#these past six months in particular i feel like ive been on stand by

[caladamn]

I watched I saw the tv glow and- it hit so hard. the longer I spend thinking about it, it just gets better and better and more and more painful (in a good way, a necessary way).

it helped me see that i have to transition. I have to and i WILL.

maddy/tara's monologue. GOD. and when she painted there is still time on the road. I didn't know how much I needed to see those words.

jane schoenbrun, thank you so much.

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” ����👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[calcifermovesthecastle]

Shared Language

Ghiaccio x Florist!Reader, gn pronouns, fluff ending

1000 follower giveaway for @therealcozyy after a million years I’m so sorry

Warnings: kind of angst, hospitalization and IV’s but nothing major

At the end of a busy day, all you want to do is close up shop and trudge to the apartment the floor above you, and collapse into bed. Thirteen Bridal Bouquets, Add on roughly six each for bridesmaids, as well as walkin customers have you frenzied and harrowed and exhausted, your hands aching with the amount of work you pulled today. Annoyance shoots through you when you hear the patronizing ring of the bell, signaling someone new, and you squeeze your eyes shut, collecting yourself before you turn around. 

"I'm horribly sorry, but we are closed for the night, so-" Your voice trails off when your eyes graze over the Passione pin glinting on the man's shirt, and you visibly wilt when your eyes travel up to his face. "Of course. How much do I owe you?" 

"It's a protection fee. It's not any lower or higher than it's ever been," He responds, looking just as annoyed with the situation as you feel. You sigh, biting your tongue, and crouch behind the counter, skimming the shelves for the envelope you usually keep the fee in. 

"Right, here you are. Um, let me count it out just to make sure I have it all, if that's alright?" 

His eyes meet yours, narrowing, before he shrugs, resting his hands on the counter. You flip through the bills, organizing them by every fifty euros. He watches you count like a hawk, his eyes flicking to your face when you purse your lips in a particular way and freeze. 

"Shit." 

You disappear into the back office, and he can see you rummaging around, looking more and more stressed as you go. 

"Is there a problem?" He calls after you, an edge to his voice.

"No, no, it's-" You come back out to the front, looking near tears as you open the cash register. Your voice cracks when you speak again. "No, there's not a problem. Give me just a moment." 

By the time you've finished counting, there's ten euros left in the register, and tears have started to pool into your eyes. You have to swallow to speak, and when you do, your voice is soft and catches on each word. 

"There. Ten-Ten thousand Euros." You recount once more just to make sure it's all there, tucking it back into the envelope and handing it over to him. His eyebrows knit as he glances to your register, and your lip trembles when you speak again. "Now, really, sir, I do have to close up for the night." 

Even though he's left your shop, he remains in his car, watching you lean over your desk and cry as you appear to do some calculations. Wordlessly, he drives away. 

    -

You're in the middle of arguing with a customer on the price of a standard funeral basket when the bell rings, and one glance over at the door has you panicking. 

"Shit, sir, you need to leave," You usher the fuming customer out the door and swivel, your eyes wide, at the man from last night. "Was it not enough?! Are you going to take my-" 

"Woah, slow down!" He holds up his hands. "I just- do you want- cazzo," He spits, shoving his hands in his pockets. You shift nervously, hysteria quickly threatening to well up past your throat. "Shit. I saw that you didn't have much left yesterday, so I wanted to- buy you lunch." 

You aren't sure if you heard him properly, but when what he says finally registers, your legs crumple underneath you. 

You wake to a concerned blue haired man, and a curious purple haired one who's taking your pulse and checking you over for injuries. 

"Oh, good, you're awake," The purple haired one smiles cooly, helping you sit up. You press a hand to the back of your head, wincing. "Ghiaccio here called me in a frenzy when you passed out. I'd pass out too if he ever asked me out to eat." 

The blue haired one- Ghiaccio, glares daggers at his companion, practically frothing at the mouth, his teeth grinding back and forth. The purple haired one pays him no mind, continuing his conversation with you as if you were old friends. 

"I don't think you need to go to the hospital, but my advice is close early and get some rest. 

"I- what?" Your mind is still trying to catch up to what's happening- two men from Passione acting so casual with you it's like you've known them for years. You frown, gingerly rubbing the back of your head. Not Ghiaccio chuckles, the corners of his lips quirking up with the action as he repeats himself. 

"I- I can't. I can't afford to close early. My rent is due in three days and I have 300 euros. That makes me 1700 euros short and if I'm short again I'll lose my business." 

"Have you eaten since last night?" Ghiaccio speaks up, his words harsher than he probably intends. You stare at him blankly. 

"No?" 

"Do you want to?" 

"I-" You glance at the clock. "I would, but…" 

"What if we brought you some food back here?" Not Ghiaccio coos, earning a death glare from his companion. You bite your lip, slowly getting to your feet. 

"I guess so? If you're offering." 

"I'll be back in forty minutes," Ghiaccio ushers his companion out of your shop, and you're left alone to mull over what happened. 

True to his word, he strolls back into your shop forty five minutes later, a bottle of water and a box of margherita pizza in hand. He sets it on your counter, biting his bottom lip nervously. 

"Are you pitying me?" You ask him quietly, reaching out for the bottle of water, pausing just before you grasp it.

"Since when is doing something nice for someone pitying them?" He looks genuinely taken aback, and you can see anger rising in his face. You decide to let the issue go, opening the box and taking a slice of pizza. 

"It's not something you had to do," You take a bite, feeling a little awkward that you're eating in front of him. "But thank you." 

He takes a slice of pizza for himself, looking uncomfortably stiff as he eats. You share a tense silence with him, your mind reeling with the possibilities of his presence. 

"Are you not enjoying yourself?" 

"I could ask you the same thing," You turn to him, pulled out of your funk. "You're standing in my lobby still as a statue, looking like I just gave you the worst news of your life." 

"What the hell does that mean?" He snaps, stiffening even more. You cover your mouth to hide the smile forming on your lips. Maybe you could enjoy his company after all. 

"It means if your eyebrows knit together any further, you're going to form a unibrow," You take a discreet sip of the water he gave you, laughing when he swivels to face the window, trying to see what you're describing. 

His heart stutters when he hears it, the way your mirth sounds so musical and carefree. God, he thinks to himself. He could listen to that forever.

"Hey, listen," You set the bottle of water down, moving around behind the counter for a moment. When you look satisfied, he watches as you come around the counter and present him with a small bouquet, mixed with white clover, pink sweet pea, Hydrangeas, and peach colored roses. "Thank you."

His face burns as he reaches out and takes the flowers, his heart hammering in his chest when his hand grazes yours. You smile gently at him, retreating back behind the counter. He can't find anything else to say, so he gives you a gruff goodbye and leaves your shop, sitting in his car long after he arrives home. 

-

"Who're the flowers from?" Prosciutto looks up from his book, eyebrow raised in question as Ghiaccio enters the hideout. Ghiaccio balks, stammering in a mix of embarrassment and indignation. 

"The florist three blocks down. Why do you need to know?" 

"Oh? They never give me flowers when I collect their protection fee," Prosciutto hums, tilting his head. 

"When's the last time you bought them lunch?" Melone drapes himself over the back of the couch Prosciutto lounges on, grinning coyly at Ghiaccio as he searches for a vase. Prosciutto hums again in understanding. 

"Their shop still not doing too well, huh? How much did they have left this time?" 

"You make it sound like you want their business to fail," Pesci whines, jutting his lower lip out. "They're always so nice to me when I collect the fee. They'd lose their home if they shut down." 

"They had ten euros," Ghiaccio answers, grabbing a cup and filling it with water, setting the arrangement of flowers inside and carrying it to his room. He gingerly places it on his windowsill, tilting it until he's satisfied that it would get the best amount of sunlight. Prosciutto appears in the door, entering without asking and leaning over Ghiaccio's shoulder to peer at the flowers. His mouth quirks up into a smile when he's satisfied and turns to leave. 

"What? What's that face for?" Ghiaccio stops him from leaving, his tone demanding. Prosciutto looks too smug for his own good, his eyes slanted downwards as he studies Ghiaccio's form. 

"Look up the meaning of those flowers and you'll understand," Prosciutto sidesteps and leaves with a wave of his hand, leaving Ghiaccio fuming. 

-

He had wanted to come by sooner, but unfortunately, got caught up in an odd schedule where he'd travel from job to job, and got stuck in Rome for a month on a hit that only paid One Hundred thousand euros. By the time he'd come back home, he did nothing but sleep and keep up on the paperwork for two days. 

The next time he shows up at your shop, you're not there, and the windows and doors have been boarded up. The sign on the entrance says "Gone out of business."    

"Shit. Shit, shit, shit!" He kicks the door frame furiously with each swear, earning some strange glances and some comments. 

"Christ, man, they weren't even the best florist in town. It's a wonder they stayed afloat as long as they did." 

"Heard it was because they couldn't pay their rent this month. Honestly, with how much Passione charges, it's not even a protection fee anymore, it's an eviction notice waiting to happen." 

"Honestly, they're just flowers. Why is he so worked up?" 

"The person running the shop wasn't even that personable." 

The crowd he'd accumulated falls silent when he turns around, his expression nothing less than smoldering. Some furtive glances at his pin, and soon, the street is empty. 

He meanders back home, kicking pebbles to the side, glowering at anyone even remotely in his way, and slams the door so hard it almost falls off of the hinges when he arrives, earning a displeased look from Prosciutto. 

"What's the matter with you?" 

"Where the fuck are they?" 

"That's rather vague," Prosciutto lights a cigarette and leans back on the couch, resting his ankle on his knee. "Did you have a hit go wrong, or-" 

"The fucking-" Ghiaccio all but stomps over to where his colleague sits, ripping the cigarette from his mouth and taking a deep dreg himself. Prosciutto's brow furrows in annoyance, but he doesn't say anything as he pulls out another from his silver case and lights it. "The florist. They went out of business. Where did they go?" 

"Like I should know the answer to that," Prosciutto scoffs, tapping his ashes into the tray on the end table. Ghiaccio follows suit, taking another deep inhale, sputtering when it goes up his nose. Prosciutto huffs again, shrugging. "What am I? A babysitter? I told you they were going to go under." 

"Well, who collected their fee last?" Ghiaccio throws himself into the chair perpendicular to Prosciutto, tapping his ashes out. Prosciutto hums. 

"Had to have been Risotto. The rest of us were all on hits at the time it's usually collected." 

Ghiaccio bolts up, putting out his half smoked cigarette, earning a glare from Prosciutto. 

"If you're going to steal my smokes, the least you could do is finish them. These are expensive, you know." 

"Then buy a cheaper brand," Ghiaccio retaliates, walking back towards Risotto's office. "We're on a budget anyways, aren't we?"

Just barely in earshot, he can hear Prosciutto telling him to fuck off. Inhaling deeply, he knocks on his capo's door. 

-

"No clue." 

"What the fuck do you mean, no clue?" Ghiaccio's voice is nearing hysterics, and he taps his foot fast, his eyes blown wide. Risotto's demeanor doesn't change, he just hums. 

"Exactly that. I collected their fee two weeks ago. I was in and out. I didn't even know they were shut down until just five minutes ago, when you burst in here screaming about it." 

"Cazzo. CAZZO! Fine, I'll find them myself!" 

"You said Melone went and helped you with a fainting spell they had? See if he can help." 

"See if that slimy- oh." 

-

Of course. 

Of course it had to snow. 

You sit against the brick wall of the alleyway, doing your best to ignore the drug deal to your left, and the way your stomach twists painfully. 

"Hey! Hey, you!" 

You hunker down, your brow furrowed miserably, and close in on yourself a little more to stave off the cold. 

"Hey, you, on the ground! Get the fuck outta here. This is my turf!" Your screamer's legs appear in front of you, and you look up at him, dead eyed. "Jeez, you look like real shit, you know? When's the last time you ate?" 

"Leave me alone." 

"What, not even a hello?" Your perpetrator sneers, crouching to your level. You don't have it in you to even glare. You're too hungry. He scoffs, eyeing you. "Tch. Find somewhere else to starve to death, huh? You're making it hard for me to do my business." 

"Do you have to humiliate me any more than I already am?" You sigh, trying to get to your feet. "Fine. Just leave me alone."

You lean heavily on the wall, your legs trembling underneath you. Homelessness has not treated you well, and the stares your emaciated body receive only further your spiral into despair. 

You've barely made it to the next alley over when your legs give out, and you collapse face first into the accumulated snow. Hazily, you think to yourself that you have to get something to drink somehow, and pull yourself up, grabbing handfuls and shoving it into your mouth, nevermind how cold you already are, your thin long sleeves and tattered excuse for pants clinging wetly to your body. The only thing you can do now is wish for death to come faster than it does. You fall down onto your side and stare blankly at the opposite wall, willing yourself to fall asleep. 

You think you see a pair of legs come to a halt in front of you before you slip into a haze. 

-

When you wake again, a flat white ceiling greets you instead of a cloudy sky, and you notice the weight of a blanket on you. Hazily, you glance over and notice an IV drip hanging out of your arm, and a somewhat familiar blond haired man in a suit sitting next to your bed, smoking a cigarette and absentmindedly reading a newspaper. His eyes flick over when he senses your movement, and his brow shoots up. The paper is set aside, and he takes a generous hit from his cigarette before speaking. 

"Good morning. We weren't sure if you were going to pull out of that or not. You've been asleep for almost four days. It's funny. You lose your business, and suddenly, you drop off of our radar. It was quite a chore to find you, you know." 

"Are you mocking me?" You croak, trying to pull yourself up into a sitting position. The blond appraises you for a minute, puffing smoke out of his mouth. "Are we in a hospital? I'm pretty sure you aren't supposed to smoke in hospitals." 

"I doubt the staff is going to give me a hard time," The man speaks lightly, lounging back. "You certainly are something. You've been awake two minutes and you already have a smart mouth?" A small smile lights up his features. "I guess you could say that you're a trooper." 

"I'm starving," You bite your lip, turning away, your eyes widening when you finally place the man. "Shit! You're from Passione! Oh my god, oh, I lost my-" 

"I already know that," The man waves you off. "I'm just here to keep an eye on you and take you home once you get discharged." 

"But I don't- I don't have a home," You place your thumbnail between your teeth, looking at him anxiously. He dismisses you again, snubbing out his smoke.

"That's why I'm here, kid." 

His vagueness annoys you, but one glance at the box of apple juice and ham sandwich on your bedside tray has anything you want to say dying in your mouth, and by the time you've scarfed it down, tears spark at the corner of your eyes, and any animosity towards the gangster has dissipated. 

"Thank you." 

-

The blond- he's since introduced himself as Prosciutto, drives in silence away from the hospital, not saying anything to you about where you're going. You fidget nervously in the passenger seat, jumping when he parks the care and tells you that you've arrived. 

You're still a little unsteady on your feet, so Prosciutto guides you down the stairs with a hand on the small of your back, and leans across you to unlock and open the door. The minute you step inside, you're greeted with almost everyone who's come to collect your protection fees. The only one missing is the blue haired one who bought you lunch- Ghiaccio. 

The...boss… Risotto, as introduced, gives you a quick tour of your new residence, telling you that everything is free range, that he's going to have you take on some of the deskwork in return, and shows you to your room. Inside is a bed and a few changes of clothes in the closet. At this point, you're teetering on the edge of bawling your eyes out, and you can barely choke out a thank you, giving him a wobbly smile. You swear you can see him smile in return. 

-

You're sitting on the edge of your bed that night, fidgeting nervously, your mind spinning 100 miles per hour, when there's a knock at your door. You practically jump out of your skin, and call out a shaky "Come In." 

The door creaks open slowly, and there he is, his hands hidden behind his back. 

Ghiaccio. 

You stand slowly, your eyes searching his face. 

"Did you-" You catch yourself, starting towards him hesitantly. He seems just as hesitant as he walks towards you. "Did you make this happen?" 

"Not really," His voice is soft and hoarse, and the way his brow is furrowed tells you just how worried he was, but the light in his eyes shows you how relieved he feels to see you in person again. "I just suggested it, really. Sort of… Panicked... When I saw your- your shop-" His voice falters when you reach out and grab his shoulder. Tears are welling in your eyes for what feels like the eightieth time today, and your lower lip trembles when your hand comes in contact with him. He's a little cold to the touch, but it's comforting and refreshing. 

"Thank you," You manage. He swallows thickly, revealing his hands and shoving something harshly in your direction. He's beet red now, and looking anywhere but you. You grab it, taken aback, and look down to inspect it. 

Now you really start to cry, tears spilling onto the arrangement of Daffodils, Daisies, purple lilacs, irises, and lavender roses. So much said in one little bouquet. A sob expels from your throat, and you look up at him, catching him watching you out of the corner of his eye. 

You set the flowers on your bed, stepping forward to wrap your arms around him. 

"They're good?" He sounds nervous, and stiffens at the contact. 

"They're wonderful," You confirm, your voice thick as you bury your face into his shoulder. His arms wind around you, then, and you can hear the relief in his voice when he murmurs to you again. 

"Welcome home."

[hargrove-mayfields]

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 1/13 read here on ao3!

my piece for @harringrovebigbang!

