesthetic, your lover was well prepared and was already tending to your needs. 

You were sat in a nest on the couch, one that you had arranged prior to surgery so that you wouldn't have to futz with it now. But that would not stop you. Your lover, knowing you would be hungry, brought over some pre approved snacks only to find you attempting to stand.

“SIT DOWN OOMAN,” they shrieked. You in your delirious state, still comming down from the anistesia, did not take this seriously and continued rearranging the nest, only to be cut off by your lover effortlessly picking you up. You whined, but still knew that resistance was futile. Instead you directed them like a contractor to a build crew. Once settled down again your lover distracted you with snacks and cuddles, and you were happy. For a while.

--

That night you woke up in an immense amount of pain. Earlier in the day your lover had tried to offer you the pain meds that had been prescribed to you, but you felt fine, and insisted you didn't need them. But now you found yourself regretting that.

You and your lover were still on the couch. You gently rubbed your hand on the top of their elongated head. They chuffed softly in response, before opening their eyes and looking up at you.

“It hurts,” You whine. Without another word they got up and walked across the room to grab that bag of medications. They sifted through the bag, and found the bottle to find the painkillers. Returning to you, they opened the lid and handed you the bottle. Pouring out a dose you reached for your water, only for the empty bottle to be taken from you. Before you had even realized that it was empty your lover filled it and brought it back to you. After this your lover was much more diligent in keeping up on your pills, and pain management. Even when you weren’t in pain, they made sure that you took your pills.

--

Going to the bathroom was difficult. Walking to the bathroom was difficult. But your ever diligent lover was there. Their genuine curiosity really helped as you knew there was no judgment. They would have carried you if you had asked. But you knew that walking, difficult as it was, was still important for recovery. Your lover dutifully fulfilled every request, and carefully guided you back to your nest when you were done. 

--

The time had come for your first post op appointment. Once again your friends came through to help you out, driving you to and from your appointment, and celebrating at the amazing results. Coming back home, your lover was ecstatic. After months and months of preparation, you and your lover could finally bask in the fruits of your surgeon's labor. 

You sat at the edge of your nest, a blanket pulled over your lap. Despite how close you and your lover had needed to be over the last two weeks, and how much of your body they had seen before, you still found yourself overcome with bashfulness. Your lover, knowing you almost too well, rested a hand on your calf. Their claws gently scratched your skin, and they purred loudly enough for you to feel it in your chest. Their mere presence helped to calm you and instill confidence, but they didn’t stop there.

“I know how long you have waited for this, I too have waited many revelations for this. I don’t mind waiting a little longer.” Their voice was deep and smooth. And the statement was underlined by a long sustained purr. You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. For a moment you closed your eyes and focused on your lover. The gentle scratch of their claws on your skin, their eerily slow breathing, the persistence purr rumbling in their chest.

When you opened your eyes you easily moved the blanket and opened your legs to show your lover the post op results. They stared intently at your core, taking in every detail of the new sight. You felt your body becoming shy again but forced it down not wanting to interrupt them. They continued staring for a long while before they turned their gaze back up to you. The corners of their eyes were upturned, and their mandibles hung open in as much of a smile as their anatomy would allow. The shyness fully overtook you, closing your legs and covering your face as a red blush flowed across your cheeks. Your lover took this as an opportunity to show you just how much they love you. Leaning down they caressed your thigh with their mandibles, they allowed their tounge to loll out and make contact with your skin as it grew hot to the touch under all this attention.

Sensing your growing shyness they came up and held you. They pushed their forehead against your face, pushing your hands out of the way. You both embraced each other. You knew that there was still plenty of recovery ahead of you. Your doctor had warned that there could be up to a year and a half before full recovery. But you didn’t worry, you felt secure in the knowledge that your lover would be there always, effortlessly fulfilling every request, carrying out every ask, and never leaving your side.

[hanniiesuckle17]

Ateez Reaction: Their Kid Gets Sick in the Middle of The Night

A/n: I love parent!ateez. Anything domestic im just like *heart eyes* also dont mind my weird petnames for kids. i just....i love kids......*sigh* anywayyyyyy hope you guys enjoy! im going to be writing for ateez and the other groups on my m.list alot more 

S/n: Son’s name      D/n: Daughter’s name

Pairing: Reader x OT8 

Genre: fluff, slight angst, parent!au

Warnings: cussing?, descriptions of sick children (colds and flus, etc), fem reader

WC: 5k (overall)  about 640-ish on average

Tag List: @woodiegochile @mini-meanhoe @leggomylino @hanstagrams @desertofdessert @hoes4hoseok @jeonqqin @geminirules @mrsunshine999 @jisungsjheekies @hannie-squirrel00 @cotccotc @kodzu-ken @konenichi @yangs-jeongin @binniebutter @orangegyu @little-precious-baby @yourdaddychan​  

Hongjoong:

You were in the perfect spot. A dreamless sleep had taken over your mind a few hours ago and you were perfect content pressed up against Hongjoong’s chest, his arms wrapped around your middle. His leg was tossed over yours and you were swaddled in a perfect cocoon of his warmth.

The blissful sleep of you and your husband was soon interrupted by a weak poke to your cheek. A second light jab forced your eyes open. In the dark room you could barely make out the shape of your three-year-old son. Lifting your head up, you checked the time- 1:04- and then over to your husband who was still fast asleep. 

Pulling away from your husband’s hold, you turned on the bedside light only to be met with the tearstained face of S/n. “Oh- Goose! What’s wrong?” Your son only cried more and reached out for you. Completely sitting up in bed, you pulled him into your arms- gently stroking his hair. You noticed the back of his neck was cold with sweat. 

“Baby? Everything okay?” Hongjoong mumbled, pushing himself off the mattress slightly. 

“Daddy.....don’t feel good,” Your toddler said between cries. You continued to tenderly rub his back in hopes of calming your son. “Head....” S/n mumbled, tiny hands pawing at his crown. 

Hongjoong now joined you fully sitting up. His dark eyes blinked rapidly trying to push away the edges of sleep still clouding his brain. Your husband motioned for you to pass over his son and you obliged. S/n cuddled up in his father’s lap - clawing at his shirt. “Baby, could you get the thermometer from the bathroom?” He asked, hand on his son’s little forehead. 

Your mind was still foggy, but nonetheless, you got up and half jogged to the bathroom. Still tired, you fumbled through the cabinets looking for the thermometer. After a few minutes you returned, the instrument in hand. Hongjoong took it, thanking you softly. The two of you waited while the thermometer read your child’s temperature. S/n’s head was resting deliriously on your husband’s shoulder.

When Hongjoong took out the thermometer, your S/n groaned, nuzzling further into his dad’s chest. “Tummy hurts, daddy...” You almost felt hurt yourself, not being able to help your son’s pain. Reaching out you rubbed his back and looked to your lover for what to do. 

A tired look rested on his face. The singer sighed looking down at the tiny instrument. “103.1,” Running a hand through your hair, you got up from the bed and grabbed a jacket for yourself and your son. “Hey, buddy. We’re going to take a little trip okay?” Hongjoong whispered to his son who was still crying from his head and stomachache. 

“The doctor is going to make you feel all better, Goose.” You sleepily sang, more comforting yourself than S/n.  The handsome man got up from your shared bed, still carrying your sick toddler, and headed into the living room with you quickly following. 

“Let’s go to the hospital. Y/n where are my keys?” Hongjoong, laced his fingers with yours after you grabbed his keys and the three of you ventured down to the car. “ The one on Ddobong St is closest right?” 

Seonghwa:

The cries of your baby girl woke you from a night of sweet sleep. Untangling yourself from your husband’s slumbering arms you rolled out of bed. With a sluggish gait, you walked into the nursery and hummed to your screaming daughter.

“Shhhh, baby- Daddy is sleeping,” You whispered, picking her up from the crib.

Any sleep your partner got was worth more than anything else you could give him. The sooner you could calm your daughter the more likely he stayed asleep. the one-year-old girl in your arms continued to cry, almost screaming in your ear. 

You stroked her hair in hopes of calming the distressed child. The skin of her forehead felt hot against your palm and you pressed it fully against her forehead. “Oh- I’m sorry, love!” Scolding your tired mind for not realizing sooner, you carried your crying daughter into the bathroom to grab a thermometer. 

Laying D/n back down in the crib, you lifted her nightgown and tucked the instrument under her arm, and waited for it to beep. The baby girl’s cries had quieted a little but remained constant and unrelenting. Finding she had a temperature you rushed to the medicine cabinet. All the bottles and labels blurred together in your sleepy vision. 

Finding one that fit D/n’s symptoms you grabbed a spoon and the bottle. You poured the dark purple colored liquid onto the spoon and tried to coax your daughter into opening her mouth to take the medicine. Instead, the baby girl cried louder, the smell of the medicine floating down into her tiny nostrils. “D/n, baby....please take the medicine! Don’t wake up daddy.” You pleaded in a hushed tone. 

“Don’t worry about waking me up.” A smooth, but sleepy voice said from the hallway. 

Seonghwa shuffled into the room, eyes tired but soft and hair fluffy and sticking up in random places. A tiny smile lighted onto his lips. “Hwa, I’m sorry- I was trying to handle it but she won’t take the medicine.” Your husband shrugged and waddled over to the crib. 

You let him take the spoon from your hand and carefully place it on the nearby table. He sleepily kissed your forehead before turning to his crying daughter. “Can you take her?” He asked gently picking her up and passing the child to you. 

Your husband turned back to the crib, grabbing something, leaving you with a screaming baby. The handsome man returned with his daughter’s favorite plushie in hand. His longer fingers pushed the arms to look like the toy was waving. “D/n, open your mouth please!” He chirped in a goofy voice. 

The little girl refused, shaking her head. She continued to cry in your arms, pushing away the stuffed animal. Your husband was not discouraged and instead gently picked up the medicine filled spoon with nimble fingers. 

“Hi, princess!” Seonghwa sang in a cute and happy voice. His free hand moved up to make bunny ears on top of his head. “Will you take the magic potion for daddy?” D/n’s cries trickled to stop and she sniffed, watching her father do all sorts of sleepy but sincere aegyo. 

“D/n, do you want the magic potion?” You whispered in her ear with a smile. 

The little girl nodded, rubbing her eyes. Seonghwa smiled and moved the spoon like an airplane before letting his daughter take the medicine. She gagged at the taste, crying a little at the bitterness. Her tears quickly stopped when she was wrapped up in her father’s arms. 

Her little fingers held on tightly to his shirt as his hand protectively held her to his chest. “Let’s go back to bed,” He whispered, letting his other hand envelope yours. “D/n, let's go sleep in mommy and daddy’s room, huh?”

Nestling your face in Seonghwa’s shoulder, you let him lead you all the way back to your bedroom. With your daughter placed between you and the medicine finally taking its effect, she was soon fast asleep, little snores floating from her tiny body. Pressing a kiss to your knuckles, Seonghwa watched you drift back to sleep before doing so himself.

Yunho:

Both you and your husband had been woken up an hour ago by your screaming toddler. Normally you could get him right back to sleep, but this time something was actually wrong. It was two o’clock in the morning and you had no idea what to do. S/n was crying and throwing up and had a fever that wouldn’t break. 

You were frantically searching symptoms on your phone, pacing in the living room. After reading mommy blog after mommy blog you felt like you were getting nowhere. “Find anything?” Yunho called from the bathroom. 

You almost shook your head, forgetting your husband was in a completely different room with your son. Ending your pacing, you ventured towards your bathroom. Opening the door you were met with a sight that made your heart skip a beat. The small room was filled completely with steam from the running shower. Your two year old son was stripped of his clothes, which he complained earlier of suffocating him. He clung to his father’s bare chest. Yunho had his arms wrapped around S/n, holding him up, resting him on his hip. Your husband's peach-dyed hair was clinging to his sweaty forehead. 

For a moment you just watched the tall handsome man pat his son’s back gently and hum a soothing melody. He really did look like a worried Papa Bear. After a minute he noticed the lack of steam in the room and motioned for you to come in and close the door. “Mommy blogs are useless. They all say to just give him fluids and put him back to bed.”

Yunho sighed, shoulders heaving. Your son stirred and his eyes opened just barely to look into yours. You waved before reaching over and kissing his sweaty little forehead. Your hand trailed from your son to the warm skin of your husband. “Call your mom,” Yunho suddenly declared. 

“No.”

“Call her.”

“Fine.”

At this point, you were too worried about your son to think about the wrath you were incurring by waking your mother at this hour. Leaning against the bathroom counter, you pressed the device up to your ear. Your son whined and reached for your hand. “Don’t tell her we haven’t moved out of the apartment.” He whispered hearing the dial tone from your cell. Yunho was also comically afraid of your mother. 

You rolled your eyes. “Umm...Hi- Mom....” Yunho winced hearing your mother’s shrill and tired voice from the other side of the line. “Yeah. I’m really sorry. Look- mom, S/n is sick. We’ve got him in a steamed room. He’s been throwing up like crazy-”

Yunho’s long fingers softly raked through your son’s hair as he tried to listen to the conversation with his mother in law. “No.....No...Mom- Yunho didn’t give him ice cream. No......”

“It’s always my fault isn’t it,” Yunho groaned in a soft tone not wanting to upset his sickly son in his arms. “Tell her that I’m just as worried about my son as-”

“Bear.....this is not the time.” You scolded him, hand over the speaker. “Mom just....” You sighed- pinching the bridge of your nose. S/n cried at the loss of your hand in his. Your husband shushed him, wetting a washcloth and dabbing at his forehead and neck tenderly. “What’s his temperature?” Turning to your husband, you looked for the answer. “Babe, what’s his temp?”

“Last I checked it was 100.8,”

“100.8″ You gave a sigh of relief hearing your mother’s answer. “He’s going to be okay as long as it doesn’t get higher. She says keep him in here until his temp goes down and to try giving him something to eat to see if he can keep it down,” Relaying the instructions, Yunho nodded and did exactly what your mother told him. 

Yeosang:

You had no idea what to do with a sick kid. Yeosang had no idea what to do with a sick kid. You both were kind of in the same boat. You loved your daughter wholeheartedly, but the both of you were still new parents even two years in and were flying by the seat of your pants. 

So, when D/n had a 103 fever, the two of you started to panic. It was the middle of the night. Yeosang was cradling his crying toddler and you were desperately trying to reach your mother-in-law. “Is she really not picking up?” Never before in the entire time you knew Yeosang, had you seen him this worried. 

“Sang- it’s like two am. She’s probably asleep.” 

Yeosang watched you nervously burn a track in the floor. “Will you stop pacing?”

“Well, then what should we do?”

Your daughter nuzzled her sweating forehead into her father’s neck, little hands pulling at his sweatshirt. He rocked her back in forth in his arms, gears turning in his brain. “Hospital?” Your fiancee suggested- a hesitant but still desperate look in his eyes. 

“Yeah. Emergency room. I’ll call Hongjoong on the way.”

Yeosang sighed, standing up and watching you gather a bag of things you would need. “Don’t do that. He’s just gonna wake the boys and then Wooyoung is going to go all Crazy God Father on us.” You chuckled slinging the packed bag over your shoulder. 

“You’re the one who made him D/n’s god father. My vote was for Hongjoong.”

He groaned, not waiting for you to follow him out of the apartment. Having no time to strap her into her car seat, the singer climbed into the back and held his little girl as your family raced to the nearest emergency room. You burst through the doors, Yeosang carrying your crying toddler with her arms wrapped around his neck, much like in one of the medical dramas you had been watching lately. 

Thankfully you were rushed into a room and your daughter was tested and examined by a doctor quickly. You sat by her side the whole time, holding her hand while Yeosang watched the doctors carefully. Occasionally he would ask questions or accidentally chide them if his daughter yelped from pain or looked uncomfortable. He would quickly go back to silently watching knowing he had overstepped. 

As the doctor finished his examination, he asked you to wait for the test results to come back just to be sure it wasn’t anything serious. The boys burst almost waking D/n, Wooyoung racing towards the bedside of his goddaughter, a huge teddy bear in hand. Just like Yeosang they were all dressed in sweats or pajamas.

After about an hour of her uncles ‘quietly’ attending to their niece’s every need, the doctor returned- test results in hand. “Mr. Kang?” The physician’s eyes searched the boys' handsome faces until Yeosang raised his hand and made his way forward. 

“That’s me,”

“I’m the godfather, Jung Wooyoung, what should I be doing?” Wooyoung said peeping over your fiancee’s shoulder. 

The doctor blinked a few times before looking over to you as if to ask for a clue as to why this over-energetic boy was here. There was nothing you could do but shrug. “Well...um....you could start by sitting over there......quietly....”

Wooyoung gave the doctor a glaring look before reluctantly taking a seat in one of the uncomfortable hospital chairs in the room. “It’s nothing serious is it?” Yeosang asked, his hands subconsciously rubbing the back of his neck. “D/n isn’t dying right?” 

The doctor smiled, placing a hand on the worried singer’s shoulder. “Right now she’s just fine. You were right to bring her in though! We are going to keep her for observation for the next twenty-four hours just to be absolutely sure it is nothing to worry about.” 

Yeosang relayed the news before shoving the boys out of the pediatric hospital room so his little girl could sleep. He called his manager to cancel his schedules for the next day and he stayed by D/n’s side until the doctor told him that she was going to be perfectly fine.

San:

Two hours. You had been up for two hours. There was nothing more on this Earth that you loved more than your little girl, D/n. But when she woke you up at one o’clock in the morning, sick or not, it was not a happy occasion. It didn’t look like anything too serious was wrong with her. You didn’t even have to call your fiancee. Granted he should have been home from practice twenty minutes ago but that was another problem that you didn’t have the patience for right now.

Your toddler whined and rolled around on her bed as you got up to go to the medicine cabinet. D/n’s cries could be heard from all the way down the hall, hurrying your tired movements. “I’m coming, bean,” Instead of wasting time standing there, you grab the first five bottles you see and rush back to your daughter’s room. 

Placing a cool washcloth on her forehead, her cries soften a little allowing you time to read the backs of the bottles. The next thirty minutes were spent trying to get your little girl to take the medicine. The sound of keys tinkling against the dish by the door makes your ears perk up. 

“Babe? Everything okay?” San was home. 

