#this has been sitting in my drafts since early december

[sigmashuffle]

[starbuck]

and I am leaving you and I am sorry

[httpknjoon]

what do the lonely do at christmas | myg

plot | that time when popstar!yn found herself on bassist!yoongi's bed on a cold December morning.

w.c | 2.8K

pairing | bass guitarist!yoongi x popstar!reader

genre | fluff, slight angst, enemies to lovers

note | one out of two/three holiday-themed drabble for this series! it's late, I know. but I can't let them sit in my drafts again haha so here it is. enjoy!

main masterlist | series masterlist | want to request?

DAY 66 of Love Is... On Tour

They make songs. Together.

After a show at Wells Fargo Center, Yoongi stayed locked in his hotel room to work on the music for your EP. He has read the lyrics you sent to him and listened to some melody ideas you recorded in your voice notes. In the last two days you two have been collaborating, you are full of visions and excited to tell him all of them. He finds it more surprising that you two haven't had any fights since then.

Is it New Years yet? I'm getting bored, so can we skip ahead? I just wanna forget That I'm at home with nobody to hold

So far, you already recorded two out of the six songs you planned to release in the EP. Usually, Yoongi takes his time in making and editing songs. But considering that this is a holiday EP and you have less than a week before the management's deadline, he works on it at every chance he gets. It's not that hard when you already have a clear vision of what and how you want the extended play to be.

Working is a great distraction compared to scrolling on his phone, which did no good for him. Mainly because he recently saw a post from a mutual friend of his and his ex. That's when he learned that Sara threw a baby shower in what was supposedly their house. He felt something cracked in him when he saw how far along her pregnancy was.

Tempted, Yoongi scrolled through the carousel of photos, admiring the decorations and colors of the house Sara probably picked herself, things that Yoongi had never seen personally. A single photo made Yoongi pause.

It shows Sara and her then-ex-boyfriend holding her growing bump, also showcasing a ring on her finger— not the emerald-cut diamond one he proposed to her. A new one, signaling that she is engaged for a second time this year. That photo was enough for Yoongi to turn it off and focus on his music.

Ding-dong.

Yoongi's head snapped, irritated when the unexpected doorbell noise filled his room. Frowning, he gets up from his chair to check who the person might be.

It's you.

Looking like a curious puppy, you stood before Yoongi's door with two cups of warm drinks you asked Cal to buy on the way back to the hotel. Yoongi looked at you through the small peephole, taking notice of your large, thick white cable knit sweater that falls just a few inches above your knees and the mystery cups you're holding. He opened the door when you began rolling your eyes and tapping your foot.

"What took you so long?!" you instantly asked the moment you saw him, handing him the other cup.

He snickered, ignoring your attitude. He takes the cup before pushing the door wider to let you in. Yoongi followed behind you when you walked inside. He sits back on his chair, in front of his small set-up, while you sit at the edge of his bed. Usually, you will take the couch. But the bed is nearer his working setup.

This is how you two have worked since you started. You only get up when you want to see his screen or when recording something.

"What are you doing here?" he asked since you just finished your show earlier. He figured you might prefer to rest and just work early tomorrow.

"I have an EP to work on, duh!" you replied, taking a sip from your hot chocolate as you tapped on your phone. "Anyway, lemme show you something..."

Probably a new idea. Yoongi thought. He knew it from the moment he saw you opened your phone's notes app.

"Here." You handed him your phone, letting him read something you wrote earlier today.

Maybe he met you somewhere in the desert While he was soul searching, he found someone better Guess you make him happy like I couldn't do Cindy Lou Who

Yoongi reads down the words, "It's a sad song?"

"Yep," you nodded. "Have you heard the song, What Do The Lonely Do At Christmas?"

Yoongi was quick to shake his head. He is not really fond of Christmas songs and doesn't listen to them if not needed. But he could tell by the title that it's probably a sad song too.