Art and moodboard from my amazing team, @monochromegee and @shewritesdirty respectively, to come soon!

~~~~

Six months. Six months and twelve days.

That’s how long Billy has been in the hospital. In a coma. His health rapidly deteriorating.

After one month it was required he be put on a ventilator. Two and his wounds started getting infected. By month three, the hospital asked that a representative be chosen for him, just in case he didn’t pull through.

Neil Hargrove refused. Barked into the receiver something along the lines of, “What do I care if the boy wanted to go and get himself killed?” It was entirely defensive, his voice cracking as he finished his sentence, but the hospital still never contacted him again, not for updates or bills or anything. His wife was far too busy taking care of one grieving child and a lazy husband already to worry about an additional burden.

All of Billy’s extended family was still in California, had written him off years before they’d even left home for Indiana anyways. The moment his mother walked out the door, nobody else wanted him either, so they were off the table too.

The town of Hawkins had been turned inside out by the deaths of more than thirty community members, some of which were still being reported as missing so many months later. Nobody had the time, or in many cases the heart, to take care of the lone survivor.

That left only one person. The one who’d been taking care of him even before he’d fallen into a coma. The one who’d understood him better than anyone else, who’d given him a chance, who’d loved him more than anything.

Steve gets a call from the hospital, the way he is usually woken up these days. Every other morning, as soon as visitation opens, a nurse calls him for a quick update. The duties of a representative for someone unconscious, for his Billy in a coma.

He’s beyond exhausted, dragging himself to and from Hawkins General day in and day out, sometimes bringing Max or a few of the other kids along with him. Mostly because every day is the same thing, walking through the halls, facing the polite smiles from nurses who deal with this on the daily, don’t understand the way it feels to see the one you love on that bed.

If he does hear anything new, it’s usually not good news. He knows Billy is getting worse, but still he sits in that room for countless hours, watching and waiting for the moment he’s struck with a miracle, and he comes back to him.

The hospital is not quite as patient though, and since about month four of Billy’s hospital stay, they’d been encouraging Steve to consider his wards right to die. After so much time had passed by without signs of improvement, the nurses had started hesitating in the doorway when he was around, and offering kind little suggestions that were supposed to push him towards the decision to let Billy go.

Things like, “It’s not really him anymore, honey.” and, “He’s getting worse by the minute, poor thing.”, and Steve’s favorite, the one that made him leave the hospital in tears, “If he wanted to wake up, he would have done it by now.”

But no matter how true what they were saying may have been, Steve really did not want to hear it. The only reason the thought of letting Billy go had ever crossed the minds of doctors and nurses was because of what was on the news, all these up and coming stories about hospital ethics committees that were popping up all over the country recently.

They were being selfish, willing to let Billy die just because they were scared they wouldn’t be able to stand the heat that would come from keeping an eighteen year old boy on life support for as long as they had. Whether or not they actually thought they could save him was a question for another day.

So they would mail Steve countless papers and claims and pamphlets to try to reason with him, to persuade him that the best thing to do was to kill Billy because they didn’t want to deal with him anymore. It made him sick to his stomach, to think that people who were supposedly trained to help people were so hellbent on giving up on a patient.

He wonders sometimes, if they wouldn’t be so hasty to pull the plug had he been an easier case. If his father was more supportive and his biological mother present, or if the government hadn’t worked so hard to cover up the origin of his injuries. Maybe even if his representative was a nice young woman instead.

But there’s nothing he can do about it, so he just crumples the papers and ignores their premature condolences, and goes to visit Billy at every moment he can.

The drive to the hospital that particular morning feels like it takes a whole day instead of the 20 minutes the route actually is, Steve feeling like he’s suspended in time. It doesn’t seem real, taking the stairs up to the second floor, elevators were a no go after the free fall he took at Starcourt, and taking a visitor sticker and a bunch of papers from the woman at the reception desk.

He’s walked this route more times than he can count, but this time he can feel that something is wrong, different. On the top of the very first sheet the desk lady hands him, in bold black letters, are the printed words “Right-to-Die” and Steve already knows what is coming.

The woman gives him a half sympathetic look and reads off her scripted spiel. “The Hargrove boy has been unresponsive for six months now, with no signs of improvement in his condition. The recently instituted hospital ethics board wants you to seriously consider the contents of these forms.”

The words are so hollow, the look on her face mostly bored. Steve guesses this same speech was probably given to a thousand other people who’d come through this hospital, and it makes him feel nauseated just listening to it, her less than genuine pity as she reads off her clipboard, making it seem like she doesn’t even care what she is asking of him.

“It’s of course among your rights as representative to say no, but we want to remind you that he has no quality of life being artificially kept alive, and it might be best to let him go.”

“No, they told me he couldn’t feel anything. He’s not suffering.” Steve insists, and as much as he believes that he is right, the confidence in his voice is false. This was something he’d been thinking about every day for the last half a year. “You’ve kept him alive this long, right? That’s got to mean something.”

“Still, this is about him. We just want you to think about if keeping him alive is the right thing to do anymore when we can’t be sure what he’s going through. When he isn’t himself.”

Of course this was something he’d considered in his own mind, six months is a long time, and it was inevitable that a few times on his worst days, he’d have to think about pulling the plug. It was just so different hearing this nurse who didn’t know Billy insisting on it, it was just so impersonal, and it made him think about the hospital's greed, and how they probably just wanted to save money on ventilators and open up another bed.

Without saying another word to her, Steve walks away without the clipboard of papers, and off to room B-216. Of course he'd known this was coming. They’d been trying to drop hints since the moment Billy stopped being able to breathe on his own, but he’d been in denial. As long as Billy's heart was still beating, Steve had hope that he would recover if the doctors would just try.

Still, as he sits down in the chair next to Billy’s bed, he decides he doesn’t want to call Max today. He takes the desk woman's advice, as angry as it made him, and takes the time to truly reflect on the boy in that bed, with the feeding tube down his throat, the respirator breathing for him beside his bed, the IV in his neck, there because the veins in his arms had been so overused.

His hair is much longer now, just past his collarbones, but without maintenance, his blonde curls are knotted and dull. His skin is unnaturally pale, his freckles faded to nothing, and his whole body is littered with angry, dark red scars. The hole in the center of his chest still isn’t all the way healed, and the nurses are constantly fighting to keep it free of infection.

When he wakes up, they say he will be in immense pain and that he will have forgotten how to walk and talk and probably even breathe on his own. There was a chance too that his memory will have gaps in it, which could mean anything from forgetting what happened to him in July, to not even knowing his own name.

Basically if, no- when he wakes up, he won’t really be Billy.

Steve had always heard about and seen in the movies coma patients who twitch their fingers or moved their eyes, or who really give any signs of life, miraculously waking up and being themselves again, but Billy, he had only done the opposite.

At some point, he has to accept that Billy won’t be like one of those other patients, and, in the condition he is in, all pale skin and open wounds and zero signs of responsiveness, they were only prolonging his death. They had tried just about everything they could thanks to Steve’s willingness to cover the expenses, and, although he didn’t want to believe it, maybe just couldn’t accept it quite yet, it was, as the nurse had said, time to think about letting Billy go.

Not today though. He’d spend today with him at the very least, trying to push those thoughts to the back of his mind while he still could. The nurses used to say, when Billy had first been admitted and they still thought there was a chance of recovery, that Steve and Max, whenever she could come, should try talking to him, and Steve always did.

He never really has a whole lot to say, not since everything has been calming down recently. There were no more funerals to attend, no more grieving families to take a hot dish and his condolences to. The kids didn’t need him to watch them anymore, and Family Video had decided to lay him off until he didn’t have to make daily hospital commutes and he could work again. Basically, Steve’s entire world was Billy.

So it was only fair that Billy was what he usually talked about, reminiscing about everything they’d gotten to do together before the accident, telling him about what was happening with his sister now that she was getting older, and giving him updates on how many days it had been and how much he missed and loved him. One of the nurses had heard him say that once, seen him lean forwards and press a kiss to Billys forehead, but she had only turned away, pretending she hadn’t noticed.

Today though, it was much harder than usual to think of something to say to him. He always tried to leave all of the bad stuff at the door, didn’t think it would do Billy any good if he could even hear, to be listening to him always complaining or moping about their situation, but with death weighing heavy on his mind, what else was there to think about?

The anger and the remorse and the depression would be for when he went home tonight and downed a whole bottle of Fireball, Billy’s favorite whiskey, and called Robin drunk off his ass at two in the morning to tell her about how terrible he felt.

It was because he loved Billy with all of his heart that he wouldn’t put him through that. Even if it hurt more than anything else to see his love broken down and dying, which was, in Steve’s opinion, the worst thing that had ever happened to him, he always wore a smile on his face every day he walked into that hospital room.

As hard as that was, and as guilty as it made him feel to admit, Billy's sickness wasn’t the only thing making Steve miserable. He had also been through some unimaginable things himself while trapped in the Starcourt mall, and he didn't come out the other side the same.

Nightmares plagued him constantly, so that when he would eventually come back home from the hospital, he didn’t sleep more than fifteen minutes through the night. Being alone for too long warped his perception of reality, made him think everyone he knew and loved was gone, that he’d been abandoned or all his friends killed. He would constantly call to check on them, most of the time drunk and panicking, but they’d stopped picking up after the first few times. There were so many triggers too that could send him back to that night in an instant, where he’d just get stuck again.

And perhaps that is exactly why he can’t let Billy go so easily, because even if it is heartbreaking and makes him feel so empty inside being there with a version of his Billy who couldn’t speak to him or who he couldn’t hold, he was still alive. If he died now, Steve would have nothing. It would be no different from the losses everyone had suffered, the death of the chief of police and at least thirty other community members robbing them of their soundness of mind.

Letting go of Billy would just be another blow, to him and to the tight-knit community who had come so close together after the accident that rocked their little town. You wouldn't be able to tell from the fact that his room was always empty except for Steve or his sister, but the papers had revered him as a hero. Who he’d become after being hospitalized meant his death wouldn't just affect loved ones.

But more than any of that, he just didn’t want to give up on him. Pulling the plug meant sacrificing so many more moments they could have together, losing the chance to move on from what had happened. How could Steve ever know when it was the right time to do that?

When was it safe to say that Billy wouldn’t ever recover, and that they were just stretching out the inevitable? When could he feel right in letting his very best friend and the love of his life die? Deep down, past his initial reaction of shock and heartbreak, he knows he’ll never truly be ready to say goodbye, but that now was that time regardless.

Just like the nurses said, he wasn’t really Billy anymore. Who he’d been was a teenage boy with too much energy to burn, always getting into trouble and always in motion, bouncing his knee, twisting the ring on his middle finger or the locket around his neck, chain smoking cigarette after cigarette. It used to drive Steve insane how he wouldn’t sit still for anything, but now he would give anything just to have that back.

There was no personality left in him, no stupid jokes to cheer Steve up, no pestering his sister and her friends like a big brother does, nothing left in him at all that made him distinctly Billy. Steve wondered if maybe he had already given up.

If maybe, Billy wasn’t even in there at all anymore, and they were holding on to nothing just to feed their own selfishness. Steve wasn’t the most emotional of people, usually panicking before he got upset, but he could feel tears pricking at his eyes now, as he watched the slow rise and fall of Billy’s, or not Billy’s, chest, and listened to the beeps and hums of the machines that kept him going.

He knew what needed to be done. Just not today.

For now, he holds Billy's hand, unmoving and just warm enough that he could tell he was alive, and whispered to him anything that came to his mind.

If Billy could hear him, he knew he was probably tired of hearing the same stories over and over, thinking of Billy waking up and complaining about Steve being too boring made him chuckle to himself. An instant pang of regret tightens his chest, feeling guilty for being happy.

There was a really sweet nurse about the age of his mother who always checked in on him at the same time everyday, like he was the one with tubes and machines sticking out of his body. Her name was Dale, and she always peeked her head into the room around meal times to ask if he had been down to the cafeteria yet. Usually he hadn’t, and sometimes he still forgot to eat anyways, but it meant a lot to him.

Today though, she came all the way in the room, a sad look on her face, and he had to avoid her gaze entirely to keep himself from breaking down, choosing instead to focus on Billy’s slender fingers where he’d laced them through his own.

“Steve, honey, I know this is really hard for you, it’s hard for all of us when something like this happens, but you need to take care of yourself.” She was just being kind, but he wouldn’t hear it.

If this was going to be the last full day he’d ever spend with Billy, he was going to make it count. A soggy sandwich in the dingy old cafeteria wasn’t worth spending a single moment away from the other boy's bedside. He feels vaguely guilty about it, but he ignores the well meaning nurse, even as she says her generic condolences that all of them were trained to say.

He smooths out Billy's hair, brushing the part that always hung in his eyes to the side carefully, something Billy himself had always seemed to do when he was nervous. It reminds him of the time they tried to do each other's hair and Billy taught him how to make a braid, so he tells Billy about it.

When he hears the distant roar of a car's engine from the open window, it reminds him of the first time Billy drove him home in the now totaled beyond recognition Camaro, so he talks about that. A bird landing on the windowsill reminds him of sitting on Billy’s bed and talking about the seagulls and the beaches back in California where Billy had grown up, so he tells Billy that story too. The phone ringing at the receptionist's desk down the hallway reminds him of the time Billy had called him in the middle of the night to invite him out to the quarry, where they’d kissed for the first time and Steve clumsily asked him to make things official, so again, he told Billy all about it.

It's mostly a comfort to himself, keeping his mind off of the reality of the situation, but then the desk lady announces over the overhead system that visiting hours are over, and it’s time for him to go.

They had been giving him a lot of leeway here at Hawkins General, allowing him to visit every single day and sometimes with a 14 year old, which was strictly against the rules of the ICU. The end of visiting hours was a rule they always stood by though, and despite how much it crushed him to leave Billy by himself overnight, he always did it.

On his way out, he grabbed the stack of papers the receptionist tried to give him off of her desk. He would call Susan in the morning and ask her what she thought. He would try to involve her in the choice, since she’d technically claimed Billy as her dependent after her marriage to his father, who had given enough verbal and written agreements that he wanted nothing at all to do with his son while he was hospitalized that his wife could, and had, stepped in.

He went home that night with the thought in his head that this was the last time he’d do this, and by this time tomorrow, Billy would be dead.

[krisdreaming]

A/N: Today is a special day because it’s Em’s birthday, @imaginethathaikyuu​!!! Em is such an amazing writer and a warm & caring person, and I’m so glad that I’ve had the chance to get to know her. This is my humble birthday offering, I hope you enjoy!

This is a college AU!

Here’s the 4+1 masterlist

Four times Keiji thinks he loves you, and the one time he finally says it out loud

i.

When Keiji gets to your dorm, you immediately pull him inside, closing the door quickly behind him. “I’m sorry,” You’re already apologizing, “I didn’t know who else to call.” You lead him to your bed, and there, in a shoe box laying on top of a folded towel, is a tiny kitten. It’s laying eerily still, and he can hear a slight wheezing sound every time it’s small chest rises and falls. 

“I found him on my way back from class, he was laying all curled up by the sidewalk. I couldn’t just leave him there. He needs help.” You reach into the box and ever so gently caress the top of the kitten’s head with your fingertip. 

He’s silent for a few moments, looking into the box and turning the situation over in his head. “I’m pretty sure there’s an emergency vet in town,” He says finally, “I can drive us there.”

You look at him, and there’s a relieved smile breaking across your face. “Really?” You breathe, “Keiji, thank you! You don’t have to do this,” You add quickly, looking back to the frail kitten. If he’s not mistaken, there’s a sheen of tears in your eyes.

“I want to,” He says firmly. You’re bustling around your dorm to grab a jacket and an extra blanket to swaddle the kitten, wondering aloud if your parents will let you keep the kitten at home if he recovers, but he’s completely still, just watching you.

It’s not the first time he’s caught a glimpse of your big heart. He knows how much you care, it’s part of what drew him to you in the first place. It’s just that now, especially, something is swelling up inside his chest, and it feels an awful lot like I love you. It’s the first time he’s felt it so clearly, and he can’t help the small smile that finds its way onto his face.

ii.

Keiji rests his head on his arms and closes his eyes, just for the few minutes until class starts. He’s lucky if he got three hours of sleep last night, and he hopes he’d studied enough. This midterm is a huge part of his grade, and despite the hours he’d spent in the past week preparing for it, he still doesn’t feel too confident.

He feels a gentle touch on his arm. “Keiji,” at the sound of your voice he looks up, surprised to see you standing by his desk. You aren’t supposed to be here - you have your own class starting in about five minutes. “I thought you might need this,” You laugh softly, and he finally notices the cup in your hand when you set it down on the corner of his desk. It looks like the largest cup of coffee the campus has to offer. He’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

“Thank you,” He wraps his fingers around it, pulling it closer to himself, but he doesn’t take a sip yet. He’s still looking at you. “This is perfect,” He smiles.

“Good,” You smile back, even bigger. “Good luck today, Keiji. You’ll do great.” You lean in and press the quickest peck to his cheek. The feeling of your lips lingers even after you pull away. 

“Thank you,” He says again, because he isn’t quite sure what else to say. “You should get to class too, right? I’ll see you after.”

“Yup! You’ve got this!” You grin before you lift your hand in a quick wave and duck out of the classroom. He watches the door even after you disappear from view, his hand resting absently on his cheek at the spot where you’d placed your kiss. 

he muses that it’s probably a good thing you hadn’t stuck around any longer. Something like the words I love you might have slipped out past his sleep-deprived brain.

iii.

Keiji glances from his spot on the court to the place he knows you’ll be in the stands. When you see him looking your way, you immediately lift both both hands above your head in an exaggerated wave. He waves back at you, quickly, before the next volley starts.

Even though he’s only on the intramural team and the stands are rarely packed, you still show up at every single one of his matches. Even though this is nothing like the Black Jackals match he took you to once, no roaring crowd or big, bright stadium lights or fancy official uniforms with sponsor patches, you’re always telling him how exciting it is to watch him play. You mean it, too. He can tell.

“You don’t have to come every time, you know,” He says, afterwards, as he walks you back to your dorm. “It’s nothing special, so I don’t expect you to always be there.”

“I want to be there, silly.” You shove your shoulder against his, and he uses it as an excuse to reach for your hand, sliding his fingers between yours. “You love volleyball, and I love watching you play. If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me.” You’re important to me. I love you. He thinks it, but somehow he can’t make himself say it out loud. Instead, he gives your hand a squeeze and tugs you a little closer.

“Thanks,” He says, stopping just for a moment to press a quick kiss to your lips.

You giggle softly. “What was that for?”

He shakes his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “Nothing in particular.”

iv.

Keiji is trying very hard not to move. The train is jostling enough as it is, and you had fallen asleep on his shoulder almost as soon as the train had started moving. He can’t blame you. It had been a long day, and you’d done a lot of walking. 

He can just make out your face in the reflection on the train window. It looks so soft and peaceful. Your lips are slightly parted, and you let out the softest sigh. Something washes over him, then - an overwhelming desire to protect you, to keep you safe, to stay by your side for as long as you’ll have him. He’s not sure where it came from.

While he’s still lost in thought, your stop comes up. Gently, he nudges you awake, and you blink at him blearily, confusion on your face for a few moments before you remember where you are.

“Oh, sorry,” You murmur, “Didn’t mean to fall asleep. You could’ve woken me.” You rub some sleep from your eyes, and he gives your cheek the softest pinch. You scrunch your nose at that, standing to exit the train.

“Nah, you looked so peaceful. I couldn’t bring myself to do it.” He rests his hand at the small of your back for a fraction of a second as you step off the train, and when you’re on the platform, you turn to him and grin.

“Oh?” You ask cheekily, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He nods, then quickly changes the subject. “Okay, let’s go. We need to get you to bed.”

v.

This day is definitely not turning out the way Keiji had envisioned it. When he woke up to the patter of rain hitting the windowpanes, his heart sank. He’s been planning this romantic little picnic for a few weeks now, as a way of celebrating your six month anniversary and, as a bonus, the perfect time to finally, finally tell you what he’s been feeling for so long. And now it’s raining. Even if it stops raining, the cute little park near campus is going to be soaked. 

“We can do it some other time,” You say over the phone, and he sighs. Who knows when ‘some other time’ could end up being? The end of the semester is getting closer, and he’d been lucky this weekend had worked out for both of your schedules. He lets the gears turn in his head for a few moments before responding.

“No. Come to my dorm. We can still hang out.” He looks around the room, already figuring out what he’ll do to make the place look even a little bit nicer. All he’ll have to do is make sure his roommate keeps himself scarce, and it could work.

“Okay,” You say, and he can hear the smile in your voice, “I’ll be over around noon?”

“Perfect,” He agrees. It gives him just a little more than two hours to make some preparations.

When you get to his dorm, he watches the way your expression changes when you walk into the room. You look from the blanket and pillows spread out on the ground, to the candles he’d lit (and paid his roommate 2,000 yen not to tell anyone about), and to the big bouquet of flowers. Your lips form a small, surprised O, and he pats the spot on the blanket next to him, inviting you to join him.

“Keiji,” You breathe as you sink down, still taking everything in, “This is beautiful. Honestly.”

“For a dorm room,” He chuckles, handing you a bottle of your favorite drink. “Would’ve been better in the park, but...” He shrugs and gestures to the window, where you can see the rain outside still falling.

“This is so cozy, though!” You murmur happily, scooting in a little closer so you’re just leaning against him. He shifts so that the arm bracing him up is also resting against your back. “All this, just for six months.” You laugh softly.

“Of course,” He says, his nose just brushing your cheek when he turns to see your face better, “These last six months have been wonderful. Truly. I’m really glad that I could spend them with you.” 

“Keiji,” Your voice is almost a squeak, “So am I. It’s been perfect.”

“Yeah,” He agrees, turning so you’re practically face to face and reaching for your hand, holding it loosely and brushing his thumb across the back of it. Your smile drops off and you study his face, then, almost as though you’re waiting for something. He’s been waiting too.

“Y/N,” His voice drops lower and softer, “You’re incredible. I’m amazed by you, every day. Sometimes I don’t know why you’d want to be with me,” He chuckles softly at the frown that puckers your brow at that, ��But I’m glad you do. And... I love you, Y/N. So much. And I will keep on loving you for as long as you’ll let me.” For a few moments, the only sound is the rain falling outside as his words sink in. Then, all at once, you close the distance between you and throw your arms around his neck.

“Keiji,” Your words are muffled against the skin of his neck, “I love you too. Oh my god, I love you so much.” You pull back, then, and with the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world, he can’t help himself. He cups your face in his hands and kisses you like he means it, because he does. More than anything.

4+1 taglist (let me know if you want to be added!):

@luna-barnes14​, @herow1n​, @disgruntled-gay​

[offtopicoverload]

Just in Case

Sometimes you have to spend all night outside someone’s door, or all morning sitting at their desk, just in case they need some pizza. Or you, they might also need you.

hey, whaddaya know, i actually wrote something lmao. ive literally wanted to fix this plotline since i read it like six months ago or something, so i thought i finally would instead of doing something more responsible. and fair warning, it’s been ages since i played tfs and i have a shit memory, so if their characters are off, here’s my excuse

T Rating (just college kids being a bit dumb, so no warnings or anything)

Kaitlyn x MC (Maya)

~2k (a true random little ficlet lol)

Maya knocks on the door lightly, the raps hesitant as she turns her voice as sweet as she can possibly manage, “Hey, Kait? Do you wanna talk? Do you need anything? Do you want a hug? Or I could order pizza?” she rambles, shifting nervously. Her hands clasp and unclasp before her, palms clammy as her stomach rolls in waves of anxiety, a slow-building hurricane.

And it’s not helped by the answer she receives from the blank wood before her, “I want to be left alone.” It’s harsh and upset and frustrated as it leaks through the cracks between the frame and the door.

“You sure?” She fights against every instinct to throw the door open, fingers twitching at the desire to turn the knob just below her palm.

“Yes,” that same severe, irritated voice answers once more, “Go away.”

She sighs, head drooping, “You know I can’t do that, Kait. So I’ll just, um…” she drops to the floor, turning so her back rests against the door, her head turned upwards as she speaks, “If you need anything, I’m right here. Offer for pizza still stands.”

Another heavy sigh slips past her lips as she receives no response from the other side of the door. She digs in her jacket pocket for her phone, pulling it out and tapping until she finds Zack’s contact.

Hey

heya Meya

Can we talk?

always

I think Kait’s mad at me

why do you think that

She slammed the door in my face and told me to go away

yeah, i’d say she’s mad

did you leave her alone

I stopped talking

and you also went away

No I’m outside her room

just give her space

What if she needs pizza?

she can get herself pizza My

I don’t want her to be alone

she wants to be alone tho

I need her to know I’m always here

she doesn’t need you right now

i think you should give her space

What if something happens again?

like what

Like her birthday

There’s a long pause with no response, not even grey bubbles bouncing in the corner.

you stopped talking

Yeah. Promise

how long are you gonna stay there

As long as she’s in her room

that’ll be all night

That’s okay. Her door’s pretty comfy

Maya

I have to be here if she needs pizza

Maya can almost hear the sigh that accompanies the next message,

fine

night My

Night Zack

Her head falls back against the door, a soft thump sounding with it as her eyes flutter shut. Her hands knit in her lap, phone resting between them. A few sounds echo through the suite as the other roommates go about their evenings, but it’s quiet in Kaitlyn’s room.

It’s quiet and peaceful, and the day’s events are starting to wear on Maya as she patiently awaits a call from Kaitlyn. She sits there, the silence behind her beginning to settle along her shoulders like a weighted blanket, starting to gently pull her from consciousness.

Maya’s body careens backwards and her head crashes into the hardwood beneath her, a groan echoing as her eyes blink open. Kaitlyn’s standing above her, hovering with a clenched jaw and furious glare as morning light plays off her skin, her hair, her eyes, her everything in a halo.

The door’s been jerked open, Maya falling with it until she’s flat on her back with a dull ache in the back of her skull. She attempts to blink away the haze that’s clouding her mind of any thoughts but the girl standing above her, and all too soon memories of yesterday flood her senses.