A bouncing head of dyed hair bounded down the hall to stop in the doorway. “She said she’s feeling sick,” San immediately rushes over, hand on the small of your back as he kneels by his daughter’s side. 

“Hey, princess,” He whispers, stroking the hair away from her face. The man pouts seeing her clutch onto her stomach. “Does your tummy hurt?” D/n nods, rolling over onto her side and crying more. 

San turns to you with a half accusing look on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m the one who's been here taking care of her.” You smacked him lightly upside the head, not letting him forget he was the one who came home late. With a sigh, you dropped your sleep-filled head onto the singer’s shoulder. “She won’t take the cold medicine.”

Your fiancee scoffed, turning to look at you before filling a spoon with the oozy purple liquid. “I’ve got this. Watch the master.” San smiled, getting the attention of his little girl. “Princess, this tastes good don’t you want some! It will make you feel better!”

“Does it really taste good?” She askes shyly, looking at her father with stars in her eyes. 

He nods enthusiastically, side-eyeing the spoon. Your daughter looks expectantly from the spoon to her father. After a moment it sort of dawns on him what she wants. Hesitantly, he opens his mouth and swallows the medicine. While he tries to smile, San’s face immediately turns sour and he dramatically gags on the after taste. “UGHHH!” He groans making a gross face.

“No! I don’t want it! It will taste bad!” D/n cries. 

“Great job, Super-Dad.” You say sarcastically. San ignores you, still trying to wipe the taste from his mouth. “Baby, I promise you it doesn’t taste bad. Daddy is just a wimp.”

When you turn around to seek the singer’s help you find him on the phone and whispering to someone. “Hyung, what do I do? D/n won’t take the medicine. Apparently, Y/n’s been trying for hours and-” He freezes seeing you staring at him-brow raised in judgment. 

“Tell me you aren’t on the phone with Seonghwa.”

“I’m not on the phone with Seonghwa......” A moment of silence passes only filled by your child’s whines and cries. “Okay, fine. I’m on the phone with Seonghwa!”

“SAN!” 

“WHAT?! IT’S A REASONABLE THING TO DO!”

Mingi:

Mingi was panicking. You left seven hours ago. It took seven hours for everything to fall apart for the idol. While Mingi loved his job, it took away from him spending time with his two year old son. When your parents called, Mingi jumped at the chance to send you away for a weekend. He would get S/n time and you would get extra help planning for your wedding. 

This was not going at all how Mingi wanted. It was almost 1 AM and his son was crying loudly with a scalding fever. He rushed around the apartment trying to find the list of emergency numbers you had left him. His son was in resting on his hip secured by the rapper’s arm. “S/n...it’s okay. Shhhh.” He could do this. By calling you he would just be proving that he couldn’t take care of his son by himself and he was totally not going to let that happen. 

“Fuck, you’ve got a pair of lungs,” he cursed under his breath when the toddler screamed right in his ear. 

Mingi could not stop himself from physically cheering after finding the slip of paper. The smile all but comically fell when he saw that spaghetti sauce from the dinner he had made S/n was staining every inch of the sheet. 

Crushing the note in his fist he tossed it into the sink and just hoped it didn’t get stuck down the drain. “Okay, buddy. Time to go on an adventure.” Sitting his still crying child on the couch he grabbed a jacket from the closet and slipped his little arms through it. The toddler sniffled and looked at his father who tilted his head before returning to the closet. Mingi came back with two more coats and started stuffing his son into the puffy jackets. 

“That should be enough,” he stated, pulling the hoods over his son’s head and picking him up. The little boy sniffled and cried in his father’s arms all the way to the nearest convenience store. Mingi’s legs were sore from running and he was sure that S/n wasn’t comfortable either. 

White fluorescent lights shined all the way through the store’s windows and out onto the street. A happy chime alerted the half-asleep pharmacist behind the counter of the boys’ arrival. “Welcome, how can I help?” the woman greeted.

“I- uh.....my son....uh...” S/n turned around in Mingi’s arms rubbing his tired and tear-filled eyes. It was then he knew.....Mingi could not do this alone. “One second, sorry!” His long fingers pull his phone from his pocket and quickly dial your number. 

Your sleepy voice floats through the speaker automatically relieving the tension in his whole body. “Hi, baby, what’s up?”

“Y/n, I’m so sorry- S/n has a fever and I tried everything and there was spaghetti sauce and jackets and- and.......baby...please help.”

You giggled over the phone and asked your boyfriend to take a deep breath. Once he was calm and speaking in full sentences you asked, “Do you want me to come home?” 

“NO!” The pharmacist jumped at his volume and S/n almost started crying again. “Baby, just please tell me what to do!” 

After agreeing to stay you listed off several medications and tried not to laugh hearing the idol attempt to repeat them to the woman behind the counter. Mingi insisted you stay on the phone with him the whole way back to the apartment. 

S/n stopped sniffling and groaning when Mingi took off the boy’s three layers of coats and gave him the medicine. Both boys eventually fell asleep on the couch to you talking to them on speakerphone. 

Wooyoung:

Your bodies lay draped over each other on the couch. Wooyoung lay under you, fingers threading through your hair as he watched the random drama that played on the tv. The volume was low so as not to wake your sleeping toddler in the other room, but instead of the show, you listened to your boyfriend’s steady heartbeat. 

It was late. Maybe one in the morning? Wooyoung had rehearsals tomorrow, but no way was he going to pass up time alone with you. After you put S/n to bed he immediately dragged you to the couch. “I need my Y/n recharge!” He whined, making you giggle. Now you were so happy listening to his heartbeat, threatening to fall asleep to the calming sound. 

“Are you still awake?” He whispered, brushing his cheek over the top of your head. The singer chuckled as the tiniest nod rubbed against his chest. His hands dropped down to your waist hugging you tightly. With his fingers removed from your scalp, you started to come back from the tempting fog of sleep. 

Your mother ears picked up on the sound of a door opening and you sat up like a meerkat making the man below you smile. Your superpower was correct and soon tiny feet padded into the living room dragging a teddy bear behind him. Both you and the singer sat up seeing tears on your son’s cheeks. 

“Daddy, my tummy hurts,” the two-year-old cried. 

Immediately Wooyoung reached up and pulled his shaggy hair away from his face, wrapping it with a tie on his wrist. You smiled watching him switch into full-on dad mode. Picking his son up under the arms, your boyfriend stood up and let S/n’s little limbs wrap around his body. Full dad mode Wooyoung was honestly the hottest thing you had ever seen and it shocked you every time. 

“It’s probably just an upset stomach but let’s take his temperature just to be sure.” Wooyoung nodded at your words and comforted your child as you searched for the thermometer. 

Coming back with the instrument in hand you grinned at the sight before you. You could only compare the feeling to watching those videos of otters holding hands. The thermometer passed hands and you watched him struggle to get your son to open his mouth.

When he finally succeeded a soft grin floated over his lips as he watched his son. Hearing the click of your phone camera brought him out of his happy trance. “You did not just take a photo of me,” Wooyoung whined, smile betraying the tone of his voice. 

“The boys have to know what a soft dad you are!” You joked, wiggling your phone at him.

Wooyoung laughed and maneuvered his son onto his hip. “If I was not holding our son- I would fucking tackle you.”

“WOO- LANGUAGE!”

“Oh my god, he’s two what’s he gonna do?”

Rolling your eyes, you watch your boyfriend tease you and pull the thermometer from S/n’s mouth. Wooyoung tossed the instrument to you before walking over to the kitchen. Thankfully your little boy didn’t have a fever. 

The singer set s/n down on the counter and walked over to the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of ginger ale only to be stopped by your hand. “What?” You shook your head and put the soda back in the fridge. “I drank ginger ale all the time for this when I was his age,” Wooyoung stated like he was the smartest man in the world. 

“Yeah well, doctor’s everywhere say ‘no’.” It was his turn to roll his eyes as you gave your son a natural fruit pop and water instead. “Show me your MD, babe.” You joked, wrapping your arms around his waist. 

“Whatever,” Wooyoung said with a smile, kissing the top of your head before returning his focus to your son. 

Jongho:

Jongho was already nasty being away from his daughter for too long. This was the first weekend-long shoot Ateez was doing since D/n was born. You wouldn’t classify Jongho as a ....’clingy’ dad....just one that needed a picture and video check-in of his little girl every two hours or he would have a mini-meltdown. 

His shoot was supposed to be two nights and three days. It was only ten o’clock on the second night when your daughter suddenly got a high fever. The little girl wouldn’t stop crying and in the few words she knew, she complained of bad stomach pain and a headache. Your boyfriend would obliterate you if you didn’t update him. Therefore promptly on the hour, you called Jongho despite the crying infant in the next room. 

“Hi, Y/n-,” His expert ears immediately picked up on the crying over the phone. “What’s wrong is she okay? Are you okay? Is everyone okay? Why is my baby crying?”

“D/n is sick-”

“Do I need to come home? I’m coming home. I can totally come home.” You heard Yeosang shout a ‘No, he can’t’ from somewhere over the phone. 

You sighed-rubbing your temples as a particularly shrill shriek pierced through the thin walls of your apartment. “She has a fever, and a pretty bad stomach ache. I think it’s possibly the flu. It might just be a stomach bug.”

Jongho was getting more worried by the second. He hated hearing his baby girl cry and not be able to do anything about it. They were at least three hours away and that was if he forced a taxi driver to run all the stoplights. “That’s it. Baby, I’m coming home.”

“No, Jongho, honey-” It was too late. He had already hung up. 

Jongho walked right off set (thankfully cameras hadn’t been rolling). The singer marched right up to the director with determination in his eyes. Yeosang, having heard the youngest’s conversation immediately told Hongjoong who gathered the Maknae Damage Control Crew. I.e: Yunho and Wooyoung. “I need to leave.” he stated. The director didn’t even look up from his binder, simply waving his hand. 

“Yeah- go to the trailer. We aren’t rolling for another ten minutes.”

“No. I need to go. As in I’m done. No more shooting of Choi Jongho.”

This got the older man’s attention. His brows raised at the idol’s sudden defiance. “Sorry, kid. Your contract says I own you for another twenty-eight hours. You aren’t going anywhere.”

He took a shaky breath, obviously suppressing his anger. Yunho uncertainly placed his hand on the younger’s shoulder only for it to be brushed off. “You don’t understand. My daughter is sick. I’m leaving.”

“No.”

“NO?” Jongho was furious. Things escalated from zero to sixty very quickly. Wooyoung and Yunho were now holding back Jongho in hopes of keeping him from throttling the show director. The singer had an almost crazed look in his eye and was shouting about getting home to his D/n and something about breaking his head like an apple. 

Finally, Hongjoong stepped in. “Look just let him go home. We can finish the show with seven members. What’s the harm?” Thanks to the leader’s negotiating skills Jongho was soon racing back at light speed. At almost three am he burst through the door of your shared apartment only to be met with silence. 

He was very confused. His first thought was: “Oh no. D/n had a deadly contagious virus and both of them died almost instantaneously.” Frantically he pulled his mask back over his face and ran to the nursery. Surprisingly, he found his little girl fast asleep. Her face was calm and her forehead was no warmer to the touch than normal. 

Jongho next ventured into the bedroom, finding you passed out face first on his side of the bed. Smiling, he kicked off his shoes and took off his mask. “You had me worried for nothing.” He mumbled, collapsing onto the bed and pulling you into his arms. Not even the movement woke you up from your deep sleep. “Good job, mommy.” 

Masterlist

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

In Your Arms ~J.M.

A/n: This wasn’t a request that inspired me to write a lot, so I didn’t, but I hope y’all enjoy this sweet little short! It’s been in my drafts way too long and I want to get more of these done so I can get to recent requests :)

Request: “...jack Morton x male reader where the reader is human of the pack and he always sleeps on the couch until the pack comes home. Jack thinks it’s adorable and carries him to his room and maybe they have a sleep talking conversation like reader:“no I have to wait for jack.” Jack:”why” reader:”because I like him”...”

Word Count: 1800+

MASTERLIST

Listen, being a werewolf in a human world is hard enough especially when it comes with a whole new world of secret societies and magic and literal demons and magic and endless rules that you have to learn and oh did I mention ACTUAL MAGIC?

It is exponentially harder when you make things worse by shoving a human into that world.

Y/n didn't have a werewolf ability to defend himself, or heal him when he got hurt. He didn't have magic... which you know thinking about it now, might be a good thing. He'd rather be useless than be part of the Order.

That was the problem though, wasn't it? He had chosen to be useless. That's what he was now.

I mean sure,  he'd read the books Jack had given him enough times to memorize them, and he was getting used to playing doctor. He was also getting really good at helping in small ways. Helping Hamish grade papers, or doing one night of homework for Lilith, or passing some messages around when Randall forgot because he was busy with supernatural stuff. He was great to talk or rant to, and all of the Knights had been utilizing the very nice ability to go off to someone who actually listens. Sure, he had fallen into a habit of taking notes for the Knights in the classes he had with each of them, if they missed. But... that was just school stuff. Sure it took off a lot of the pressure in the long run (a lot more than he probably even realized), but if they died what the fuck did school mater?

When Jack almost died after the whole meltdown with Silverback a while ago, it had really pushed Y/n into gear. He was a lot faster at responding to things; a lot more eager to help; and above all, the single most annoying person ever when it came to asking about going along to showdowns to play backup.

The others simply refused again and again, and, again and again, he would end up sitting in an empty room as he pretended to focus on whatever task he had given himself to kill time before the worry got to him and he just curled up on the couch ad stared at the ceiling. Worry ate him alive for several hours, and then he'd fall asleep. Most of the time because things always went far later than intended, but also sometimes because between being a student, having a job, scrambling to cover for your friends too, and spending several hours emotionally exhausting yourself with unimaginably high stress levels, one simply passes out.

As Y/n's falling asleep became more and more of a habit, things started to get complicated. Because the thing was, he always fell asleep waiting, so he would be in the Den's living room, uncomfortably scrunched on the couch. They'd left him there a few times and he always woke up sore and aching. They'd tried to wake him up a few times and, half delirious, he had overly emotional reactions. After he had broken down into tears at how happy he was to see all of them alive and then been so embarrassed he hadn't talked for three hours the next day in pure shame, they had decided against the waking him up method. Which only left one option: one of them carried him to bed.

Lilith had tried, but the size difference between her and Y/n was big enough that it was jst awkward for her. She was small (even though she'd never admit it). She's end up waking him up, or dropping him, and that was the last thing they wanted.

Hamish had also tried, but he was really awkward and didn't know how to let Y/n get comfortable in his arms while walking around so that he wouldn't wake up, so Y/n often would. Then it would be super awkward as they just stared at each other. Their relationship was too brotherly and rigid to make room for touching it seemed.

Of course Randall had given it a try, and he was actually fairly good at it, but as much as he was big enough to actually carry Y/n, and at ease enough to let Y/n stay asleep, he wasn't good at maneuvering, which often left him pinned under Y/n when he actually put the sleeping boy to bed. Which lead to a lot of them cuddling. Which, while that was chill and platonic and fun and stuff, made Jack super jealous.

Oh yeah, Jack had a HUGE crush on Y/n, so it only felt right that eventually everyone left it up to Jack to take Y/n to bed. He could pick Y/n up, carry him to bed, and put him in an actual bed without any problem.  Y/n didn't know this was happening. He had gotten used to everyone taking turns carrying him to bed, and they hadn't said anything so he assumed they'd just gotten better at it.

That's probably why on one particular night, he didn't simply assume that he was talking to Jack when he was picked up and began to be carried to bed.

That night was different, because Jack and Y/n had plans to study. Jack had an important test the next day and he and Y/n had the class in common, so Y/n had volunteered to stay up a little later to go through what Jack had missed. It had gotten derailed when Jack had been called away for Knight business, but Y/n had only written it off and told Jack that he'd still be there when it was over and they could continue if Jack was up for it. Unfortunately, it was one of the really time consuming ones, and Jack didn't get back until well into the night.

Dutifully, Y/n was asleep on the couch. His face was contorted oddly. Even asleep, the couch was uncomfortable enough to leave him with a permanent frown, even if it was soft since he was asleep. Jack wasn't surprised though - the couch was so small it barely fit two people on a good day, so sleeping on it was not a fun time.

Considering all of that, Jack thought it incredibly adorable that Y/n found a way to fall asleep on it anyway. They had told him a hundred times to just go to sleep in his bed, but he had refused time and time again. He had insisted that he needed to be as accessible as possible if nything went wrong. If they needed him, he had to be close. He insisted that it was best to be on the couch, and had sworn that he was trying to get into the habit of not falling asleep. But he always did, and he always ended up in the exact same situation. Not that Jack minded. It gave him a prime moment to hold his crush.

He scooped Y/n up now, smiling as the sleepy boy's head fell on Jack's chest. He sucked in a small breath but then settled. Jack chuckled to himself as Y/n pressed his nose into Jack's shirt, burying his face to get closer to the closest source of warmth since he didn't have a blanket. Jack began to carrying him to the stairs to head upstairs, but was stopped when Y/n's foot caught just a second on the doorframe. See, earlier Jack had hurt his arm. Due to werewolf healing it was almost fine, but it was still quite sore, and the tug on his shoulder when Y/n's ankle caught on the wall, forcing his leg into Jack's shoulder... Well it wasn't a big enough pain to make him drop Y/n or shout or anything, but it was enough to startle Y/n just a little bit awake.

"Wh- what?" Y/n mumbled, blinking heavy eyelids as he tried to look around. Jack winced, feeling guilt rise. "What happened? What did I miss?" His words were slurred, and it was obvious that he was barely conscious.

"Nothing," Jack reassured, hoping Y/n would just go back to sleep. If he knew Jack was there he would insist on staying up and helping. It would be nice and much appreciated - since Jack really did need help - but more than Jack needed help, Y/n needed sleep. He had been crashing on the couch for a reason; he was exhausted.

So Jack immediately rushed to soothe, "Nothing happened, just hit your foot on the wall by accident. Go back to sleep."

Y/n huffed, a whine in his voice when he argued, "No put me back." Jack tried to swallow a smile. It was adorable seeing a sleepy, whiny Y/n and that on top of his sleepy voice that was low and grumbly and kept cracking and having the boy in his arms, Jack was having a hard time not feeling a bit giddy.