You pulled up your legs on his bed, making yourself comfortable, "It's a great song from the 70s. It has a lot of covers too. It's a sad Christmas song and I am so into it that I thought of writing one too."

Yoongi nods, listening, as he scans the rest of your lyrics, "Hmm..."

"What?" you quickly responded to his humming.

With how his eyes squint and his lips form a thin line, you know that he has something to say about your work. You learned after your first night of working together, making you realize that he has the same habit when you rehearse for a show.

"It's great, but I feel like we should just change some irrelevant lines? Like, maybe he met you somewhere in the desert." he read one of the lines. "What does desert get to do with Christmas?"

When he was met with a long silence, Yoongi looked up to you. But he find you just looking at him, chewing on your bottom lip. You looked away before letting out a heavy sigh.

"I found out my ex was cheating on me when paparazzi caught pictures of him and that actress kissing in Coachella." you explained.

"Oh..."

An apologetic look was instantly written all over his face, which is something you haven't expected. You thought he would keep the blank expression he always has. But his eyes and slightly gaped mouth said otherwise. You hate pity or anything like that, especially when it comes from someone who once read you too well. So, you grinned, even though it was forced so much that it almost made your cheeks hurt.

"Want to see the pictures? It's literally everywhere." you joked to change the mood. His eyes widened like he thought you were serious. So you chuckled, "I'm kidding! I won't show you that myself. You can just search it up if you want to."

"I'm not interested. No one really enjoys seeing a picture of their ex," he mumbled, returning your phone to you.

Your eyebrows crooked together when you heard that. He sounded too serious like he was the one in your shoes. You watch him sulk back to his seat, turning his back to work on one of your songs.

"You're acting like you were the one who got cheated on here. You're literally engaged to someone." you quipped.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."

He whispered mindlessly. Yoongi didn't really think about it and let it slip out of his tongue. He doesn't really like bringing up his personal dramas in his workplace. He never would have realized what he said if you didn't ask him,

"What do you mean by that?"

Yoongi turned around, meeting your eyes, "So, how do you like that song to turn out?"

You're not dumb. Of course, you noticed him dodging your curiosities. He has never shared anything about himself since you two worked together. It's not like I care, you thought. But you know that there is a small itch at the back of your head, trying to get him to talk more. And maybe you know a trick to satisfy that itch.

"Let's order some wine first."

"With your hair so long, lips so bed— wait, that's wrong!"

A bottle of red wine is carelessly placed on the perfectly white duvet of Yoongi's bed. Surprisingly, it is still safe from any stain. The nearly finished cup of now-cold chocolate drink you brought is on the nightstand. You were giggling in front of the microphone and pop filter after making another mistake.

"The words are scrambled." you continued giggling before drinking from the glass of wine you were holding.

It has been almost two hours since you got in his room and Yoongi knows that the effect of your wine is getting into you. Earlier, before you could finish your first glass, you two already agreed on the instrumentals of the song you called cindy lou who. You let Yoongi make some changes in your lyrics, but it's nothing major.

"Something that feels delicate and maybe some piano." You described your idea before humming the tune you were thinking of.

By the second glass of wine, you are recording a rough draft of the song. So that you know if your ideas work well. Yoongi suggested to layer your vocals in some parts while you thought of adding a subtle harmony. Surprisingly, you two worked smoothly.

"Should we add some harp? Noah would have liked that."

You were almost done with your third glass of wine when Yoongi heard you mention your ex's name for the first time.

"Maybe we should stop drinking..." he said.

Even though he's in his fourth glass as well, Yoongi is doing better than you. You looked at him while he clicked something on his setup. You wondered if he could feel the cozy, warm feeling you've been feeling from the wine. Because that plain expression cannot really tell you anything, which makes you feel a little frustrated with how you're the only one who seemed to be a little giggly.

"Fine." you rolled your eyes, letting him take your glass from you.

He got up to get something in his room's mini fridge before going back to you, "Water?"