A blush burns her cheeks, heating her face warmer than the sun still alighting Kaitlyn in an ethereal glow, “Hi,” she offers meekly, a small wave momentarily drawing Kaitlyn’s gaze.

But a second later she’s stepping over the crumpled form of Maya without a single word or backwards glance, striding in the direction of the suite’s kitchen. And Maya watches her go, watches her disappear around the corner, watches the corridor turn empty and lifeless as she exhales what feels like the last of her tether to Earth.

---

“Hey Kaitlyn,” Zack greets through a mouthful of poptarts, as chipper as usual. He swallows thickly, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” she grumbles, sidestepping him to pull the fridge door open, staring blankly into it and silently hoping something good will appear if she stares long enough.

Zack appears behind her, carefully nudging the fridge door closed, “You doing okay?”

She eyes him up suspiciously, “Yeah. Why?”

He responds with an awkward shrug, averting his gaze nervously, “You normally steal my poptart,” he mutters.

“Rookie mistake,” she grins, snatching the remaining half from his hand and taking a bite.

“So you’re okay?”

Kaitlyn stills, the poptart frozen away from her face, “Maya told you, didn’t she?”

“Well…” Zack glances away, shrugging under the weight of Kaitlyn’s judgemental gaze, “She told me you were mad at her, but not why.”

“My parents know,” she murmurs, eyes trained on the poptart held in her palm.

“That you’re gay?!”

Her eyes snap up to find a scandalized Zack staring back, “No, that my favorite color’s green. Yeah, that I’m gay!”

“That’s not good.”

“Nope,” she pops the ‘p’ before taking another bite.

“So why are you mad at Maya?”

“‘Cause it’s her fault.”

Zack’s eyes go wide, “Did she tell them?!”

Dark hair flies around Kaitlyn’s shoulders as she shakes her head, “No. No,” she corrects, “But they saw us kissing.”

“Oh, so it was an accident.”

“Yeah.”

“Then why are you mad at Maya?”

“‘Cause she started this whole thing by coming along, and then followed me outside, and then she wouldn’t leave me alone on the train or on the way home,” she huffs.

“She just wants to be there for you,” Zack reaches out, squeezing her shoulder in an attempt at some sort of comfort. 

And Kaitlyn just shrugs him off, “I don’t need her.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“No, I don’t,” she shoots him an unimpressed look, taking the last bite of the poptart and dusting her hands off.

“Kait, we all need her. Like, literally, I think this dorm would fall apart without her.”

“Well, I don’t need her.”

“What if she needs you?”

“She’s an adult.”

“She’s your girlfriend.”

“Who’s an adult.”

Zack just stares at her with his jaw clenched, looking more irritated than Kaitlyn’s ever seen him.  “What?” she explodes defensively, squirming under his gaze.

He sighs, digging out his phone from his pocket and tapping for a few seconds before presenting a text thread to her. She cautiously takes the device, scanning over the messages dated as last night. “I don’t know what was going on with the pizza thing,” he mutters under his breath.

“It’s - it doesn’t matter,” she sighs, just as her eyes land on one message in particular. She huffs, shoving Zack’s phone back into his hands as she storms out of the kitchen and down the hall, frustrated once more.

She pauses outside Maya’s door at the mouth of the hallway, just two down from her own, which has since been abandoned. She steps closer, pressing her ear to the door in search of some excuse to not disrupt. But it’s quiet on the other end, the only noises coming from the rest of the suite surrounding them.

Kaitlyn gently nudges the door open, the hinges creaking painfully loudly as Maya’s bedroom slowly comes into view, a familiar and welcoming sight. Dark eyes scan the room, taking in the closed curtains and the cluttered desk before landing on the bed, where a lump rests beneath the sheets.

Maya’s back is to the door as she lays curled in on herself, her profile rising a fraction with every delicate breath, with her braids splayed in a mess on her pillow. Light from the kitchen spills inside, yellow splashing in sharp lines along her comforter and along the wall, Kaitlyn’s shadow further obscuring the room.

She slips further inside, closing the door just as carefully as she opened it and takes a few cautious steps towards the bed. Maya doesn’t stir an inch, her breathing the only sound in the room as Kaitlyn crosses to the desk tucked against the wall.

She sinks into the chair before it, her leg bouncing anxiously as she simply watches the form across the room from her. Her fingers twitch and tap as she replays the past few months, from that first night, to the football games, to the sorority drama, to her birthday, and all the mess that came with it.

Though, maybe some good came with it too. Like movie nights and coffee dates and afternoons spent studying on the rooftop. Like wide smiles and unrestrained laughs and crinkled, bright eyes. Like eager kisses and tight hugs and lazy morning cuddles.

The form stirs, rolling onto her other side until a stray ray of sunlight is streaked across her cheek. Her eyes flutter open before she’s fumbling onto her elbows, “Kait?” she whispers, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Yeah,” Kaitlyn mumbles, her head dipping awkwardly.

“What are you doing?”

“Thought I’d stick around in case you needed anything.”

Maya softens, a gentle quiet filling the room before her hands find their way out from under the covers, grasping in Kaitlyn’s direction, “Come here,” she urges with a wave.

Kaitlyn obliges, standing and shuffling to the edge of the bed, where Maya takes her hand and tugs her onto the mattress. Kaitlyn slips beneath the comforter, her arms curling around Maya as she cuddles close, burying her face in Kaitlyn’s shoulder.

“Are you gonna be okay?” she whispers into Kaitlyn’s shirt, her breath hot where it seeps through the fabric to warm Kaitlyn’s skin.

Kaitlyn draws her closer, their legs tangling beneath the sheets as she tucks her chin over Maya’s head, absentmindedly twirling a braid around one finger, “Yeah, I think I just needed some time to think, you know? And my parents probably need space, so it’ll be awhile before I talk to them anyway.

“Maybe I can sort something out or write a letter, I don’t know. I don’t think I know what to say, but I’m working on it and trying to figure out how to move forward. I was up most of the night thinking about how I could fix things, or what I should do, and stressing about if I should even be bothered, and my mom ended up texting me and we spoke for a bit. It was nice that she wasn’t upset, but my dad’s another story.” She finally stops for air, looking down to find Maya’s eyes closed and her breathing back to that soft and gentle rhythm.

“Are you still awake?” she whispers, eyes tracing the way the few rays of sunlight slipping through the curtain dance along her skin, illuminate her features.

Maya hums in the back of her throat, “Mmhmm.”

A small grin quirks Kaitlyn’s lips, “So you know what I was talking about?”

“Mmhmm.”

“So you have no problem with me, say, tossing you out of bed?” Kaitlyn teases, her smile growing as Maya’s features stay peaceful and sleep-laden.

“Mmhmm.”

Kaitlyn chuckles softly, the exhale stirring a few strands of her hair as it lay on the pillow as she murmurs, “Sweet dreams. I’m here just in case,” and plants a small kiss on Maya’s forehead.

[loveistherootofhappiness]

Day 3! I went on a journey with this one, get ready...

Written to the tone of and inspired by In Silence by Janet Suhh and I highly recommend listening while reading

TW: mentions of suicidal thoughts and suicide attempt (not graphic, but definitely goes there), dealing with mental health, self-neglect 

Fandom: 911 Ship: Madney Rating: Strong T Word Count: 1523

Summary: And she was tired. Tired of the guilt. Tired of trying. Tired of failing. Tired of the viscous cycle she kept going through, putting her family through. She just wanted all of it to be over.

Day 3: “I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe” + angst

Can also be read here

In silence, no one answers But I still hear your voice

It was the silence. She used to love the silence. It meant that her daughter wasn’t crying. It meant her daughter wasn’t in pain. It meant that, in that moment, maybe she wasn’t that terrible of a mother, she wasn’t doing everything wrong.

Now. Now the silence just left her alone with her thoughts and her guilt. That was the most crippling part, the guilt. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t getting better. And she was trying, she really was. Ever since she’d told him that she wasn’t okay, they’d immediately took all the steps to get her help. The regular therapy. The antidepressants. Even his parents stepping in to take more responsibility so she could take a break.

And it seemed to be working, for a while. Now, she feels as if she’s relapsed, back at square one. His words of encouragement, once helpful, would drown in the darkness. And she knows, she knows, had it repeated to her by her therapist, she knows that healing is not linear. But she should be further along than this by now. It’s been 5 months, when is she going to get better? Maybe she’d never really gotten past her starting point and wanted to believe everything was helping.

Or maybe she was just beyond help.

A thought that used to scare her, but she’s realized how true it was. It was the only logical explanation. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this, motherhood, any of it. He deserved better. Their daughter deserved better.

They deserved better than her.

And she was tired. Tired of the guilt. Tired of trying. Tired of failing. Tired of the viscous cycle she kept going through, putting her family through. She just wanted all of it to be over.

And it would be soon.

She slid down the wall to the living room floor as she started to feel the effects. They empty pill bottle dropped next to her. She was calm knowing that he was more than capable of taking care of their daughter. They’d be alright. They wouldn’t have her to worry about her. They’d be free. And so would she.

As her heart rate slowed and her mind drifted further towards the darkness, she could have sworn she heard him calling her name, more like screaming it. It was okay, it would all be okay. The last thing she saw as the darkness took over was his face.

In darkness, it's getting hard Getting hard to stand

Bright, fluorescent lights assaulted her vision as she awoke. She was a bit confused at where she was and how she got there. As she sat with her thoughts, it didn’t take long for the events to come rushing back.

She was still alive.

She didn’t know how she felt about that. She wasn’t particularly sad or angry or happy or any particular emotion. Just numb, she guessed.

“Maddie!”

She turned her head to see him reaching out towards her and cradle her face, looming close. She didn’t say anything or react, just looked at him. Haggard face, mussed hair, bloodshot eyes signaling that he probably hadn’t slept in however long it had probably been. As she looked at him, the tears slid down his cheeks. Out of reflex, she reached out, but the IV in her arm and restraint wrapped around her wrist stopped her.

“You’re back.” His voice trembled as he whispered the words. With those two simple words, the gravity crashed down on her. She was back, but at what cost? She just held his gaze, not able to speak, not only because of the rawness in her throat, but what could she really say in this moment?

“We’re going to get through this, Maddie, together.” The tears just flowed.

Bare your soul to me Here I stand for you

A week long stay in the psychiatric unit of the hospital, turned into her first month back home. The weeks filled with increased therapy sessions, follow up appointments, new strategies, and plenty of conversations. Him never leaving her side through any of it. Months two and three were much of the same as a routine had developed between them. Only this time, whenever he had to leave, he made sure she wasn’t alone, a decision they’d come to together. The thoughts and fears were still there, only not as frequent, and she’d developed a habit of talking them out or journaling them on days she wasn’t particularly comfortable voicing them.

She had gained some semblance of control, the world was no longer in a constant spiral.

Month four was when she started to feel some changes. The seemingly permanent dark clouds were breaking. A true to start to getting past this. The set backs happened, especially when it came to navigating motherhood and her relationship with her daughter, but she was further from the place she began and she could work with that.

Though, she was starting to notice something. Him. She’d picked up on it over the last couple of weeks, but wanted to be sure of what she was seeing before she said anything. He denied it at first. Something she’d expected. But she kept gently pushing until....

“I don’t care what happens to me as long as you’re safe.”

There it was.

His overly exhausted body flopped down on the couch. “I,” he paused, scrubbing his hands down his face and through his hair, “I missed it the first time, it’s not happening again.”

She sighed as she sat next to him, placing a soothing hand to his shoulder as she worked to keep the guilt in check, “look at me,” his face turned toward her meeting her eyes, “there was nothing else you could have done,” she expected his response and she stopped him, “I was spiraling and was convinced it was the only solution left.”

“If I had-”

“There wasn’t a day that went by you weren’t attentive and doing what you could to help,” she knew he wasn’t convinced, but she also knew it was one of those things they’d work through with time, “and there hasn’t been now. I couldn’t ask for a better support system. But, baby, I need you to take care of yourself.”

“I am.”

“You’re not. You’re doing enough to keep yourself alive, but you’re not taking care of yourself. You’re spending so much time worrying over and taking care of us that you’re neglecting you. That’s not helping any of us,” he wanted to turn away from him and she didn’t let him, “we’re getting through this together. We take care of each other. That’s the deal,” she grabbed one of his hands linking her fingers with his and kissing the back of it, “okay?”

“Okay.”

Days will come for you, for us

It’s another month before he allowed himself to be convinced. And he was slowly getting into himself, finding the balance in this path they were navigating. Even going back to work, complete with three phone calls to check on her and their  daughter. She realized she had been doing the same, going out a bit, finding a bit more comfort in bonding with and caring for their daughter. For the first time in a long time, she was feeling truly okay.

The days tick by and it took a look at the calendar, as she passed by, to realize it had been six months. To the day.

The darkness now a shadow in the distance.

In the silence, she allows the thoughts. The thoughts of where she was six months ago, a year ago. She remembers the headspace she was in, really allows herself to think about that place. The fact that she can think about it without it being triggering to her says enough. But she won’t say she’s healed or anywhere close to it. The word that feels the most correct is balanced. There’s a lot more balance where there didn’t used to feel like any.

Especially in how she feels about her relationship with her daughter.

When she hears her daughter’s cries, she’s conscious of where her reflexive thoughts are headed. She feels the self doubt and depreciation bubbling up from from the recesses of her mind. Those thoughts immediately silenced by the sound of his and her own voice encouraging her, telling her it was okay, making her feel safe.

After a couple of deep breaths, she rises and heads to the nursery. As soon as she opens the door, she sees her one year old leaning against the bars of the crib. As soon as she’s spotted, the cries turn to whimpers as little hands reach out, wanting to be held, which she is happy to oblige. She cradled her in her arms, holding her close, humming softly to soothe her.

“See, she loves you.” The words were so clear she almost thought he was there with them.

“I know,” she whispered aloud as she continued to hold her contented little girl.

In silence, no one answers But I still hear your voice ---

You made it to the end! Thanks for reading! I hope I did the portrayal of these topics the justice they deserved!

Day 1 Day 2

[jawritter]

Gifted Hands

Part 2 (complete)

Request: That surgeon Jensen story was so amazing. Bless the anon who requested that & bless you for writing it😂 reading that I had idea, if you could write another Jensen story, maybe it could be the reader having a major surgery and she is scared so Jensen being her surgeon prepping her from like a month? He stays with her while anaesthesia and then takes care of her? Oh oh, you can maybe add some funny, embarrassing moments, like catheter? That sounded weird but it would make an interesting story😂

Pairing: Surgeon!Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 3460

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, fingering, a little anal play (very light), suggestive squirting, probably language some where. I think that’s it.

If you missed part 1 you can read it here!!

Gifted Hands Pt. 1

Want more? Check out my masterlist:

*******MASTERLIST*******

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One month. One month of doctors appointments, one month of x rays, one month of hip readjustments to find out where you needed to be. Then there was the blood work, the test, the stress of knowing you have a fairly major surgery coming, and you were not looking forward to it. In fact you had it marked as `D-Day '' on your calendar. 

One month of trying to catch up on as much work as you could, and sell as many paintings and things as you can before you were going to be down for upwards of six weeks before you could even could even function properly on your own, and six months before you were even fully back to yourself.

This had set your whole life back, every step you took forward, you felt like you just took six back. You were afraid you were going to lose your apartment. You were afraid that you were going to lose it all because you couldn’t work. You were literally agreeing to trust a complete stranger to help you through your recovery. 

Speaking of said stranger, if it wasn’t for Jensen, you probably would have gone crazy. He’d literally been your saving grace through all of this. Even though you didn’t want to admit it, you looked forward to your appointments so that you could see him. 

The third appointment in, with only two more before your surgery, he’d asked you out to dinner before you left the office that night; and you agreed to go. One because he was insanely attractive, but also because you wanted to get to know the man that was going to be your caretaker more before you were almost completely dependent on this man for at least 6 weeks. 

You were not disappointed. 

Jensen was funny, compassionate, and caring. He was everything you ever wanted in man, but had convinced yourself that it didn’t exist. He had the kindest heart that you’d ever found in another person. 

He was smart, and witty, he seemed to know just how to make you smile. Even when you didn’t think you could, he wouldn’t stop until he pulled it out of you. No matter how down you were, or what all was going wrong, he seemed to just be right there, and was more than content to be there. 

It didn’t stop with dinner. You found yourself spending a lot of time together. He’d started picking you up after he got off of work everyday. Taking you out to eat, or just coming to hang out with you.

The day before your surgery was scheduled he text you and told you to pack up enough clothes to do you for the foreseeable future, to just make sure you had everything you needed, and he’d be there to pick you up after work and get you settled and ready to come and stay at his place after your surgery so that he could take care of you. 

You felt awkward about it at first, and the fear that you were going to  lose your apartment was something you had shared with Jensen, though he swore if that happened you’d figure it out together. 

You ended up just staying there with him that night, and he drove you to the hospital this morning. The morning of your surgery. Your “D-Day”. 

To say that you were nervous was an understatement, but it did make you feel better that he was going to be the one that was performing the surgery. He stayed with you until he had to go and clock in. After you were situated in a room and hooked up to the IV’s and things. 

Now it was the waiting game. Jensen swore that it wouldn’t take long, and he’d be back to get you with and bring you back.

Sitting there in your overly exposing nightgown, your mind was wondering on just how much things had changed for you over the past month, and you were wondering just how much more they were about to keep changing. 

You hated the situation you found yourself in, but you were more than a little grateful that you had found your way to Jensen. He was quickly becoming everything to you, and he made it no secret his feelings for you. 

You’ve heard your whole life everything happened for a reason, that nothing happened by accident, even the bad things. Even though this to you looked bad, you knew that without a shadow of a doubt it led you to Jensen, so maybe it would be worth it in the end.

The sound of the door opening pulled you out of your thoughts as Jensen entered into the room. Holding a catheter that was still wrapped in it’s bag in his hand, sort of behind his back like he was hoping you wouldn’t notice it.

“What’s that?” You asked him as he sat down on the bed next to you. Taking your hand in his, playing with your fingers. 

“Catheter… Don’t worry. I’m not going to put it in until you're out, but it will have to stay in for the next five days until you can get yourself up and walking around on your own again.” He said. You must have looked as mortified as you felt, because your face said it all. He started to crack up as soon as he looked up at you.

“You gonna pass out on me sweetheart? It’s just a catheter. It’s standard medical procedure for things like this.” 

You hid your face in your hands. Trying to fight down the horrible embarrassment that was creeping it’s way beyond the total terror to the surface to override what you were feeling, and make you wish that you could jump into the floor if it would open up to swallow you.

“Well…. I uh…. I was hoping that the first time you saw that particular part of me, it wouldn’t be because you were having to insert a catheter.” 

At that he threw his head back in a perfect laugh. Shaking his whole body, making you forget momentarially about your current embarrassing situation. 

“Is that what you're worried about?” He asked you, leaning over and kissing the top of your forehead before standing up and starting to adjust and IV to so that it could travel with you to the surgical theater where they would be performing your suring. 

“I promise you pretty girl I’d much rather be inserting something that was not a catheter myself, I’ve never been more jealous of a tub.” He said winking at you, trying to make light of the situation, but you blushed deeper and pulled the covers over your head with a groan. 

Leaning down and pulling them back. His face is so close to yours that you could feel his breath fanning over you.

“Let’s just work on getting you better, then you’ve got all the time you want with me.”

Leaning down he brushed his lips over yours in a quick kiss before the door opened, revealing the anesthesiologist, and another nurse. 

In less time than you could even regester what was happening you were in the operating room, Arms being strapped to the table as they do when they are going to perform surgery on you. Jensen walked around into our line of view just as you were about to start panicking,

“Okay sweetheart, we’re going to give a little shot into your IV here, and then put that mask on you there, then you're going to take a little nap for us, before you know it this will all be over.” Jensen said. Fully scrubbed in for the surgery, a cap covering his hair and a mask over his perfect face.

“You're going to be there when I wake up right?” You asked him as you saw the anesthesiologist inject the liquid into the IV. The nurse is getting ready to move the mask over your face.

“I’m going to be right there sweetheart.”

That was the last thing you remembered before it all went black.

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The recovery was NOT a walk in the park. True to Jensen’s word he was right there holding your hand when you woke up in the hospital, and he never left your side. Not once. He’d taken vacation time during your time at the hospital and personal time to extend into that so that he could be with you through the worst part of your recovery. Which the hospital was more than willing to work with him. 

After you were finally released from the hospital, and that damn catheter was removed, thank God. Jensen brought you home to his apartment. 

He did everything for you, even took on your physical therapy yourself so that you didn’t have to go back and forth to the hospital. 

Over the course of those six weeks you got closer and closer to your green eyed surgeon. Who you were curtain was really your angle posing as a surgeon, to be here for you right here in this moment because without him you wouldn’t have made it, you were curtain of it.

Even after the six weeks was up he convinced you to just stay with him at his apartment. Because let’s be honest, you two were more than just friends. He said he’d gotten so used to sleeping next to you at night that he probably wouldn’t be able to sleep without his arms wrapped around you, and if you were being honest with yourself you wouldn’t be able to sleep either. 

Even after life had progressed to somewhat of a normalcy and Jensen had gone back to work you still didn't start feeling like  100% yourself until around six months. By then Jensen and yourself were openly in a relationship and had been for months, but you there was one thing you were afraid of right now. 

Sex…

You were afraid it was going to be painful, or knock something loose again, and they would have to go back in, even though your primary doctor said that you were in the clear, and you did feel better. 

Jensen was patient with you. Even though you’d been sharing a bed for ever since you came home from the hospital, he never pushed you. 

Never once did he try and convince you to have sex with him. He let you work through things in and at your own pace, and sex was no different. It’s not that you didn’t WANT to. Any woman with a pulse would want to have sex with a man that looks like him, but fear of having to go through all of what you went through again was keeping you at bay.

You were sitting on the bed in your shared bedroom, watching something on netflix on our laptop, when Jensen came through the door from work.

He looked more tired tonight than you’d ever seen him. He stripped off his scrubs and made his way to the bathroom, not saying a word as he closed the door. 

It must have been a really bad day, because he usually always greeted you before he went to take he shower. 

You waited patiently. Giving him whatever space he needed. Letting him work through whatever it was until he was ready to talk to you. He never pushed you, so you were never going to push him.

Finally he made his way out of the bathroom and flopped down on the bed next to you. Hands covering his face. It took him a long time before he finally spoke.

“I lost someone today. I couldn’t stop the bleeding, and I lost her.”

You made your way over to him and snuggled into this side. He didn’t hesitate in wrapping his thick, surprisingly muscular arms around you. Holding you close to him.

“I’m sorry, I’m sure you did everything you could.” 

You didn’t really know what you could say to make him feel better. You wished there was something you could do, but you just didn’t know what.

“Guess my hands aren’t as gifted as I thought they were….” He mumbled against your hair. Running little trails around the exposed skin of your lower back with his finger tips.

It was a gentle touch. Something he usually did at night while you were laying together, but this time it was different for you. Lighting a fire deep down inside of you. Sparking something in you that you hadn’t felt in a very, very, long time.

Shifting your bodies to the point of you laying underneath him he kissed you deeply, slowly. Enough to make your toes curl. His tongue slowly exploring your mouth. His hands lightly brushing over the exposed skin on your side where your shirt rode up when he flipped you. You couldn’t stop yourself from melting into him. 

Pulling away he smiled at you softly and went to move off of you, not wanting to push you too hard. You reached up and grabbed his shirt pulling him back down into a more demanding kiss. This time stealing his breath away from him. 

“Why don’t you show me just how gifted those hands of yours are?” You told him. Running your fingers through his still damp hair. An impish smirk crossing his face as he hovered over you, staring down at you. 

“You sure baby? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this just to make me feel better.” Jensen said, but you could feel the outline of his impressive length pressed against your thigh. You knew he wanted this with you, and you more than anything tonight wanted it with him. It was time. You’d put it off as long as you needed to, probably too long, and you weren’t going to let fear rule you. 

“I’m sure.”

His lips were on yours again in an instance, his hands trailing up your sides. Taking with it your shirt until you had to sit up and let him throw it off of you. Your hands pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it somewhere across the room.

Your hands trailed up his thick, broad chest and shoulders as his fingertips lightly explored the skin of your breast.

“No bra sweetheart?” He asked you jokingly. You couldn’t help the giggle that exapted your lips as his finger tips tickled at your sides. When they ghosted over you. 

“They’re not very comfortable to sleep in”

“Oh I’m not complaining.” 

With that his soft lips wrapped around your exposed nipple sucking and licking at it lightly. Just enough to drive you crazy before moving on to the other breast. Your back arching into him as his hands roamed your skin. Leaving a trail of fire in their wake. All the way down to your panties. Pulling them down your leg and you kicked them off the rest of the way.

“Your so beautiful sweetheart.” 

His lips made their way up to your neck, and then to the sensitive skin behind your ear. 

His hands trailed from knee up the inside of your thigh. Grazing over your already wet folds before making their way down and up the other leg, and back again.

You were about to beg him to stop teasing you, but you never got it out. His fingers found your clit about the time you thought you couldn’t take anymore of his teasing, and a moan fell from your lips. 

He slowly worked you in slow circles. Barely touching you, then applying almost too much pressure. Sliding two of his thick fingers into your aching core. Curling them slowly as he thrust them in and out of you in an agonizingly slow rhythm. 

His thumb is still working your clit as he did. The coil building tightly in your stomach as you neared your release. Jensen kept on working you over building you hirer and hirer until you couldn't take it anymore and were thrown over the edge. Your mouth falling open in a noiseless moan, your body almost convulsing underneath him as he worked your through it. Not slowing his admisistrations. 

Even after you came down. Your body is over sensitive, and you tried to move away from him. He held you down to him. Slipping a third finger inside of you.

“Jensen I can’t” You said, your voice weak and hoarse.

“Yes you can sweetheart. Trust me, trust your body. Let me show you what these hands can really do.”

Before you could respond to him, he put the middle finger of his free hand in his mouth, and brought it down to your tight little whole. Rimming you a few times before inserting his finger slowly into your ass, building it up to the same pace as his hand that was currently still working you aching, over sensitive cunt over. Your body was shaking underneath him. A whole new sensation added to you. The pressure building in your lower half was almost painful, and were scared you were going to pee on him.

“Jensen….”

“Your right there sweetheart, let go.”