He tried to keep his head on a little longer though. He needed to get Y/n to bed. "And why do you NEED to go to bed?" He teased lightly.

"I have to wait for Jack," Y/n mumbled, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "We have plans."

Jack's smile turned warm. He thought about telling he who he was, but if he did then he'd NEVER get Y/n to sleep, so he decided to lean into the misconception that he was no in fact himself. "Jack will understand. It's late, you need to sleep."

"No," Y/n insisted with a firmer voice. He tried to struggle, but it was genuinely so pathetic that only a few seconds later he was still.

It made Jack wonder what Y/n was so desperate for though. "Why not?"

"He has a test tomorrow," Y/n explained with a soft irritation. "He needs help."

"You don't have to help him," Jack reminded softly, feeling suddenly guilty for some reason. Had he made Y/n feel obligated to help him?

"No I don't," Y/m agreed. "But I want to."

"Want to what?" Jack joked. "Stay away with a loser like him and lose sleep you need?" He had reached the top of the stairs now, and was headed to Y/n's door.

Y/n just rolled his eyes. "He's not a loser, but he does need help, and I can sacrifice a little sleep to help him with something he really needs. Making small sacrifices liek that is just what you do when you love someone."

Jack froze. WHAT?

When it was quiet for a long stretch of time, Y/n finally succumbed to the tiredness and his soft snores vibrated against Jack's chest. He cleared his throat and shook his head, opening the door and putting Y/n to bed. When he left the room, closing the door behind him, he came out with the biggest fucking grin he had ever worn.

Y/n like him back.

They had a lot to talk about tomorrow, and none of it had anything to do with a stupid test Jack no longer remembered. Because he loved Y/n too, and that's all he could think about right now.

Sorry Miss Styne.

[aesterblaster]

A Patient's Trust

Summary: Chigiri Hyoma x Reader (can be read as plat) where a certain up and coming doctor says they can fix his knee

Angst!

Songs: Death bed -Powfu/ I'm not angry anymore- Paramore/ Karma, AJR

Note: I rewatched Doctor Death on sfxio and..ideas go br what can I say but also yikes sorry for this one guys

"I..I can't feel my leg."

"What?" you snapped out of your trance, having almost fallen asleep waiting for Chigiri to awaken. The doctor said he should wake up around this time, but you certainly weren't expecting him to speak. The room was silent for a few minutes as the words soaked in. Maybe he was just delirious, you reasoned with yourself, after all he just went through a surgery and-

"(Y/N) why can't I feel my leg? D-Did the doctor say anything about side effects?"

"No he said you'd be good as new as soon as you woke up." your voice trailed off into a squeak.

"I'm not." he shut his eyes and swallowed. You couldn't move. What had you done? The monitor next to his bed's beeps spiked and a nurse rushed in. She scolded you for raising his blood pressure but you couldn't say anything in your defense. You just watched Chigiri as she pushed you up and out of the hospital room. The look of terror on his face was one you wouldn't forget for a long, long time.

:17 weeks earlier:

"Aren't you tired of taking care of that leg?" you asked Hyoma, tilting your head as you watched him wrap in with athletic tape.

"No, uh, I guess I've gotten used to it."

You sighed. Sometimes it seemed like you were the only one worried about his health. It was scary to think he played such a physical sport with an injury that could be aggravated any time. Not to mention that he was thinking of joining that weird "blue lock" experiment soon. If that place was serious about forging some new all star team then the training would be intense and Chigiri hadn't trained like that in a while.

No matter how much you asked him to stop all together, soccer seemed to be his first love. You never really got it but as long as he was happy you were happy. Possibly bothering his knee was a sore point in your relationship though. Sometimes it felt like you were holding him back and other times it felt like you were the boundary between him and self destruction.

Maybe you were blowing it out of proportion. You crossed your arms then uncrossed them. "I guess I've never had my ACL damaged, so I can't say."

"Yeah, but I know you're just worried about me." Chigiri grinned and unwinded the tape a bit so it was less tight. You smiled back, but it was strained, maybe you weren't overreacting. You had something to bring up but you knew he wouldn't appreciate the suggestion.

What the hell. Might as well tear the bandaid off.

"Y'know there's a surgery you can get that can replace your knee. I've been looking into it and luckily you live really close to one of the greatest doctors. He's released all sorts of studies on ACL injuries. I think you should check it out."

The room was covered in a thick silence. Chigiri glared up at you from the chair he was sitting in. "(Y/N) those things take like months or years to heal from and blue lock starts in one month. Plus, I have it under control." You kept his gaze but said nothing.

.

..

....

"I swear we can get you back on your feet enough for you to go to blue lock. Don't worry." was the last thing he said to Hyoma.

"Fine! I'll check it out." Chigiri threw his hands up in defeat as he stood up.

You two visited the clinic that afternoon and the doctor was rather enthusiastic. He stressed how running on it day after day would only reinjure it and how short his waiting time was.

He glanced over at you. "I'm kind of on the fence right now. What do you think?"

"When's the next appointment?"

"You should do it." you squeezed his hand in support. He nodded, thinking of how painful it would be to train on his injured knee. It was either go to blue lock and tear himself to shreds, don't go to blue lock or this. It was starting to look enticing and he wasn't even sure he wanted to go anyway. Not with this aching. Were knee braces even allowed in blue lock? Questions continued to flood his head so he looked over at you again.

You only nodded.

:Back to day of surgery:

"Only a few hours in and out!" the doctor smiled at you. "I'll let you two have some time before he goes under.." Something about that smile made your skin crawl. You brushed it off and walked up to Chigiri, who at the moment was sitting on a hospital bed.

"How're ya feelin champ?" He giggled at your fake accent.

"Nervous but good. But, seriously I think..you were right. I'm ready to get rid of this leg issue." he looked up at you. Chigiri's gaze was so intense you looked away after a few seconds. "I'm really sorry I argued with you on this. The more I hear about this surgery the more I wish I'd done it sooner.."

You blinked. Winning arguments against Chigiri wasn't something that happened often. For as soft as his hair was it was covering a hard head. You two sat in silence for a while before the nurse entered and whisked him away. The waiting room's silence changed from comfortable to terrifying and the musty smell was starting to get to you.

You did homework. Got a drink at a near by store. Anything to distract from the pull of time. The clocks seemed to be mocking you at this point.

Just as you were getting ready to drive around the block for the second time, your name was called. "(Y/N)?" You practically jumped up at the nurses call, wiggling your way past the others in the waiting room. She said nothing at your enthusiasm, her mouth pulled taut as if she was holding back a comment.

You were too damn excited to pay attention to that though, Chigiri's surgery was over! And soon he'd be up and running again with no fears to hold him back. You imagined seeing him play soccer again, like when you two were kids. Rushing up and down the field, scoring left and right. The nostalgia was quickly brushed away with the loud beep of a hospital monitor.

Looking at Chigiri, it was hard to imagine him back to new. He looked so frail in the harsh fluorescent lighting. The nurse briefly explained that he'd probably take a minute to wake up before exiting. A minute. You grimaced as you sat down, a minute can seem like an eternity. But soon, you were able to relax. The buzzing of the lights, Chigiri's breathing and the drone of some show on the hospital tv put you in a trance..

"I..I can't feel my leg."

"What?"

[candycityy]

Hii, Candy! For the Drabble Challenge, 12 and 19 😊

(You can also read this on AO3!)

Newlywed bliss, Levi decides, is sort of like a bubble. Or a vacuum, pick your metaphor.

You get so caught up in the sheer wonder of the whole situation, of shared touches and delirious smiles and and waking up with the love of your life sprawled unglamourously beside you, open-mouthed and drooling and just thoroughly adorable, and your heart swells and you can't think and you forget that the world hasn't stopped spinning on its axis for you and you alone.

In other words, Levi pleads insanity.

So when Petra walks into the drawing room one day with a frozen look on her face, one that's equal parts terror and bewilderment and something else that he can't quite discern, he doesn't know what to think. And then she says it.

"Levi," she says, "I'm pregnant."

Just two words, and his world is upended. He think Petra says something after, but he doesn't hear her; blood roars in his ears, his breath is stuck in his throat, and for the first time in his life, he finds himself shocked into utter silence.

And he realises, that third emotion in her face that he hadn't recognised earlier: it's happiness. A wild, fierce joy, a bewildered and terrified joy, but a joy nonetheless.

His head spins, and he feels, incomprehensibly, the urge to lie down. "Pregnant," he echoes. His voice is hoarse, ragged. "Petra, that's..."

He trails off. He doesn't know what to say. Incredible? Ridiculous? Impossible? Petra seems to recognise the tumult in his thoughts, though, because her expression shifts into a kind of defensive stubborness. As if by instinct, her arms curl over her still-flat abdomen, protective.

"Look," she begins, "I know we hadn't planned on this so early, but if you're thinking of—"

"No," he says. His voice is harsh, decisive, and he takes a small step towards her. "I'm not. Petra, I'm sorry, I was just...surprised. I wouldn't...ask you to hurt it. I would never."

She swallows. Her gaze searching, tentative. "Then...you're okay? You're not mad? Or upset?"

"I don't know how I feel," he says honestly. "I don't know shit about being a parent. Maybe I'll screw it all up, I don't know that either. And I'll be real, this is fucking terrifying." Petra laughs. The sound is like broken glass.

"But," he takes a step towards her, "I know I'll try my damned hardest to protect it. Give it a good life. I mean..." His eyes never move away from her stomach. "It's our baby."

His voice cracks on the two words, and that's all she needs. She almost falls into him, sobbing and laughing all at the same time. "Levi, I'm so scared," she whispers. She sounds dreamy, incredulous; enchanted. "A baby. We made a baby."

Levi's never been sure of anything; his life has been a maze of choice, of possibilities, of maybes and what-ifs. But as he stares down at Petra, her arms still wrapped around her middle, he feels a surge of something fierce and unfamiliar in his chest, something almost painful in its acuteness, and he knows, without a doubt: he would die for this stirring of life that drifts, still blind to the world, in his wife's womb.

==

The first time he tells someone, it's entirely by accident.

They're all hanging out in the lounge, like most nights; they haven't told Erwin, and Petra reckons it's better to wait a little, just in case. Eld and Auruo are bickering away as usual, and somehow, the topic turns to one of their colleagues, who recently put in a request to switch to the Garrison after his wife became pregnant.

"I mean, I get why," Eld says, his lip curling, "I just don't get how. Sitting around on the walls, getting drunk and playing cards all day...I'll never understand."

"Your fiancée might like that, though, wouldn't she," Auruo taunts. The other man rolls his eyes.

"Aria knows I'll never leave the Survey Corps. I plan to live till the ripe old age of seventy and die in a blaze of glory as Supreme Commander, thank you very much."

"Supreme Commander isn't even a title, you ass," Gunther goes from across the room, looking up from his book. "But pregnancy...that's a whole lot of responsibility, isn't it? How do you just go off and risk your life every day, with a kid waiting at home for you?"

Levi's stomach churns suddenly, his dinner threatening to make a reappearance, and his face suddenly feels very hot. He fights to keep his expression carefully blank, but Petra's eyes catch his, narrowing with concern.

"And that's how you ruin a life. Congratulations," Auruo concludes wisely.

"Hey," Petra retorts sharply, "that's not true. Being a dad doesn't mean your life ends, you know. You can still be a soldier, and fight, and everything."

Auruo leers at her. "It's different for you, Pet. Mothers have options...but fathers, they gotta provide for their families, woman. Dying...leaving your wife and kid to fend for themselves...it's not done." Eld and Gunther nod agreement, and Petra makes a face, muttering something under her breath that sounds suspiciously like, 'sexist cows'.

Levi doesn't know what possesses him in that instant. His throat is dry, and he's so lightheaded he feels numb, almost disembodied. He stands up abruptly, and announces, "Petra and I are expecting."

The silence that follows is palpable, thick enough to choke on. He can feel Petra's eyes as Auruo begins to sputter apologies and retractions—"I only meant—but of course, you wouldn't die and leave your kid alone, captain! You're humanity's strongest, after all! You'd never..."

He's still stammering away when Levi turns on his heel without a word, and walks out of the room.

==

The candle in his room has melted into a stump of wax when Petra finds him, later that night.

"Hey," she says softly. She's changed into her nightgown, and her hair, still damp from the showers, tumbles into the hollow of her collarbone. In the dim light of the candle, she looks pale and fragile; hollowed cheekbones, shadowed eyes.

Something deep in his chest wrenches, and he opens his mouth, only to find that no words come out. But she seems to understand his expression; of course she does, she always does.

She walks over to the window, where he stands, staring out of the window, and wraps her arms around his back. They're so nearly the same height that it's a comfortable position for them, her face pressed into his shoulder, her hair brushing the curve of his cheek. They stay there for a few moments in a comfortable silence, just relishing in the wordless companionship.

Petra isn't a patient person by nature. But by now, she knows him; knows how the thoughts whirl insistently in his mind at the height of his emotion, unwilling to settle into the dust. So she waits, her warm breath reassuring on his neck, her heartbeat strong against his back.

He finally exhales. "Do you think they were right?" he asks. The words sound unnaturally loud in the silence of the night. When she doesn't reply immediately, he goes on, "I could...you know. I could join the Garrison, too, or the Military Police. Or leave the military. I could do other things. Erwin would understand, he'd help—"

"No." The word cuts through the room. Gently but firmly, Petra turns him around to face her. The moonlight casts her in silver, turning her into something luminous, ethereal—almost otherworldly.

"Levi, I love you more than anything in this stupid world." Her expression is fierce, intent. "And I won't let you do that. You belong here, in the Survey Corps. And I do, too."

"But just say—"

"I'm not fragile, Levi," she shoots back, her eyes burning with a familiar fire. "Sure, maybe I'm not strong the way you are, but I'm strong enough. I'm not saying I'd be okay if you died—of course I wouldn't—but I'd survive, and I'd keep our child alive, too. And I believe you'd do the same."

Something breaks in him, then, like the shattering of a glass, and he looks up. Petra is glaring at him with those burning eyes, and in that moment, she's so alive and beautiful, the love of his life, the mother of his unborn child. The realisation makes him stagger. He's never felt so complete; he's never had so much to lose.

Feeling as though the weight of the world sits on his shoulders, he nods.

Petra's answering smile is a promise, golden and honeyed and full of light. She draws him in tighter.

"Trust me," she whispers. Her presence is warm, solid, comforting. "Everything will be all right."

Drabble challenge!

[taetaemilktea]

Criminal Cuddles

Summary: It’s no secret that Taehyung is huge on physical affection and that Yoongi... well... just isn’t. But when Yoongi catches a cold and wants hugs and cuddles in the midst of his fever-ridden loneliness, Taehyung is happy to oblige—if only Namjoon wasn’t such a responsible leader.

Sickie: Yoongi

Caretaker: Taehyung, mild Namjoon and Seokjin

Word count: 1,996

Author’s Note: If you know me, you know I love contagion haha! You can expect a part 2 with sickie Taehyung in the future! Fic inspiration from @foreheadfeels. Thank you for reading!!

~~~

Slowly. Slowly. Sloooooowly. He was almost there. Two tiny tiptoes and Taehyung had reached the closed door to Yoongi and Seokjin’s room unnoticed. Smiling to himself, Taehyung quietly turned the door handle with utmost care to make as little noise as possible. He had the door knob turned all of the way and was about to quietly push the door open when he heard a stern, deep voice call out his name.

“Taehyung-ah.”

Shit.

Taehyung turned around to find Namjoon shaking his head, arms folded across his chest. He knew he was in for a lecture.

Yoongi had come down with a terrible cold a few days earlier that honestly resembled more of a flu given the fever that he had developed a few days into the illness. Hobi had caught him stifling messy, miserable sneezes into his sweatshirt sleeves, waking up later than his usual 7:00am for coffee, and had alerted the other members.

Seokjin had shoo-ed Yoongi into their shared bedroom, immediately giving him medicine and tissues in hopes that the cold wouldn’t worsen. His hopes had obviously been crushed. Yoongi had a fever, chills, and a horrible cough the next morning.

Immediately upon hearing that Yoongi was sick, Taehyung flung himself towards Yoongi’s room and aimed to get inside. Taehyung was Yoongi’s safe space when sick. Yoongi loved Hoseok more than words could explain and would call him his closest friend, but Hobi’s germaphobe tendencies meant that he was unavailable for sick cuddles. Taehyung, on the other hand, loved cuddles. He slept with a pillow in his arms and latched on to the members any chance he got.

Yoongi was known for always giving into whatever Taehyung wanted—playing extra rounds of games with him, handing over halves of his beloved tangerines when Taehyung asked for some. Yet, never one for physical affection, Yoongi would whine and push away when Taehyung tried to hug him. He just wasn’t big on physical affection.

When he was sick, however, he pulled a full 180 degrees. He would crave hugs and to be held, which is all Taehyung could ever hope to give his hyung. The caveat was that Namjoon was too responsible, noting that every time he let Taehyung in, Tae would exit Yoongi’s room the next day with the same budding cold. Namjoon became conditioned to keep a watchful eye on Taehyung whenever Yoongi, or any of the members for that matter, got sick. Speak of the devil—

“You’re not supposed to be going in there. Yoongi-hyung is sick and he needs to rest,” Namjoon frowned. Taehyung returned the frown with a pout.

“Aish, Namjoonie-hyung! Yoongi-hyung needs me!”

“He needs to take medicine and to sleep. I know you want to be with him but you can see him in a few days when he’s feeling better. I can’t have you going in there anymore, otherwise you’ll catch his cold.”

“But you and Seokjinnie-hyung go in there all of the time. Why can’t I go in too?”

“Seokjin and I give him medicine. And we refill his water and take his temperature to make sure that his fever isn’t too high, Tae.”

“I do that too,” Taehyung retorted, a bit offended that he too wasn’t considered a caretaker of the group. Namjoon couldn’t help but chuckle, uncrossing his arms to instead face palm.

“I mean, sure Taehyung-ah, you’re very helpful. But after you’re done with all of that, you always crawl into his bed, snuggle up close, and practically help him hold tissues to his nose. That’s literally how you catch his colds all the time. Besides, you have to record with the rest of the vocal line later this week and I can’t have you getting sick.”

Taehyung frowned. He knew Namjoon was right. Sometimes he wished his leader wasn’t so good at, well, being a leader. There had been countless times when he, always prone to catching colds, would have to postpone their vocal recordings because he was too congested or had a fever too high to go into the recording studio. He always felt guilty about it, but he equally felt guilty about being unable to cuddle Yoongi to make him feel better.

Namjoon sensed the younger man’s sadness and walked closer to him, slinging an arm around his shoulder and walking him away from Yoongi’s door.

“You can see him real soon, Tae-ah. You just have to wait a little while longer. How about we go pick up some lunch? Are you hungry?”

Taehyung shook his head. All he wanted was to hold Yoongi, to make him feel loved.