"It's cold," you replied before you could even touch the bottle.

"Okay, diva."

Your eyebrows raised with that, "No! I mean I cannot drink cold water when I'm singing or recording. It's not good for my throat... I'm fine, anyway. Thanks."

"I thought it would help you sober up," he explained, leaning to his chair.

"I'm sober!" you exclaimed defensively. Just a little fuzzy. But you won't admit that to him.

His lips formed into a smug smile, like he was saying, yeah sure. You puffed before fixing your headphones and crossing your arms over your chest. You looked annoyed. Yoongi knows because your nostrils are flared while there's a small pout on your lips. He bites off his inner cheek to stop himself from smiling.

"Should we record again?" he asked.

Still a little annoyed, you didn't say anything and just nodded your head. The instrumental began playing in your headphones seconds later.

‘Tis the season to be jolly But how can I be when I have nobody

The same song plays on your phone while you tap your fingertips in tune with the sleighbells playing in its instrumental. After finishing recording the song, you stay to see how it will turn out. Yoongi didn't seem to mind even though it was already past midnight.

"Do you want to hear the song I mentioned?" you asked him while he worked on the song.

Busy, he answered with a short sure. So, you played the song in a non-distracting volume, reached for the glass of wine you abandoned, and sat on his bed. You were quiet, sometimes humming to the song, but mostly staring at the view outside.

A silent night I know it's gonna be Joy to the world But it's gonna be sad for me

As the snow falls outside, you think of how this is so not how you expected your December is gonna be this year. With Noah being your original bassist, you thought you two would get to enjoy the snow in various cities you're touring in. And maybe even spend Christmas together during your break. But instead, you are now in your new bassist's, with whom you have dumb fights most of the time, hotel room, making holiday songs.

How surprising is that? You thought to yourself before taking one gulf of your wine.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when Yoongi slightly groaned as he stretched his limbs from his chair. You paused the song and collected the wine bottle and your glass like you were ready to go.

"Are you kicking me out yet?" you asked.

He turned around, just to you about to get up from the bed, "What?"

"Maybe my presence distracts you." you joked, which sounds nicer than maybe you don't want me here in your room anymore because you don't like having me here.

He chuckled, a little tired, "No, it's okay. I know you're waiting for the finished version."

"Good. Because I really like your room. You have a great view of the city. The snow looks perfect here." you rambled.

Yoongi looked outside, seeing the wonderful view you were talking about. He wordlessly agrees before getting back to his screen. Watching him, you mumbled.

"If you're tired, we can just finish that tomorrow."

Just like you, the guy also performed hours ago. You two don't along at most times, but you are not that petty to make him overwork.

"No, I'm fine," he shakes his head. "I'll finish this in an hour, just wait there."

"Okay," you put down the bottle on the nightstand.

Yoongi heard the music play again while he edited the song. Eager to finish it tonight, he continued working for what seemed like a few minutes for him. He made sure to add your suggestions and put some elements he thinks would be perfect. After listening to his finished product through his headphones one more time, Yoongi put on a satisfied smile.

"And it's do—"

Yoongi's smile fell when he found you asleep on his bed with the empty wine glass in your hand. It was already 1:24 AM, and he looked at the time. Seeing how peaceful you are in your sleep, he would hate waking you up. Instead, Yoongi got up cleaned up his nightstand, and carefully took your glass. He tried not to chuckle loudly when he heard your small snores. After gently putting the duvet on you, Yoongi took one of the pillows and threw it on the couch that he would take over tonight. He knows it would be awkward to take up the big, empty space next to you.

Dimming down the lights, Yoongi tried to find a comfortable position on the couch. And when he did, he finally closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep.

If it weren't for the buzzing noise next to you, you would have seen where your celebrity crush ended up taking you for a date in your dreams. Groaning, you reached for your phone beside you. Seeing Cal calling, you begrudgingly answered the call.

"Hey, Cal." your voice sounded weak as you just woke up.