And with that you did. Your orgasm hitting you so hard you couldn’t even scream. Your vision blurring as he slowly worked your through, a gush of liquid leaving your body. Coating his hand hand forearm. 

When he pulled away from you, your body was still shaking. Coming to hover over you Jensen pushed the hair that was tuck to your sweaty forehead away from your face, and peppered you with little kisses. Waiting on you to fully come back to him.

When your vision finally came into focus again, you found his beautiful olive green eyes staring at you. Lust blown and hooded, but still piercing nonetheless.

“Hey.” You whispered to him. Still floating a little from the strongest orgasm you’d ever had in your life. 

“Hey, you okay?” He asked, and you nodded at him.

Spreading your legs with his knees he positioned himself between your thighs, his tip grazing over your entrance. While you were lost completely he must have shead the rest of his clothes…

“We can still stop if you want.” He whispered against your lips, but you placed yours to his. Kissing him to stop him from worrying over you. 

Slowly as to not hurt you, he slid himself into you inch by inch. Stealing and giving you time to adjust to him. He was massive, and he stretched you in a way that was almost painful, but was so satisfying all at the same time. 

Kissing your neck and jaw. You nodded at him. Letting him know it was okay to move. 

He pulled out of you almost all the way before sliding slowly back home. Repeating this action over and over again. Moans falling form both of your lips as he slowly picked up his pace. Driving you both towards your end with each deep thrust. 

The pain you scared of and worried over wasn’t there. Everything you were afraid of seemed so silly now. The only thing that was there was a deeper love for him than you had ever known was possible. 

It wasn’t long until that familiar burn had started in your lower abdomen the coil winding tight again as your walls started to flutter around his throbbing cock. Waves of pleasure hitting you with every drag of his manhood against your walls. His tip hitting your cervical wall as he brushed your G spot over and over again.

“Jensen.. I…”

“I know baby me too…”

Reaching between your connected bodies Jensen started making harsh circles over clit. With only two more thrust you were thrown over the edge again. His name falling from your lips like a prayer as he rode you through it. With only a few more thrust he was there with you. Stilling deep inside of you. His seed coating your walls. His body collapsing on top of yours. Barely holding his weight off of you on his forearms as he tried to regain control of his body.

Once you both had come back down from your high he pulled you close to his side. Hands trailing little patterns over your skin as you laid together. Skin against skin. Just enjoying being close to each other. 

Right there in that moment you were more sure than ever that EVERYTHING good and bad happens for a reason. It’s a journey, and it isn’t always easy, but if it weren’t for the bad. There would be no good. 

Even though your situation was scary to you, and harder than anything you’d ever gone through, you would have never found Jensen if it had never happened. 

Your life hand changed forever, all because two gifted hands were there to hold you through it, and because of that, if the outcome was the same, you’d go through it all over again. Just to get to him.

“I love you Jensen.”

“I love you too pretty girl….”

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Tag List:

@deanwanddamons​​ @imabitch4jensen​​ @rvgrsbrns​​ @bi-danvers0​​ @onethirstyunicorn​​ @i-love-superhero​​ @onethirstyunicorn​

[veiledpeaches]

chance encounters | part iii: what i mean when i say

Summary: Between pages of meddling friends and societal expectations, all she actually wants is to find a happily ever after with Doyoung, even if it feels like that is no longer possible.

part i x part ii x part iii x part iv x part v x part vi

word count: 4k

GIF originally posted by @lukhei​

Haewon’s day starts briefly like this – a backache verging on cataclysmic, a phone that is ringing off the hook and a thunderous sizzle from the kitchen that could be an auditory representation of Johnny cooking up a storm for no particular reason on a Saturday morning.

“Johnny Suh, you know you’re not allowed to touch the kitchen as long as I am in the house.” She gripes as she walks out of her bedroom upon washing up.

“It’s my house,” Johnny argues, just as he places a fork and knife on either side of the dish he has prepared for her. “And - you’re welcome. Johnny’s homemade blueberry pancakes.”

“Please, you should be thanking me,” she says, sliding all her hair across one shoulder and digging into the pancakes. “Plus, what if I wanted waffles? That would void your compensation.”

“I can make you waffles later if you want,” Johnny winks. “Although, we can argue that pancakes really don’t deserve such discrimination if waffles aren’t accorded the same breakfast ghettoization - they’re practically made of the same ingredients.”

Haewon studies him with narrowed eyes. “That good, huh?”

“Whaddya mean?” Johnny’s expression turns sheepish.

“Ghettoization?” She returns the question, moving her hair behind her shoulder and smirking, “you’re rambling, it’s written all over your face, you sad sad man-child.”

He jauntily sits himself on the chair in front of her, the grin on his face too pleased to be contrite. “It was good.”

“We really ought to soundproof your room, she literally woke me up-”

The lady in question chooses this opportune moment to make her presence known, sauntering up to Haewon and Johnny as she buckles her watch to her wrist. Haewon’s head whips towards Johnny with glaring eyes, while Johnny discreetly mouths an apology back to her. They had laid down the quintessential rule (the rule that makes all ground rules obsolete) when Haewon had moved in in early 2017 - staying over’s only okay after the fifth date; if you want to have a one-night stand, book yourself a hotel. This is Johnny’s second infraction of the year (not that Haewon is counting, she has too much of a life for that). She hears Johnny’s date of four times stop short in front of them.

“Youngho-ah, who’s this lady and what’s she doing eating your pancakes in her underwear?”

Haewon drops her gaze onto herself as Johnny stands to give the accuser a kiss on the temple. It’s clearly just a camisole that’s in question, though given what Johnny’s lover is planning to wear out of the apartment, it’s sort of audacious of her to bring this up when she’s really giving Haewon a run for her money.

“This is Haewon, baby, my roommate. I grew up with her back in the U.S.”

“Ah,” Said lover reaches her hand out to shake Haewon’s in an oddly formal manner, her coffin nails digging slightly into the back of her hand. Haewon guesses the sigh that emits from her lips right after she studies her has more to do with relief than recognition.

Shrugging internally, Haewon sits back down to finish her breakfast as she hears Johnny and his partner-she-can’t-give-a-name-to-‘cause-Johnny-said-no-labels kiss noisily and bid goodbye, as she eyes said partner’s figure. Yeap, Johnny’s definitely a titties man.

“It was a crime of passion, your honor!” Johnny dramatically pleads once the door shuts as Haewon shakes her head vigorously and mutters, “that’s not how you use it”.

“You’re cleaning the apartment the whole of next month,” Haewon insists, before her eyes widen as a thought flits into her head, “oh my God, you guys didn’t do it on the couch, did you-”

“Of course not! I’m not an animal!” Johnny pretends to be scandalized, “and, come on. It was 2am. I couldn’t kick her out of bed - what can I say, I’m a gentleman. A modern romantic.”

“I think you catastrophically misinterpret the word ‘romantic’.”

Despite the inflection, Johnny is, one-hundred percent, a hopeless romantic - something Haewon quickly learnt after witnessing the poor man get dumped over the phone a while after she had relocated to Seoul. Johnny believes in the concept of soulmates, the proverbial ‘one’, and an ancient concept that most people would currently refer to as ‘destiny’. The manifestation of his soulmate pursuit is countless dates and relationships, grandiose expressions of love and a penchant for serenading his lovers with roses from their windows - a gesture not every Korean woman appreciates especially at 11pm on a Thursday night.

“I think I’m gonna marry her, Haewon,” Johnny tells her now, with a sparkle in his eye, “I think she's the one.”

Haewon looks at him disbelievingly. “You’ve been on four dates, John.”

“I know, but it feels so right, you know?” He smiles softly in a moment of clairvoyance, standing up to clear their plates. “Speaking of marrying someone, isn’t there something you need to do on Monday?”

Haewon rolls her eyes. Subtlety has never been his strong suit.

There’s a reason Johnny has been calling Monday D-day for the past week, and repeatedly using phrases that border on annoying such as ‘it’s go time’ and ‘let’s get it’. Monday would mark the return of a highly anticipated Kim Doyoung, and Johnny is adamant that Haewon should tell Doyoung, especially since Inhee has not confessed about what she's done.

“Isn’t it possible that she might want to tell him face-to-face?”

“If it was me,” Johnny straddles the chair in mock confrontation, balancing his arms on the seat. “If this was me, would you be saying something so naïve?”

“But it’s not you-”

“If the conditions were the same, but it was me instead of Doyoung, you know you would tell me in a heartbeat. And I would appreciate it, Haewon, just as he would.”

“You’re not doing this for yourself,” he looks at Haewon with a seriousness that silences her. “Don’t beat yourself up over something you have no reason to. You’re doing it for Doyoung.”

“The moment he reaches work, you march into his office, and you tell him truthfully what you saw. No one can accuse you of anything when you’re just being truthful.”

There’s a sign on the wall at the far right corner of the office that says “There’s no room for losers”. It’s a signature Fulworth saying, especially when things get tough at work. 

Haewon has never felt particularly perturbed by it until now. She can almost hear the enunciation of the word ‘losers’ in his low, gruff voice.

Unlike Johnny’s prediction, Haewon’s will isn’t the only thing stopping her from talking to Doyoung about his fiancée when Monday comes. The issue turns out to be a lot less 1980s-movie-dramatic than they had expected – a case of timing.

Doyoung has been in and out of meetings since he entered the office after lunch.

It’s not even like Haewon has been systematically avoiding him. Doyoung barely had a chance to say hi to her and update her about the situation at Bertsman when he had been whisked away by a very anxious Lee Donghyuck, who had been held in trepidation for the last two weeks due to the declining sales figures. Haewon had laughed, gotten back to the copy she had been working on for Cho Young Jun’s book press release, her stomach lurching at the thought of what she had to do later.

There's no room for losers, the neat cursive print stares back at her from the wall.

It’s only hours later, when the sky has turned pitch black and the hour hand on the clock has pointed to ten, that Haewon begrudgingly creaked her joints into motion as she made her way to the Managing Editor’s office, cursing Johnny and all that he stood for as a person.

“Haewon!” Doyoung’s lips breaks into a smile and stands up suddenly, with only the harsh light from the desk lamp illuminating his face. “I thought I told you to leave at six, I don’t even know when I can leave the office…”

“Doyoung works late every night. We hardly spend much time in the same room anymore. We don’t even talk anymore, about our lives and our work.”

“Boss, you just got back late last night. You should rest.” She tries, “and, well, your fiancée might be waiting up…”

“It’s okay, Inhee understands,” Doyoung laughs, “besides, I sort of have to undo literally everything the Bertsman employees have done. That’s what I’ve been saying, you can’t trust any one of their employees, they don’t do things the way we do,” he smirks.

Haewon smiles softly at him, even if he cannot see, his eyes trailing after the lines on the paper in front of him.

“Ah, but what can I do? I’m just a worker ant.” He flops his arms around, as if mimicking an actual worker ant.

This action doesn’t bring Haewon laughter as she had expected. Instead, her heart feels like it’s been wrung, the sudden tightening in her chest inexplicable. She doesn’t know if it’s a biological reaction, but tears have started to fill her eyes, and there seems to be nothing else she can do but blink them back.

This is the Doyoung that Haewon has fallen in love with, all five foot ten of him, gummy smile and square shoulders, a kind boss and a workaholic - but how real her feelings are doesn’t and cannot negate how ill-placed the same feelings are in their situation. Here he is, looking at her, grinning at her, as her vision blurs. In that moment, she swears she hears something in her break; a small, clean sound, like the snapping of a flower’s stem.

“Oh by the way, you really need to get back to me on the wedding,” he laughs breathily, “I really need that RSVP-”

“I can’t go.” The words leave her before she realizes, breath seeming to return to her lungs temporarily. “I… I can’t attend your wedding.”

His face falls.

“Oh, you have something that day?” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“No, I…” She looks down, licking her lips and inhaling shakily. “I can't attend your wedding, because…”

“Haewon.”

“Because… Because I like you.”

She hears more than sees his reaction, the pen in his hand slipping through his fingers and thudding gently onto the carpeted floor. “Haewon.”

“Because I like you,” her voice is still shaky, but there’s a part of her that’s calmer than ever before. “I can’t attend your wedding.”

She lifts her gaze to meet his, but Doyoung’s expression remains unreadable. She feels her jaw start to quiver, and clenches down on it.

“I like you, Doyoung. I like you so much that I can’t sleep, can’t think. I like you, I want to be with you, but you know what I also want?” She lets out a shaky breath, “I want you to be happy…”

It’s not like a leaky faucet, or a dam breaking. Instead, it’s like the little Dutch boy had pulled his finger out of her chest, because suddenly everything inside her is spilling out at once.

“But I see you everyday,” she shuts her eyes, and the tears flow at their will, “I don’t… know… what to do. Believe me, if I could will these feelings away, I would. I don’t want to feel so pathetic, I don’t want to like you like this.

“But I’ve also realized that I can’t be that… person, who stands on the sidelines and watches as you marry someone else - I can’t, I couldn’t do that to myself. I’m sorry. This is so out of line and you probably don’t want to hear this.” She inhales shakily, shutting her eyes as she pauses. “I’m sorry for telling you this… I just… I just needed you to know.”

Doyoung looks at her as if in a daze, his own lips quivering, until almost immediately, his head falls and he inhales sharply, as if giant invisible scissors had cut off his marionette strings.

“Why… Why now.”

Her eyes widen. “What do you-”

“Why are you telling me this, Haewon?” Doyoung looks at her like she’s missing a point, like she’s the most breakable thing in the world. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Her eyes sting with fresh tears. She can feel something rising in her throat - a sob, a scream - but she bites it back, shutting her eyes so tightly there are almost tears that refuse to escape. She hates herself for crying, for showing any weakness here, for thinking she ever had a shot with someone like him.

There's no room for losers, but in that moment, she can’t help but feel like she has become one.

It’s Friday, finally the end of the week.

She softly clicks the pen in her hand open and close, drifting in and out as Huang Renjun drones on and on about the press kits they are planning to prepare for the media and why the Marketing Department needed more of the budget to be allocated to them.

This meeting has lasted way too long, and it feels even longer with Doyoung right next to her, the sleeve of his jacket inches away from hers. He's scribbling down notes diligently, making her existence in the meeting obsolete - it’s been like this the whole week, and Haewon is exhausted. She knows what Doyoung is doing, how he’s taking meeting minutes down like someone who doesn’t have an assistant so he doesn’t have to ask her for them later. Despite the promise of putting what happened behind them on Monday, she’s entirely aware that things will never be the same again.

The envelope sitting in her bag is still warm, its contents only freshly printed this morning. She vaguely hears Kim Jungwoo asking a question before all eyes are suddenly turned towards her.

All, but Doyoung's.

She looks around the room, befuddled, while feeling Yuta’s foot nudge hers gently, presumably to get her to speak.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally says.

“Manager Kim asked if you had too much on your plate,” the timid intern next to Kim Jungwoo speaks up, “and if you were willing to undertake more of the comms with Cho Young Jun himself.”

She opens her mouth, surprised, and turns to Kim Jungwoo.

“As we were saying, before you spaced out on us,” he laughs good-naturedly, “we let him read the copy you wrote and he likes it. He specified that he wants to work with you.”

Haewon’s gaze drops to her notebook, where a messily scrawled question blinks back at her. Today or next week? She blinks, momentarily realizing that the decision presented to her now accounted for more in the future than she had thought.

“I… That would be a great opportunity for me, thank you.”

Kim Jungwoo grins. “Don’t thank me, your boss told the boy that you were highly supportive of his work. Of course he would be excited to work with you.”

She turns towards Doyoung, a wide-eyed Doyoung, a Doyoung who only looks back at her now, his eyes not betraying any emotion.

There’s something about placing the envelope on his desk that makes it so official, a breath of fresh air that comes from a gesture that’s so unabashedly melodramatic and passé. Doyoung eyes the envelope warily, clearly this was not something he had imagined.

“Why is it… addressed to me? Why isn’t it in an email?” Doyoung drops his glasses onto his desk, pressing his fingers gently against his eyelids. “Why… What is this, Haewon?”

“I just…” She licks her lips. “I just wanted to make sure you received it, is all.”

Doyoung looks at her for a moment, then gets up and shuts the door of his office, before clicking on the button below his desk, rendering the glass office translucent.

“Tell me, Haewon, what is this about? Is it because of Monday?”

She winces, remembering the state of mess she had reduced herself to that night. The only thing more pathetic than confessing to someone who’s engaged, is confessing to someone who’s engaged while crying.

“No, boss, of course not. I thought we agreed to put it behind us.”

“I thought we did too,” he says, sighing and standing with his hands on his waist. “Then what’s this about? I mean, do you want… a raise? What can I-”

“No no no, please don’t think that way. I applied for a Literary Arts Masters’ at Brown University,” Doyoung’s remains bewildered. “I want to be a writer, and, I want to study for it.”

Doyoung inhales shakily. “I mean, I know you wanted to write, but… You should have told me about this. I would’ve written you a letter of recommendation…”

“Well I got in,” she shrugs and smiles, “and… I want to do it. I’ll be admitted in the fall, so I’m moving soon.”

It’s almost like she can see the gears shifting in Doyoung’s head, the mental calculations as apparent. “Is that what you wanted to tell me on Monday? When you came into my office, is that the, well,” he licks his lips, “more technical reason why you can’t come to my wedding?”

Not entirely, she thinks. “Well, it’s one of them.”

Doyoung settles himself back into his chair, absentmindedly rearranging the stationery on his desk. “I don’t want a new assistant.”

Her heart sinks. “I know you’re stressed. I’m sorry, and… this feels irresponsible, that I didn’t tell you this earlier. Thing is, I didn’t really believe I would get in, and I got my letter so late, so now I only have the next three months…” She pauses, realizing that none of this should be important in the discussion. “That’s why I’m giving you a month’s notice instead of the required two weeks, I’m sorry that this is what I can only leave you with, but I want to help as much as I can. I swear, boss, I’ll get handovers done as best as I can, whether the recruitment is internal or external, I’ll make sure the transition is as smooth as possible for you-”

“No, I mean…” Doyoung stands up, the pinstripes of his suit bouncing against the light as he does, and walks slowly towards Haewon, standing right in front of her.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

If there's anything she'll miss, it's how Doyoung always leaves her breathless. The sincerity in his eyes twinkling like unshed tears, the way he just looks softly at her like this, his lips pursed tightly and making the small, almost unnoticeable scar by the corner of his lips more prominent. This is the Doyoung that makes her heart soar, an unspoken tenderness dancing across his features. But with this Doyoung also comes an unmistakable truth glaring right back at her.

“No one is irreplaceable, Doyoung,” she starts, a lump rising in her throat, “especially not me. And I think it’s clear that this week has proven that we are no longer able to work together properly because of my feelings and the awkwardness that it has caused.”

“I was trying to give you space-”

“I don’t need space, Doyoung!”

“What was I supposed to say? What am I supposed to say, Haewon? I’m engaged!”

He looks at her for a long time, then sighs and turns away exasperatedly, tears darting in his eyes.

And there it is - the bubble that has popped, the pink elephant in the room. Because the truth is, from start to finish, as selfish and morally repugnant as it is, Haewon had foolishly hoped for a future with this man somehow in some way, even when it had never been possible.

“You’re right,” Haewon feels her eyes sting, but she has promised herself that she is not going to cry in front of Doyoung ever again. They aren’t close enough for that.

“No, you’re right, I’m sorry, I don't know what I was expecting, why I said what I said.” She shakes her head, attempting to breathe again.

“Besides, your engagement isn’t the only thing standing in the way of anything happening between us.”

Doyoung looks up immediately. “What do you mean by that?”

Haewon winces and swallows, unwilling to spell it out. “I mean, you don’t… feel the same way, at all.”

There comes a point when things are undeniable and can't be hidden any longer, even from yourself.

“I never should have told you about it,” her voice comes out as a whisper this time, unintentionally intimate.

“I’m sorry - even with everything that I said that day, it only occurred to me after, how truly stupid and inappropriate it was… in the office, no less.” Doyoung begins to shake his head, but she continues. “I don't have an excuse for it, I’m sorry - but I swear I’m not… for the lack of a better word, punishing you or anyone else with my resignation. Even before telling you, I was bent on moving overseas for the degree. So Doyoung, you really don’t have to feel guilty or anything - you don’t owe me anything, I shouldn’t have said anything.

“At the same time… The chance for me to pursue my dream is too rare to give up on.

“You’ve done so well before I came into your life, you’re gonna be okay.”

Doyoung averts his gaze away once again, putting his hands into his pockets, and alternating between resting his weight on his left and right foot.

“You’re wrong, you know, you’ve never been more wrong.”

“I’m sorry?”

He finally looks up, his eyes filled with sadness enough to keep Haewon from taking a step out of his office. Outside, phones are ringing and people are talking, noisy and continuous and completely unaware. But here, there is a Doyoung who looks at her like she could break easily, as he contemplates whether or not the next words have to be said, if at all.

“You said no one is irreplaceable, but you’re irreplaceable to me.”

It’s finally down to the last week of her work - and a part of Haewon feels guilty to admit that it is a relief.

This is what Doyoung and Haewon has been reduced to - two people who would rather send each other emails than talk face-to-face, even if it’s about work. On the bright side - if there is one - the diminished duties mean that Haewon has been given ample time to interview, recruit and train Doyoung’s new assistant - a dogged 25-year-old fresh graduate with a double major in Journalism and Communications who has an unhealthy obsession with cars, whom the younger estrogen-infused female interns label “daddy material”.

“Ready?” Johnny smiles as he shoves his keys in his pants pocket.

She slides her bag across her shoulder and looks at him up and down. “Johnny, you’re not ready.”

“Oh right! Shit,” Johnny mumbles to himself, rushing to his room to get his shirt.

It’s 8.25am, which means that Johnny’s definitely going to be late, since he’ll drop Haewon off at her office first, but Johnny doesn’t really seem to care. She laughs to herself, picking up her phone just as a message notification chimes.

Haewon, I’m so sorry I can’t tell you this myself, but I will be on personal leave for the entire week. I know you’re mostly done with handovers and training Jeno, but I’ll need you to hold the fort for this last week - just check your email, you’ll understand everything. I’m so sorry I can’t be here for your last week. Thank you.

Personal leave? What kind of emergency would-

“Haewon!” Johnny jogs out of his room, his phone and shirt in his hands. “Did you know?”

His eyes are wide with shock, his mouth open. He swallows, taking in Haewon’s equally baffled expression.

“I just got a call from my Mom. The wedding’s off…”

xx

w/n: dear friends, please do not zone out in meetings. it doth not helpeth thee.

also, johnny is a giant teddy bear

come scream at me!! here :-)

[pasteljeon]

Kura’s Ultimate BTS Fic Rec List - PART 1

Long overdue, here I present to you (part one of) the ultimate list (in no particular order) of authors & fics I’ve read and collected since joining Tumblr. These are people I admire, and whose works I find are beautifully, artistically written. Split into 3 parts bc tumblr said no to me and my fat list. 

Please do check them out and their entire masterlists when you get the chance, this is just a list of my absolute favourites from them! 

[Please also note most of these are rated m.]

Happy reading!

➢ Updated: 05.05.2019

♡ - Super Saiyan Highly Recommended

Author: @happy-meo

Masquerade I : 4/4 ↠ To secretly relieve your stress about your single life and your hard times at work, you cave and decide to give this mysteriously alluring club a chance. At Club Masquerade, you can indulge in your fantasies and indulge in who you really want to be without strings attached. So when you waltz in and realize you’re not exactly sure what you want, two of their best hosts swoop in and are more than willing to help you figure it out… But it seems you’re not the only one keeping secrets in your office.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader/Hoseok | Smut, fluff, mild angst

Masquerade II: Welcome to Burlesque & Balls : 8/8 ↠ Being the receptionist of Club Masquerade and working as a barista wasn’t quite enough to make your ends meet comfortably, so when a new place opens up nearby that’s looking for attractive females to perform in a neo-Burlesque club, you jumped at the chance for a new job and a chance to do something more than sitting behind a desk or counter. But just like your financial status, your love life wasn’t all too great either. When it seemed like all hope was lost, fate had other plans for you. Unexpected suitors waltzed into your life in various ways, and unbeknownst to each of them, you play the field, hoping to overcome your fears and finally find Mr. Right among them… But it seems you’re not the only one keeping secrets. 

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader/Taehyung | Smut, fluff, mild angst

Masquerade III : 7/7 ↠ With Club Masquerade’s original hosts “graduating” one at a time, it’s up to the newcomers to pick up the slack and keep the customers happy. And who better to take the reins than the notorious Red Mask’s prodigy, Jeon Jungkook. But things become a bit difficult when you come into the picture, with your desire to do research on the rules of love and dating through your experience with your host. Will Jungkook be able to satisfy your curiosities… or will someone else?

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Mystery BTS member | Smut, fluff, mild angst

Masquerade IV: The Dark Side : 6/6 ↠ You were never lucky in love. Through disastrous dates, consistent unrequited crushes, and broken relationships, you’ve constantly been searching for someone to give you genuine love and romance. And through it all, one person had remained your constant shoulder to lean on. Although you had never seen his face, he had given you a sense of confidence and a place of comfort in Club Masquerade. The more times you’ve failed in love though, the more you realized that may be no one would ever choose you. However, one fateful encounter, thanks to your dog, made you want to hope one more time. Did fate bring you to the one who would finally end your streak of being broken-hearted? Or had the right guy been with you all along?

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader/Taehyung | Smut, fluff, mild angst

“First Meetings” Series : 7/7 ↠ How you first met them. | Fluff

Namjoon | Jin | Taehyung :“Sunflower Boy” | J-Hope : “Sun & Moon” | Jungkook : “Picture Perfect” | Yoongi : “Infires” | Jimin : “Flights & Fate”

Hug Me : 1/1 ↠ You and Hoseok were married, but the married life you thought you would be living is nonexistent now. You two were like strangers living in the same house. You knew his heart was no longer yours, but you still loved him. When the end of your marriage was near, you made him promise to stay with you for just one more month. One month was all you needed to finally let him go.

Sequel - Forgive Me : 1/1 ↠ How can one gain forgiveness from someone who is no longer in a position to give it? How can one be forgiven if they refuse to forgive themselves? How can one move forward to the future… if the past was so much better?

     → Pairing: Hoseok/Reader | Angst

Author: @jungk0oksthighs

Jealous : 2/2 ↠ domestic au

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut

Withdrawal : 1/1 ↠ Yoongi had been your brother’s supplier for years, you were familiar with his name and reputation but never cared enough to meet the man who was indirectly tearing your family apart. That was until your brother got himself into trouble, real trouble, and you found yourself on Yoongi’s doorstep with a very tempting offer. If he cleared your brother’s debts he would get the one thing he never even knew he wanted. You.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Smut, angst, dark themes | druglord au

Infidelity : 1/1 ↠ You and Jin had been divorced for a year but you’re forced to see each other when your son is found cheating on a test. After being called into school you both agree to make more of an effort being civil with each other, but it’s not long before history repeats itself. Family dinners turn into stolen kisses and ruffled bedsheets, but there’s one problem with your new arrangement. Jin’s wife.

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Smut, angst, infidelity

Author: @floralseokjin ♡ 

Of the Sol : 1/1 ↠ A runaway, you’re not accustomed to the way the kind village that took you in live their life—worshipping and celebrating the dragons’ descendants. A story you only ever thought was legend, is that of real life, and you’ve fallen in love with one of this century’s dragon kin. The baker’s son, Kim Seokjin.; or alternatively, Seokjin is hiding a gold dragon dick under all that clothing…

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Smut, fluff | dragon!jin

The Devil Wears Armani : 5/5 ↠ You never imagined accidentally attempting to sell your soul to the devil would lead to this…

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Smut, fluff, mild angst | devil!jin, devil au