~~~

Taehyung spent the rest of his afternoon moping. He tried to work on lyrics for his mixtape, but his heart wasn’t in it. He had played a few games with Jungkook, but was unenthusiastic and let Jungkook win (even though the Golden Maknae probably would’ve won anyway). Hoseok and Jimin seemed to notice his sad demeanor and aimed to cheer him up, but both knew it wasn’t worth the effort. They settled for giving him hugs and patting him on the back to reassure him.

~~~

Cup of tea and medicine in hand, Seokjin quietly pushed open his bedroom door to find Yoongi fast asleep in bed. His hair was simultaneously sticking up in different directions and sticking flat to his forehead as beads of sweat collected on his brow. Even in sleep, the poor man looked absolutely miserable.

Seokjin placed the tea and medicine on the bedside table, grabbing the thermometer from the bathroom cabinet and returning to Yoongi’s bedside. He gently shook him awake.

“Yoongi-ah? Yoongi-ah, it’s time to wake up.”

Yoongi rolled over with his eyes still closed and gave a moan of discomfort, eyebrows knit in confusion. One more gentle shake and Yoongi blearily opened his eyes, looking up at Seokjin.

“I’d say ‘good morning’ but it’s clearly evening now,” Seokjin smirked, motioning to the dark night sky just behind the window blinds. Yoongi merely peered up with a dazed, sickly look.

“Your fever doesn’t look any better,” Seokjin frowned, sitting on the bed and preparing the thermometer. Yoongi seemed to think for a second.

“I don’t feel good,” Yoongi rasped through his sore and aching throat.

“No kidding,” Seokjin chuckled, popping the thermometer into Yoongi’s mouth. They sat in silence until it beeped and Seokjin took it out. He frowned at the number. No wonder Yoongi seemed so delirious. He helped Yoongi to sit up and handed him the tea and medicine. The younger took it wordlessly, sighing as the warm liquid eased down his throat. He let out a few hoarse coughs before plopping back against the pillows and letting out a low moan, followed by a set of sneezes into the crook of his elbow.

“hH! hH’ESHHh!! hH’RSHh!! hH’ESHH’hiuhh!!”

Seokjin winced, internally praising himself for remembering to put on a mask before coming into the room.

“What else can I get you? Water? Do you have a headache? I can get you pain relievers?” Seokjin asked, handing Yoongi a tissue from the box on the bedside table.

“I’m okay. Thank you hyung.” Yoongi paused and seemed to think for a moment. “Is Taehyungie here?” He looked up at Seokjin with sad, fever-muddled eyes. Seokjin’s heart broke. He knew how much Yoongi loved to have Taehyung to keep him company while sick.

Before Seokjin even had a chance to respond, Taehyung peeked his head around from behind the open bedroom door where he had, no doubt, been listening in.

“Yoongi-hyung, I’m here. Please let me in, Seokjinnie-hyung,” he pleaded, looking worriedly at Yoongi. Seokjin sighed. He was easily persuaded. Unlike Namjoon, Seokjin wasn’t a leader of a world famous band. He was an eldest brother. The responsible hyung in him told him the keep Taehyung out, but the soft and caring hyung argued to let him in. He looked down at Yoongi, whose face dampened with disappointment. It only broke Seokjin further.

“Aish, Yoongi-ah. You’re not making this very easy for me,” he chuckled. He gave a sigh, followed by a long pause. “Fine. Come in, Taehyungie.”

Taehyung’s pout widened into his famous boxy smile as Yoongi met him with his signature gummy smile. Seokjin couldn’t help but laugh.

“You two are ridiculous. Namjoon is going to have my ass for this.”

In his fever delirium, Yoongi murmured, “That’s why you’re the best hyung.”

“I’m your only hyung,” Seokjin laughed, picking up the empty tea cup and swiftly leaving the room so Taehyung and Yoongi wouldn’t see his ears blush bright red at the complement.

“Come sit, Taehyung-ah,” Yoongi grinned and patted the bed. Taehyung walked over and, instead, pulled back the covers, climbing into bed and immediately snuggling close to Yoongi’s side. Yoongi hummed a laugh but it rapidly turned into a fit of hoarse coughs that he aimed away from Taehyung. He took a sip of water before resting his head against Taehyung’s chest.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Yoongi admitted once the coughing died down. While oftentimes very independent, Yoongi had been starting to feel lonely from being isolated in his room for so long.

“Me too. I’m definitely going to get in trouble for this, but it’s worth it.”

Yoongi smiled. “Namjoon won’t be mad for long, you know him,” Yoongi referenced their responsible, yet kindhearted leader.

“I know, but I have to record this week. I can’t let the vocal line down. Who knows, maybe I won’t get sick?”

Yoongi shook his head. “You will. You always do,” he gave a tired sigh and closed his eyes.

“I can’t help it,” Taehyung pouted. Yoongi murmured a hum in response. Taehyung’s familiar Daegu accent made him feel at ease and he could feel himself being pulled closer and closer towards sleep as Taehyung rubbed his wide palms and long fingers gently up and down his back.

Taehyung noticed that the warm fever was draining Yoongi’s already limited energy supply. He turned the lamp off and wrapped his arms around Yoongi, throwing a leg over his small waist. Humming “Winter Bear” out of habit, Taehyung’s deep and calming voice put Yoongi to sleep before Taehyung had even had a chance to whisper “Good night, hyung.”

~~~

Namjoon happily walked into the dorm carrying a bag full of Taehyung’s favorite treats and cough drops for Yoongi in his hand. He had felt a bit guilty about being stern with Taehyung earlier. He knew that Taehyung understood his orders, but couldn’t help feeling bad at seeing him with such a sad demeanor all day. He hoped the snacks would cheer him up—he knew how much Taehyung loved his strawberry yogurt!

Upon walking into the kitchen, Namjoon found Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Jimin happily eating dinner together.

“Hey!” Namjoon greeted with a smile. “Save me some food please. I’m just going to go bring these to Tae real quick. Is he in his room?”

The four members seated at the table glanced anxiously at each other, each avoiding eye contact with their leader. Seokjin took a suspiciously long sip of water.

“Really, Jin?” Namjoon sighed in realization.

Seokjin just blushed.

Namjoon made his way to Yoongi’s room and quietly pushed the door open. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight he saw.

Yoongi was curled into a ball with his head laid on Taehyung’s chest. His nose was bright red and his cheeks were flushed a bright pink. He sniffled softly and curled closer into Taehyung, who had his face smushed into the pillow with his arms around Yoongi’s small frame. Namjoon had to admit, it was quite hard to be mad at such a sight. While the leader in him knew the following week would need to be adjusted if Taehyung got sick, he felt it was worth it to see that Yoongi, who had seemed in deep misery and discomfort each time Namjoon had walked into the room that week, slept peacefully with a hint of a soft and happy grin etched into his face.

[blissfulsun]

The very last part of lessons in love❣️ It’s been a long but rewarding process to finish my first ever series, I hope you all enjoy (i’m not fully happy with it but I’ve kept u guys waiting for so so long, I hope it’s the ending you all had in mind)🥺💗

word count: 1,707

What I learned from love (us) // Jeff Wittek

Empty. The room, the bed, and you. 

A quiet that feels so heavy it settles in the darkest depths of your chest and simultaneously claws at your throat, invisible to the naked eye as you stumble out of bed that morning and tiptoe down the stairs with the hope akin to that of a child on Christmas morning sparking at your shaky fingertips, only to find the rest of the apartment desolate of even his cologne. 

You hope it’ll wash away with the bed sheet haphazardly stripped off the bed and into the washing machine, with the bathroom tiles scrubbed to shining perfection: this realisation that your twenty for hours were just that. 

One day: one thousand four hundred and forty minutes, eighty six thousand and four hundred seconds that seem far more abstract in their numbers to hold enough time to allow you to both love and lose like never before. 

Jeff doesn’t call: doesn’t ring your cellphone or your door. 

There’s no good morning text or a picture of Nerf or a random dog he saw that day. 

You avoid the rest of your friends like the plague, unaware of the recent events that transpired between the two best friends. 

The deadline for your assignment works in your favour, reason enough to cut every call short and answer each message in the group chat with a polite no. 

Jeff’s name lacks even within that thread of texts. It’s like he’s never existed. 

But the ache in your chest and the tears staining your pillow serve as reminder that’s far from the truth, they gather in your eyes as you blankly stare at your reflection in the empty word document on your laptop for days, only allowing them to fall in the now cold familiarity of your shower or bed. 

Love is crippling, you realise. 

Finally feeling it for the first time but wishing for the undoing of it in the aftermath. 

Until you realise, this is not who you are. 

Staring at the shell of the girl with rosy cheeks and dainty fingers, hair lazily thrown up and his t-shirt adorning your body: 

a last act of masochism before you throw it out with the garbage that night, staying up until the sun comes up as you fingers type away with the deadline looming over your morning. 

It garners you the highest grade in your lecture, a mention by the professor in front of the whole class and a spot at the literature event he’s hosting for the department. 

You thought this heartbreak might feel more poetic as you watch the ink print across the pages. 

That it’ll become less heavy from theory to practice, parking outside the familiar apartment building but sitting in your car for another fifteen minutes before you decide to head inside. 

You realise it doesn’t when your feet turn in the direction of the stairs, prolonging the inevitable only to find Jeff’s apartment vacant anyway. 

There’s traffic on the way home. And for the first time in a long time you’re fine with being stuck in one spot for so long, the tips of your fingers growing cold at the thought of reentering your home. 

Because now, home is a person, has been for a while but you were maybe too blind to notice, too busy filling seconds of silence with laughter, eyes find those familiar pools of brown in every room, shoulders dropping their weight in his presence, fingers slotting in between much larger ones with timely practise. 

For a moment, you convince yourself you somehow fabricate the smell of Jeff’s cologne in the hallway leading to your apartment door, heartbeat accelerating in your chest and legs stumbling to get around the corner while your mind screams at you. It falls quiet when you’re met only with the dark wood of your front door. 

On the other side of town, Jeff stumbles into his own apartment, defeated at the lack of answer at your door earlier that night, foot steps heavy and falling short at the sight of an envelope on his floor.

More silence. Just as heavy on your chest as you clear your throat and frantically glance around the room. 

This time, it’s somewhat welcomed as your mind recollects itself before you look down at the pieces of paper in your hand. 

The words feel wrong as they leave your mouth, stinging on the tip of your tongue. 

Your mind knows they shouldn’t be read aloud like this: to a room full of people, strangers, who’ll only hear the pretty ornaments that barely scratch the surface. Y

ou go ahead anyway, stuttering through the first sentence while students and lecturers alike gather around to listen: 

‘Descartes wrote I think, therefore I am. A dutiful observation of his existence. I am. I wake up each morning, get out of bed and choose to live, though not all of us truly do. I certainly haven’t. I think, therefore I am.’ 

He didn’t come, your mind echoes the sentiment over and over. 

If your heart had thus far remained intact by no less than your entire strength, it’s falling apart right now. 

‘But I do not love, not the boy with blushing cheeks and clammy hands, the one who steals my first kiss under the bleachers, or the next one to follow with flowers and confessions made on the steps of my mother’s old porch, not even the freckled man with a guitar on his back and a promise of forever in his mouth.’ 

There’s practised precision to the way you read the words aloud, eyes glancing away from the sentence that have been ingrained in your mind, finding pools of brown standing tall in the crowd. 

You smile at Jeff, stuck between the relief spurting in your throat and the instinct to run, continuing somehow:

‘And I’m not good at this, always stutter over confessions and stumble through these feelings but with you? I’d follow blindly, rough around the edges but comforting like the first time I held your hand in mine. One day, I’ll hope to say I love you without decorating the words with ‘get home safe’ or ‘sleep tight’ or even ‘you make me a better person’. 

It garners a half broken smile from your best friend, his hands nervously fumbling with the pockets of his suit jacket. 

‘It will be like any other Tuesday night, except our stars will align. The violet undertones of my veins will spill. Heart strings will play to an awaiting choir and these words will finally hold enough meaning, far more poetic than the silence we’ve endured in the aftermath. For now, I grieve for the girl I was before you, perfectly unknowing, waking up each morning but choosing not to live. I grieve for the woman I am now, knowing yet choosing to wake up each and every new morning. I love, therefore I am.’ 

The applause shakes you away from the intense eye contact, professor’s hand patting your upper back as he engages you in a conversation you’re frankly too lost to follow. 

The words might be pretty, soft enough in their realisation to keep you busy with pointless conversation from their listeners: when Jeff finally makes his way to the front, shy in his steps in your direction, flowers clutched in his right hand as the other flies up to scratch through the brown locks at the nape of his neck.

The two of you stand like that for a while, awkward and quiet until you clear your throat and ask, ‘Are those..are they for me?’ 

For a moment, Jeff looks lost at the words until he finally glances at the bouquet clutched in his grasp. 

‘What?...I - yeah’ they’re clumsily shoved in your direction with that. 

‘Darling, look...I-’ Jeff sighs, space between your bodies growing smaller as your best friend nears. 

‘Why did you leave?’ you interrupt, the question whispered and cheeks aflame when you glance up to his towering height. 

Jeff has the decency to look lost for a moment, brows furrowed before his eyes shift and jaw clenches at the realisation. 

‘I didn’t know if I could do it.’ Jeff begins, hands quick to wrap safely around your waist when you begin to pull away at his words, like a wounded animal, not ready to hear the rest of his speech if it’s to carry similar tone of rejection. 

‘Y/n..’ his deep voice begs. When you find yourself glancing up there’s sudden depth there, shades of brown and green mixing together enough to keep you hypnotised long enough to let Jeff continue. 

‘I - we - we wouldn’t just be a trial run alright? If we do this, take that next step...then there’s no going back for me. If I get to wake up next to you, have breakfast together, go on dates and hold your hand, get to -to kiss you? Then you can’t expect me to ever be able to stop.’ 

There’s no pause to his words, no stutter or shaky breath as the confession settles in him and simultaneously washes over you in a room full of strangers and snobby class mates. 

You release a breath for what feels like the first time in a week as your hands involuntarily find their way to his chest, body swaying into Jeff’s like second nature, like what feels as if too long ago in your shower. 

‘You mean?’ you bite your lip, eyes searching his as everything else blurs into the background. ‘I love you.’ Jeff replies, delirious giggle escaping his lips as tears line your eyes. 

Neither of you can help the goofy, ear splitting smiles that stretch across your mouths. 

They remain that way even as your smaller body jumps up and Jeff’s own leans down only to tighten his hold around your frame when your lips touch for the very first time, clumsy and with teeth clicking as you both refuse to stop grinning even for a short while. 

That night, you fall asleep in the safety of his arms, legs intertwined under the covers while you drift off with the knowledge that tomorrow, you’ll get to wake up beside your best friend, the person that’s quite likely the love of your life. 

And then again the night after that...and the night after that, hopefully, for the rest of your life. 

[wintrcaptn]

It’s You Ch 2 | Chris Evans 🖤

Summary : moving to a new place, not knowing a single person, wasn’t what you had in mind. But wanting a fresh start was the main goal. Little did you know, you were now living next door to none other than Chris Evans.

A/N : I am glad you all enjoyed the first part! It really means the world to me! I don’t know where Chris lives or if he even has nearby neighbors but it’s called fan fiction for a reason. Lol. Please don’t be afraid to leave feedback! Good or bad!

Also, sorry if there are errors. I’m writing on my phone and I’m too lazy to proof read my stuff 😩 I do this to myself. Anyways, ENJOY!

Part One

It’s been months since you moved into your new house, and thingns we’re finally coming together, just the way you wanted it.

Moving to Boston was something you were nervous but also excited for. You were tired of your hometown, tired of seeing the same faces and being reminded of past loves who only ended up hurting you.

So you wanted to start a new chapter in your life. Find passion in yourself again and just be happy with being alone. Something you haven’t felt in such a long time.

But then Chris came along.

As hard as you tried to focus on your life, you couldn’t help but constantly think about him. Think about the way he licks his finger after playing with the rim of his cup when he comes over for coffee on your days off. Or about the way he sings off key to Disney songs when you both get drunk and have a marathon at his place.

Your feelings were growing deeper and deeper and it was beginning to scare you. But of course, your mind would start to work overtime, and you would begin to overthink everything. Wondering why he would waste his time with someone like you when he could literally have any one else. Maybe because you were there? Living next door, made it convenient for him?

Whatever it was, you tried to enjoy it either way. Before it was over.

Chris liked spending his time with you.

Sure, he thought you were attractive but actually getting to know you, made you even more attractive.

Being with you wasn’t hard. It wasn’t scripted or felt forced.

It was as if he had known you all his life.

Then out of nowhere, one day when he was over, spending a casual Saturday at your house, he finally realized this was more than just platonic....

“Okay, so it’s my turn to cook for you!” You exclaimed, walking over to your kitchen.

Chris followed in pursuit, watching you with a soft smile on his lips.

“I don’t think I want to die tonight.” He teased.

You stopped in your steps and turned to face him, with your eyes so big, trying hard not to laugh.

“Excuse me, I’m one hell of a chef. Thank you very much.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” He walked over to the sink, to wash his hands. “I’ll help—“

“Nope! I got this.”

You scrunched you’re nose at him before turning your back to him once again. That little banter was one of the things Chris loved.

Even though, it had been months of hanging out with Chris, it was still so surreal to be around him. Around the guy you had loved watching on movies, and hoped to one day meet.

Your life was a literal fan fiction, but you didn’t seem to mind.

Even though it all felt too good to be true, you wanted to bask in every moment of it.

You looked over the recipe and grabbed what you needed, except for the salt.

Chris thought it would be funny to put it on the top shelf in the cupboard every time he came over, so you had to climb up on the counter to get it.