"Where the hell are you, YN?! I've been ringing your room. You have a virtual interview at 9."

Your eyebrows furrowed while slowly sitting up, "What do you mean? I'm in my room— Oh, no. Fuck."

The first thing you see when you sit up is Yoongi's compact studio setup, which you don't remember being in your room. You looked around and it just confirmed that you are not in your hotel room. Yoongi is nowhere to be found, you don't hear any noise from the bathroom either.

"Y/N?" Cal spoke again, worried by your sudden pause.

"I-I'm in Yoongi's room." you stuttered, trying to remember your last memory. You were relieved to find yourself still in the same clothes you went with last night.

You heard a gasp from the other line, "Oh my god, YN! Did you hooked—"

"No, no, no! Still in my clothes. Just fell asleep making songs." you babbled, cutting her suspicions off. "Where the fuck is that sock?!"

Is it a talent to lose a fucking sock while asleep? Because if it is, you just added a new title under your name. You were in a hurry, shuffling the bed for that one sock with heart patterns. Cal can only imagine what you look like right now.

"Here!" you exclaimed, immediately putting it on. You rushed to the door after. "I'm going there right— Yoongi!"

Yoongi was right before you. He shared the same shock as you except he was calmer with his eyebrows raised and eyes widened.

"I have to go for an interview. Cal's gonna rip my head off. I'll check the song later. Thank you for letting me stay!"

You were so in a hurry that you were literally spewing words and didn't realize that you leaned to give a quick kiss on his cheek. It registered as you were moving back, making you two stop for a moment, looking at each other in surprise. He gulped, feeling his throat running dry. while you feel every blood run to your cheeks now, feeling warm.

You blinked, "I-I'm gonna go."

Yoongi watched you run to the elevator before looking at the two cups of coffee he was holding.

note | i still have a christmas drabble! haha! hope u liked this one though <33

taglist rules

SERIES TAGLIST (OPEN)

@busanbby-jjk @jimingirl95 @treacherqus @jajabro @marnz1990 @ktownshizzle @notarshia @m00njinnie @thelilbutifulthings @tarahardcore @livisdoingfine @jungshaking @eridanus-lynx @enthralled-bandit

PERMANENT TAGLIST (CLOSED)

@dunixxd @cixrosie @jksjx @embrace-themagic @buttvi @starbtslove @missseoulite @vanntaesworld @kenqki @imajinthis @stopeatread @seolaquotes @greyrain23 @chimchimmarie @petalsofink @jayhope88 @moonchild1 @laylasbunbunny @nikkiordonez12 @misshale21 @marblemoonstones

[7ndipity]

“Are You Confident?”

fwb!Jungkook x Plus Size Reader

Summary: The one where you get fed up with Jungkook’s teasing and decide to take him up on his offer.

Word Count: just under 1.7k

Warnings: +18 mdni, smut. oral(m. receiving), swearing, Jk starts out fuckboy-ish but turns subby, slight dom reader, reader’s referred to as Noona, not proofread

A/N: This idea has been sitting in my drafts since early December, but I finally managed to finish part one! This is sort of a prequel to this drabble, so if you can read it too if you liked this one. I’ll also be posting part two and a masterlist(hopefully)later this week, so lmk what you think!

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

If you had to choose a favorite place in the whole world, you would choose Jungkook’s apartment without a thought. Not your own apartment, not you favorite shop, not even the dream vacation you’d been planning and saving up for forever, just being tucked into the corner of Jungkook’s couch, Bam curled up next to you, his massive head resting in your lap, subtly begging for pets as you vented to his owner about your most recent dating fiasco.

The guy one of your friends had set you up with had seemed nice enough at first, but as dinner progressed, things had progressively gone downhill.

“Did he least pay for dinner?” Jungkook asked, sprawled on the opposite end of the couch.

“I’d assume so, I walked out before the bill even came.” You replied, taking a long drink from your glass.