Memoirs of a Mistake : 16/16 ↠ A series of hook ups with Kim Seokjin, the college’s biggest fuckboy…

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Smut | college au, fwb au

Sequel - Lostmyhead : 1/1 ↠ Kim Seokjin is the worst thing you’ve ever done, quite literally. Hooking up with him—continuously, for months, is something you regret doing. Mainly because you now have a boyfriend and have seen the error of your ways (mistake!). However, even then, you can’t seem to escape him…or say no for that matter…;or alternatively, Jin somehow convinces you and Yoongi to have a threesome with him…

Pairing: Jin/Reader/Yoongi | Smut

Final - Crystallised : 3/7 ↠ Six weeks, that’s all it takes to forget about the threesome you shared with your boyfriend, Yoongi, and your past…fuckbuddy, Seokjin. After all, it’s no big deal. Yoongi and you are doing better than ever, there’s no reason to regret such a night shared. That is until you hear some gossip in the library one day, and then slowly, little by little, everything starts to fall apart… Can you begin to make sense out of all this confusion, or is it too late?

Pairing: Jin/Reader/Yoongi | Smut, fluff, angst | love triangle au

Best of Me : 1/1 ↠  Jimin has been in love with you, his best friend, since as long as he can remember. Struggling with his feelings he makes a terrible mistake, but maybe there’s a silver lining…? Maybe he can make you see what’s right in front of you…

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader ft. Hoseok | Smut, angst | unrequited love au, cheating au, f2l au

Sleepy ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Jungkook’s never too sleepy for sex.

      → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | domestic au

Author: @avveh

The Secrets Trilogy ♡ : 3/3 ↠ Park Jimin is the office’s oddball. Meek and quiet as a mouse, you never assume too much of him. Your mistake.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, angst

Room for Dessert : 4/4 ↠ A boring company dinner gets a little bit spicy when you notice the tension between you and your table’s waiter.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, light angst | waiter!jungkook

Author: @sodoyouknowbts

One Night Stand : 12/12 ↠ A one night stand with Kim Taehyung turns into something you never would’ve expected.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Smut, fluff | arranged marriage au

Autumn Night : 1/1 ↠ You attend an event to support Namjoon, who is the keynote speaker for the night. You can’t help but feel insecure about the attention and the advances he is receiving from the girls he lectures. You attempt to leave the event early, but he stops you, intent on reminding you exactly what you mean to him.

     → Pairing: Namjoon/Reader | Smut, fluff

Timelines : 8/8 ↠ Jin is a time traveler, trying to get a grip of his ability. He can’t quite figure out why he keeps travelling to times and moments with you.

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Fluff | time traveller au, soulmates au

Author: @army-author ♡

Puppy Loving : 1/1 ↠ Cuddling wouldn’t be complete without Min Holly, Yoongi’s dog, getting in your way.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Fluff

Sequel - Puppy Bites Don’t Hurt Much : 1/1 ↠ When you and Yoongi fall out, Min Holly’s on a mission to make things right again.

Final - Pitter Patter of Tiny Paws : 1/1 ↠ Min Holly’s family is gaining a new member.

Mutual Muses : 1/1 ↠ After helping a young busker one Christmas, he goes on to earn fame and fortune. But he hasn’t forgotten you, or your kind deed.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Fluff | heir au

One Minute under the Mistletoe : 1/1 ↠ You say you don’t want to get back together with Taehyung, but your friends and the mistletoe above your head say otherwise...

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Fluff | boarding school au

Author: @dovechim ♡

Miss Communication : 1/1 ↠ Poly relationships can be complicated. Especially one where there’s an established hierarchy, and someone decides to break the rules. In a series of miscommunications between your boyfriends, you find yourself being the conveyor of peace, and something else that isn’t quite what you expected.

     → Pairing: Namkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | domestic au

Reset : 1/1 ↠ We are made of the pieces of what we remember, and we hold in ourselves the hopes and fears of those who love us. As long as there are memories to call our own, there can be no true loss. But Park Jimin has no such privilege.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, angst | college au

A Serpent’s Flower (co-written w/ @jimlingss) : 2/2 ↠ The wizarding community has learned from its past mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t mean that house rivalries aren’t still an issue. What transpires between you and a certain Park Jimin seems to go far beyond just house enmity though - it’s downright personal, and one might even say you go out of your way to torment him. But when a love potion goes awry, it may just force you to walk in his shoes.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Fluff, smut | hogwarts au, hufflepuff!jimin, slytherin!reader, e2l au

Sequel - Sowing a Sapling ♡ (co-written w/ @jimlingss) : 2/2 ↠ What no one told you about ‘Happily Ever After’s’: the next day, you’ll still have to wake up and go about your life as per normal, because life isn’t a fairytale. You thought you had the rest of your life figured out: settling down happily with Jimin, ruling over all of Hogwarts with an iron fist as the Potions Master, and maybe, in the very distant future, starting a family of your own. But life, as usual, decides to throw a wrench in your plans. With a baby on the way and your husband insistently refusing all attempts at initiating sex, the arrival of a gorgeous new student teacher spells disaster for your marriage. If getting married to Park Jimin was the happiest day of your lfie, what does it say about the rest of your life?

Discipline and Punish : 1/1 ↠ When your brat of a boyfriend shows up unexpectedly at your workplace, you decide you have to teach him a lesson.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | sub jungkook

Edge : 1/1 ↠ Babyboy!Jungkook 

Songbird : 1/1 ↠ Vocal line basically takes turns breeding you. 

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Jimin/Jin/Taehyung/Reader | breeding au

Dark Side of the Moon : 1/1 + 4/4 drabbles ↠ Falling in love at first sight is cliche, not until it happens to you on a dark night in a lonely alley. But you’re only human, while Park Jimin is Alpha of his pack; it could never work out. so you resort to pining for him like a wolf howling at the moon, but when Jimin goes feral, that’s when everything changes.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | werewolf au

The Airport Couple ♡ (co-written w/ @jimlingss) : 2/2 (1): The P[ass]enger from Hell ↠ As a TSA agent, you expect your job to be relatively easy, most passengers these days follow the rules to the T in order to avoid prolonging their custom checks. But not a certain Park Jimin, who seems to have a problem understanding what 100ml is, or the very simple fact that gadgets must be taken out of the bag, and bomb jokes are strictly off limits. Frequent traveller Park Jimin is your nemesis, but darn is he a cute one.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | frequent traveller!jimin, tsa agent!reader

(2): Park Jimin’s Cock[pit] ↠ Talk about Angry Birds, and most people would immediately think of the mobile game app. But within your circle of friends, it stands for something else. It’s synonymous with Park Jimin, one of the most talented pilots from your batch who also just happens to have anger issues, or in other words, air rage. He is your best friend, but when you get teamed up with him as his co-pilot, you can only pray things don’t go south ... literally.

Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | pilot au

Author: @jungblue

Hidden Stars : 5/5 ↠ It started out simple, but when your feelings start to grow for the idol who isn’t allowed to date, things get complicated.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader ft. Yoongi | Smut, angst | idolverse

The T-Shirt Thief : 1/1 ↠ In the midst of your loneliness due to Taehyung’s absence, you decide that you need a distraction, which somehow manifests itself as going over to his apartment and stealing a t-shirt or two… or three…

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Smut, Fluff | idolverse

I Hate You, I Love You ♡ : 5/5 ↠ You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends… and you’re absolutely in love with him; he’s in love too—just not with you.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | cheating au, best friends au

The Devil’s Change Up : 1/1 ↠ Majoring in athletic training means you have mandatory observation hours to perform with every single sports team at your school throughout the year, and so far it’s been going pretty great. However, when regrets from your past cause your rotation with the baseball team to become a little rocky, there’s one star pitcher who says that he can make it all better.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | college au, baseball player!jungkook

Author: @kittae

Carnal Cupidity ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Things are a little tense in your relationship with your boyfriend, an alpha wolf and leader of his own pack. After another fight, you’ve had just about enough and decide to take matters into your own hands when his heat approaches. Your methods, however, prove to be more effective than intended…

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Smut, fluff | werewolf au

Anemia : 2/2 ↠ Jungkook is a bored and thirsty vampire, desperate for something new, something fresh. And let there just be a new girl at his favorite stripclub. You.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | vampire au

Heavy Petting : 1/1 ↠ Your boyfriend is not just a cat hybrid, he’s also very needy! When you come home from work and you expect him to be all over you, you’re fairly disappointed to find he prefers a nap over some well-deserved quality time. You’ll make sure to pay him back for that.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | hybrid au | sub jimin

Author: @gimmesumsuga ♡

Sweeter than Sweet ♡ : 80/? ↠ You never would have expected someone like Park Jimin to notice you.  As handsome and beguiling as he is deadly, you’re enthralled from the very moment you meet.  Addicted to his kiss and his bite, Jimin opens up your eyes to a whole new world of love, lust and seduction.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader/Yoongi | Smut, fluff | vampire au

See You ♡ : 2/2 ↠ The one where Taehyung notices you at a concert, and can’t help but want to see you again.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Smut, fluff | idolverse

Orectic : 1/1 ↠ The one where you’re a hybrid in heat, and Hobi helps you out.

     → Pairing: Hoseok/Reader | Smut, fluff | hybrid au

Turn it Up : 1/1 ↠ The one where Jimin takes care of you - and you take care of him.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | sub jimin

Author: @hobibliophile

Blue Blooded : 2/2 ↠ You’ve been happily married to Crown Prince Seokjin for months now. Or so it would appear to the public. What only you and the palace staff know your shameful secret: you never consummated your marriage.

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Smut, fluff | royalty au, prince!jin

Not what it looks like : 1/1 ↠ You run into the campus clown Taehyung when he’s in a weird situation but it’s really not what it looks like. Turns out, Taehyung is not what he looks like either.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Fluff | college au

Try Hard ♡ : 2/2 ↠ Yoongi asks you to help him photograph the university rugby team, and you’re reluctant until you see Jeon Jungkook in uniform. Damn.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | college au, rugby player!jungkook

Author: @inktae ♡

Blue Orchids ♡ : 1/1 + 2/2 drabbles ↠ Hanahaki disease au, soulmate au

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst | unrequited love au

The Blue Notebooks : 1/1 ↠ Time travel au

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Angst

The Raindrop Prelude : 1/1 ↠ Pianist au

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Fluff, angst

Author: @jincherie ♡

Silly Kitty : 2/2 ↠ When your friend Jungkook asks you for a favour you aren’t quite expecting it to end with you taking home the handsome cat hybrid he found in an alley.

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Fluff | hybrid au

Timid ♡ : 1/1 + 2/2 drabbles ↠ Jimin was by far the cutest person you’d ever seen, but he always seemed to avoid you, dodging activities and events that included you. That changes when his home is compromised and he finds himself staying with you while it’s being repaired.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Fluff | hybrid au

Butterfingers : 1/1 ↠ He had you at the first pebble he gave you.

     → Pairing: Namjoon/Reader | Fluff | hybrid au, teacher au

Wanted ♡ : 6/6 ↠ You were a deserter, a renegade, a wanted “criminal”. It was never in your plans to crash land on that planet, and it most certainly wasn’t in your plans to fall in love with it’s handsome ruler.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | space au, alien au, soulmate au

A Well Oiled Machine : 2/2 ↠ Your life takes a bit of a turn when you stumble upon an android in pieces, hidden in an alleyway in an area known for its shadows and debauchery. Taking him home to fix him might have been the best decision you’d ever made, but perhaps there was a little more to the android JK01-97 than you’d initially thought.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | robot au, futuristic au, sub jungkook

Under the Bridge : 1/1 ↠ Your life takes a turn for the better one night when you find a bun under the bridge.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | hybrid au

Tentacledipity : 4/7 ↠ This tale starts, as any good fiction does, with a girl crash landing on a foreign planet. And, like any good fiction, it follows a theme of serendipitous happening, and tentacles. Behold, serendipity and tentacles— or dare we call it…. tentacledipity.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | wanted au, alien au, space au, soulmate au

Author: @gukyi ♡

Start Anew : 1/1 ↠ It’s been five years since you left your hometown, vowing never to return, but a simple invitation to a Christmas party and a yearning to know whether or not you’re truly over the heartbreak you left behind has you wondering if, maybe, the Christmas spirit and promise of a new beginning can change your mind.

     → Pairing: Jin/Reader | Fluff, angst | exes au

I’ll give you my heart : 1/1 ↠ Gift exchanges are cool. gift exchanges with your ceo-slash-best friend Min Yoongi are less cool, because what the hell are you supposed to get the man that already has everything?

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Fluff | ceo au, f2l au, christmas au

Heart is where the home is : 1/1 ↠ When you woke up this morning, you didn’t really picture yourself falling in love with the attractive, well-read traveller sitting next to you on the plane, but a missed connection and an alarming amount of hand-holding later, you find that you both get a lot more than what you paid for.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Fluff, smut | airport au, s2l au

Pen Pals : 1/1 ↠ To put it simply, pretending to be Jungkook’s pen pal when you were both eight just so he wouldn’t be disappointed was a bad idea, because now he’s in love with them. or, well, you, he just doesn’t know it

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | high school au, f2l au

Love, Guaranteed : 1/1 ↠ With the celestial ball quickly approaching, Kim Taehyung is horrified to find out that you, his best friend, are dateless. to remedy this, he initiates The Match Project, a matchmaking service designed to find the most optimal date. to you, it’s an opportunity to meet someone else so you can stop pining after your clueless best friend. To him, it’s an opportunity to finally, once and for all, tell you how he feels.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Fluff, mild angst | f2l au, hogwarts au

Author: @the95liner

Watch Me, Watch You : 3/3 ↠ “Mr. Park, I currently have a 4.0 (A/N: this means 85%+ btw to all the non-american readers) in all my classes of the last four years of my university career, I have one friend, no boyfriend and I haven’t had sex in more than six months. All because I can’t find time to spare for these things since I’m continuously working on assignments, essays and studying for upcoming midterms. I am a hundred percent serious with you right now when I plead for you to give me a second chance or at least consider raising my mark to a decent grade.—”

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff, angst | college au, TA!jimin, camboy!jimin

We don’t talk anymore : 1/1 ↠ Ever since he had seen you play the piano for your music class, he’d been inspired by the complete look of tranquility that conquered your features as your fingered danced across the keyboard. He had made that tranquility his soul purpose of drawing. He dreamt of capturing that expression and gifting it to you.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst, fluff | best friends au, artist!jungkook

Author: @tayegi ♡

What am I to you? : 1/1 ↠ Idolverse, amnesia au.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Angst

Cobalt and Charcoal : 1/1 ↠ Soulmate au.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader ft. Jungkook | Angst, smut

The Golden Boy ♡ : 3/3 + 1/1 drabbles ↠ medical (?) au, fwb au, childhood friends au.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Angst, smut | arranged marriage au, unrequited love au

In Bloom ♡ : 3/3 ↠ Werewolf au.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst 

Roommates ♡ : 3/3 ↠ Roommates au, f2l au.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst 

Equilibrium pt. 1, Polyamory ♡ : 14/14 ↠ Loosely based on Woody Allen’s Vicky Cristina Barcelona.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Jimin | Smut, angst

New Rules ♡ : 12/? ↠ Fratboy!Jungkook.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | college au, fwb au

Elements ♡ : 24/? ↠ Circle of magic au, boarding school au.

     → Pairing: OT7 (?)/Reader | Fluff, angst, mystery | magic au

Author: @namjoonchronicles

Iris : 2/2 ↠ Jungkook made it clear to you, who is chasing who. His inability to show PDA made you question your worth. Until one day, you’ve finally had enough.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst | idolverse

Good Guy : 1/1 ↠ Having a baby with namjoon is your lifelong dream, but medical conditions don’t make that possible anytime soon. what happens when your ex boyfriend being a single dad, comes into your life? How will Namjoon handle his jealousy?

     → Pairing: Namjoon/Reader ft. Chanyeol | Angst, fluff | domestic au

Author: @bwitten

Learning Curve : 1/1 ↠ Switch!Jungkook. Pwp.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut

Author: @mrsmon

Little Lights : 1/1 ↠ Angst.

     → Pairing: Namjoon/Reader

Heartbreak : 1/1 ↠ Angst.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader

Author: @taesthetes ♡

Imbroglio ♡ : 1/1 ↠ The first impression is always important. But so is the second.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Fluff | office au, intern au

The Universe of Us ♡ : 1/1 ↠ The story of Icarus tells of a naive being who loved the sun and flew too close, leading to his untimely descent into the ocean. But what the tale didn’t speak of was how the sun and the moon fell in love with him, too. And with the pull of the tides due to the attraction of the sun and the moon, he tosses and turns, torn between two entities.So if Kim Taehyung embodies the sun, then Jeon Jungkook is the moon.And you are Icarus. 

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader ft. Jungkook | Fluff, angst | fantasy au, slice of life au

Law and Order: BTS (collab w/ @milknotes) : 3/7 ↠ In the Bighit justice system, romance-based offenses are considered especially heinous. In Seoul, the dedicated detectives who investigate these vicious felonies are members of an elite squad known as the Bangtan Police Unit. These are their stories. From scandalizing traffic tickets to cuffing criminals, the seven cops must navigate their way through the dangerous streets of bad pick up lines, stealing of hearts, and a whole lot of doughnuts.

     → Pairing: series of one-shots; each member x reader | Fluff | police au

Gauche : 1/1 ↠ Waking up to a one night stand doesn’t seem as great as it did last night.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Fluff | morning after au, college au

Author: @dreamscript

Grow : 1/1 ↠ He’s rude, like his feral plants.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Fluff | fantasy au

Office Visits : 1/1 ↠ Yoongi has a daddy kink.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Smut | pwp, mafia au

Sunshine : 1/1 ↠ And no, he doesn’t wash off the ink, even when you draw a huge dick on his forehead and the teachers give him dirty looks.

     → Pairing: Hoseok/Reader | Fluff | high school au

Picture Perfect : 1/1 ↠ Yoongi’s searching for perfection. He meets you.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Fluff, angst | artist au

Author: @imaginethisbts

Territory : 2/2 + 2/2 drabbles ↠ Dogboy Tae gets extremely possessive when “that time of the month” rolls around and find’s it hard to control his natural instincts and his dominating nature during the monthly occurrence.  

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Smut | pwp, dogboy!taehyung, hybrid au

Shameless : 1/1 ↠ Taehyung’s the new guy in town, just trying to make some friends. And when Jungkook invites him to a party, he thinks he’s finally gotten a good opportunity to meet some new people. But what he doesn’t expect is witnessing his new friend Jungkook and his girlfriend, you, getting it on in front of him, and all of the other guys, at this so-called party.  

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader ft. Taehyung | Smut | pwp

It takes two to make a thing go right ♡ : 2/2 ↠ What’s better than one dogboy lover? Two dogboy lovers. But when Tae and Jungkook seem unusually clingy, it can only mean one thing. That time of the month has snuck up on you and your dogboy lovers do not want to share.  

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader, Jungkook/Reader | Smut | pwp, hybrid au, dogboy!taehyung, dogboy!jungkook

Author: @kainks

Orange Tulips ♡ : 1/1 ↠ You’d remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he’d never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time. 

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst, smut | soulmate au, reincarnation au

Complete : 1/1 ↠ Jungkook. Staff room sex. Feelings revealed.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | idolverse

Midnight Suck : 4/? ↠ You had seen him drain the life out of someone, there was no way he could leave you alone now.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | vampire au, soulmates au

Author @imsarabum

I won’t stop you ♡ : 30/30 ↠ You drive to your boss‘ house with the intention of returning his wallet he left at the office. You feel uneasy, seeing his manor for the first time - Jungkook also feels uneasy, but for reasons that you could never begin to imagine.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | vampire au

I need you : 1/1 ↠ You and Taehyung are in love with each other, but have never made your relationship official. Taehyung gets too drunk and ends up making out with another girl - and Jungkook lets you know everything the next morning.  

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Angst | college au

Author: @yoonia

Undo ♡ : 1/1 + 7/7 drabbles ↠ You were his soulmate, that part he knew well. Until one day he didn’t want you anymore. He couldn’t, when all he could see from you was light and all he felt within himself was darkness. Your love has gone cold as he retreated from you, burying himself deep in the dark. But what happened when Yoongi had to watch you start over with somebody else, when Yoongi let his selfishness gain control on him of you.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Angst, smut | exes au, slice of life au

Over Again : 3/3 ↠ Sometimes all we need is closure from the past to be able to move on.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Angst | pianist!jimin, artist!reader

Author: @nchu

Private : 1/1 ↠ A glimpse of something private, something that should have remained unknown to your eyes and suddenly the boy you had believed was innocent had become a man practically reeking of testosterone. 

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | idolverse

Cheat ♡ : 1/1 ↠ infidelity au.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Angst | idolverse

Author: @ellieljade

Apologies : 1/1 ↠ After a fight, Taehyung can’t bring himself to apologize to his girlfriend until he realizes that she might have moved on. If he wants her he needs to go get her.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader | Angst, smut | idolverse

Only Mine ♡ : 1/1 ↠ When you realized your boyfriend was cheating you didn’t expect the waiter you chose for retaliation to become so important to you. Now that you are engaged it is time for you to finally declare who is the one you belong with.

     → Pairing: Hoseok/Reader | Angst, smut | waiter!hoseok

This is how you lose her : 7/7 ↠ A series of short one shots focusing on the moment or choice that will lead to the end of a relationship.  

     → Pairing: each member has an individual chapter | Angst

Author: @noona-la-la-la

Unexpected : 8/8 + 1/1 bonus chapter ↠ An attempt to make Yoongi jealous goes to far - but his reaction is unexpected.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader ft. Taehyung | Smut, angst 

Nursemaid : 1/1 ↠ Jimin’s crush comes over to his house to help him out after he suffers an injury that leaves him with limited use of both hands.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut | college au

Author: @winetae ♡

Love me, love me ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Legally speaking, Jimin is yours - the shiny collar clasped around his neck and the adoption papers attest this. But behind closed doors, Jimin makes sure you understand that he isn’t anyone’s bitch.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut | hybrid au

Nudes, not flowers : 2/2 ↠ You’re not supposed to fall for Jung Hoseok and his repertoire of awful pick-up lines - but you do. The problem is: he’s afraid of commitment, and bolts at the idea of settling down. After that, you decide to stay far away from fuckboys, but his friend decides to test your new found resolutions.

     → Pairing: Hoseok/Reader, Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | fuckboi au, college au

Sequel - Tessellate : 2/? ↠ Triangles are supposed to be the strongest and most stable of geometric shapes. You wonder how true this statement is if applied to real life situations. The way you see it: triangles aren’t a reliable structure for relationships, especially if the parties you’re involved with find commitment to be a foreign concept.

→ Pairing: Hoseok/Reader, Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | fuckboi au, college au

What you did last summer ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Yoongi was fine with a lot of things - you maxing out his credit cards to buy ridiculously expensive items of clothing that you never wore more than once, you taking out his newest ride for a spin without permission, you spending an extra thirty minutes on your hair and makeup when he was running late for a dinner function. What he was not okay with, however, was sharing your pussy with barely-out-of-college boys who are incapable of going five seconds without creaming their pants. No, that was where he drew the line.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader ft. OT6 | Smut | trophy wife au

Hearts on Fire : 2/2 ↠ Your boyfriend is a dragon. Or so he claims.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, fluff | dragon!jungkook

All that is Gold : 1/1 ↠ As a college student struggling to make ends meet, Taehyung resorts to a less than ethical method to satisfy his appetite for expensive treats. The last thing he wants is for you to find out how he acquires the Gucci in his closet ... however this proves to be difficult when you are his roommate.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader ft. Female OC | Smut, angst | roommate au, college au, sugar baby au

Author: @minsvga

Lifetimes : 1/1 ↠ You spent almost four lifetimes with the love of your life, hopelessly and happily in love with each other - until you lost him, somewhere in the complex webs of reincarnation. It had been almost two hundred years since then and you hadn’t seen him since, with nothing left of him but his memory.  

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | reincarnation au, soulmates au, high school au

Inked ♡ : 1/1 ↠ You woke up to an empty bed, groggy and awake and looking for his warmth under the blankets. But all that was left was a letter taped to the desk, the pungent tang of alcohol, and his cologne. He was gone.  

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Angst, smut | best friends au, musician!yoongi 

Author: @joonbird

Breakfast in Bed ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Min Yoongi, a grumpy Ikea employee, is wondering who you are and why exactly you’re sleeping in the display bed at his Ikea. 

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Fluff, smut, humour | ikea employee!yoongi

King Cobra : 1/1 ↠ Yoongi, the zodiac snake hybrid, requests an evening with you - and asks dog hybrid Taehyung to join.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader ft. Taehyung | Smut | hybrid au

Comfort Inn Ending : 7/7 ↠ It was you who Jungkook gave his heart to - that is, until the day you broke it. And it is you now, hoping that some faultlines can be repaired, and that some broken hearts can be put back together again.  

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst, smut | infidelity au, idolverse

Author: @kookingtae

The Switch ♡ : 1/1 ↠ You think you’re getting a normal Christmas present from your boyfriend Hoseok, but what he doesn’t tell you is that your gift includes a special power he and the rest of the boys have, enabling them to switch off between one another… during sex.

     → Pairing: Hoseok/Reader ft. OT6 | Smut

True Feelings : 1/1 ↠ You and Jimin have been best friends since before you could remember, but one night could change everything.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, fluff | best friends au, f2l au

Author: @kimvtae *** She no longer writes for this fandom, but please give her works love regardless!

All’s Fair ♡ : 1/1 ↠ They say soul mates get their marks on the same day, and you’ve been dating Taehyung for almost four years now, but it isn’t his name that shows up on your wrist. It’s Jeon Jungkook’s, also known as your least favorite person in the world.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader/Jungkook | Smut | college au, soulmates au

Diamond in the Rough : 2/2 ↠ When a business heir from Busan, Jeon Jungkook, meets you, a poor girl from Daegu, he doesn’t expect to fall as quickly as he does. He’s been told for his entire life to avoid Daegu, a town riddled with gangs and a history of a brutal murder in Busan, but he can’t stay away from you, even when he’s warned that you’re not good enough for him.

      → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst, smut 

Fall for You : 3/3 + 2/2 drabbles ↠ You hate a lot of things about Jeon Jungkook; you hate his arrogance, his repuation, and his pet name for you to name a few. But most of all, you hate how right it feels for you to fall into his arms, and how easy it is to fall for him.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | fuckboi au, college au

Dangerous ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Control is all about trust.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | sub!jungkook

Author: @jimlingss 

The seven kinds of love ♡ : 1/1 ↠ Love - an intense feeling of deep affection.

     → Pairing: OT7/Reader | Fluff, angst

Service Series : 7/7 + 3/3 drabbles ↠ Do you need a service in the area of love? Look below and maybe you’ll find something you’re looking for!

     → Pairing: each member has a chapter | Fluff 

Azure Blue : 2/2 ↠ Fairy au.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Fluff, mild angst

Author: @chiminiemoans ♡

Slight Changes ♡ : 7/? ↠ Taehyung gets caught.