Letting out a sigh, you looked at him and all he could do was smirk.

“I’m tired of this shit, Chris.” You chuckled. “Come over here and get the damn salt.”

His soft laugh, the one that was barely loud enough but still able to reach your ears, always made you swoon.

“Wait, are you asking me for help? Is this really happening?”

“Chris, you know damn well that if the salt was in the right place, I wouldn’t have to ask.” You muttered, pulling your hair up into a messy bun. “Now please, walk your giant ass over here and put it where it belongs.”

Chris had a rag in his hands to dry off the water from washing his hands. He tossed it over to the other side of the kitchen, before walking over to you.

Once he was by your side, he caught your attention. “You said you got it—“ he muttered as he placed his hands on either sides of your hips, forcing your breath to hitch to the back of your throat. “So get it yourself.” He whispered.

Before you knew it, your feet were off the ground, and You were now able to reach the salt. With Chris holding you up, you knew at this very moment, you were screwed.

The way his fingers curved around you, and how your body leaned against his, it was almost like torture.

You were fighting yourself from giving in. Fighting to keep your fantasies to a minimum and not let any emotion show.

Once you grabbed what you needed, he carefully put you down, not taking his hands off you. But you were so close to each other, you swore you could hear his heart beat.

His gaze held yours, making you feel like he could undress you with those eyes of his.

It was beginning to make you hot just by the thought.

You were able to snap out of it, and clear your throat, breaking the tension between you.

Chris realized he made a tricky move, something that could have made things worse.

He took a step back, to lean on the counter and control his thoughts of you.

‘Keep it together’ he repeated to himself.

“Now stop moving my shit around.” You forced out, glancing at him.

Chris nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Yes ma’am.” His voice was low.

‘God damn it. Keep it to-fucking-gether!!’

A few hours had passed. You were both laughing once again, not letting that moment from earlier ruin the night.

Things were back to normal again.

Scott decided to join the two of you, which he did almost every other weekend, even if Chris couldn’t make it.

He became someone you could trust. And that was hard for you.

“I swear Chris had no secrets with our mom. He literally ran home to tell her he lost his virginity.” Scott cackled, before taking a sip of his beer.

“I was excited!”

“Aww that’s so cute! You were such a mommy’s boy.” You teased.

“Were? He still is.”

Scott looked at his phone and couldn’t believe the time. “Shit, it’s already midnight!” He exclaimed. “I have to wake up in a few hours for my flight.”

With that, he propped up to his feet and gave both you and Chris a quick hug, before walking back to Chris’ house.

“I didn’t realize it was that late.” You yawned, walking the plates over to the sink.

“Guess you lose track when you’re having fun.” Chris said, helping you with the dishes.

You stopped and looked over at him, your eyes slightly bloodshot from exhaustion and the alcohol.

“I need to get this off my chest because it’s been killing me.” You muttered, feeling a bit delirious.

Chris cocked his brow, and focused his full attention on you. “Is everything okay?”

This was it. Word vomit. The thing you did when you had no control over yourself and acted before you thought it through.

“I’ve read fan fiction about you.” You confessed. “And I know that makes me sound like a stalker or whatever, but I promise you that I never in a million years thought I’d be living next door to you.”

Chris stood there, baffled and slightly amused as you went on.

“Yes I think you’re attractive, but I didn’t buy this house because of you. I honestly didn’t even know where you lived!!” You said. “I’ve had shitty relationships and shitty friends and—I just needed a fresh start. My job was able to transfer me out here and this was the second house I looked at and just fell in love—I promise—“

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I believe you.” He chuckled. “I have never thought of you as a stalker or creepy. Weird? Yes but that’s okay.”

You could tell he was trying to lighten up the mood.

But once the realization of what you had just said, dawned on you, you were mortified. “I can’t believe I just told you that.”

Chris belted our into laughter, as he pulled you into him. His arms curled around your waist while you laid your head on his chest.

This was the place you loved being in. Being in his arms, it felt like nothing could ever hurt you again. And it was honestly exactly what you needed.

“So—“ he drawled out. “Do you still read fan fiction about me?”

You took a step back to lock your gaze with his. “Out of all the things I said, that’s what you cling on too?”

“I’m just curious!” He chuckled. “Were they dirty stories? Or—“

“I’m NOT telling you! It’s bad enough that I embarrassed myself telling you I read anything at all!”

Chris could only laugh, clutching his hand over his chest.

You playfully swatted his arm, trying hard not to laugh with him.

“I hate you.” You said, hiding your smile. “This stays between us! If you tell anyone, I swear I will kick your ass!”

“Can you even reach my ass?”

“Are those fighting words, Evans? Because I can throw hands, real quick.”

He took a short step closer to you, his eyes looking darker than usual, with desire. He glanced down at your lips, then back up and locked his gaze with yours.

“I’d like to see you try.” He whispered.

‘Is this really happening?!’

You wanted to kiss him right there and then. To grab his collar, pull him in and taste those plump lips of his that you had been craving to taste.

But you were frozen, lost in his trance.

It wasn’t until The sound of Chris’ phone going off, you were finally able to snap out of it.

It was a text from Scott, asking where he had put the suitcase.

“I got to go.” He muttered, looking slightly bummed about having to leave. “I’ll come over tomorrow to help you with your new book case.”

You swallowed hard, and nodded. “Sounds good. Give Dodger a kiss for me.”

“Will do.” He pulled you in for a tight hug, which lingered longer than it should have. “Good night Y/N.”

Chris turned on his heels and started toward his house, leaving you speechless yet again. He always knew how to do that to you.

“Dammit Y/N.” You mumbled to yourself. “Why don’t you ever learn to keep your mouth shut.”

As Chris walked into his house, all he could think about was you. And even after blurting out everything, it didn’t seem to faze him.

“Oh damn.” Scott said, catching his brothers attention.

“What?” He asked, confused.

“Nothing, I’ll tell you when the times right. But for now, please help me find that damn suitcase! This is what I get for packing last minute!”

——

Chapter Three

[lovely-yandere-imagines]

Flowers of My Affection

Hey Lovelies, so I recently opened up my commission and this fanfic is the first one i got! It’s a lovely Yandere!Giorno x reader fic yay! If you’d like to commission me you can find the link right here or in my bio!

Notes: 18+ ONLY! This character has been aged up as are all the characters I write for, I set this a few years after the events of part 5 where Giorno is now the new Don of Passione and a few of our other boys make small appearances.

Pairing: Yandere!Giorno Giovanna x Reader

Warnings: slight violence, slight public embarrassment, unhealthy relationships, implied dub-con, nsfw, objectification, Giorno is delusional and wraps reader in vines.

Word count: 1,400

Description: Giorno’s darling runs away early in the morning and the golden boy has to chase them down, when he catches them he punishes them by turning his object of affection into a living vase!

You had to get away from him, his overbearingness, his “affection”, his obsession with you, his possessiveness. You had to get away from your captor, Don Giorno Giovanna. You had to run, as quick as you could, he had finally made a mistake and there was no looking back now. Everything happened so fast, you remember him unlocking the door that morning to bring you breakfast and as hard as you could you socked him in the face and quickly slipped by him, no hesitation needed but you had to be quick cause he was gaining on you and quick. You could hear him calmly calling after you as he ran after you. 

If someone didn't know you had been kidnapped they would have thought you two to be a couple in the middle of a breakup. You ran right then left, you didn’t know where you were but you tried your best to read the street signs as Italian didn’t come to you as easily as English but you could make up some words. ‘I need to find a telephone or a police officer’ when suddenly you hear him rounding a corner and calling after you this time sounding more frantic than before, “Darling! Please, don’t run from me, it won't end well.” No time to look for a phone and then you saw him, oh thank god, a cop, you ran to him screaming for help and practically flinging yourself into his arms.

As the unknown policeman catches you you’re met with cold golden eyes and purple lipstick, he seems familiar to you, like you've seen his face before “What's the meaning of this!” he interrogates you angrily, and before you can say anything you hear the cooled voice of Giorno behind you that makes a shiver run up your spine.

“Sorry officer, me and my Tesoro had a bit of an argument and she ran away from me.” The two continue to speak in Italian and you’re only able to catch bits and phrases from the conversation and then you finally hear the officer address you. “Well, Y/N, it looks like I caught you just at the right time, you shouldn’t run off on this side of town late at night, you never know who you’ll run into.” wait, how did he know your name you think to yourself but before you can question him you feel Giorno firmly grab onto your arm.

“Thank you, Officer, I’ll make sure my flower doesn’t run off again.” he shoots you a look and you swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, just before he dragged you back to your cage you see Giorno slip the office some cash and he smiles back at him. Neither you nor Giorno spoke a word as you walked back to the mansion, all the while he still had his vice of a grip on your arm. Once you both get back to your shared room Giorno angrily shoves you into the room, his usually calm demeanor is now gone and you can see that he’s visibly shaking.

“You know you could have told me if you were lonely, Fiore. I could have kept you company, I know I'm a busy man but I would have shown you all of my love.” you try to speak but he cuts you off “But now you’ve lashed out and ran away like a child and made me the bad guy for what I'm about to do to you, you need to be punished...” Suddenly you feel a vine quickly bind your arms behind you back and cover your mouth when you begin to beg for forgiveness. 

“No..no more talking, I’ve heard enough of your excuses.” He grabs you tenderly but the chin and kisses your forehead, he lowers himself till your eye level and gives you a delirious grin, you can help but feel your stomach churn at the way he stares at the nightgown he pick out for you earlier that night, a silky pink vintage dress with a rose in the middle where you neckline was. His eyes linger there for a moment and suddenly he rips it off of you with ease. 

“It’s a shame I had to ruin this but if you're a good pet I might replace it for you..” He rubs the delicate fabric between his fingers before tossing it to the ground then looking back up at you with love in his eyes he likes what he sees before him. His beautiful flower a naked as the day they were born and his eyes light up suddenly like he just got a great idea. 

“You know, flower, you have a beautiful figure, it's almost like I'm staring at Aphrodite in the flesh, so beautiful…” he trails off lost in thought and then looks you right in the eyes, “You’d make a very beautiful vase for my office…” Your stomach sinks but then you feel vines covering your body, soft tendrils cover your most delicate areas and you can see various flowers blooming off them. Giorno then begins to rearrange them to his liking till you're covered and can barely move, feet and hand still bend and your mouth still covers with small cherry blossoms tickling your nose.

Giorno gently picks you up and carries you to his office, careful to not damage any of the flowers or vines. He passes by a few of his underlings and you try to hide your face unsuccessfully, you can hear them gossiping about and you one laugh and is brave enough to address Giorno, “Hey boss, I like your new flower pot, know anywhere where I can get one?” another one replies “Mista leave him alone, can’t you see he's pissed right now!” 

Giorno says nothing and just keeps waking, you wish he’d say something soon, he’s starting to scare you more than usual. Finally, he makes it to his office and places you behind his desk. “There, now you won't be lonely while I'm at work and everyone will be able to see my beautiful muse” He strokes your face no longer looking at you as a person but as his possession. He hears your stomach growl and remembers that you hadn’t eaten that morning. “Oh dear, it seems I’ve forgotten to feed you. I’ll be right back, flower.”

Several moments pass and then Giorno comes back with a plate and a glass of water and gently moves the vines from your lips, “I hope you’re still hungry, here open up.” He then stares to spoon feed you and give you little sips of water in between. It’s moments like this that you’re thankful for when he's not threatening to kill your whole family or the random stranger that looked at you too long and he’s hand isn't lingering on your thigh longingly, the moments when he’s gentle and caring. Then you get an idea, you two have never made love before but maybe if you gave yourself to him he’d unbind you..it was worth a shot, wasn’t it?

When you’ve finished all your food Giorno goes to put the vines back when you finally decide to speak up, “Giorno! Darling... I’ve been thinking…” He stops and stares at you waiting for you to continue, “I-i was thinking...that maybe..we could be us..intimate.” He blushes slightly at the idea and brushes your hair behind your ear, you can tell he’s lost in thought so you interrupt “I mean..w-we could make love, right here, right now if you unbind me.” you can see him hesitate and then he starts to put the vines back over your mouth, and not even thinking you quickly spit out “I’ll be yours! And only yours! I won't let anyone else have me, you’re my everything Giorno, please!”

He stops and you don’t know what you’re expecting to be honest but when he smiles you can tell it's genuine, “Oh, il Mio Amore, that’s all I’ve ever wanted was for you to love me back, I'm so happy.” He removes all of the vines from you and quickly picks you up bridal style and begins to carry you back to your shared room stopping for a moment and calling out to someone “Fugo, cancel all my appointments for the day, Amore and I are going to have some alone time.” and with that, you’ve sealed your fate, he’s never going to let you go now.

[bruh--wtf]

A Message

Thomas x Reader

The Scorch Trials - the first movie is part of the series. Highly suggest reading it first for it to make sense.

Summary: The reader, Thomas, and the remaining Gladers are thrown into the outside world, and quickly have to figure out what life is like outside of the Maze. Thomas, with his memories returning, doesn't know what he should and what he shouldn't tell the reader.

Part 10

Main Masterlist

Previous Next

Maze Runner Masterlist

You looked over, hearing water running. You see Thomas standing by the sink. It was oddly comforting knowing you weren't the only one having trouble sleeping.

You carefully got up, knowing these boys would wake up with noise. You walked over to Thomas, he saw you in the mirror and looked over at you. You smiled slightly.

"Can't sleep?" You ask. He studies you for a second before nodding. "I keep trying to tell myself that it's because we've been through alot, but that doesn't seem to be causing a problem for the others." As if on cue you hear Winston snore. You glance over, chuckling. You smiled at the sight. "We did good, right?"

"What do you mean?" He asks.

"I mean, getting them out of the maze. The amount we have, it's good. Better than nothing, I guess," you say, looking down. Thomas steps a little closer to you.

"Yeah. We did good. I just get a weird feeling about this place," he says. You nod in agreement, looking up at him.

"I do too. I don't know why. I guess we just have to wait, though, right? We'll leave soon," you say. He nods, glancing over at the guys. His zones out, like he's thinking. You tilt your head. "Is everything alright?" You ask. He looks at you and shakes his head.

"I just keep thinking about him," he says. You nod and look down, you knew he meant Chuck.

"I do too." He smiles a little. "What?" You ask.

"You know how I said you were friends with the guys? Before the Maze?" You nod. "You lived in a room kind of like this. With Newt, Minho, Alby, Gally... and Chuck." You straighten up, looking over his face.

"I did?"

"Yeah, you were all like family before the maze even happened. You volunteered to go in first." Your eyes widened. "You knew it was between you and Alby, and you volunteered. They decided on you anyways, but even if they didn't you clearly had your mind set on going in first."

You look down, thinking. "Sounds like me," you mumble. He chuckles quietly. "So, we really knew eachother. You knew us?" You ask. He nods.

"I didn't know you as long before you left, but I'd been friends with the guys for a while."

"But we did know eachother," you say. He studies you for a second before nodding. "Hmm, well, from what you say I haven't changed much. What do you think?" You ask, smiling a little bit. He smiles slightly.

"Your loyalties are in the same place. Your still stubborn. But, yeah, you've changed. I don't really remember every detail from before," he says. You nod, taking in what he says.

"Probably not in a good way, though," you say, nodding your head at him. He rolls his eyes.

"In a good way," he says. You meet his eyes.

"Yeah?" He shifts a little and nods.

"Yeah. We should try to get some sleep," he says. He walks past you, towards the beds. You stayed there for a second, but then went towards your later. You climb up, curling into the blankets. You were happy you could finally sleep in a normal bed.

But that didn't last long. Probably ten minutes later, you heard a squeaking of metal in the room. You sat up, looking around to see where it came from. You heard Thomas move under you, and looked over the edge of the bunk. You raise an eyebrow at him.

"Psst. Hey," you hear, and your head moves. There was a light coming from under Thomas's bed. He glances at you before bending over, looking under the bed. "Shh. Come on, follow me." You carefully swing your feet over, placing your feet on Thomas's bed. You saw him tilt his head. He sat upright, and looked at you.

"The hooded kid from the cafeteria," he whispers. You knit your brows together and glance over at where Winston was sleeping. He shakes his head, getting off the bed, ready to crawl.

"Are you crazy? You're going alone?" You ask. He looks at you.

"Then, come with me," he says. You glare at him, but get off the bed. He crawls in first. The tunnel was tight for him, but not so much for you. Your frame was smaller.

You two continued following the boy, when Thomas decides to finally question the boy.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" He asks. The boy glances at you but waves forward.

"C'mon we're gonna miss it," he says. Thomas looks back at you and you shake your head.

"What the hell are we doing?" He asks. You shrug, tapping his leg and pointing, telling him to keep going. He huffs, and keeps crawling.

Eventually he catches up to the boy. "What are we doing here?" He asks. The boy shushes him.

"Come here," he says. Thomas crawls into a slightly bigger tunnel that the boys could crouch down in. Thomas crossed the vent, leaving you next to the boy, and looked down like the boy was. "Watch," he says. You roll your eyes, looking through the vent.

The woman from earlier, Doctor Crawford, walks by. Someone behind her wheeled a cart by. You could see a device showing a human body on it. You knit your brow, and crossed over to be next to Thomas, to get a better look. Crawford opens the door with a keycard and the cart, with a person on it, through the door. You and Thomas exchange a look then look at the boy.

"What the hell was that?" You ask. The boy glances at you.

"They bring in new ones every night like clockwork," the boy says. You tense.

"Clockwork." Thomas looks at you for a second but then looks at the boy again.

"Do you know what they do with them?" He asks.

"No. This is the farthest I've ever gotten. Yhe vents don't go into that section. Once they go through that door, they don'tcome back out," the boy says. You look at him again.

"The kids from the cafeteria," you say. It was clicking in your mind. The boy nods.

"I don't think anybody ever really leaves this place," he says. You look at Thomas. After a moment the boy speaks again. "We gotta go before someone notices we're gone."

"Why'd you show us this?" Thomas asks. The boy turns back and looks at you and Thomas.

"Maybe the others will listen to you. There's something weird going on around here. I know you think so too. I don't actually know about you," he says looking at you. You look at him, nodding. The boy starts crawling back and Thomas stops him.

"Wait, what's your name?" The boy stops.

"Aris," he says, then leaves. You sit back, looking down through the vent.