“Why do you even bother with dating anyway? You said before you hated it.” He asked.

“I’ve told you, I’m… lonely.” You said pointedly, avoiding his eyes.

He squinted at you, understanding suddenly flashing across his face.

“Ah, so you just need to get laid?” He asked, sitting back with a smirk as your face flushed with color. “Why didn’t you just say so? I could help you with that.”

“Ugh, shut up.” You groaned, getting up and heading to the kitchen.

“I’m serious.” He said, following you. “It’s better than fucking some random asshole.”

This type of conversation was a recurring thing in your friendship. Jungkook loved to tease you, and with a relationship that had grown as close as yours had, he had plenty of opportunities.

Your friends often joked that the two of you should just date already with the way you acted with each other, often toeing the line between what was typically considered okay for ‘just friends’. You’d slept in the same bed more times than you could count(a fact that had made Taehyung nearly choke on his drink when he’d found out), you’d even kissed at his friend's New Years Eve party after a few too many drinks and a similar conversation to the one you were currently having, lamenting about not having someone to kiss at midnight.

You didn’t know what had possessed you to do it, all you could remember was hearing the countdown and leaning in, connecting your lips with his for the briefest moment, only for him to quickly chase after yours when you had started to pull away.

Neither of you had brought it up afterwards, but the memory of it was permanently seared into your mind; the feel of his lips moving against yours, the way his hands had gently gripped your waist-

You shook your head, redirecting your attention back to the current moment, trying to ignore Jungkook as he leaned against the counter next to you.

“Look, if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine, I’m just offering a possible solution to your problem,” He said, shrugging as he grinned at you. “You know, if you’re really desperate.”

You scoffed. “You’re one to talk. When's the last time you even went on a date again?”

Your words had the desired effect on him, turning his expression sour.

“That’s different, I’ve been… busy.” He said grudgingly.

“Uh-huh, sure.” You grinned triumphantly.

“I mean it though,” He said. “If that’s really all you’re after, I’d be glad to help.”

You blinked at him in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Yeah,” He shrugged. “I mean, like you said, it’s not like I've got anything going either. It doesn’t have to be a big deal, just two friends helping each other out.”

“That is, if you think you can handle me.” He added with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes, letting out an irritated laugh. “Please, I could handle you.”

“Are you confident?” He asked, quirking a brow at you.

“Yes.” You answered immediately, catching both him and yourself off guard as you stared him down.

Your words weren’t entirely true, you weren’t all that confident when it came to things like this, but Jungkook had a way of triggering your stubborn streak, whether it was with that cocky smile he always threw your way or the domineering tone he like to tease you with, something about him made you suddenly brave and willing to challenge anything he said.

Normally, that was part of what made your friendship fun, the two of you constantly bickering and at odds with each other, but this was much different than arguing over where to get dinner or what to watch on tv.

You were chest to chest now, able to feel his heart pounding surprisingly fast as he stared down at you.

“Prove it.” He said, his tone having lost its teasing edge as his gaze flickered between your eyes and your mouth.

That was all it took to make you break.

You closed the gap between the two of you, pushing him back against the wall as your lips clashed.

This wasn’t at all like the first time you’d kissed, there was no hesitancy or tender playfulness, it was hot and rushed and needy, full of tongue and teeth.

You were aware of a voice in the back of your head frantically screaming at you, something about how this was terrible idea and could ruin things between you and Jungkook completely, but you really couldn’t bring yourself to care as his warm hands found your waist, pulling you flush against him as his tongue fought with yours for dominance. He tasted sharp and sweet like the wine you had brought, his skin hot under your fingertips as your hands slipped from his shoulders to tangle in his hair, tugging lightly at the strands and earning a low grunt from him.

His grip on your hips tightened before sliding down to grope your ass, grinding you against the growing bulge in his pants.

A surprised squeak left you, making him chuckle against your lips as you mentally cursed yourself. You were not about to let him have the upper hand, not this quickly.