     → Pairing: Taehyung/Reader ft. Jimin | Smut, angst | idolverse, infidelity au

Oblivious : 1/1 ↠ It’s normal for you and Jungkook to bicker all the time, your friends describing your friendship like a cat-dog relationship, but your arguments are only getting worse progressively and you don’t understand why.   

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, light angst | best friends au, f2l au

Employee Perks : 1/1 ↠ Sure, the employee perks at your job were bonuses, life insurance, sick leave, health benefits etc. etc., but the best employee perk of all was working with a man known as Jeon Jungkook.  

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut, angst | retail au

Appetence : 1/1 ↠ Jungkook fulfills one of your fantasies.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Smut | idolverse

Author: @submissive-bangtan ♡

Sloppy Savvy : 1/1 ↠ You dominate JK and Yoongi in a passionate threesome.

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader/Yoongi | Smut | sub!jungkook, sub!yoongi

Trophy Boyfriend ♡ : 1/1 ↠ He’s accomplished. He’s sexy. He is the perfect subordinate. But something about your new secretary seems off. Yoongi wouldn’t be the first spy in your company.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Smut, action | business au, ceo au, e2l au, sub!yoongi

Snowdrop : 1/1 ↠ The first thing you do after moving in together and setting up the bedroom is attending to Valentine’s joys in the sheets.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Smut, fluff | sub!yoongi, domestic au

Boss Witch ♡ : 4/4 ↠ A mighty sorceress turns her apprentice Jimin into a pain-loving baby boy.

     → Pairing: Jimin/Reader | Smut, angst | witch au, sub!jimin

Fuckin’ Wembley : 1/1 ↠ You take care of a pliant, blindfolded Yoongi before BTS’ concert in London.

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Smut | idolverse, sub!yoongi  

Author: @dat-town

Bed warm, hearts cold ♡ : 2/2 ↠ “I wanted darkness… I wanted him.”  

     → Pairing: Yoongi/Reader | Angst | greek mythology au, hades!yoongi

Beautiful & Stupid : 2/2 ↠ Didn’t you know? Beauty can get you cursed.  

     → Pairing: Jungkook/Reader | Angst | percy jackson au

*wipes sweat* whew. this took me 4 days to format sksjd. part 2 and 3 will be out soon! in the meantime, please check these awesome authors out!

[yadds]

Take My Pain

Tony comes back from the dead. He wishes he hadn’t. Peter helps.

.

Here, have some physical pain to go with the emotional variety I usually tend towards.

TW: graphic descriptions of pain, suicide attempt. Please read responsibly

__________________________________________

Three years after the final snap, Tony Stark suddenly appeared outside the Avengers compound, emaciated and feeling like every bone in his body had been shattered to pieces, every muscle shredded, every ligament ripped away. But he was alive.

“Miracle Return!” and “Tony Stark, Back from the Dead!” and “Second Chance for a Charmed Life!” the tabloids touted. It felt less like the proclaimed blessing and more like an eternal punishment.

Pain medications didn’t work on him anymore. Neither did alcohol. The pain was constantly off the charts, enough to over stress the heart of a normal human. He should be dead all over again just from the intensity of the pain, which never abated.

He spent three months drifting in and out of awareness because, of course, the sedatives didn’t work either. Every moment of consciousness was hell, full of screaming, sobs, and delirium.

It took six months and four attempts to just end it all before he was successful. He’d broken a nearby glass when he’d jolted back to consciousness, arms flailing, searching for an anchor as he thrashed in an ocean of agony. He’d seized a large, particularly jagged shard that had landed perfectly on the bed right next to him, quickly and firmly drawing it across his own throat. He felt his first moment of blessed relief as he watched the crimson downpour flood down his torso and across the bed to drip heavily onto the floor. It didn’t take long before his fingers went numb and the glass fell to the ground.

Oh, God. This numbness, this was heaven. It spread, slow and steady, moving upward from his extremities. He felt the shadow of gentle release settle over him, the pain ebbing away. Finally.

He had half a second of lucidity to feel sorry for the nurses and doctors racing around the room, shouting orders and trying desperately to find something that would work on him. And...was that...Pepper? Oh, he wished she wasn’t here to see this.

But that concern quickly faded away as well as his eyelids fluttered then closed.

.

Silence. Serene, clean darkness. He was suspended in a cool lake, a soothing balm to his scorched, broken body.

He closed his eyes and smiled.

.

It felt like only a moment, as fleeting as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then he was thrust back into the flames of hellfire.

‘No. Nonononono. Please, God! I’ll do anything! Anything!’

Tears streamed down his face but none of his pleas could be voiced. He’d probably sliced through his vocal cords.

Well, at least it was quiet now.

.

The pain was maybe receding, infinitesimally. He wasn’t sure how much of it was the actual absence of pain and how much of it was his apparently enhanced body adapting to a new normal. He also didn’t care.

The next time he was aware enough to understand what was going on through the haze of pain, the wizard was there.  What was his name?  Weird? Not his favorite person, but it was about fucking time.

“Stark. Can you hear me?” he was asking. By the expression on his face, he’d probably already asked more than once.

What was he expected to do here? Blink once for yes, twice for no? Hello, he couldn’t talk. He shakily raised his left hand, middle finger extended.

Gandalf had the expression of exasperation down to an art form, he was sure. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he muttered.

There was a smothered huff of laughter that came from behind...Strange, that was his name. Tony’s eyes slowly dragged further to the left and his heart stuttered.

Peter. “Kid,” he tried to say, but nothing came out, damn it. Peter seemed to get the gist though and stepped forward with a strained smile.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. Long time, no see, huh?”

Holy shit. He’d been aware that the original snap had been reversed, vaguely remembered seeing Peter on the battlefield. But seeing him again, now, whole, and here - Tony desperately wanted to get out of this damn bed, wrap him up in his arms and never fucking let go ever again. The most he could actually manage was to lift his hand just a few inches higher, fingers extended.

Peter grasped his hand in both of his, grip gentle but strong and secure. “We think we might have found something that can help you.”

At the skeptical lift of Tony’s eyebrows, Peter grinned. “Just leave it to Dr. Strange. I promise he’s more Glinda the Good Witch than he is Wicked Witch of the West.”

Bless this boy and his understanding of Tony’s sense of humor.

The bout of excruciation surged over him suddenly, a phantom hand around his throat as his back bowed off the bed, muscles seizing as he choked for air.

Peter’s hand clamped tighter, a bastion of stability in this tidal wave of agony. He had a hazy vision of Peter and the wizard arguing fervently before Peter shouted, “I know, just fucking do it already!”

And then it stopped. Tony laid motionless, in a daze. His body didn’t know how to react to the abrupt absence of pain, convulsing as it continued to pump obscene amounts of adrenaline and endorphins. His sobs began anew as he finally began to process the release. He didn’t care what the cost was; this bliss was worth anything. They could have all his tech, his money, his fucking free will. Everything.

It felt like an eternity before he was able to do so much as move his head. His gaze found Strange and he took in his grim expression and tight jaw with some trepidation. Why was he not jumping for joy, or at least smiling? It worked! Tony would be kissing his feet if he could.

He followed Strange’s grimace to the spot to his left. He couldn’t contain the full-body jolt as his world shattered.

Peter was hunched in the chair at his bedside as his body quaked and spasmed, blood streaming from his nose, his ears, his mouth.

And he was still diligently holding Tony’s hand.

He took it back. This wasn’t worth it at all. He would rather suffer through that torment for a thousand years than allow Peter to feel it for a single second.

His eyes darted frantically as he turned his heavy head back to face Strange, infuriated with his body’s continued inability to respond to his commands. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Fix this! Why are you just standing there, you sadistic piece of shit?’ he screamed silently, throat working uselessly. God, fuck his past self for taking even that capability away.

Strange wasn’t stupid though - he knew what Tony wanted. “I can’t,” he bit out. “Peter knew this would probably happen. It was his idea.”

‘Does it look like I fucking care who’s idea it was? Give it back!’ Tony gestured at himself weakly, hoping his face was at least expressing how livid he was.

“I can’t,” Strange reiterated, sounding just as frustrated. “Not without a massive amount of energy that I don’t have access to at the moment.”

Tony had never quite so ardently wished that looks could kill before this particular instant.

“We-” Strange broke off abruptly, clearing his throat as he rubbed wearily at his eyes. “We’re doing what we can, Stark. The hope is that medication will continue to work for Peter so that he can get the relief that you never could. He metabolizes significantly faster than the average human, but we’ve conducted testing for the past several weeks to develop proper dosing rates and have planned accordingly.”

Sure enough, he noticed now that the nurses and doctors weren’t just doing their normal background bustling but were attending to Peter, administering injections and IV medication bags.

Please, please, please let this work, he prayed, to any and every deity that could possibly exist.

The next few minutes were an endless loop of anxiety, where he felt at the brink of insanity. Tony was sure that this would be what would finally do him in. Because this was unfathomably worse than the months of physical anguish that had failed to do so.

Finally, the convulsions started to recede, Peter’s muscles unclenching and leaving his body to slump lifelessly in his chair.

Tony’s breaths came faster and faster as he stared at Peter’s body, remaining completely motionless, chest no longer heaving for breath. No longer doing anything at all.

Tony couldn’t breathe at all now, throat closing and lungs ablaze. No. Not Peter. He couldn’t-

There. Maybe- yes, again. A gentle rise and fall.

Tony gasped helplessly as his own breathing resumed. He heard a similar heavy exhalation from Strange’s direction.

“His vitals look okay, all things considered,” Strange reported as Tony watched a nurse carefully clean the blood off Peter’s face, neck, arms. Tony wished he could personally burn the blood soaked clothes.

‘Now what?’ Tony mouthed.

“Now we figure out what’s causing the pain and how to get rid of it,” Strange replied.

‘Um, excuse me, what? There was no plan to fix this? And you just let Peter do this anyway?’ While it may have gotten him in trouble in the past when he respected pretty much no one and everyone knew it, it was finally in his favor that Tony had a very expressive face.

“As I said, it was Peter’s idea. We were just supposed to be here today to work out logistics for when we were ready. But he was adamant that the risk was worth the possibility of the medication working for him and allowing you to finally be able to heal. He was pretty sure that his body was comparable to whatever yours has become, that he’d be able to withstand it like you have, in the event that it would be necessary,” Strange explained.

Tony shut his eyes tight. That stupid kid.

“I think I’m on the right track, but it’ll actually help a lot to finally be able to study your body and figure out what the hell happened.”

Fine. Study away. Slice him open and dig around inside if you have to. Just figure out how to fix Peter.

Tony looked back at Peter, eyes catching on his own hand, which had fallen out of Peter’s grasp finally when he’d officially lost consciousness. The fingers were all misshapen, bent at odd angles. He couldn’t decide if he was surprised or not that he wasn’t registering any pain from his crushed hand.

When he noticed them readying Peter to be moved, he tried to reach out, mouth opening to protest before clicking shut again in frustration.

“Wait,” Strange called out. “Bring him back in here when you’ve gotten him cleaned up.”

Thank you. Maybe Dumbledore wasn’t so bad after all.

“It’ll be useful to have both subjects nearby for testing,” Strange added.

Or maybe he was still just as obnoxious as Tony had originally thought.

“Of course, sir,” one of the nurses intoned. “We’ll bring in another bed.”

Tony shook his head and pointed at the spot next to him in his own bed. It was a king size, for God’s sake.

Strange shook his own head. “No.”

Tony glared back reproachfully, crossing his arms over his chest.

Strange rolled his eyes. “We’ll talk about it later,” he said with a smirk.

Hardy har har. Let’s make jokes about the mute man. Tony knew that he’d be developing something groundbreaking in the way of communication before the week was up. After he slept for five days straight probably.

Because if that’s what it took, he would talk with Strange about it. He knew what it felt like to be isolated in that never ending loop of agony and he would make sure that Peter knew he wasn’t alone.

Tony had once turned back time to save this kid. He sure as hell wasn’t going to lose him again.

__________________________________________

So, is there a limit to the number of metaphors one can cram into a single 1500 word entry? Asking for a friend...🙄🙄

On another note - Yall. Wtf is wrong with me? This is so not my usual style. Because I’m completely incapable of short explanations, here’s the long version of how this started:

Me: you know what I’d like to write next? A fic where Tony comes back from the dead and he and Peter reunite and hang out a lot and are able to relate in a way that most people aren’t. It gradually progresses and Pepper watches them grow closer and realizes that eventually Peter is more important to him than she is anymore. And blah blah blah, angst angst angst, eventually the boys work it out and realize their feelings and get together. Yay! Okay, so let’s get started - how should Tony come back?

My brain: PAIN! SUFFERING! Everyone just wants to DIE!

Me: ...okay... sure. That can be interesting. Here’s a brief description of that. And now-

My brain: NO! More, more, MORE! You’re not selling it, you wuss! I will not help you move on until EVERYTHING IS THE WORST EVER!!

Me: I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry I’msorry. Is this enough now?

My brain: Almost, just a litttttle bit further.

Me: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this...this is all I can do

My brain: yesssssss. That’ll do for now. Now give it to Peter.

Me: ...Wut? That was never part of the plan.

My brain: don’t give a fuuuuuck. Is now. WHUMP!

So uh, anyway, that’s how that happened. I still want to write my original fic idea! I’m just not sure if it’ll be a continuation of this or a separate thing altogether. Who knows? I’m gonna snuggle my baby now and feel better from this completely unanticipated torture fest.

[dustedmagazine]

Listed: Three Lobed Recordings

For 20 years, Three Lobed Recordings has explored the outer reaches of psychedelic music, presenting Bardo Pond’s heaviest, most improvisatory albums, documenting the American primitive revival via recordings of Jack Rose and Daniel Bachman, listening to emanations from space-age folk troubadours like Wooden Wand, Sunburned Hand of the Man and Matt Valentine and generally pursuing the beauty of experiment, wherever it occurs. To celebrate these past two fruitful decades, label founder Cory Rayborn lists ten of the albums that define Three Lobed (and, necessarily, leaves out others equally valid and interesting). We look forward to lots more in the decades to come.

Personal Choice Cuts from the TLR Catalog (in no particular order, 9 of which might be different if you were to ask me tomorrow).

Gunn-Truscinski Duo — Ocean Parkway (2012)

Ocean Parkway by Gunn-Truscinski Duo

Every time I listen to this album, especially the title track, I feel transported. Long ago my college roommate Jon Nall articulated a test for transcendent songs, for the ones that impact you no matter how many times you hear them. He summed those all-time tracks up as the ones where the hairs on your arms uncontrollably stand up every time you hear them. While every track on this album does it for me every time, throwing me into a sort of uncontrollable head nod and body sway, I am always fully taken away by the entirety of the title track and Steve's swirling guitar build over the entire eighth minute punctuated by the ecstatic tones he hits at 9:06. Yow. The feeling I get from this album is why the label exists.

Various Artists — Eight Trails, One Path (2012)

Eight Trails, One Path by Various Artists

Record Store Day is tough. I love the attention and cash it puts into the hands of independent retailers but hate how commodified it has become over time by the powers that be / majors who see it as an excuse to pump out a bunch of junk that will end up being shelf warmers and ankle weights on those same retailers they claims to be supporting. The first few years when most of the titles were truly from and by indies it was a lot of fun. That was the feeling that led to wanting to put out an RSD title in mid-2011 (an illness I’ve since overcome). Originally conceived as a joined pair of split 7"s, it morphed into a triple 7" and then to a full length album. I wanted to showcase different approaches to solo guitar work and set out to ask a lot of my favorites. I also wanted to put together a special package which was fleshed out with help by Casey Burns on graphics, Grayson Haver Currin on words and Jeff Mueller on printing. I’m still amazed at the interlocked nature of all of the contributions to this one, from Six Organs’ spiritual sibling to “Ascent” in the form of “Stranded on Io” (a track that is a wordless tale all within itself) to the circular beauty of David Daniell’s “Housewarming” and everything else on here. I really love this record.

Tom Carter — Long Time Underground (2015)

Long Time Underground by Tom Carter

Late in 2013 I was chatting with Tom about what shape a record should take. He wanted to go to Black Dirt and get a good, clean capture of what he had been working on with Jason Meagher. TLR is always onboard with a Black Dirt election. Fast forward several months and family TLR was visiting some friends in Vermont around the same time Tom was in the area. We met up and he handed off the masters for a double LP. While we knew that the mix of Tom’s playing, Tom’s writing and Jason’s engineering was going to be magical but we had no idea of the exact form or how insanely potent the album was going to be. Damn. Seriously, just listen to this stuff and absorb that these are all single takes, no overdubs. Haunting and celebratory all at once.

Daniel Bachman — The Morning Star (2018)

The Morning Star by Daniel Bachman

It is pretty fun to watch the arc and path that Daniel’s writing, recording and performing have taken over the last 15 years. From powerhouse steamroller to the intersection of musique concrète and acoustic drone, his current location could maybe have been seen in his early recordings but you likely would have lost most of those dice rolls. The Morning Star speaks to me in so many ways but the stunning bookends of “Invocation” and “New Moon” always hit like a ton of bricks. What is amazing is how Daniel can turn these album cuts into live performances. I saw “New Moon” several times while Daniel was in the process of touring this 2016 self-titled album, always transfixed by it live — the album version loses none of that potency. On the other hand, Daniel re-created “Invocation” at the 2018 Three Lobed / WXDU Annual Ritual of Summoning to stunning effect.

The Michael Flower Band — self-titled (2008)

The Michael Flower Band by The Michael Flower Band

An audio / aural bomb blast, a kosmik rearrangement of the space/time directly around the listener. This take no prisoners statement from Mick Flower (guitar) and John Moloney (drums) is a deep slice for catalog enthusiasts. Just tune into “Balinese Falsehood” and try to not get fully lost. Years ago I described this as “biker psych for the third eye rider” and I’ll stand by that statement fully today.

Wooden Wand and the World War IV — self-titled (2013)

Wooden Wand & the World War IV by Wooden Wand & the World War IV

Picking between Wooden Wand titles is hard for this particular enthusiast but if forced I think I have to push the needle towards the intense Crazy Horse vibes of this studio corker. Surrounded by the “Briarwood” band, perhaps the most telepathic folks with whom Toth has ever played, the results are electric and transfixing. Will I kick myself tomorrow for not picking Clipper Ship? TBD...

Meg Baird & Mary Lattimore — Ghost Forests (2018)

Ghost Forests by Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore

I don’t remember when it came to me, the fact that there wasn’t a deliberately ground-up collaboration between Meg and Mary in existence. I had to ask them if that was purposeful or a gap that was truly something that we should remedy, a question where I had my fingers crossed the entire time. They were both really into the concept, it just took the triangulation of busy satellites to make all of our desires into reality. The results are as sturdy, sheltering and invisible at the edges as the album's title, facts that we are all the better for each time we wrap ourselves in this particular fabric. An all-timer.

Jack Rose — The Black Dirt Sessions (2009)

The Black Dirt Sessions by Jack Rose

I had the good luck and fortune to get to know Jack back in the Pelt days and watch his transition from that ensemble into the singular player and performer that he was for the last eight years of his too short life. Watching a Jack set was always a tiny miracle. I remember him calling me one day, telling me that he had gone to record with Jason Meagher and he had a record that he would really love for me to put out if I was interested. Not only was I most most certainly interested, but I was amazingly humbled and flattered that this friend who I also considered a modern master had recorded something specifically for me without even discussing it with me first. That level of trust was the gift and magic of Jack. If he believed in you that belief gave you all of the power you needed to make anything reality, you were suddenly bulletproof. Every track here is a stunner but “Cross the North Fork” always pulls me in, dares me to turn my attention anywhere else. Rest in power, friend.

Chuck Johnson — Crows In The Basilica (2013)

Crows In The Basilica by Chuck Johnson

Every track on this perfectly constructed and sequenced album is flawlessly beautiful but “On A Slow Passing In Ghost Town” is one of the top 10 tracks in the entire TLR catalog in my estimation. Exactingly and properly composed, performed and recorded.

Bardo Pond — Peri (2009)

Peri by Bardo Pond

The love of Bardo Pond was the seed that initially drove me to create a record label. Their single-minded determination to seek audio truth was apparent to me ages ago and so very inspirational. I ate up everything — the releases, the live shows, the live recording — and I hung on every note. The band had a lot of really, really great tunes that they had been working on between 2001 and 2003, the period between their departing Matador for ATP Records. I could never shake the power of several of the tracks from this era that sort of got abandoned to the shifts of time. After several conversations with Michael Gibbons two albums were born from that period and from some other exceptionally potent tracks. Batholith was the first of these two albums and Peri, the second. Both are so very special to me, the fruit of knowing folks needed to hear these compositions. When writing here I have to pick Peri today as it closes with “Silver Pavilion,” an all-time Bardo Pond thesis statement of sorts.

[weartirondad]

Sometimes Home Is A Mess

Prompt: “Please don’t leave me, I can’t do this without you.”“(With bby Peter and Tony) The Avengers are paroned from the according and return to the tower but haven't really asked for forgiveness. Baby Peter remembers days his dad returning with a limp and dent heart. Peter being a little genius connect the dots is now clinging to his father he felt he could have lost. Seeing the avengers gives no only Tony anxiety but to Peter as well. He scream and cries when he's so much a inch away from his farther heart. begging him not to go or leave his side.” (Anon)

A/N: Set after You Made Me A Believer. You don’t hafta read it together but you could.  Also check out this amazing song Home - by Stefanie Heinzmann 

Summary:  When the Avengers break apart, Tony is tired and worn and broken but Peter is there and it helps. -- When the Avengers get pardoned a year later because the world decides they need their heroes back Tony is worn from the fights he fought to get them there and Peter is still there.

FF.net I ao3 

--

There’s a dull ache behind his temple when his fuzzy mind clambers back into consciousness and a throbbing pain sits right behind his sternum. The feeling of his chest split open and his every muscle battered and bruised is a distressingly familiar one and for the briefest of moments the air around him feels too humid and dirty.

He can taste the blood and the sweat and smells the burned flesh and metal. He hears the crunching of sand between his teeth when he moves his jaw. He sees red and feels cold.

He’s not there, though, he knows that. Knows it by the way his ribs are cracked in a meticulously designed half-oval and by the memories he can’t push away.

His near death experience years ago in that cave in Afghanistan feels small, manageable, compared to the new betrayal. The new incision cut open scar tissue he’s been trying his hardest to forget but it’s different this time, somehow, more personal.

A humorless laugh slips past his dry lips at the thought of something being more personal than what Obie did to him and soon after he starts coughing, wincing when each and every fiber of his body is cataloging more pain until he feels it’s all he is.

“Jar?”

The name is out before he can think better of it and when it is – warm and familiar and soothing on his tongue – the wrong voice replies, hesitant in a way JARVIS wouldn’t have been. But Jarvis is Vision now and doesn’t have to answer to him anymore – not like that at least. Just another soul slipping from his desperate fingers that are always searching for a meaning, closeness, a family.

“You seem agitated, boss. Do you want me to call for help?”

He wants to scoff at the notion but thinks better of it, eyes still closed, mouth still dry.

“No,” he croaks out eventually because he doesn’t want help – doesn’t deserve it either. If he has to keep living, he wants to do it like this – in darkness and alone. He wants to embrace the shadows that have been hovering at his doorstep for as long as he can remember.

Some famous dead guy once said ‘We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone.’ and that’s exactly what he wants to do. Somewhere without the hurt, the constant betrayal and disappointment. He just wants peace.

That's all he’s ever wanted.

It’s all he’ll never get.

When F.R.I.D.A.Y. stays quiet he feels tears burn in his eyes. JARVIS would’ve ignored his orders.

He’s close to drifting off again when a small commotion startles him awake – survival instinct kicking in, even in a tower better secured than Fort Knox he’s always alert, always expecting something to attack.

This particular assault, though, makes his heart lighter and his muscles relax for the first time since… since that bunker probably. Since that god forsaken video.

“Peter is here to see you, boss, he asks if you’re up.” The AI’s voice is fond and it eases the pain of missing his old friend. F.R.I.D.A.Y. and Peter are getting along. Peter loves the Irish voice and the way she’s coded. To him she’s family just like Vision is.

“Let him in.”

It’s only been a few months since that fatal shooting that lead him to the boy and his aunt but ever since then they have taken up such a huge part of his life that he can’t remember a time when he didn’t have a kid running through his living room, dropping pens and paper and Lego everywhere.

When Peter is there, every corner of the empty tower is filled with life and laughter and love. He drives the ghosts and memories away, replaces them with new ones – better ones, purer ones – without realizing what he’s doing.

The squirt comes barreling into the room, arms clutching a lime green notebook to his chest, eyes twinkling and lips moving with rambles Tony’s dazed mind doesn’t quite catch.

He is young. He is life. He is hope.

He is everything Tony isn’t.                                                          

But then he stops and takes him in and his mouth slams shut, the audible click of his teeth like a gunshot in the sterile room. The smile in his eyes drains like a plug being pulled and there’s something wary in them now – a mind trapped in a memory – and there’s fear and hesitation.

“Tony?” he asks, voice eons away from the happy one he craves to hear. “Wha – What happened?”

Peter doesn’t drop the notebook like Tony might have. Instead he clutches it more tightly to his chest when he slowly steps closer to the bed, entire posture guarded and tense, ready to bolt at any second but not really wanting to.

“I,” he sighs because he hates lying and then tries not to wince which goes less than successful, “I got into a fight,” is what he settles on but he can see by the frown forming on Peter’s forehead that he’s suspicious. “You know how the super hero life goes – criminals don’t like being stopped.”

It’s a pathetic attempt at a joke and he knows that even with six years Peter can see right through his façade. Damn this kid and his emotional intelligence.

“Normal criminals don’t get that close,” he retorts quietly and then adds, voice dropping: “Pepper said you went out to help Captain America.”

Ah. Well, that’s just unfortunate.

“I did.”

“He hurt you.”

“Maybe I hurt him too.”

That makes the boy pause and look down, gaze stopping on his bruised hand that is connected to an IV stand next to his bed. Somehow, when he looks up again he looks older.

“Mister Vision had to fly out to get you back. If Captain America was that hurt he would’ve brought him back, too.”

Tony hates the matter of fact way he says it and the distrust that swings in his voice when speaking about one of his child hood heroes. He wants to take it all away but he finds that he’s too worn to lie, too tired to comfort, so he does what he does best and deflects.

“I thought you didn’t like hospitals.”

Peter shrugs like it’s not a big deal but his knuckles are turning white with the force he uses to clutch his notebook and when he mumbles a reply he doesn’t meet his eyes, “’S not a real hospital. ‘S like home. I was –“ He breaks off blushing and voice small when he finally looks at him again, “Are you okay?”

A small smile graces Tony’s lips and, to his utmost surprise, it doesn’t feel fake. He likes it when Peter calls the tower home. It feels like a spark of hope that it might be one again one day.

“I’m better now that I’ve got my favorite person in the whole world around to blow kisses on my booboos,” he grins and scoots over to make room on his bed for Peter.

It’s what they usually do when he gets back from a mission and is resting on the couch or his bed and Peter doesn’t waste another second to comply, jumping up and nestling into his side like a cat like he always does.

Like clockwork Tony’s arm winds around the boy’s back despite the pain the movement elicits and Peter leans forward to receive the usual kiss to the top of his head. When he leans back to scrutinize Tony his nose is adorably scrunched up and he looks slightly indignant. “Y’ know, booboo is a baby word and I’m a big boy.”

“Oh, you’re a big boy now, are you?” The offended puppy eyes melt away the last of the Siberian ice and he yields to the little boy. “Okay, okay. You’re a big boy,” he acquiesces, “So what kind of big boy stuff have you been up to while I was gone?”