"One prison to another. Just great," you say and roll your eyes. You crawl over to the turn, where Aris went. You look back at Thomas. "Come on, the guys will notice we're gone." He looks at you and crawls after you.

The next day, in the cafeteria you listened to Janson read off names. You were sitting next to Thomas. You got no sleep and you mind still wouldn't shut up.

"I want to know what's through that door," Thomas says. Newt sighs, looking at the two of you.

"Look, we've been over this. They were covered up, it could have been anything," Newt says. You look at him.

"Maybe one person seeing it could be written off, but both of us saw it Newt," you say.

"Both of you were delirious. You still are," he says.

"No, Newt, I know what I saw. They were bodies. Aris says the bring in a new batch every night," Thomas says.

"Who the hell is Aris?" Minho asks. You nod in Aris's direction. He was studying something on his tray. He looked out of it. "I'm sold." You glare at your friend.

"And last, but not least, David," you hear Janson yell.

"Alright, until we know anything for certain, just keep our heads down and try not to draw any attention to ourselves," Newt says. You nod in agreement. Thomas was staring off into space.

"Thomas?" You say. He glances at you but stands up, his hand causing a loud noise on the table, and speed walking towards the door. You sigh.

"What's he doing?" Newt asks. You straighten up.

"Drawing attention to himself," you say. Thomas looked down, and tried to get past the door, trying to blend in as one of the kids called. A guard stops him, and you stand up. You take a step, but Thomas seems to be turning back towards your group. He looks at you, meeting your eye. He nods slightly, then quickly bolts back around, trying to get past the guards. You run up to them, the others following suit.

A guard shoves him back. "Back off!" Thomas shoves him.

"What's your problem man?" Thomas yells. The guard pushes him again, in time for you to be there. You put a hand on his arm, with the other boys trying to get inbetween the two.

"Control your friend!" The guard yells. Then Janson runs through.

"What's happening here?" He asks. "Thomas... I thought we could trust eachother. We're all on the same team here, you know that."

"Are we?" Thomas asks. You still had a hand on his arm. Janson looks at him for a moment, glances at you, and then takes a step back.

"Get them to their bunks," Janson says. A few guards start grabbing you all, roughly pushing you.

"Ay!" You yell. They just shove harder, causing you to stumble a little. You're all practically thrown into the room, you right after Thomas. You being the lightest of the bunch, gets tossed a little to hard. You crash into Thomas who steadies you out.

The door closes and you stand up on your own.

"What the hell was that about?" Minho asks.

"You didn't really think they were just going to let you through, did you?" Newt asks. Thomas rolls his eyes, digging in his pocket.

"No. Of course I didn't." He pulls something out of his pocket. He holds up the key card. "I'm going to find out what's on the other side of that door. Okay? These people are not who they say they are."

"No! Thomas you don't know that. The only thing we do know is that they helped rescue us from WCKD. They gave us food, new clothes, a proper bed." He takes a step towards Thomas. "Some of us haven't had that in a long time." Newt asks.

"Yeah, but-" Newt cuts Thomas off.

"Some of us alot longer than others. Y/N, you haven't had it the longest. Why are you so against this?" You shake your head.

"I'm not against it Newt. I want all of us to be happy and safe. But I don't feel like we're safe here. I'm not going to just sit here when we might be in danger, again!" You say. Newt clenches his jaw and you hear the vent opening up. The grate pops out and skids across the floor. You look over and see Aris crawl out from under Thomas's bed.

"Hey, guys," he says.

"What the-" Frypan says, bending over to look at where Aris came from.

"You got a key?" Aris asks. Thomas nods.

"Yeah, lets go," Thomas says. He looks at you, and you nod, crouching down as Aris crawls back. "Maybe you guys are right, maybe we're just paranoid. But I gotta find out for sure." You nod, crawling in after Aris. You see Thomas get down and start crawling in after you. "Just cover for us. We'll be back as soon as we can," he says.

When you get to the vent from the previous night. Thomas opens it up and carefully swings himself down. He looks up at you. You held on my your arms and dropped down. He caught you by the waist and you looked up at him.

"Thanks," you say. Aris jumps down after you, and Thomas checks the hall as he pushes the door to the vent back closed. Then he grabs the keycard and swipes the door open.

There were tarps in there and then an archway. You saw rows and rows of curled up creatures held in blue liquid. You stared in shock.

Thomas glances at you, then swipes the next door open. You follow the two boys into the room.

"Oh my God," you say. Dozens upon dozens of kids were all hung up, with tubes, and their feet not even on the ground. You turn, looking at the nearest person. Thomas right next to you. You walk the row, looking at all the kids. They were being injected with something.

"Teresa?" Thomas says and you look over to a girl whose hair was in her face. You rush over with him as he moves the hair out of the girl's face. Revealing a very new girl. You let out a breath of relief.

"It's Rachel," Aris says and you look at him. He was staring at the girl. "They took her the first night. I told her it was going to be okay." You give Aris a sympathetic look.

You look over, hearing something behind the doors. Your eyes widen and Aris runs as the door cracks open. Thomas wraps an arm around you, pulling you against the pole.

"You sure this can't wait?" You hear Janson asks.

"She was very specific. She wanted to speak with you specifically, sir," another man says. You look at Thomas, he moves the two of you around the pole as the walking past you.

"As if I don't have enough to seal with," Janson says. Thomas pressed his back against the pole, and held you tightly against him so they wouldn't see you.

Thomas peaked around the corner and you lightly jab his chest, giving him an 'are you stupid' look.

"Just bare with me. We have interference with the storm," he says. He looks at you for a minute while Janson bosses the other man around. You held onto his shirt, and both your head snap over when you hear her name.

"Good evening, Doctor Paige. Lovely seeing you again. Well, not literally. I wasn't expecting to hear from you so soon," he says. Thomas turns a little more, loosening his grip on you. You moved a little, letting him turn to get a better look at the screen. There you saw her. The Doctor from the video in the Maze.

"Change of plans, Janson. I'll be arriving sooner than expected. First thing tomorrow," she says.

"Oh, uh, we'll be delighted to have you. I think you'll be pleased with our progress." He projects something onto the screen. "As you can see, early results have been promising. Whatever it is you've been doing to them in there, it's working."

"Not well enough. I recieved board approval. I want all the remaining subjects sedated and prepped for harvest by the time I arrive." Your eyes widen and your grip on Thomas's arm tightens. He doesn't look at you but grabs your hand, giving it a small squeeze.

"We're going as fast as we can without raising alarm," he says. "We are also still running tests."

"Try something faster," she says, sounding bored. "Until I can promise their security, this is best plan."

"Ma'am, security is my job. We're on twenty four hour lockdown here. I assure you the assets are secure."

"Have you found the right arm?"

"Not yet. We tracked them as far as the mountains."

"And they're still out there! They want these kids as badly as we do. And I cannot... I cannot afford another loss. Not when I am so close to a cure." You press your lips together. "If you are not up to the task, I will find someone else."

"That won't be necessary," Janson says. "Might I suggest we start with the most recent arrivals?"

"Just get it done," she says sharply. "Janson. I don't want them to feel any pain."

"They won't feel a thing."

[theroyalmile]

Started from the Bottom Now We’re... A Little Bit Above the Bottom

Note to Readers: I wrote this on Sunday morning at 5:30a.m.  It captures one of the lowest moments I have felt throughout this whole experience and though I am feeling much better right now, and very much so looking forward to my surgery on Tuesday, I think it’s important, when being open about this whole thing, to capture this snapshot of emotion.  I will warn you ahead of time that this is not a “fun” read. But it is honest. And I truly believe the sentiment at the end- this was very close to rock bottom for me, so I’m looking forward to the journey back up, beginning with my surgery in 5 days. 

*******

A couple of weeks ago, I reached a milestone I never thought would happen.  I finished chemo.  This milestone felt triumphant.  It felt miraculous.  I had successfully leaped this giant hurdle, with more ease than I ever expected.  Lucky was the word I kept using.  Lucky I had never gotten sick.  Lucky neuropathy had never taken hold.  Lucky my lifted fingernails had never fallen off.  Lucky my hair was starting to grow back.  Lucky that while still terrible, chemo had been so much easier for me than I knew it was for most. 

I rode this high into a wonderful celebratory night with some close friends.  What was meant to be a large BBQ outside was hindered by a rainstorm, relegated to the indoors, and made much smaller, and yet, I was still deliriously happy. I held onto that delirium from one thing to the next- a laughter filled game night at my parents' new home, a lovely, relaxing few days with my partner’s family, to a productive, incredibly normal feeling day back in the office.  

As I prepared to continue riding that high into my long awaited “girls weekend” with some friends who had all banded together to come in from out of town, I received a call.  It was the plastic surgery department calling to confirm my surgery date for June 22- a date that was three weeks earlier than the date I had in my calendar and that I had spent the last two months making plans around. I was confused, annoyed, and a little scared.  What had happened, I wondered?  I contacted my social worker via email to ask her, nicely of course, what the ever-loving f*** was happening.  She told me she would get to the bottom of it immediately.  I did my best to enter into my girls weekend undeterred from having the most fun ever, as was planned.  

The next day, I received a call from my surgeon who walked me through why the date had changed, and the pros and cons to changing the date.  I won’t get into the details but the most important point is, she said it was ultimately my decision on which date to keep, but from a cancer care perspective the earlier date was optimal.  This is not to say the later date would have been dangerous, just not-optimal, whatever that means.  I asked if I could have the weekend to think about it and she said of course.  I called my partner to discuss, and my mother.  I made a little pro/con list in my phone that I would let ruminate for the weekend.  And then I did my best, mostly successfully, to put this all in the back of my mind until Monday so I could enjoy my girls weekend as planned.  

Ultimately, after what ended up being a wonderful, mostly cancer-thought-free weekend, with the help of my family, partner, social worker, and little pro/con list, I decided to move my surgery date up to the earlier date.  After all, my number one goal here is to be cancer-free.  Why would I not do everything I could to best ensure that result.  Somewhat begrudgingly, but confidently, I altered all my plans.  I informed work of my new surgery date which they wholeheartedly accepted and supported.  I cancelled my “staycation” and other various plans I had made to enjoy my last free weekends before my procedure.  I went through the process of reworking my entire brain to accept that this was all happening much, much sooner than I had planned.  I found a way to become re-excited by my surgery and what it meant.  No more cancer in my body.  The light at the end of the tunnel was back and closer than ever.

One particularly hard pill to swallow with this closer date was that with my post-chemo energy climbing, I had been excited to start working out again, and start eating healthy again.  I had hoped in those 30+ days I might even lose some of the 5 pounds or so of the chemo weight I had gained.  I wanted to go into this surgery feeling powerful, strong, positive and healthy. With this newer surgery date I felt that this goal was still possible, I just had less time to accomplish it.  That was fine, I thought, after all, it wasn’t about the weight loss as much as it was about feeling good.  And I was determined to do my damndest to feel as good as possible with the time I had.   

I started working out every day.  Nothing crazy or overzealous I thought.  Some brief cardio, 30-45 minutes on the stationary bike.  Light weight lifts.  Beginner level stuff.  Enough to work up a minor sweat and push me a little.  But not to push too hard.  With the support of my partner I started eating well (emphasis well, not less).  More salads, more fruit, more water.  Less junk food.  I was meditating daily, which is something I have never done before.  I was feeling good, feeling empowered.  I had even lost 2 pounds, which was, frankly, just a bonus. 

I went into my plastic surgery pre-op appointment excited and nervous.  I was going to be able to ask all of my questions about the surgery, which I had written out ahead of time.  I was going to learn about how to care for my recovering body.  This appointment made this all seem so real. More so than it had before.  But I was happy about that.  I was shocked by how excited I was by the idea of a bilateral mastectomy.  Of course, still very scared, but excited, which made the fear more palatable. 

I don’t like to say things that are overly flattering of myself, but I like to think through this whole process I have remained fairly calm, undeterred, and strangely positive.  Not in a Pollyanna positive kind of way (as my mother would say), just optimistic about the outcome of all of this.  Optimism is not my natural mode, so I have worked very hard to do this.  That is not to say it hasn’t been hard.  Or course it has.  This has been the hardest thing I have ever done.  I have cried more these last few months than probably the last few years combined.  But I have remained, for the most part, positive.  

This was how I felt walking into my plastics pre-op appointment.  My mother was with me for support.  She had been there with me for my first consult with plastics and oh boy, had I needed her.  When the sheer weight of everything had hit me once we started going over breast reconstruction, I had completely lost it.  She was there to support me and help lift up my voice when I could hardly speak.  I had not anticipated that would be necessary this time, but she was there as a precaution, and as an extra set of ears.  But it turned out I needed her more than ever.  When my plastic surgeon out of the blue suggested I consider having my mastectomy without reconstruction, take a few months to recover and lose 20 or so pounds, and then come back for my reconstruction later, I lost it completely.  We had already been over this two months prior.  We had addressed concerns about my weight and determined the surgery as is, mastectomy and reconstruction all in one, was doable, and the right procedure for me.  My weight had not changed since this conversation in March.  Nothing had.  So what the hell.  And when I say “lost it” I mean full, heaving, sobbing, hard to breathe tears.  I couldn’t think straight.  I wanted to vomit.  I wanted to throw something.  I wanted to scream.  We were two weeks out from surgery and here was this curveball that could change everything.  All my questions I had pre-prepared, all of my excitement went right out the window.   I remember my mother saying to the nurses, with a thinly veiled anger, “She has been very stoic through all of this, but I think today you guys broke her.”

The thing here I must make you all understand is that I am having a surgery I would never in a million years have elected to have if I did not have breast cancer and a genetic condition that gave me a 40% chance of getting breast cancer again.  I am having both my breasts removed, and reconstructed with tissue from my stomach.  Does the idea of that make you uncomfortable?  Yeah, me too.  I don’t want this.  I will never wanted this.  But I have accepted that this surgery is my best shot at having a normal life where I do not have to wake up every day in fear of my cancer returning.  And this particular surgery, a mastectomy and reconstruction all in one, with my own tissue, while much more intense in terms of both surgical time and recovery time, is the procedure that made this “choice” that wasn’t really a choice the most palatable.  I am not sugar coating to say I was excited. But when the option of doing the procedure the way I wanted was possibly being taken away from me it was all too much to handle.  My mother was right.  It broke me.

We left that appointment with more questions than answers.  Both of us dejected, angry, bordering on more tears to accompany the ones we had already shed.  After an emergency meeting with my social worker and much discussion (and more tears), and an analysis of the risks and benefits in front of me, I was done sacrificing my choices.  I had already sacrificed too much to this disease and I was done.  I was determined to stick with the procedure I had been planning for since March. 

So did this whole event take the wind a bit out of my sails? Yes.  It ruined everything just a little bit for me, and stands to make all of this a little bit harder.  All the same, after making my decision, I was determined to push forward,  I kept up the exercising, I had two more very productive days at the office and felt confident about my medical leave from my job.  Was I feeling as strong as before?  Not quite.  But I was feeling better.  And the weekend was approaching fast, which I was looking forward to.

I had plans for the weekend.  Nothing monumental.  Saturday, my partner and I had planned to go to the driving range at a local golf course.  This was a favorite activity of mine when I was younger. My uncle Billy, who died in 2019, used to take me to the driving range when I was a pre-teen/teen.  I was excited to give it a shot again and see if I still had it, or at least had my 14-year-old version of “it”.  Saturday also happened to be the two year anniversary of my Uncle Billy’s death, which I had forgotten, but I wonder if subconsciously I remembered, as the coincidence is a bit too odd to ignore.  Then Sunday, we planned to go to the beach.  We were going to get there early, 8am for low tide, because one of our favorite activities is to explore tide pools.  This may seem juvenile, but the beach, and the tide pools bring me immense joy.  Though I only had two weekends before my surgery and a month long recovery, I was determined to make the most of them. 

However, my weekend plans, like my pre-surgery excitement, were perhaps too good to be true.  Saturday morning, before my day had really even started, I was bending over to put something in the compost when my back gave out and a sharp pain hit me in the center of my lower back.  I was stuck there crouched down, wondering if I could even stand.  With much pain I did stand, and suddenly realized I was in trouble.  I called out to Caleb with a bit of urgency, and when he came over, I said “Something happened to my back, I don’t think I can walk.” And I truly didn’t think I could.  He slowly walked me over to the couch where I was able to lay down, but not without excruciating pain.  And when I say excruciating, I mean it.  On the pain scale- the one that doctors always have with the little frowny faces I would say it was a 7.  Maybe a 6.  Maybe an 8.  Whatever it was, I can way with utmost certainty, I have never, in my entire life, felt this much pain.  Whenever I sat up- pain.  Whenever I stood- pain.  Whenever I took a step- pain.  This was make-you-want-to-vomit pain.  This was need-help-going-to-the-bathroom pain.  This was I-am-afraid-to-move-even-a-little pain.  I have hurt my back before.  But never, ever like this.  

With my upcoming surgery I am restricted from taking blood thinning medication - so no ibuprofen, no aspirin.  I am also restricted from taking CBD, THC, and any marijuana products.  I tried acetaminophen.  I tried wet heat.  I tried dry heat.  I tried ice.  None of it seemed to really help.  We considered going to the emergency room but I wasn’t sure I could make it down our front stairs, let alone into a car.  Plus the idea of one single unnecessary second in a hospital, especially with a long hospital stay looming, was unpalatable. Finally, I called Dana Farber and spoke with the on-call physician, who, after confirming it was safe for me pre-surgery, prescribed me muscle relaxers.  

Of course, a driving range trip was out of the question.  I cancelled dinner plans with a friend as well.  I felt little to no relief until 11pm, which allowed me to make it up the stairs and into bed.  The relief gave me a false sense of hope, thinking perhaps, by tomorrow, I will be better.  Maybe even better enough to go to the beach.  My one beach trip of the summer.  That’s all I wanted.  I knew tidepools were out of the question.  But maybe I could at least put my feet in the sand, and smell the ocean water.  That seemed good enough.

As soon as I awoke on Sunday at 5:30am to take my next dose of pain meds and muscle relaxers  I knew it would never happen.  I had reverted back to my earlier pain levels.  I struggled to get out of bed, and required being literally held up to go to the bathroom. And I never went back to sleep after that.  I just sat there, taking in everything that was happening to me at that moment.  Taking stock of the ways my body felt like it was was failing me. Listing the things I had lost.  Obsessing on the disappointments.  