You slipped a hand down between you to palm him over his pants, squeezing just enough to cause what sounded very much like a moan to you to release from his throat, though you knew he’d tried to deny it.

Just as suddenly as you’d begun, you pulled away, making his eyes snap open in confusion.

“What are you-?” He panted, stopping in shock as you dropped to your knees in front of him.

“I’m helping you out.” You said simply, undoing his belt as you looked up at him with doe eyes. “Is that okay?”

He nodded, breathing unsteadily.

“I need words, Sweetie.” You said, making him flush at the petname as you fiddled with his zipper. “I can’t give you what you want if you don’t tell me.”

“I want it,” He quickly blurted, giving up control with surprising ease as he stared down at you, eyes black with need. “I-I want your mouth, please.”

“Good boy.” You tugged his jeans down, revealing the prominent tent in his boxers, a small wet patch on the material showing just how eager he was.

“These are cute.” You commented, toying with the waistband before letting it snap back against his skin, making him jump slightly. “Purple looks good on you.”

“Noona, please.” He whined in frustration, his head falling back against the wall as his hips twitched forward involuntarily.

“Fine, since you’re asking so politely.” You pulled his boxers down, letting his cock spring free, hanging heavy in front of your face.

He was slightly bigger than you expected, the tip flushed deep red and leaking precum as you took him in your hand, making him shudder.

“Mm, should’ve known, even your cock’s pretty.” You mused, leaning in to give it a cursory lick, sucking the tip into your mouth for a moment before pulling back, leaving a few kisses along the underside of his length as you glanced up at him to gauge his reaction.

He was staring down at you slack-jawed, his breaths coming out in uneven pants as you pumped him with your hand.

He already looked slightly fucked out and you’d barely done anything to him yet, giving you a massive surge of confidence as you held eye contact with him, gathering as much spit as you could in your mouth before letting it dribble down over his twitching length.

“Fuck.” He muttered under his breath, squiming slightly.

Still holding his gaze, you took him fully into your mouth, sinking down as far as you could go.

“Fuck!” He gasped, his head falling back against the wall with a thump as you pulled back, swirling your tongue around him teasingly before sinking down again, letting him hit the back of your throat and holding him there for a moment before pulling off.

You quickly found your rhythm, bobbing your head up and down on him and using your hands on what wouldn’t fit in your mouth.

He let out a low whine, fists clenched so tight against his thighs his knuckles had gone white.

Noticing this, you used your free hand to guide his to your head, letting him tangle his fingers in your hair and giving him something to ground himself with.

All too soon, you felt him beginning to tense, his grip on your head tightening as his thighs started to shake.

“Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.” He whimpered. “Where do you want me to-?”

You only answer to him taking him and deeper and swallowing around him, making him cry out as his hip bucked forward, fucking your face as he chased his release.

“Shit, Y/n, I-” His words were choked off with a groan as he came, cumming down your throat in hot spurts.

He slumped back against the wall, breathing hard as you slowly pulled off of him, making a point to meet his eyes again as you swallowed.

“Shit, Y/n,” He said weakly as you stood back up. “That was-”

You cut him off with another kiss, feeling him twitch against your leg as he tasted himself on your tongue.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @feminympho @a-gayish-unicorn @dfqcsqueen @ldysmfrst

[mearasblog]

Paring: Jonathan Crane/Fem!Reader

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Domestic Bliss, Marriage, Married Couple, Married Life, Fluff, Light Hearted, Pre-Canon, No beta, more additional tags to be added

(A/N): Hello lovely readers and Jonathan Crane/Cillian Murphy enjoyers! This my first fanfiction I've written in a couple years. This started out as a little draft I had hoped to turn into a full fledged fanfiction with a plot, but I'm still working on that part lol. But for now please mind the tags and enjoy!!

It’s December in Gotham city, and the Batman still lurks in the cold, dark shadows in the Narrows. The shadows seem colder and more close to home this year. Crime had run rampant in the city. But you live a comfortable life now.