Peter jumps right into it, pulling up his notebook and showing him how he has been practicing writing cursive. It became a thing just before Peter started school in summer that Tony would start to teach him the art of cursive writing. The moment he saw May’s awful handwriting for the first time he knew he couldn’t let the poor boy learn on that alone, so he took it upon himself to coach him on the intricacies of it.

Despite popular belief he actually loved writing things by hand and he had a good handwriting – it was just impractical most of the time and when did he ever do things for fun?  

The kid is still flicking through his book looking for a particular page when Tony startles both of them with a laugh.

“Did you,” he snorts and blinks away the moisture in his eyes that he’s not sure comes from the pain or the laughter, “Did you really write my name on there? C’mere, show me that!”

The hand not holding Peter in place tugs the book out of his hands and flicks to the side where he had painted a big Iron Man helmet and had written his superhero’s persona’s name next to it for Peter to practice writing the capital I. Peter, being Peter, though had decided to defy him on all accounts and had written his name – Anthony Edward Stark – over and over until the page was full. Ending on a half- finished Anthony Edw –

The writing is shaky and awkward because some of the letters they haven’t even practiced yet but all of them are correct and in that moment Tony loves Peter more than he could ever put into words, more than he ever thought he could love someone and he laughs again and this time he knows the tears are from both the pain of what he’s lost and from the bliss – the future – he’s holding in his arms.

“You think you’re being really funny, don’t ya?”

Peter scoffs and sticks his tongue out at him. “I am funny.”

Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou

“I really love you buddy, you know that?”

“’Course I do. You tell me all the time.”

 -.-

When the Avengers get pardoned a year later because the world decides they need their heroes back Tony is worn from the fights he fought to get them there.

He’s scared and anxious and angry but when he steps out into the penthouse Peter is sitting there – the picture of a content child – working on a LEGO set Tony is sure is above his age range and his inner storm calms when he approaches and sits down cross-legged next to him, watching him align the pieces carefully and with his tongue tucked between his teeth.

Maybe it’s selfish to break him out of his concentration, maybe he should just let him be but he needs Peter’s strength right now, needs his smile to build up his own because he’s tired and he’s wary and he needs to be reminded what he’s doing all this for.

“Hey bud,” he greets him with a hair ruffle and presses a kiss to the top of his head, lingering an instant longer than he normally would to breathe in the familiar scent. It’s home and it’s safe and it’s wonderful.

“Whataya up to?”

Peter beams up at him and somehow it makes his heart lighter and heavier at the same time. “May got me an AT-AP Walker Set! Pepper promised to help me build it but Morgan was hungry and I think she pooped herself,” he sniffs as if thinking back to a truly awful memory and Tony can’t help the smile forming on his lips. “Do you wanna help, too?”

“I would love to,” he sighs dramatically and leans back against the couch, watching Peter with a lazy smile. When he’s here like this he can almost forget what comes after. “But I still got an important meeting in, uh, five minutes and just wanted to drop by to, uh, say hi.”

Almost.

Slowly Peter puts down the grey bricks he has been working on and eyes him critically. “You never come home early when you still have a meeting,” he notes, “Unless you’re not going to the meeting but I think Pepper’d be mad if it’s important.”

“Shush,” he rolls his eyes and reaches out again to ruffle his hair. A part of him just wants to hold his boy close and never let go but the bigger part doesn’t want to worry him and to keep him as far away from all of this as possible. Which might not be very far for long.

“I promise I’m going. I just wanted to see something cute before I spend the next few hours with all these boring old folks.”

“I’m not cute,” the squirt quips back and goes back to sorting his bricks, “Morgan is cute. I’m –“

“Yeah, you’re what, Petey? Adorable? Precious? As sweet as the marshmallow fluff that’s giving you cavity? Delightful, maybe? Or what about-“

Suddenly his mouth his covered by a small sweaty hand and he can see how Peter is trying to be serious but he’s failing to suppress a giggle. “I’m not cute.”

Seizing the opportunity he tackles the kid into a hug and holds him close, “Okay, whatever buddy,” he breathes into his hair, “You know I love you, right?”

Soft curls tickle his nose when Peter nods dutifully and he knows he has to leave soon, knows he’s already running late and he can’t be – not for this. But suddenly letting go is so much harder than just getting his muscles to release the small body. The conference room suddenly seems so much farther away than just two stories down, it feels like they’re worlds apart and he likes this one better.

“Steve Rogers is requesting entry to the penthouse,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. interrupts his musings and just like that he feels Peter freeze in his hold and look up at him, eyes wide and betrayed and scared.

“What’s he doing here?” he demands, “What does he want? Why’d you let him in? Wh –“ Then, suddenly, he stills and glares, pushing away from Tony’s grasp and crossing his arms in front of his chest in a way that looks less like defiance and more like he’s shielding himself.  

“He’s your meeting, isn’t he?” he all but spits out and it sounds like the ultimate betrayal. His voice is shaking with anger and his doe eyes, usually soft and loving, are as closed off as Tony has ever seen them.

He pushes himself up to sit on the couch instead of on the ground so they’re eye-level and leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees. Without looking away from Peter, he raises his voice to talk to his AI.

“Tell him access denied and I’ll be with them in just a sec.”

“Them,” Peter narrows his eyes, “Who’s them?”

“The Avengers, Peter, I’m sure you’ve heard of them,” he retorts and immediately feels guilty when there’s a flash of hurt in his eyes. He sighs, head hanging, “Look, I’m sorry, Pete. I’m –“

Before he can decide on what to say, he’s being interrupted, something Peter rarely does and never when it’s important but the boy in front of him who dropped his arms and has his hands clenched to fists, shaking with fury isn’t the boy he usually deals with.

“Why are they here?”

“To talk.”

He wants to walk over to him and take him in his arms again to stop him from shaking like a leaf but he doesn’t want to tower over him, doesn’t want to crouch to be on his level either. This conversation is important and he knows he needs to stay put for now.

“The world needs the Avengers, Pete. We need them to protect the world. I need them to protect Morgan and – and to protect you. To protect my fa-“

“NO!” He all but screams and it has Tony mentally take a step back and stare when he’s stomping his foot and pulling his hair.

“No! No, no, no, no, no. NO!” he yells again, “I don’t need them! We – We don’t need them. We have you!” He scowls angrily. “You’re – You’re Iron Man! And they – I don’t trust them! I hate them! I want them to – I want them to go! Tell them to go away!”

Now, without trying to be braggadocios, Tony would say after helping raise Peter for almost two years and having a toddler of his own he has a pretty good grip on the whole parenting thing but – for fuck’s sake – he’s had it easy so far and never really had to deal with an actual tantrum before.

Sure, Morgan fusses and cries and wails like the world is ending sometimes but a four-month-old tantrum is much different from Peter having a meltdown in front of him. Peter, the most well behaved boy on the planet who rather screams into his pillow than at people and who, for reasons he tries not to dwell on, never ever pushes May or him away in fear of pushing too far and losing too much.

Peter is a good kid. Sometimes he’s angry, sometimes he’s sad and sometimes he has so many emotions he doesn’t know how to deal with that he shuts down but the last time Tony has seen him this helplessly angry was the night he found him in a dark alleyway bend over his uncle’s dead body.

The entirety of his small body seems to be filled with rage. He’s trembling with it, overflowing with fury and what looks like something that’s much too close to hatred for Tony to ever want to see it in his boy’s eyes ever again.

He remembers the first time he had to calm him down, remembers the blood and the pain and the harsh light of the streetlamps and he hates it. Hates the Rogues for making Peter feel that way again more than he hates them for leaving in the first place.

“Kiddo,” he murmurs and slides down from the couch, sitting cross legged and with open arms in front of the shaking kid. He doesn’t scoot closer even though he wants to and tries to beckon him towards him with his voice alone. “They won’t hurt you, I promise. I would never let anyone hurt you.”

“But they hurt you.” Peter hasn’t moved yet but his voice has dropped a few pitches and some of the anger is seeping out of his shoulder. Tony would only count it as a half-win, though, when it’s instantly replaced by sadness and fear. Those he knows how to deal with at least.

“I don’t want them to hurt you again,” he whispers, taking a timid step forward and letting Tony reach for his hands that are hanging listlessly by his side. He watches him uncurl them quietly and when he looks up to meet his gaze again there are tears running down his cheeks. “You have to take care,” he demands reverently and takes another step forward, dropping into Tony’s lap and throwing his arms around the older man’s neck.

“You have to take care and come back,” he presses into his collarbone, “You can’t – Please don’t leave me all alone. I only have May and you and I can’t do this without you. I can’t. You have to promise!”

Oh Peter.

Tony pulls the small boy impossibly closer, rubbing a hand over his back and pressing a kiss to his temple.

“I promise I’ll always come back home to you, kiddo.”

And maybe that’s an unfair promise to make when he can’t ever be sure he’ll be able to keep it. Maybe lying makes him a bad parent. But right now he has his kid crying into his t-shirt and he’d do anything to make it better and so he promises himself that he’ll always do his best and fight his hardest to make sure he’ll always be there to make it better.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Give In (IV)

Idris Elba X Reader “Zanzee” Mini Series (6 Part Mini Series)

 Warning: Slow burn, angst, plot,

 Word Count: 7.6K

 Summary: For the past 5 months has worked on the set of the “Hobbs & Shaw” movie. She works close to all the main actors and is there to answer any whim they may have as the "Set Concierge". She holds herself to a high professional level and refuses to stray from the right side of that pesky, thin grey line that those in the entertainment industry easily jump over.

 Note: Will go through 1 week in the life of Zanzee Grant. Ya’ll I’m afraid this is as close as I will EVER get to a one shot. SMH. I cannot write a one shot to save my life.

 ***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

 ***Interactive Chapter***

 ****Thank you guys for reading. I appreciate it as ALWAYS! If you enjoyed this please LIKE and REBLOG.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-Thursday-

 “Cut!” David shouted, a loud alarm rang, and all movement stopped.

 David sprang to his feet from his director’s chair and walked toward Idris who was hanging his head.

“Idris, what’s going on man. This is the fourth take of this scene. I never need four takes with you.”

 Idris rubbed the back of his neck, he clearly looked agitated.

 “Sorry David, I don’t know what’s going on,” he explained.

 “What do you need from me to help you with this scene?”

 Idris looked speechless as if he had no idea what he needed. He dropped his head again but smacked his palm to his forehead a few times in an effort to pump himself up.

 “I’ll get it,” Idris continued.

 “I know you will buddy but we’re kind of on a time crunch. We’ve only got this particular spot for nine more hours. We kind of have to get this laid today no ifs, ands or buts,” David added.

 Idris nodded and looked around the set. He’d been distracted all day, late with his actions, forgetful of his lines, dazed. And just out of it. It was completely out of character for him. He was always on. He looked at all the faces looking at him no doubt wondering what the hell was wrong with him. He quickly glanced at Dwayne and Jason off to the side who gave him a solemn look of solidarity. He sighed again and saw Zanzee. She was at the corner of the freeway perched on a cement block. The tension he’d felt in his shoulder blades returned. He knew what his problem was. Zanzee was his problem. He looked away from her before his eyes could roam her figure and looked down to his feet.

 He’d been all fucked up since last night when she shot him down, hard. When he got back to his place he couldn’t sleep, all he could do was kick himself for putting her in that position that he was sure she’d been put in countless times before. He’d propositioned her to sleep with him. He was not that man. Yeah. He’d had his share of set conquests and yes, those conquests had been leaked to the tabloids, but he was an actor, with how much he worked this was literally one of his only ways of meeting people. Not only did he proposition her, but he also let it slip just how much he thought about her. The entire night he obsessed over it and now today he was wallowing in the fact that she didn’t want him, she didn’t want him in the slightest bit looking at how quickly and easily she shut him down. Now his pride, and ego was bruised. If he were one hundred percent honest with himself it was more than his pride and ego, his feelings were hurt too.

 “Let’s take five, give you some time to get your head in the game and we’ll come back, eh,” David suggested. He nodded and turned his back to the majority of the crew. He looked out to the water under the freeway and took a few breathes. He walked to the railing and gripped the cement and groaned loudly.

 “Fuck!”

 He looked back to the water and saw several boats out with fans holding signs. He kissed his teeth. Privacy was something of the past. He always had to be on, always had to be prepared there would be a camera or a fan in his face. He always had to be on and ready to please, except when he was around Z. she never made him feel like the actor, never made him feel like he had to be on, he was always just Idris around her. He closed his eyes and tried to push any and all thoughts of the beautiful set concierge out his head. He took a few deep breaths and tried to get his head back in the game, he had a job to do nursing his bruised ego and hurt feelings would have to wait.

 Once David yelled “action” again he pushed through the scenes and laid them, not effortlessly but professionally. It wasn’t until nearly six he had any time to himself. He used it to lock himself in his trailer and focus on some music. Yes, he was avoiding her, and he didn’t care if she knew it. He couldn’t face her, he was too embarrassed, and he didn’t trust himself to be able to keep his eyes on her face. Every time she looked as if she was approaching him, he’d go in the other direction. If he saw she was where he wanted to go, he’d hold off and divert his path, if someone mentioned they’d call her for something he made an excuse to leave. It was exhausting.

 A knock broke him out of his concentration. He opened his trailer door and saw her standing there holding a box. All knowledge of the English language flew out his brain and he stood there in gaping silence.

 “Hey,” she said. He nodded and looked down.

 “Hey Z.”

 He felt his heart begin to pound a reaction he’d felt tens of times before but one he paid attention to now.

 “Were you busy? Am I interrupting?” she asked. He shook his head.

 “No, you’re good. What’s up? What can I do for you?”

 Hearing the way, the question sounded he shook his head.

 “I mean is there something I can do for you? I don’t mean for it to sound—” He trailed off. She pinched her lips together.

 “Sorry.” He said and rubbed the back of his neck again.

 “Its cool. This came for you and was sent to me so I’m here delivering it to you.” she held out the box to him.

 He took a step closer and gathered the box from her hands and brushed her fingers. She quickly pulled her hands back and he saw her flex her fingers before hiding her hands behind her back. His interest rose.

 “You okay?”

 “Yeah, yeah, totally fine,” she said before silence engulfed the space between you again. After a few moments she began taking a few steps back.

 “All right, I have a lot to do. See ya.” She turned and walked away, he stood there looking over her back as she disappeared across the lot. He walked back inside and kicked the table, he’d ruined everything by opening his mouth.

 When he returned to set he ducked into one of the production rooms hoping for one more moment to prepare himself. He walked in and heard Z’s voice.

 “Keep your shit together Z, keep it together. Two more months, you can make that work. Two more months and you won’t have to see him ever again.”

 Idris looked down feeling like shit, she was talking about him. He’d creeeped her out so badly that she was counting down the days until she could run in the opposite direction. He began to back away trying to ignore the painful disappointment settling inside him when he heard her speak again, instead of hearing anymore he hurried back out the door hating himself a little more than before.

 Filming the rest of the night was almost torture, she watched but from a distance. He kept to himself and tried not to watch her. Every time he looked her way she was already watching him. At one time he could have sworn he saw her looking at his ass before she looked away. She always stayed away from him, an action he wasn’t surprised by given what he’d heard in the production room. she was probably desperately trying to keep him away.

When it was close to nine Jason and Dwayne blocked him in a corner and badgered him for some answers to his behavior all day. He tired to push it all off claiming a hangover but the didn’t believe him. After nearly ten minutes of badgering, he gave in and told them everything. Dwayne looked confused and concerned while Jason looked amused, he was on the damn brink of laughter. When he busted out laughing Idris rolled his eyes.

 “I’m glad this situation amuses you.”

 “I jus--, I’m sorry, I—” he stuttered through his laughs.

 Dwayne placed his hand on idris’ shoulder before he shook his head. They both waited for Jason to finish. After a full two minutes he composed himself and sighed out.

 “Ah man, I’m good now. I promise.”

 Idris rolled his eyes again.

 “Glad to know I can give you some comedy. Don’t worry about laughing at my problems,” he said.

 “Problems? What problems?” Jason questioned.

 “Were you not listening bruv?”

 “You said you indirectly suggested you have sex and she said she works for you and not under you. I heard you,” Jason skimmed.

 “All right then. She’s avoided me all day, given I’ve been avoiding her too. After what I heard it’s clear I’ve cocked-up everything,” he finished.

 “What else did she say?” Dwayne asked.

 “Besides what I said already just that she has standards and holds herself to a particular level and what not.”

 “There you go. For that reason, you I know you haven’t cocked up in the way you think. You cocked up by not taking it further and telling her you weren’t after a measly screw. You let her think you were after some one-night shag. That is where you cocked up,” Jason explained. Idris looked at him and thought about his words and back to last night.

 “I didn’t hear a no, I heard she doesn’t normally sleep with actors, and she’s not like the other women who stalk this industry. I heard her pushing you away,” Dwayne finished.

 “That’s a nice alternative but it doesn’t explain what I just overheard.”

 “Who knows what she was referring to. Bruv, she’s into you,” Jason added.

 “I agree, I think she just doesn’t want to be the cliché set assistant and sleep with the actors. She’s above it and not the kind of easy conquests you’re used to. That should have been you opening to tell her she wasn’t and it’s more than sex for you,” Dwayne counseled.

 Idris nearly laughed out loud.

 “How the hell do you know it’s more than sex?”

 “Here we go. We’ve watched you for the last five months, we’ve seen everything we know you’re really keen on her. We know you’ve tried to play it off for months and tried to act cool like she doesn’t affect you but dude it’s obvious.”

 He rolled his eyes, he was getting annoyed with all of this.

 “I think that was her last-ditch effort in keeping you away. Her biggest move in making sure nothing happens between the two of you. If you think she doesn’t fancy you then you’re a plonker,” Jason theorized.

 He thought about her actions over the last five months and even last night. He then went over and over her words. Then he thought about how she watched him all day and began to think maybe they were right, but he got stuck on her words from earlier. He looked around the lot and saw her off in the distance again this time talking to that other set assistant that was clearly into her. She had an unreadable expression on her face as she stared at him. He looked like he was talking about something quite animatedly. He touched her elbow and it was there his touch lingered. Idris looked at his hand and didn’t like the way he felt seeing another man quite possibly flirt with her.

 “I say we test the theory and put it to bed once and for all,” Jason broke through his thoughts.

 “And how do you suggest we do that?”

 “I have a plan,” he said with a wide grin on his face while looking in Z’s direction.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

-ZanZee-

 “This is a bad idea,” you said.

 “What do you mean a bad idea? There is no world where a party is a bad idea,” Andra piped up. You rolled your eyes.

 “Who throws together a party in under six hours anyway?”

 “The rich is who honey child and we are going to partake and take advantage of all the opulence, and free food we can, you know a girl is always hungry,” she said.

 “Plus when was the last time you went to a party ms I’m boring as hell and live to work not work to live?” Lexi said with a mischievous gleam in her eyes.

 “Whatever bitch! At least I got a job,” you responded. You all laughed out. Lexi was boyfriend was drafted into the MLB and since then he didn’t want her working. She gave up a cushy spot at a top law firm to let him take care of her and every day of it was sweet torture. She didn’t have the guts to tell him she enjoyed working because he wanted to take care of her.

 “Low blow,” Lexi gasped. You rolled your eyes.

 “Please tell me that is not what you’re wearing,” Xio said. You looked over your body and looked back to her.

 “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

 “Girl, did you even try?” Xio asked pinching the flannel you wore as a dress.

 “What the hell is wrong with this?”

 “Nothing, it’s cute and everything but girl this is a celebrity party, not a house party. You need to bring it and serve all levels of bawdy!” Andra said as she dropped it down to the floor and popped a mini twerk. You snorted and shook your head unable to contain yourself.

 “Girl, keep all a dat’ over there.”

 “No Xio’s right, this is finally your chance to show those people that there is more to you than work. Give them the chance to see what you offer,” Lexi said.

 “So, what I offer is bawdy?”

 “You know what we mean. You got a banging body Z, it’s almost as poppin’ as your personality. They know bout the personality time to show the rest of the package,” Lexi added in a rare compliment that wasn’t backed by something snarky. You took a deep breath and rolled your eyes.

 “Plus., it’ll give one of them actors a chance to see what they’re missing. Guaranteed once they see you all fuckable they won’t be able to keep their shit together,” Andra added.

 You looked in the mirror and knew they weren’t going to let this go. They rushed into your bedroom each of them pulling clothes from your closet. You wouldn’t admit it to them but that was the plan. This outfit was party enough and it still kept the attention off you, no one would look at you differently. Idris wouldn’t see you any differently. If he propositioned, you again you wouldn’t say no.

 All this morning you kept thinking you’d fucked up from last night. You thought you’d screwed up with not saying yes and showing him all the tricks, you had up your sleeve. You chastised yourself endlessly and went over and over what you could have said, should have said, could have done probably should have done. You felt like you missed a huge opportunity, one that you really wanted but for reasons that went deeper than the surface couldn’t take advantage of.

 You went over and over it and at one point got upset that he thought so little of you that he would try to make a move, then you jumped out of that space and went into fangirl mode that thee Idris Elba was going to make a move on you, you of all people. Then as soon as you thought that you were filled with regret before it was washed away with annoyance. All day everything in you wanted to tell him you made a mistake and just do it but you didn’t. your mother’s words echoed in your head; “A lady always thinks about the repercussions of their actions before making a single move, if the repercussions are anything but favorable a lady makes no action.” She’d drilled that into your head since you were old enough to speak and after nearly twenty-eight years it had done it’s fair share of irreparable damage.

 You felt like such a bitch, a lying, punk bitch. Deep down you worried your friends were right. You were boring and you’d be single forever because you sabotaged every possible relationship or experience you encounter. You took a deep breath and tried to shake off the feelings filling you.

 “Get our shit together Z.”

 You rolled your shoulders back and in came your friends, each holding a different outfit. You rolled your eyes and wanted to run away from the ratchet fashion montage that you saw headed your way. So, the next hour passed with you trying on more outfits than you wanted, posing this way and that way all for their amusement. Everything you tried on showcased a particular part of your body, from the outfit Lexi picked, to the floss Xio picked and the ensemble Andra picked. You weren’t going to lie they were all cute, but it was a lot more effort than you wanted to put in. In the end you decided to do this under your own terms instead of being dressed by them.

By the time you made it to the location it was almost one in the morning. The street was practically dark except the neon shine from a few other neighboring establishments. You and your friends climbed out the black car and walked toward the three-story brick building and gave the security in front your name and he checked his clipboard and nodded granting you entrance inside. You and your friends looped arms and walked inside. The red-light hue stopped you all in your tracks.

 “What the hell?” you asked. They kept walking down the long hallway and pulled you along. You looked around as you came to the opening of the space, it was now a mix of purple and red.

 “Wow, not bad for a party put together in under six hours,” Lexi shouted in your hear over the music. You narrowed your eyes at her ignoring her chuckling.

 “So, what’s the plan ladies?” Xio asked looking around.

 “Two drinks first, then divide and conquer,” Andra said.

 The four of you walked down the steps and made your way through the bodies that were scattered around. Your arms never left each other. once you made it to the bar you fought for a spot and claimed it. You bopped your head to the music and looked around the club. You saw a few of your coworkers but made no move to say hello, you needed more than two drinks in you to begin the elbow rubbing.

 “What can I get you beautiful ladies?” the bartender asked.

 Andra smiled widely and twirled her curly hair around her finger.

 “What would you recommend?”

 “Well it depends what you like,” the bartender responded.

 “Oh me? I can go with the flow, I like whatever you like.” You rolled your eyes.

 “I like mixing two or more together,” he said leaning to her also.

 “The more the merrier,” Andra finished. It was clear they were no longer talking about liquor if they ever were.

 “Anyway, I’ll take a shot of henny,” Xio interjected.

 “Me too,” Lexi chimed in.

 “Grapefruit and vodka shot bomb,” Andra ordered.

 The bartender looked to you as did your friends.

 “What’ll it be tonight Z? who are we fuckin wit’ tonight?” Xio asked.

 You thought for a few moments and shrugged giving in to the bad influences of your friends and the small side of you that lived to act without caring about repercussions.

 “Tequila and whiskey shot bomb.”

 Your friends erupted in cheers and claps. You shook your head.

 “Finally, Zesty Zanzee is coming out to play!” Xio shouted and did her best Xena war cry that all your friends echoed. You laughed and shook your head. The bartender placed each of your drinks before you. You each took them up, you prepared to drink it but Xio stopped you.

“Wait, what are we drinking to?”

 “The fine selection of prime grade A man!” Andra shouted. You all shrugged and nocked back your shots. From the first taste of the tequila and whiskey mix you knew tonight would be an unforgettable one. As the burn traveled through you, you shivered.

 The next thing you knew you were dancing with your friends on the dancefloor with another drink in your hand. You swayed your body to the music and cared about nothing else. Your friends egged you on and you obliged every ratchet request, from the milly rock, to the nae-nae, and busted it wide open with your twerk. Your dancing brought the boys to the yard just like Kelis predicted. You turned down your fair share of advances and by the time you turned down the fifth guy you looked over and saw Idris sitting in a booth with Dwayne and Jason, there were a few women around them and you couldn’t tell if he knew you were there. One of the staff approached you, whispered in your ear and pointed to their area. You nodded, tapped your friends and made your way over.

When you climbed up the steps and approached the booth Jason was the first to stand and open his arms wide.

 “You made it Z.” you smiled and nodded.

 “I did. Didn’t know it was possible to put together a party in one day.” He shrugged.

 “I am a man of many talents, and my money is a super power,” he informed.

 “Sort of like Batman,” Xio piped up. Jason looked at her and you saw the minute he turned on his charm. Oh boy you thought.

 “And who is this angel?”

“Ah, this devilish angel is my friend Xio.”

 Xio held out her hand, smiled and batted her eyelashes.

 “Xiomara,” she said rolling her tongue to the rs. You internally snorted and shook your head.

 “It is a pleasure to meet you Xiomara,” Jason echoed. She smiled and bite her bottom lip.

 “Uh-huh, and this is Lexi and Andra.”

 Jason shook their hands as well followed by Dwayne. The moment Idris joined them your eyes roamed his body, he looked good.

 “You’re joining us, come on,” Jason said ushering your friends to find a seat. The only one that was left was close to Idris and a separate woman he was talking to. You scoffed and sat down, crossing your legs.

 He didn’t look at you, he was too wrapped up in his conversation. You looked at the woman, she was pretty, and her skin looked flawless. She wore a cute black and white figure-hugging dress that looked made for her. You thought she had to be a model. You didn’t realize how long you were staring at her until she looked at you and smiled. You returned the smile but looked away. You got up and walked to the private bar and placed an order for a few tequila shots. You leaned on the bar and took out your phone and skimmed your timeline. You slid on one of the stools and crossed your legs, the split on your dress showed your thigh and you didn’t care to adjust it.