I can’t quite find the words to express how it feels to be sitting awake, propped up against your headboard like a ragdoll at 5:30 am on a Sunday, crying, but trying to be silent so as not to wake your partner, who, after tirelessly caring for you, helping you walk to the bathroom all night, has finally been able to fall asleep.  Looking outside at the beautiful, cloudless blue sky, feeling the warmth of a perfect beach day seep in through the window screens, knowing I likely won’t even make it out of the house let alone to the beach.  

Rage.  White-hot rage is what I felt.  Not at anyone or anything.  I don’t even have a god to be mad at. Just life.  I was mad at life.  I was furious that my one weekend to enjoy, relax, and take my mind off of everything, even if just for a moment, had been taken from me, not even by cancer, but by some freak occurrence. 

In this moment, sitting there, silent tears streaming down my face, chest heaving with the sheer weight of just everything I realized there was one thing I could do- my one sedentary, legless outlet.  I could write.  

So gingerly, I pushed myself out of bed and shuffled my way over to my work desk.  With the support of the desk I lowered myself onto the floor to reach for my personal laptop.  I opened it.  Dead.  I located the power cord under my desk, unplugged.  After several painful moments of reaching, I determined I wasn’t going to be able to reach the outlet.  No fear, I had a backup plan.  I reached up and grabbed my work laptop.  Power cord already plugged in- bingo.  I opened it, made my way into Google Docs and started typing.  I got five words in before a blue screen with a frowny face appeared.  Well, thank goodness I used Google Docs.  I rebooted and logged back in.  Another sentence.  Blue screen.  Frowny face.  I rebooted again.  And again.  And again.  At least six or seven times of this, all while that pit of rage stuck somewhere between my throat and my belly swirled painfully.  All I wanted in this one moment was an outlet- a chance to be able to write about my pain.  And I was even being denied that. 

As I rebooted, and rebooted, and rebooted, for the first time in a long time another word popped into my head which I had vowed to never use.

Unfair.

I hate the word unfair.  And I hate it in the context of my cancer diagnosis.  I was recently explaining this to a friend of mine.  It’s not that I so much hate other people using the word unfair to describe what is happening to me, or to describe something happening outside of my diagnosis, but I refuse to use it for myself.  I feel this way because I believe nothing about my life is unfair.  Yeah, I got cancer.  Yeah, I got cancer at 28.  But why not me?  So many people get cancer, what the hell makes me so special that it shouldn’t be me.  What about the little kids I see at Dana Farber any time I’m there, running around with their little chubby bald heads.  I got to be 28 before I had cancer- they didn’t.  That’s unfair to them.  But not to me.  The word unfair scares me- because I truly believe once I begin to think that about my situation, about myself, about my current circumstances, I won’t be able to come back from that.  I won’t be able to escape unfair. 

Finally, as if sensing I was about to throw it against the wall, my laptop came to life and stayed that way.  And I wrote all of this, starting with “unfair” and working backwards. Working through all of the things that have happened in the last two weeks to bring me to that word. 

I have concluded that, still, none of this is unfair.  Am I pissed off? Yeah.  Exhausted?  Absolutely.  Angry. Sad. Scared. Humiliated. Humbled. Overwhelmed. Still in pain, as I sit here?  Unfortunately, yes. But I feel oddly… better. Actually, I’m kind of smiling now as I write this and I truly have no idea why.  Maybe at the absurdity of it all?  Maybe because I am feeling so many things right now, why not add amused. 

I’ve mentioned this before but dark humor is in my blood.  It came with the DNA that gave me the BRCA1 mutation that gave me breast cancer- ironic, huh? Or full circle- I can’t tell which. I am too tired and delirious from pain and lack of sleep to know the difference. That DNA also gave me my beautiful hair- which is making it’s slow comeback.  My sense of humor. My taste in music.  My sense of travel and adventure.  My love for words.  It is half of who I am, and therefore a part of me I would never give up or change, because without it I would be someone else.  And most importantly, it gave me this gift, this outlet of writing, which has somehow, in the last two hours, healed quite a lot of pain.  

That seems quite fair, does it not?

I don’t know when my back pain will subside.  I don’t know if it will have any effect on my surgery in a week and a half.  I don’t even know if I will make it to the beach before then.  But I do know that even with all of these uncertainties I feel compelled to write it down and share it with whoever feels compelled to read it.  Because it's important to me that I remember what this moment feels like.  

Because you know what they say about rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up, baby. 

[almond-lebkuchen]

Shakespeare Route Summary Chapter 15.

This is a sad, but super sweet chapter. You get Will’s back story here :) Spoilers below line cut.

The chapter continues from the last point with Will asking her why she’s doing this as she hates him. MC says that she just doesn’t agree with his beliefs and actions. She flashes back to the conversation in the restaurant and Will’s words about her small dreams. She continues to say that she sees how much Will words hard for his dreams, and his play, and she wants to be able to support him in his and not let it crumble. Will laughs softly, saying then he’ll rely on her.

He gives her his coat so that she doesn’t get wet while they move the boxes. MC protests, saying that it’s important for Will not to catch a cold tomorrow, but he waves her worries off, citing that since he’s a vampire he’ll be okay. Together, they start moving everything.

It’s the morning of the play now, and the rain has stopped. The MC is behind the stage, helping everyone get ready now that all the props and clothing are saved. Shakespeare shows up and tells everyone that the play is about to begin soon. All the troupe members are a little nervous, because it’s the first day of them performing. Will gives a small motivational speech, telling them to don the mask of an actor. He says that that it’ll be okay, because he is a genius that created the play. Cheered up by this, the actors now go onto the stage. Will smiles, saying how those people are really a handful. In response, MC says “But Will really seems to trust them.” She says that otherwise, he wouldn’t be as calm as he is now.

Shakespeare is surprised as her words, and asks her “When did you get so good at reading people’s hearts?” MC replies that Will is just surprisingly easy to understand. Suddenly however, Will seems to sway unnaturally before collapsing. MC manages to catch him in time before he reaches the ground. She touches his skin, noting how his whole body seems very hot. The MC quickly leaves the play right before it ends and brings him back home. She puts him in his bed, wondering whether or not she should bring him to a hospital, unsure as he is a vampire. In the meantime, she goes and tries to take care of him, bringing him towels soaked with cold water, and wiping his sweat away as much as she can. Will deliriously mutters how he has to go and work on the play, otherwise he’s worthless. The MC stills at his words and wonders what he means by that.

Later that night, Will finally wakes up from his sleep. He blearily asks why he’s at home and not in the theater. MC informs him that he got a fever and collapsed. Will worriedly asks how the play went, if it went okay. MC says yes, that everyone performed their best. After the performance, the troupe members told MC how it was a great success. Will relaxes, happy at the news. The MC, still thinking of the words he spoke earlier, asks him about it, and what he was dreaming about, because he sounded like he was in a lot of pain. Will turns away from her, saying that he was dreaming of something that happened a long time ago. There’s a flashback to his childhood memories, and he talks about how he was born in a small country town northwest of London. His father was a very ambitious man, who only thought of making it in the world, while his mother had her hands full with trying to get closer to her husband.

Because of this, Will and his brothers hardly received any attention. Then most of his brothers contracted an illness and died. Will continues to say feverishly that his brothers died without knowing any love. He proceeds to say that when he was little, he used to spin stories for his siblings to lull to sleep. Since then he felt like it was his calling. Then he laughs bitterly, saying that however, God never loved him. He was never any good at it, none of his stories ever went anywhere or sold, and a good portion of his life went by without achieving anything. He then touches his crimson eye, and explains that then later, he lost sight in that eye, which finally gave him the talent.

He says that “Suffering...made him William Shakespeare.” The MC is silent, not knowing what to say to him. His words pained her greatly, and she feels sad for him. Then Will smiles, wanting to ease the silent atmosphere that occurred. He jokes around, asking her if that earned him some sympathy from her. MC, not knowing what to do, tells him he should get some sleep, so she gets up to turn the lights off. But Will tells her to wait, and grabs her by her arm.

There’s an avatar mission, so here’s the normal story.

Will tells her that he doesn’t like the dark, as he doesn’t want the light from his remaining eye to leave. He says he knows he feels childish, but he can’t used to the dark. MC tells him it’s alright, as everybody as a weakness. She sits back down non her chair and tells him she’ll be there until he falls back asleep. Shakespeare laughs at that, saying that it seems he really did get some sympathy from her. MC asks him if he’d rather sleep alone then? Shakespeare says no, and thanks her for staying with him. He takes his grip off of her arm, but instead moves down and takes her hand in his, intertwining their fingers together. He then pleads with her if they could stay like this...just for a little while, and she agrees.

After a bit, Will falls back asleep, and the MC touches his face, seeing that his fever went down a little. She then thinks about how she’s seen so many different sides of Will now, and she wonders which one is his real one. She wishes to herself that this person didn’t want to hurt people. She thinks about how she knew from the beginning that she couldn’t change his wicked beliefs and actions, but she doesn’t want to leave Will alone in the darkness. Her chest starts to feel tight, her heart beats faster, and she wonders what this painful feeling is.

And that’s the end of the chapter. I definitely feel the MC there with how many sides of Will we’ve seen before. He really seems to be a person with many masks. I love him so much, I really wanted to hug him in this chapter the bby. <3

Next chapter link:

[1zashreena1]

I Am Having a Snuggle -10

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: Princess doesn’t sleep much after her long distance meltdown. Soft Murder Panther to the rescue! Well, except for that one hard part.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

FEELS. SMUT (aka The Good Stuff), the L word, plus size woman+fit man, soft!Diego (srsly disgusting and if you bring it up later he will stab you), coddled Princess, mentions of... The Belt*tm,  is a relationship happening?? apparently. Leftover high school Spanish.

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

Special thanks to @chelsfic for the shared Diego headcanons re: coffee preferences. ILY Mommy

TAGLIST: @chelsfic @symbiont13 @nicke0115 @bunnykjm @rosee-sensuelle @girlpornparadise @mandoplease @heresathreebee @xxsteph-enrixx @jetiikad @joalsglasses @mutantcookiesecrets @demoncatstone @squidlywiddly87 @lockedoutofmyotherblog @poeedamerons

You snap awake with a gasp. What woke you up? You lay there for a second, holding your breath and listening. With your vision being so horrible your hearing is a much more reliable sense. Its pitch black tonight, no moonlight breaking through the cloud cover. You don't keep any ambient lighting on while you sleep so you couldn't see anything if you tried.

There. A soft bang outside somewhere. Then another. It almost sounds like car doors. I wonder if the baby is sick again and First Floor Mark is taking her to the hospital?

Your worry is cut short when you jolt to full awareness because your apartment door is opening. You flip over to your back and dive for the nightstand. Glasses first, Smithfield 911 second. You sit up to brace yourself against the wall and hold the gun in your lap, fingering the safety. 

The door closes and you hear it being locked. 

With a heaved sigh you make sure the safety is on and wait. Heavy footsteps come ever closer to your bedroom and you can see the light of his phone before he appears in your doorway.

Diego freezes when he sees you sitting up in bed. Then he smiles. Wide and sparkling in the low light, you can't see them but you know the dimples are there.

"Princess, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." He greets you warmly, voice like liquid velvet, wrapping you in heated comfort. You can tell he is wearing most of a suit, the jacket is gone, but you have no idea what color. His collar is unbuttoned. That's not distracting at all.

You arch one brow and struggle not to smirk. "Damnit Diego, you almost got shot." You display the gun, barrel pointed to the ceiling.

He rumbles lowly at you, purring in pleasure, as he spreads his arms open. "Princess, that is hot. Come here, now!"

With a bark of laughter you drop the gun to the bed and launch yourself at him. He staggers back a step but catches you securely. You wrap all your limbs around him and squeeze. His hands cup your ass and he returns the gesture with enthusiasm. Diego turns his face into yours, you know exactly what he wants and you give it to him with no hesitation. 

His lips are soft but his beard is all scratchy tickles. You delight in the contrasting textures, moaning softly as you try to merge your bodies into one entity. His left hand climbs up your back to squeeze your neck right where you always carry all of your tension. 

"Ohhhhhh..." Your mouth drops open and you go boneless in his grip. He gives no quarter and shuts you up with his tongue while his groan vibrates against your chest. Your nipples respond with alacrity. 

He tastes like coffee and chocolate, maybe a hint of cinnamon. What the hell did he eat? You can't get enough of it. 

You never favored long bouts of kissing, makeout sessions were too intimate and your previous partners were more than happy to skip right to the main event. But its different with Diego. He doesn't drool on you and his mouth is consistently at least ten degrees hotter than your own. He always tastes like coffee and some outlandishly ridiculous flavored creamer. The instant a new variety of non-dairy creamer is released he has to try it. His child-like excitement over it is incredibly endearing to witness.

You sink both hands into his hair to pull him back. His eyes are huge and you watch with rapt attention as he licks his bottom lip. "Princess. Bed. Now." He croaks, nodding his own head like he's trying to peer pressure you into consenting. 

Completely unnecessary, baby. 

"Yeah." Your soft whimper is stupidly needy. Only Diego does this to you. Has this effect on you. You feel like the cover of a really bad romance novel. A strumpet. The ludicrous term makes you giggle. You gaspingly add another request, "But naked!"

Diego jumps into motion and takes two huge steps to the bed. You're already fighting with the buttons on his shirt and you don't quit as he lays you down on your back. There is only absolute faith that he won't drop you. 

The moment you're down his hands go to your cami, fingers sliding under the elastic band of the shelf bra and gathering the whole thing up to go over your head. You have to let go of him for a split second so he can fully remove it and that makes you whine unhappily. Diego tosses the shirt over his shoulder carelessly and smushes both of your breasts together to attempt a self-smothering. You laugh breathlessly until he latches onto a nipple.

"Ohhhhhh. Fuck. Yeah. Yeahhh." Nice porn moan, only practicing self-affirmation here. You still can't believe this works. The strong suckling sensations go straight to your cunt. No wonder other women always said they liked it. This is unique to Diego, too. He is the only person that your body has ever responded to in this. Sure, you liked your breasts fondled, squeezed, compressed utterly flat. But your nipples? No, they had some kind of epiphany the first time Diego sealed his lips around one and sucked.

You pet over his hair and he rumbles into your skin, the vibrations make your back arch. Your hands push on his shirt collar. You wanted bare skin earlier, now you need it. His hands disappear, then so does his shirt, but the attention to your nipple never falters. His sneaky fingers snake down over your stomach, he pauses to squeeze the squishy middle, then continue to your pants.

"No!" You yelp and Diego freezes. He releases your harried nipple to look up at you in puzzlement. 

With his brows drawn together he questions you, "Princess. What is--"

You don't let him finish. "Take your damn pants off right fucking now! I missed you, not your clothes!" You even sound frantic to yourself. Desperate. And you don't care.

He growls at you but straightens up and reaches for his belt. 

Oh god. His belt. Your gulp is audible. Its the same belt from that time he detained you on the jet. Spanked you delirious with it and then fucked you over a seat. All as punishment, of course, for sending a booty pic to Julio. You spent the next day on your belly while Diego torturously worshiped your ass. It was amazing.

His slow, evil smile confirms that he witnessed the entire memory play out across your face. That predatory stare never leaves yours as he opens the buckle and whips the soft leather free of the pant loops. He holds the belt up in the air, then drops it to the floor off the side of the bed. "Next time, Princess. We have the whole flight together. Maybe this time I'll make you keep count of how many times you come."

The threatening promise (promising threat??) makes you keen, high and piercing. Diego laughs at your obvious need, but he resumes stripping at a faster pace. You pop upright to get your pants off and complete the maneuver just in time to witness his cock achieve freedom. Before either one of you realizes it your hand is wrapped around him.

Diego collapses forward into you but catches himself on his hands before you get crushed. Not a bad way to go. You think. Crushed by hottest criminal sugar daddy with a heart of gold just for her. A beautiful obituary. 

You tighten your fingers around him; each one individually and in consecutive order, creating a rippling effect. He drops his forehead to your shoulder with a purr. You turn into his face to nuzzle up along his jawline. "Baby," you breathe, punctuating it with a long lick up the shell of his ear. "I missed you. So. Much."

His answering growl triggers violent shivers. He uses those wide shoulders to force you down onto your back. Planting one knee on the bed between your legs, he insinuates both hands under your ribcage and shoulders to slide you up the bed. His hands are so massive that they span the entire width of your back. That fact should scare you, instead you feel secure, even treasured, with how gently he handles you. He can be delightfully rough, you've been on the receiving end of that before. But right now is Soft Murder Panther hours.

He has to move up with you because you are not relinquishing that magnificent erection. 

"Princess," he rumbles directly into your ear, "Let go now or you will be disappointed later. I spent the entire flight thinking about every soft inch of you. Need to be inside you. Nowww." His confession ends in a breathy sigh as he begins pressing kisses over your entire face. 

You reach up to take off your glasses but he's already there, holding them by the frame around the lenses and not the easily bent arms. You blink back tears as you watch him stretch over to set them on your nightstand exactly how you do it. 

When he comes back you cradle his face with your hands, holding him still so you can just take this all in. His eyes search your face, looking for any hint of discomfort as he rests more of weight onto you. You nod gently and he gingerly, deliberately gives you the rest of his bulk. His presence drowns out everything else. All you know is Diego. Everything you ever wanted.

With minimal effort you guide him down until his forehead meets yours. He whimpers softly for you and your hands pet down his stubbled cheeks. This kiss is no less passionate than the wild ones earlier but somehow sweeter. You open your eyes to find him watching you, gaze unguarded and face completely open.

You stroke over his cheeks again, one thumb gliding along his plush lower lip. Diego nips your thumb, then engulfs it in his mouth to suck. Your moan is pure need, "Please, baby."

His hips roll and you feel the underside of his shaft rub the entire length of your labia. You arch and move with him this next time. The third pass lands the perfect angle and his thick heat spreads you wide. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out as you press your head back into the bed. He keeps pushing until you're completely filled. And then he pushes a little more. Just enough. 

You gasp in a shuddering breath and your back arches off the bed while you clench down around him in waves. He groans long and low as he watches you come on him. "Ohh, Bonita. Good girl."