 You took up one of the three shots the bartender placed before you and knocked it back without a breath, followed by the second. When you took up the third you turned and saw Idris looking at you. your eyes met and there they remained. You sucked in the last shot never taking your eyes off him and sucked your bottom lip into your mouth. At this point you’d lost track of how many drinks you’d had. Before the stare could continue Jason drew his attention away. You breathed out, rolled your eyes and turned back to the bar annoyed. You didn’t know what you expected but this wasn’t it. You looked back over, and he was again talking to the pretty woman. You stifled a groan, got up and walked away leaving the booth area and making it to the bathroom.

You stood in front of the mirrors and got a grip. He didn’t owe you anything. You told him no and he had every right to move on, and look for a willing party. Your ego was bruised because it was just last night, and it didn’t take him long. After a few minutes you walked back out determined to enjoy the rest of the night. As you walked back to the bar you bumped into a hard body. Before you fell backwards, he pulled you into his and held you there. You looked up into Idris’ eyes and your knees buckled. His strong arms were there keeping you from hitting the ground. One arm was wrapped around your waist and the other held your hip. Everyone in the room disappeared but the two of you. his eyes bore into you and you swore he could see all your secrets including the bullshit one of you not wanting him. His fingers tightened on your hip and that drew a sultry moan from you as you pressed against him more leaving not even a sliver of space between you. you could feel every hard plane of his body including the hardness that was growing against your belly. You bit your bottom lip and momentarily drug your had across his muscled chest.

“Goddamn you’re perfect,” you groned out before you could stop yourself. As soon as you said it you heard it. You cleared your throat and pulled back creating an inch of space between you.

 “You look amazing Zanzee,” Idris complimented. You smiled small and nodded.

 “Thanks, didn’t think you noticed. You’ve been otherwise occupied with tall, dark and curvy over there all night,” you said. The jealously in your voice was clear and it disgusted you.

 “Her? Eh.” He shrugged without giving any explanation. You wanted to kick yourself for expecting and wanting one.

 “Right, feel free to get back to her, no need to play my night and shining armor,” you said. He nodded and walked away without a word. You were flabbergasted, angry but also hurt.

 The next few hours all you could do was watch him. He mingled around the club talking to one pretty woman and then another, and another and finally you’d lost count of how many women were hanging over every word he said. By the time three rolled around he was in the center of at least seven women all laughing at whatever story he was telling. They all looked wrapped around his finger and you were salty as fuck.

 “Why do you look so salty?” Lexi asked. You snapped out of it and shrugged.

 “I’m good. Having fun?”

 “Nice try. Spill.”

 You remained quiet.

 “Is this about tall, dark and fuckable over there?”

 She nodded to Idris and his harem. You shrugged.

 “Okay, bathroom break.” Lexi pulled you up and dragged you to the bathroom. Once inside she locked the door and made sure it was empty. She tore several pieces of paper towel and created a nice seat for herself atop the counter and plopped on it.

 “Okay, spill.”

 You looked over yourself, reapplied your lipstick and ignored her.

 “You like him, like really like, like. Not celeb crush like but for realsies,” Lexi gaped.

 “Oh my god Z, this is huge. You don’t like anyone. You’ve been single for almost two years and celibate for damn near that long, but here you are. You have feelings for him.”

 “Stop, that’s ridiculous. He’s Idris Elba, I’d be one stupid groupie if I did.” You chastised.

 “Why? He’s hot as hell, seems like a cool guy, talented, and he must be a pretty good guy for you to even remotely like him. So why would you be stupid?” Lexi asked.

 “He’s an actor Lex, an actor. Of all things, I said I’d never get involved with an actor, never go there and yet--,” you trailed off.

 “Well you were a dumbass for saying that shit out loud. You know the universe likes to fuck with people. You spoke this shit into existence. Stepping away from that, we’re here now. Feelings have been established, what’s the problem?”

 You remained silent again. It was pointless, she could read you as good as Andra and she pieced it together.

 “Oh, he’s an actor so you’re sabotaging yourself. Okay. Does he like you too?”

“I don’t know. Last night he came off like he was suggesting we have sex but now tonight he’s surrounded by a harem.”

 “Wait, pause. Did you sleep with him?”

 “No, I told him I’m not that type of woman, I don’t do shit like that.”

 Lexie groaned, rolled her eyes and shook her head.

 “So, he does like you and you already sabotaged yourself. You have to fix this Z. you have to tell him how you feel.”

 “The fuck I do. I feel nothing,” you lied.

 “Oh, you just want to sit on his face.”

 You snorted and laughed loudly, she joined in. After the two of you calmed down you shook your head.

 “Be real with me Z.”

 You sighed and gave up.

 “I think I like him, I know I want to have sex with him but how would that make me any different than all the other groupies he’s fucked?”

 “How do you know you aren’t different? How do you know this entire situation isn’t different? From the tabloids and gossip his sexcapades don’t last longer than a few weeks. You’ve been working together for months.”

 “I don’t want to be like all the others Lex. I would feel so stupid and dirty. He has a massive past.

 “Every sinner has a future and every saint has a past,” she reminded. You nodded because you knew that was what she was going to say.

 “You have got to forget that backwards shit your mother spewed growing up. “A lady always thinks about the repercussions of their actions before making a single move, if the repercussions are anything but favorable a lady makes no action.” Bullshit!” Lexi shouted. You pinched your lips together.

 “Do you realize how stupid that sounds. If you never make an action for fear of the fall out, you’d miss out on so much. If you didn’t take this job because you were afraid you couldn’t handle being split in three by three actors, you wouldn’t be crushing it now. Yes, I realize how that sounded now that it’s out my mouth. Not literally split in three by three actors. Although that thought is very appealing. Have you thought about it?” Lexi diverted.

 “I hadn’t until Andra brought it up and since then I have to say it’s a thought once a day,” you admitted. You and Lexi laughed again.

 “Maybe you should take your own advice with Devin. He loves you I’m sure he’d want you to be happy. Talk to him about what it is you truly want,” you advised. She nodded.

 “Only if you take the same advice.” She held out her hand to you. you thought for a moment and shrugged. You shook her hand and she pulled you in for a hug.

 When the two of you walked back to the party you looked around the club and saw your friends scattered around with different actors, they looked to be in deep conversations, or deep flirting. You looked to Idris again and he was still surrounded by his harem. You rolled your eyes and shied away. You found a pair of stairs and went down them unsure where they led. Once downstairs the boom of the music echoed but it was twenty times quieter. You saw different doors and tried one, you peaked in and saw a bed with sheer curtains.

 “What the hell.”

You walked down the hall to another door and opened it and saw the same sight. After looking in two more rooms with the same bed you walked into the last door on the right and sat on the red four posted bed there. You took a deep breath in, closed your eyes and released it. You got up and walked around then pressed your back to one of the posts. You took out your phone and checked your emails. Suddenly a message came in from Idris.

 MSG Idris: Left without saying goodbye?

 You bit your bottom lip and hugged your midsection.

 MSG Z: Surprised you noticed I was missing.

MSG Idris: Of course, I noticed. It’s hard to not notice you Z.

 Your heart began pounding faster.

 MSG Z: You’re right, I’m wearing bright red lipstick.

MSG Idris: It has nothing to do with your lipstick. You’ve always been hard to not notice. From the day I met you.

 Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

 You sucked your bottom lip into your mouth again and tried to slow your heart.

 MSG Idris: Did you leave?

MSG Z: Why? What’s it to you?

MSG Idris: If you’re gone there’s no need me being here anymore.

 “Jesus Christ.” You placed your hands on your thighs and bent over taking a few deep breaths.

 MSG Z: Why is that?

MSG Idris: Because I only came to this thing hoping to see you.

 You nocked your head back onto the wooden post.

 MSG Z: Could have fooled me? You’ve been surrounded all night.

MSG Idris: You’ve stayed away all night, all day. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.

MSG Z: So, you flirt with every woman in here.

MSG Idris: Every woman but the one I want.

 You stared at his words and thought about your response.

 MSG Z: Who’s that?

MSG Idris: At the risk of getting my ego bruised and feelings hurt again; you Z. I want you.

 “Oh god.”

 You stared at the words, but your fingers were frozen.

MSG Idris: Except last night when I said the words, I think you misunderstood. You took it as me just wanting to sleep with you. that’s not the case Z, I want more than sex with you.

 Your eyes bugged out in your head as you read and re-read his message.

 MSG Idris: I want your hands on my skin, I want your lips on mine, I want to taste you, I want to hear you moan my name, I want to see your body tremble because of me, I want to feel you around me, I want to see the color of your eyes are you succumb to the pleasure I bring you, I want to hear you scream my name, I want to roll over in the middle of the night and collide with your body, I want to see what you look like with messy bed hair at first morning’s light, I want to cook you breakfast, dinners, I want to sit and talk with you about everything from astronomy to the reason why evil exists, I want to vacation with you, I want to bring you home to meet my mother, my kids, I want that and so much more Z.

 You were speechless, breathless and your head was spinning. At this point you were hyperventilating from the rapid beating of your heart. You couldn’t believe what you were reading. You also couldn’t believe how affected you were, and how badly you wanted all of that too. You didn’t know how badly you did until he said the words.

 MSG Z: Jesus Christ you can’t say shit like that to me.

 “Why?”

 You spun around and there he stood leaned against the door frame. The purple light bathed covered him and he looked like a figment from your best dreams.

 “Why can’t I say that to you? I’ve wanted to say it for so long. So long.”

 He walked into the door and you found yourself backing up. You felt like the prey and he was the predator. The hum of the music above worked with the light to the room even more hypnotizing with him in it. You felt your back collide with the wall and you pressed into it. He stopped a few inches from you and stared at you. you licked your lips and tried to catch your breath.

 “Tell me.”

 “Because, I—I—I work for you,” you began.

 “I don’t care.”

 “This is incredibly unprofessional,” you countered.

 “I don’t care.”

 He took another step to you. You looked down his body and bit your bottom lip. Your body was betraying you big time. You felt the wetness puddle between your thighs. You were thankful the thick leather of the dress hid your hardened nipples. When you looked back to him you recognized the look in his eyes. It was the same look from the night in his trailer and the one in yours and last night. Hell, you’d seen this look many times before those instances you just never placed it until now.

 “Fuck!” you groaned. He angled his head and surveyed you.

 “Last night, you didn’t turn me down because you didn’t want me, or because you didn’t want this,” he announced. You swallowed and you pushed off the wall and walked past him. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you to him. Again, your body slammed into his. You moaned and squeezed his biceps gripping him.

 “You want this, you want this just as much as I do.”

 He stared into your eyes and lowered his baritone.

 “You want me Z.”

 Your control was gone.

 “Jesus,” you groaned.

 “Tell me.”

 “Yes, I want you.”

 In seconds he crushed his lips to yours sucking your bottom lip in. you moaned on his mouth and savored the feel of his kiss as you kissed him back. It was a kiss you’d dreamt of since you were a teenager, the kiss that woke you up and burned you from the inside out. The kiss that stole everything, air, senses, dreams, hopes, life. It was the kiss you’d wanted forever but never got. He delivered tenfold. The kiss became more frenzied as he pulled you even closer to his body. Idris dug his fingers into your hair and remained there. His moans intermingled with yours and soon the room was filled with only the sounds of your moans.

 When your lungs couldn’t take anymore, you pulled your lips away and gasped for air. Idris peppered kisses along your jaw and made a fiery trail to your ear where he nibbled at your earlobe. He spent a few moments there before he dipped his lips to your neck and found the sensitive part of your neck that was your weakness. He sucked your flesh into his mouth and there went your inhibitions. You felt his hardening length against your stomach, and you wanted more. You crushed your lips to his again and kissed him again, it was a kiss he eagerly reciprocated. You’d never felt like this before, never been set ablaze by just a kiss. You felt like you were having an outer body experience and watched yourself so close to throwing everything to the side. You pulled back and panted trying to compose yourself.

 “Shit.”

 “I second that,” Idris said taking a step to you.

 “No, no, we can’t do this.”

 “What? Why?”

 “Why? I’ve already told you.”

 “I’ll ask David for another assistant, then you won’t work for me.”

 “No, not that, this is not me. I don’t do this. I’m not some groupie who drops her panties for a hot celeb. I can’t be like the countless women you’ve done this with.”

 “Z, you’re nothing like them I know that, I see that. You’ve never been like that. I could tell that from the day we met. I’m not who I was with you right now. I’m different, I want things to be different with you.”

 You tried to gather if he was spitting game or being truthful. It was hard to see through your intense arousal and want for him.

 “I’m being truthful. Last night I came off wrong, I’m sorry for making you feel like I think of you as a body. I don’t see you like that Zanzee,” he pleaded. He slowly walked to you and took your hand. You were having an internal fight; your brain and your heart were warring, and it was an epic battle.

He trailed his fingers up your arm to your shoulder and goosebumps broke out all across your skin. He held out his arm to show you.

 “See, you do the same to me.”

 You looked at his arm and aw the goosebumps that mirrored yours. You looked back at him hope filling you.

 “Idris—” you began before his lips cut you off. You moaned again and allowed him to kiss you as the war within waged on.

 “Put me out my misery Z, please. Stop the torture. Be with me.”

 You pulled back and looed in his eyes.

 “What?”

 “Be with me. Be mine,” he groaned out as he placed single kisses along your face and lips.

 You felt crowded, as if you were seconds from giving in and he knew it. You kissed him again and pressed your body to his. He moaned and backed to the bed before dropping onto it. You climbed on him and returned his hungry kisses. You felt his hand snake down your back and squeeze your hip. Once he did that you felt his prominent bulge pressed against you. everything in you wanted to give in to everything you’d wanted for the last five months but you also knew it was not the right place. He rolled on you and trapped your arms above your head. You bit your bottom lip as the two of you stared at each other. He lowered his lips to yours again, but this kiss was different, it was slow, tantalizing, and gentle, this kiss spoke of feelings. You slowly got lost in his issues and the feelings they awoke, feelings that quieted the war within. You pulled him closer and moaned on him and enjoyed the moment. It had been so long since you’d been kissed and it all made sense, no one else would have ever done but him. He was running you for anyone to come after him. Every cell in your body knew it but happily accepted your inevitable fate. He slowed his kisses and you took the opportunity to roll back onto him. You kissed him once, twice and then a third time before you pulled your body off his. He lied there and took a few moments to center himself. You looked over his body and saw the evident sign of his arousal.

 “You need time to think don’t you,” Idris said as he sat up.

 You raked your hands through your hair and tried to get a hold of your runaway thoughts and feelings.

 “Don’t you?”

 “No. I’ve done my thinking. I don’t think you understand, this has been months in the making. Months Zanzee.”

 You studied him and saw be was being truthful.

 “I’m tried of running from it and to be honest I’m not a good actor if I do as you saw today. I know this is more your hang up than mine and I understand that. I have a past, one that is not favorable. I get it, really, I do. No one should enter something blindly, especially with an actor. This life can chew you up and spit you out. I care about you too much to force you into this.”

 You turned your back to him and shook your head.

 “Jesus Christ Idris.”

 You couldn’t believe your ears, couldn’t believe this was happening. You felt his arms around your waist, and you closed your eyes and sunk into his embrace. You felt safe in his arms, you felt as if he wouldn’t hurt you and you could believe in him.

 “I can wait for you to get there Z. I will wait.” He kissed your temple and then down the side of your face, to your jaw and then to your shoulder. You shivered.

 “What if I don’t get there?”

 “You will.”

 “How do you know?”

 “Because you feel what I feel, you want what I want. You won’t be able to just walk away from what the strength of this.”

 Silence filled the room and your phone went off. You looked at it and saw your friends messages asking where you were.

 “I have to go.”

 “Go ahead, I’ll hang back for five.”

 You looked at him and studied his face. He was beautiful. You couldn’t believe he was standing there saying he wanted you over all the other women he could have. He stepped to you and placed a gentle kiss on your lips. You kissed him back and caressed his cheek. You walked past him to the door but before you walked out you looked back at him. he was watching you, but his expression was masked now.

 “See you around DJ. Driis.”

You walked away leaving him there.  You had no idea how you got home because you were floating on cloud nine, but you were filled with so much anxiety and worry. You had a lot to think about.

 To Be continued….

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[melyzard]

Part of a quote, if you will: "I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone forever." And congrats! :)

(Good morning! I’m back again, because I’d hate to leave all these good quote prompts unanaswered. And this one in particular is great. It’s a Cassian POV snippet from chapter 10 of “A Long Song” ), which if you haven’t read, is basically a long series of “what if Jyn and Cassian met while they were young?” This snippet is set while Jyn is getting cleaned up, enjoying a brief moment of not being watched, and making Shara Bey’s little heart fill with anticipatory glee as she realizes that Something is Afoot with Cassian and this new fighter.)

“My scenario predictions indicated a ninety-six percent chance that you would be pleased to find Jyn alive,” Kay’s servos whir with concern as he follows Cassian into the droid bay. “But then, I did not account for discovering a potential Imperial connection.” He sounds grumpy about the oversight, and in the back of his mind, Cassian anticipates a long series of software upgrades that Kay will demand over the next few days. 

But the thought comes like an echo out of the fog, distant and unimportant, and unlikely to guide him out of the haze. “What connection?” he asks anyway, because people too often ignore Kay when he speaks. Jyn’s alive, he thinks, and his hands itch with the memory of her fingers curled around his, months ago in the dark of her little safehouse. Alive, alive, alive.

Alive, but if the time between then and now have worn him down to shadows and fading hope, it has cut her into sharp edges and hunted eyes. Jyn is alive, on Yavin IV, and he had been only a few steps from her in that holding cell - but the chasm of six painful months had yawned between them and all Cassian could do was stand there while his heart twisted with want and regret and fear.

“Her father, the Imperial weapons researcher,” Kay stomps past him as they round the corner and heads straight for the charging port, clearly not noticing the way his unemotional statement lashes out and smacks Cassian right in the face. 

“Wait,” he demands just as Kay steps onto the charging platform and the little plug automatically pops out to connect to his chassis. “What about him?”

“The most logical reason for your distress regarding Jyn - “ he pauses, and then continues, “Correction: Jyn Erso, is due to her connections to a known enemy.”

Cassian opens his mouth to argue, because his “distress” most certainly does not have anything to do with Galen Erso; if Jyn had been working with her father at all, Cassian would long ago have been killed or captured or...but he stalls out before he can correct Kay, and the droid clicks into low-power mode, his optics going dark.

“I am happy to see her,” he says anyway, and his voice sounds strained and uncertain even to his own ears, so he grimaces and swallows it back. “I’m glad she made it,” he tries again, because no one else is around anyway and maybe if he hears it aloud, maybe if he just says it, he can get it under control. Own your emotions, his first trainer had told him, years ago when he was nine years old and just beginning to understand what fate and the war had led him to do. If you can’t even admit what you feel, you can’t control it.

“I am so,” he whispers roughly, his hands clenched tight into fists at his side, “so fucking glad she’s alive.”

Kay doesn’t move, his exterior sensors shut down to conserve power and facilitate a faster recharge, but Cassian can hear his question anyway: then why are you so distressed?

Because I left her behind, just like Saw Gerrera, just like her parents, just like everyone else who ever failed her. Because she looked at me in her prison cell and I’m not sure whether she saw me, or just another warden bullying her. Because she knows more about me than anyone alive, and I still want her to know more. Because she might not want to know more. Because I promised her everything - even if I never said it aloud - and then I left her with nothing.

Because I had her and I lost her, and I’m not sure I can take that again.

“She’s alive,” he says out loud, just to cut off the downward spiral of his thoughts. “That’s all - that’s all that matters right now.” He feels the truth of that settle around him, burning back a little of the fog and giving him a moment to think clearly. Yes, that will be enough for now. Whether she hates him, or has discarded him, or...or anything else, that can wait. He has to find her father, has to find answers, has to stop whatever evil is growing in the Empire’s violent heart. He has to answer the question in her eyes when her father’s name is spoken. 

Everything else, he thinks with grim determination as he turns to his workbench - fear, grief, longing, guilt - all of that can wait. Jyn’s alive, and for all her stubborn insistence that she didn’t get involved in rebel affairs, she’s done too much to help him against the Empire over the years for him to believe that she doesn’t really care. And however silent she’s been about her family and her past, he knows her face enough to recognize the shadows in her eyes that mask something much more fragile. Right now Jyn has more than enough on her plate without his issues. He has more than enough on his own.

(Maybe, someday, when they are free of this - )

He can wait.

[outlawqueenbey]

Forgotten Amnesia

@oqpromptparty Day 3:

Robin has amnesia. He falls in love with his Regina, his doctor. (#156)

Hospitals are….not her cup of tea. Everything smells stale and bleached beyond recognition. There is a constant whispering between hushed voices, muffled words and scowls between doctors and nurses over patient charts. Not much about a hospital is very happy. Sure, people come in with injuries and leave fully recovered, but sometimes they don't. Sometimes people never leave the confines of this white walled fortress, and other times they are taken out in a body bag. Pain is everywhere. Not just physical, that can be handled easily with IV's and morphine, but it's the psychological pain that lingers and claws it's grimy hands around this place. Patients in pain when they are told they will never walk again. Parents in pain seeing their children being wheeled off to surgery. Friends staring into the abyss waiting and praying to whoever that their person comes out safely.

No, hospitals are not her favorite place. But it's where her life now revolves around because of a particular patient, and the pain in her heart that refuses to go away. She's been his doctor for six years now. Walks the same hallway down to room 23 with his ever growing medical chart in hand, a glass of lemonade in the other, a favorite of his she's come to learn over their time together.

Each day is much the same, his condition hasn't improved, the car crash he barely survived has taken away all of his memories. Of his family back home who waits, his job he will most likely never return to, the friends that visit every now and again, and the family he has, who love him so much and miss him even more. Pain. It surrounds him though he doesn't feel a thing.

But every morning at half past ten she knocks on his door, hoping that it might be the day something has changed. Today is no different. With his drink in tow, she pushes his door open to find him staring rather intently out the window. A frown creasing his forehead and crinkling the lines around his bright blue eyes. It's an expression she hasn't seen before.

Sure there has been frustration for him in his recovery. The first few months after coming out of the coma. The braces around his legs and spine to keep him upright as he learned to walk again. Learning how to speak again. That was exhausting for her. But they did it. After nearly a year, he could finally form proper sentences to voice his thoughts and needs rather than shakily scribble on a pad of paper, or use their made up tapping code with his fingers on her palm. One tap meant yes. Two taps was no. That was their entire conversation. Filled with her asking him questions, and he tapping her hand. She damn near cried the first time he said hello to her. It was the progress she'd been waiting on.

But that feeling of utter relief and joy soon took a rapid downhill sink when he asked her what her name was. He didn't remember it. Didn't remember her. And that's how they figured out that the traumatic brain injury he had suffered caused extreme memory loss and day to day amnesia.

Other doctors had sighed and patted her shoulder, telling her there was nothing they could do. The brain is a fragile organ, and sometimes the damage is irreparable. She refused to believe them. Which is why she has stood in this doorway in the place she hates most, and told him her name every day.

But this look, the way he doesn't even turn to acknowledge her is jarring, and it makes her heart sink slightly. If this is another setback, she has run out of options with his rehab. They will just have to live like this, in two separate worlds, where his smile will forever have her stomach flipping over into a cloud of butterflies and that will be it. She won't leave him, but there will be no growth between them. Not anymore. He doesn't even remember seeing her yesterday.

"Robin?" She sets her charts and his lemonade down on the side table, sitting on the bed next to his hip. "Are you alright?"

He huffs quietly, scowls at the sun outside before turning back to her, scanning her face for any source of recognition. It's a longer look than she is used to. And something feels different about him. She should probably check his vitals and do her routine morning checklist of him. Hopefully he isn't declining. Her heart couldn't take that. The past six years have already taken a toll, and the threads are barely holding the beating organ together.

"I'm Dr. Mills. I just have to give you a check over okay?" She sits and reaches for her stethoscope. His eyes follow as she places the chilled tool on his chest, plugs in her ears as she listens to his heartbeat for a moment. "It's still going strong." Regina smiles, leaning back and jotting a few notes on his chart.

He doesn't say anything, just nods and follows her with his ever inquisitive eyes as she stands and moves to the other side of his bed. "You're beautiful, has anyone ever told you that?"

Little does he know, it's him who does. Every day she sees him. He comments on how stunning her eyes are. How impressive her brain is. The brilliance of her smile. Silly as it may be, she loves hearing him say them. She is no stranger to men admiring her, but he is the only one who can say something so simple and it has her heart banging a trumpeting chorus in her chest.

"Thank you. How are you feeling?"

"Fine, I suppose."

He's always fine. Every damn day, that's all he is. Just fine. One day she hopes he will say he's good. That would be such an improvement.

She places her hand in his own, "Can you squeeze my fingers for me?" He does. On both sides, and at least his strength hasn't gone down hill. Physical Therapy has done him well. She squeezes back for a moment before letting her hand slide out of his. He frowns at that but says nothing, just stares at her with that same intensity.

"I'm going to check your eyes now okay?"

He shuffles to lay back on his bed, but when she brings the retinoscope up to his face, his hand wraps around her wrist, stopping her from coming any closer. The contact tingles in a way it shouldn't anymore. "This won't hurt, I just need to look at your eyes." Just like every other day.

His eyes stay locked on hers, fingers still wrapped around her wrist as he moves her hand to the side, and he scans her face over and over again until a small half dimpled smile parts across his lips.

"Is everything okay?"

"I know you."

The words steal the breath out of her lungs. Not once, in six years since he had been brought into her care has he ever had any inclination of knowing who she was. Tears flood into her eyes as she tries to stifle the urge to hug him. It could simply be fluke. A trick of the brain that is healing. And she dare not linger on the prospect of hope. She tried that before, and it didn't exactly work out in her favour.

"I'm your doctor. I see you everyday." She smiles, patting his chest softly. "For six years we've known each other." It's been longer, but again, he doesn't know that.

Robin frowns at that. "No. I mean I remember who you are."

She doesn't exactly know what to say to that, just tilts her head to the side curiously, "And who am I?"

"Regina. That's your name. Regina Evelyn Mills."

Her jaw drops. In the past six years her middle name has never been brought up. Not once.

"You're right." She swallows thickly at the bubble of hope caught in her throat.

"You grew up in Maine, in a small town where you used to be the mayor."

A tear falls from her eyes as she nods, bites down on her lip not wanting to interrupt his break through. It takes a moment, a long frozen second in time that he turns his eyes down to her hand that is gripped within his own, the single silver band around her left finger, one that matches a ring that sits on his left hand.

"You were my wife." He whispers out.

A half laugh half cry escapes her as she reaches with her free hand to tip his chin up, finding his eyes staring up at her in disbelieving promise.

"No," She leans into his lips, uncaring if anyone were to walk in as her forehead meets his own, "I am your wife."

He closes the distance before she can, pressing their lips softly together as her tears fall.

"I...I remember you."

Fin.