Your quiet huff of laughter dissolves into a moan as he sets a steady pace. Long, solid strokes so you can feel every glorious inch, an inexorable push on your cervix every time he bottoms out. Your fingers claw into his shoulders, clinging like your life depends on it.

He burrows into your neck to sear your skin with his beard, soothing the burn with soft licks and velvet kisses. "Princess. Diego's perfect little princess. Its good? Tell me." He pants, open-mouthed and greedy.

You nod into his hair. "Perfect. Is perfect. You're perfect." He shakes his head 'no', rubbing his face on you. His right hand reaches down, gripping your thigh with purpose. He pulls your leg up, wrapping it around his waist, the other follows of its own accord. His knees spread, widening his stance and shifting the angle of his thrusts. Incredibly, he manages to get deeper inside you. Without a conscious command your mouth opens to spill out pure desperation and mangled ecstasy. "Yes, baby. All of you. Give me everything…"

He drops frenzied kisses all over your face while you two share the same air. His tone turns emotional, raspier, "Want to. Please. Please, please, please let me. Take care of my princess, be better. Just for you. Please, mi amor." 

That's new. New and heart-wrenching. You can't decide if its being used as a pet name or a declaration. It doesn't matter, the agonizing emotion behind it still makes you seize up with pleasure. He moans in approval, moving continuously throughout your entire climax. Just as your back begins to loosen he accelerates his thrusts, driving you right back up into another orgasm. You realize the ringing in your ears is actually a noise being made by your mouth.

"Yes, Princess. Come for me. Let Diego please this pretty little pussy." I am never going to regret admitting that I love his dirty talk. You congratulate yourself for that moment of successful communication. Diego hasn't shut up since then and you are so very grateful. 

He sweeps hands down your sides to grasp your hips. Even at your current size 16 his fingers still curve around both your front and back. He makes you feel small and delicate, vulnerable and fiercely protected. Cherished. Loved.

He half kneels under you, pulling your pelvis into his lap. Every intense, short thrust hits your g-spot and makes your vision swim. Your trembling never stops, its just constant rolling pleasure. You reach up for him, needing to be joined together endlessly. The muscles in his arms ripple and contract as he scoops you up. 

He has you sitting upright in his lap, legs around his waist and your arms tight behind his neck. Your entire weight rests on his left arm under your butt, holding you steady while he thrusts up into you with abandon. The right arm climbs up your back for him to thread fingers into your curls and press your forehead to his. Your mouth hangs open while you sob in bliss. 

"Si, Princess. Dame uno mas, come for your Diego. Be mine." You have no defense for his fierce begging whispered directly into your face. 

"Diego. Diego, baby, yes I-I-" Your voice cuts out as your orgasm sends you into convulsions. He presses your hips down fast to his so he can pump his own climax deep with a gravelly moan. 

He collapses forward, both of you dropping to the bed like a stone, then proceeds to just lay on you and pant. After an undefinable amount of time, Diego rubs his cheek against yours. He is purring again, the deep vibrations rumble through your chest. You pet over his hair, scratching his scalp with your short, practical nails. His back arches and his hips roll; he's still buried deep inside you. "Princessss. Bicki. Mi amor." His sigh is content.

You kiss his temple. Murmuring breathlessly to him, "Love you too, Murder Panther." You nuzzle into his beard, relishing all the textures. His breath catches, then his chest heaves. He pulls back from you, extricating his limbs so he can flop onto his side next to you. Your head turns for a kiss and he is already there, sealing his mouth to your own languidly.

 With one last fleeting peck to your chin, he rolls you onto your side and pulls you back against him in one fluid movement. Your head is pillowed on his left bicep and you wrap his right arm up tight to your chest. The entire length of his body is spooned up behind you. Instead of being suffocating you find it soothing. His soft little snuffling snores lull you back to sleep.

I am having a snuggle.

[the-darklings]

—WE WERE A FIRE WITH NO SMOKE;

pairing: santino x reader (V) x (+john)

wc: 1.4k+

an: HAPPY NEW YEARS YA FILTHY ANIMALS!!! A little surprise something-something to tide you all over and flex my writing muscles to see how I’m getting on after 4-day detox from writing. I’m honestly exhausted and short on sleep which made me half-delirious and this little drabble wayyy too h*rny but here we are. Also, the title/lyrics for this piece comes from Troye Sivan’s “DKLA” and I highly recommend you listen to it while reading. 

warnings: some bad words and a lot of sexual tension 👀

timeline: post chapter 1 of COA, pre-Tokyo (not their first meeting). 

Santino D’Antonio does not know nor understand subtlety.

No—that’s not quite right. His “business” instincts are sharper than most of your blades and that’s just facts. He can effortlessly weave between disarming charm and rage that spills blood in a blink of an eye. He’s a good mobster. Truly Italy’s—Camorra’s—finest. But he’s irritatingly arrogant in his insistence that the world revolves around him and his needs alone. Even quicker in betraying those he doesn’t like and cutting loose ends with people who so much as question his authority.

Egoistical. Inpatient. Spoiled. Bloodthirsty. Willing to step over anyone to get his way.

There isn’t much to like. Certainly nothing worthy of trust.

But he pays good money. And—despite what he may think—he’s easy to read. He wants what everyone in the underworld wants. More power, more pleasure, more money. But most importantly, to be the next Camorra head.

He’s powerful. And not the kind of powerful you need as your enemy so it’s easier to play nice. You know that the reason you got off as easy as you did with that threat to his life was simply because he wants to sleep with you. Because he sees you as a challenge, a conquest, something interesting and out of his immediate reach.

He’s handsome, that much is true. He’s beyond rich and has influence everywhere because he’s Camorra. Because he’s a D’Antonio. He’s all sly, seductive suggestions and eyes so bright they devour.

There’s only one problem.

He’s not John.

John who is a comforting shadow for you to curl into. Who is a steady, ever-present by your side. John is—

John is the only person you trust—the only one you could ever trust in this world of liars and backstabbers. Your mind drifts towards him constantly and never more so then when you work with D’Antonio. They’re as different as day and night.

John is a comforting embrace of the dark, quiet and patient. Deadly and terrifying to others but never you.

Santino D’Antonio is an open flame. He devours, he burns, and rages. He leaves only blood and damage in his wake.  

John you love.

D’Antonio on the other hand…

“Target has his eyes on us,” you speak directly into his ear over the sound of blaring music, and tighten your arms around his neck. Noting the way you’re being watched, you hiss a soft, “Pull me closer.”

He doesn’t need to be told again.

His already wandering, lingering, greedy hands and eyes explore further. Your eyes meet for a moment; his hungry and hooded, while his fingers sink into the swell of your hip, massaging the skin there before pushing your hips together. You sway with him, pressing against him—into him—one hand snaking up the hot skin of his neck and into his hair. The styled curls crumble under your unyielding grip and you pull him even closer, your foreheads almost touching and breaths mingling.

Wrapped my thoughts around your mind

Wrapped your body around mine.

You have to be convincing, you remind yourself.

You have to appear as nothing more than another whore on D’Antonio’s arm.

You have to be a nobody, a shadow, a shell without purpose other than this man’s pleasure.  

You think about John with every press and brush of your skin.

Think of John’s hands on you and John’s obsidian eyes caressing you like you’re lovers moments away from kissing each other.

You take my breath away, you know I'm bound to choke

When I close my eyes. I still see your ghost.

But Santino D’Antonio doesn’t touch you like John does.

He caresses, and claims, and consumes with a startling amount of intensity. You feel that fire of his singeing your edges, dangerous and seductive in its overpowering heat.

His fingers are sunk into you, not enough to hurt but enough to feel held, guided, desired and the music becomes nothing more than a pulse.

His hot, wet breath burns against the hollow of your throat and you feel him mumbling something into your skin. It could be a prayer or damnation or both but all you know is that it sears into your skin. A mark, a show, of his raw desire for you. It tingles and tickles, kicking your heartbeat up a notch and your grip on his curls constricts; a warning, a question—

You don’t even like him. In fact, you only tolerate him because he’s willing to throw money at you for jobs that can help you get your freedom from Tarasov faster.

But human bodies are so simple. The draw on a purely physical level is there despite your lacklustre opinion of the man himself.

He doesn’t make it any easier when his eyes lift to you, his stare almost a physical weight of heated want. A man starved; a man who is staring at your mouth like it’s the only thing that can save him right now. Like he needs it, craves it, above everything else.

If half the stories about his sexual exploits are true, then it’s a look many have crumbled under. Truth be told, looking at him right now, you can’t blame them. There is, admittedly, something so raw about Santino D’Antonio that you can’t help but wonder what kind of lover he is.  

So what do I do now?

I don't keep love around.

But Santino D’Antonio is nothing in your heart. Your heart is John’s in its awful, worn entirety and you won’t trade that in for meaningless sex no matter how good D’Antonio might be.

The tempo of the song changes again and he tugs you closer, his hand coming to rest against the curve of your neck. His cool Camorra ring grazes your skin lightly, and your head tilts to the side exposing your neck to him. He leans into it, his lips ghosting over your pulse, hungry and eager as he inhales deeply over the thrum of music. But across the sturdy line of his shoulder, you watch your mark intently.

“D’Antonio, he’s moving—”

“Santino,” he breathes hotly into your ear, his arm around your waist tightening. “Call me Santino.”

It stills something inside you for a second.

The heavy, naked need that lowers and wrecks his voice just so.

It’s an honour. An heir allowing you to address them by their first name, considering that you hold no real power or title of your own. But something about how he asks for it leaves you cold, caught completely off guard.

It feels like too much.

There is a boundary you will never step over with him.

Some arrogant Italian princeling who only wants your body for quick gratification.

“Should I pursue?”

He stills. His breath still fans against your neck but his expression is serious when his head lifts. His fingers trace up your bare arm, slow and sensual, and he grins slightly, coolly. Neon lights dance over his features and wonder what you both look like, tangled in each other and suddenly still in a sea of movement.

“Bring him to me.”

You do.

No loose ends.

The man you only know as Flynn Hill dies with your poison eroding his veins from inside out. In the darkness of the alleyway, Santino D’Antonio looms over him, smiling and satisfied, his appearance once again immaculate.

“Everything has a price,” he says coldly in Italian with a clinical tilt of his head and a small scoff when the man stills. “Pathetic.”

He turns dismissively, shrugs on his overcoat, and glances towards you. His eyes sweep over you, up and down, unhurried and hungry as always.

“Coming, cara mia?”

Cara mia?

You turn to face him, and repeat his earlier gesture by looking him up and down. His gaze sharpens at the challenge, and you don’t miss the way he straightens slightly.

Just like you thought—he doesn’t know subtlety. It could smack him in the face and he still won’t know it.

“The drinks are on you and I’m not cheap,” you hesitate for a beat, considering the man in front of you as well as his pack of guards scattered around you. “Santino.”

You sidestep him, heading back towards the club but hear the man chuckle in delight behind you.

“Everything has a price,” he repeats softly as he falls to your side promptly. Close, a bit too close. “But it’s one I am happy to pay in this instance, cara mia.”

You bite back an irritated sigh. Let him have this. He no doubt thinks this is a victory.

That night is the first time he uses those words and that nickname.

It’s far from last.  

. . .

an: well this literally had one read through as an edit so if this is awful and full of mistakes.....guess that’s tomorrow kat’s problem lol. just wanted to see how I get on with writing again (and surprise you lot <33 thank you for supporting this series so much oh god oof). 

This piece dips back a bit more into my old style (description heavy and more internal) but writing V who is like “this man clearly wants to bang but it’s a no from me, thanks” is so funny. If I wasn’t half dead I would have tried to write this as more snarky (as V indeed was back in Chapter 1-2) but that actually requires brainpower and wit so nahhhh.

also, let’s make 2020 ours. no more putting up with anything!!! let’s go!!!! this year we all channel V and become stronger and fight through our problems no matter how long it takes us.  

[blissicle]

The Raven

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Roman centred, brief appearance/mentions of Remus

Tw: none? (Let me know if there is one that I’m not aware about)

Word count: 1,250

Author’s Note: Hey! So it’s been a bit since I lasted posted anything writing-wise and I just wanna quickly apologise for that. DnDy is paused for now, and most likely will be paused for a good while. I just didn’t feel happy with how it was going, and honestly I’d rather give myself more time to experiment and grow in my writing before jumping headfirst into a multi-chapter story. So I’ll most likely be posting more writings like this, just little drabbles. And I might expand on some, who knows.

But anyways, I hope you like this! Let me know if you guys want more like this! ((Also sorry for the awkward ending, I didn’t know how exactly to end it))

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Roman laid there face-up, staring at the ceiling. The dim streetlights of the suburban street phased through Roman’s blinds next to his bed, casting long stripes against the wall beside his bed.

The room was coloured in deep blues and blacks, shadows being drawn in its corners, a drastic difference to the warm golds and reds of his room during the day.

The darkness flowed and eased into his room, and while it had been easy for his eyes to adjust to, it still made his vision bleak and dense.

The shrouded shadows gave an unnatural dreariness to his surroundings, a reflection of the dread held in the deepest quarters of his mind.

There was no nightlight to take any warm comfort in, no one having the TV on downstairs, not even the usual loud obnoxious snoring of his twin brother that could be heard through the wall their rooms shared.

Roman was never too keen on the idea of being in the dark, he liked to think of it as more of a hatred for it rather than having a fear of it. But either way, Roman always found... discomfort in it... to say the least.

What he did have was some glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across his ceiling. But most have faded through the years, the little admission of light being only visible if you squint hard enough.

So for now roman was left alone, in consuming everlasting darkness, and him only.

His alarm clock blared a soft red, reading 12:57 am.

Roman sighed, his future self would have to deal with the lack of beauty sleep later.

He flopped back to his bed and positioned himself on his back once more, staring at the ceiling dazedly.

What was he even doing?

Roman should be asleep, most likely enjoying a lovely dream about some kingdom he needed to save, or exploring wondrous caverns and landscapes.

To have a well, full-rested night to be energised when morning came.

But... he couldn’t.

Something in his mind was refusing to settle, persistent in fighting his own need to get sleep. And no it wasn’t the discomfort of being in darkness, this was different, it felt like it was calling Roman, like a sense of yearn in his gut.

Something was trying to tell Roman a message, or even a realisation, maybe an idea that he was just nearly there in figuring out.

Or maybe, he was just delirious, and this all was just his imagination deciding it would be fun to play tricks on him late on a school night.

But Roman couldn’t explain it, nor the odd desire to uncover this internal mystery, all he knew is that he felt it in his heart to search for it.

He knew that it must be important. There had to be something he was missing here...

So what is it then?

Roman closed his eyes, trying to find anything that could help, whatever his heart was telling him. He begged for an answer, some sort of sign, a reason, anything.

Nothing.

Roman sighed again, he should really just get to bed already. But his eyes remain wide open, tracing out the shadows of stars on the bedroom ceiling.

Suddenly, Roman noticed the stripes of the streetlight disappearing out of the corner of his eye, the light no longer peaking through his bedside window.

Huh...

Roman sat up and turned to his window, pulling the blinds slightly away to get a better look, as he peered through.

The pearl white snow glistened faintly under the moonlight, houses and lawns blanketed with plush white everywhere under the inky blackness of the clear night sky, not a single bit uncovered.

Roman would have took a moment to appreciate it if it weren’t for the raven resting on the small accident of the lamppost, blocking the light from reaching Roman’s window.

Ravens were uncommon in this sort of area, right? And weren’t birds supposed to normally be awake during the day?? Maybe he would ask Logan later...

He stared at it in curiosity, with its beautiful dark coal feathers shining directly under the street lamp, the edges ending in wistful tips.

Either way, it still didn’t take away from the fact that the raven was most certainly something unique.

Roman found himself wondering if perhaps the raven could be what his mind was searching for.

But it couldn’t possibly be though, as seeing the raven did nothing to satisfy Roman’s questions, honestly it could have been easily just a coincidence. Roman was just lucky to accidentally stumble upon witnessing one.

But... was it though?

Could the raven be the sign he was look for?

Roman sighed, as he let go of the blinds and turned back, settling himself down comfortably in bed again.

Luckily though, after a while the need for sleep seemed to finally outweigh any racing questions left over in his mind, and found himself yawning quietly as Roman closed his eyes.

His last grasping thoughts drifting towards the image of shining gorgeous black feathers, floating gracefully through the wind and snow.

...

Roman stood to find himself in a forest, snow delicately falling around him, but he didn’t feel cold in his sweatpants and T-shirt

There was also those feathers again, strikingly bold over the white sheeted ground, soaring past roman in gentle waves.

He could see a figure of a person far off in the distance being revealed as the source black feathers. Roman felt himself run towards them eagerly.

He felt the distance between him and the figure closing in, and he could just make out the face and appearance of them...

Roman shot up from his bed, with much brighter surroundings now.

He turned and leaned over to his nightstand, slamming his blaring alarm clock as he groaned. It was 5:30am.

How was it morning already?

The realisation of Roman now having to deal with the criminal lack of beauty sleep created a sense of dread to get up and face the day.

maybe he can just stay like this for the rest of the day, to comfortably exist under the mountain of comforters and soft silk pillows and sheets.

Yeah... that sounds nice...

He felt himself immediately drift off to his dream from earlier as he nuzzled into a pillow. The image of some dark feathers of a crow- no, raven- flying... Roman was wanting to run to something...

What was it again?

“WAKE UP SLEEPING NUDY!” Remus yelled, bursting his bedroom door open, causing for Roman to jolt up awkwardly in fright. He slid off the bed, falling on the floor on his side.

“Ok good, you’re wake now!” Remus said, in which Roman dramatically and loudly groaned in response to express the woeful pain that his twin brother had inflicted upon him.

“Ma’s got chocolate chips pancakes going, so you better get your ass up before I eat them all.” Remus said.

His brother quickly left the doorway and started downstairs, making loud thuds as he did so.

To which Roman could hear the sound of their other mother (they called her mom instead of ma) fussing at Remus for being too rough with the staircase.

What followed in the conversation was being drowned out by the loud ambiance of ma handling the pots and pans, opening and closing cabinets in the kitchen.

Roman groaned again quietly to himself as he slowly got up from the fallen avalanche of blankets, and headed towards his closet to get ready for the day.

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