You and Dr. Jonathan Crane have been living together since you both graduated college with a degree in psychology. You eventually married and live happily together in an apartment in Gotham. It’s in the good side of town, with all of the markets and shops readily available right outside the door.

It’s an early Monday morning and you’re both sleeping in your shared bedroom. The sun, reflecting off of the snow on the ground, leaks through the curtains. You wake early and slip out of bed intending to create a delicious breakfast for your husband.

You slip on your comfortable satin robe that was hanging on the bathroom door and finally close the bedroom door with a quiet *click*. Hoping to persevere the Doctor’s sleep.

He wakes shortly after you do. He gets out of bed slowly, first putting on his glasses, then throwing a shirt on.

He enters the kitchen silently, you’re washing dishes when he walks up behind you and snakes his hands around your waist. You giggle with surprise when he does. Jonathan pulls your back flush against him and kisses your temple, his lips lingering there for a moment. “Good morning doll.” He says, his eyes closed. He wears a content smile on his face. You dry your hands and rest them on his arms around your waist. “Good morning, Doctor Crane.” You say, technically you’re both named ‘Doctor crane’. You work as a remote psychiatrist and he works at Arkham asylum.

When you moved in together you failed to mention that you have two cats. A ginger cat named Hershey and a black cat named Simon. The Doctor isn’t very fond of anyone or anything except you and his work. But sometimes you find him asleep on the couch with both the cats in his lap after a particularly long day at work.

“I made chocolate waffles.” You say, motioning toward the prepared plate at the kitchen’s bar. Chocolate has always been Jon’s favorite. He has a certain taste for food and is very picky about his eating habits. So you always make sure at the beginning of the week that all meals are planned out and groceries are done ahead of time.

“Thank you, darling. How lucky am I to have you to take care of me?” He says, planting one more kiss to your temple and sitting down at the bar. He takes a moment to appreciate the cozy atmosphere of the apartment you two have crated together. Well, not really ‘together’. You do most of the decorating, with some helpful criticism from the doctor.

Hershey waltzes into the kitchen with an elongated meow of distress.

“I know,” you say to the poor creature. “Your breakfast is coming too.”

Simon follows him shortly after and they sit patiently waiting at their bowls for their breakfast.

“And how lucky are these little beasts for having me here to feed them?” You joke, and Jon lets out an amused huff. “They are *very* lucky.” He exaggerates and takes a sip from his cup, his icy blue eyes fixed on you with a mixture of curiosity and possessiveness. Though he is known for his darker inclinations, you have managed to capture his heart, and in this moment, he cherishes the simplicity of domestic bliss.

He watches you with quiet admiration, fascinated by the way you move around the kitchen, preparing the cats’ breakfast with an effortless grace. It's moments like these when he feels a sense of tranquility, his mind momentarily at peace, content to revel in the warmth of your presence.

You begin to make another cup of coffee for yourself and Jon watches you as you go into the living room to watch the news.

“Hey Jon!” You announce from the living room. Dr. Crane is just finishing up his breakfast. “Yes, my love?” He calls back to you, standing from the bar table.

Once he reaches you he puts his hand on the couch on either side of your shoulders and watches the television with curiosity.

“Batman is on, he’s had another police chase last night.” You say, intrigued by the vigilante.

Dr. Crane raises an eyebrow, and looks down at you. “What happened?” He feels his heart race. Although you both share everything with each other. He has yet to mention to you that he secretly test on his patients using his fear toxin and that he is quite literally the villain in this story.

“I don’t know.” you reply. “Something about some villain and they finally caught him in the act of catching someone.” You say, summarizing the story. “Might be one of Falcone’s men.”

His eyes widen and he thanks god that you can’t see how white he’s turned. He knows that you watch the news regularly, but how close are they to figuring out what he does at Arkham? How close are you?

“Falcone?” He says after a few moments of panicked silence. “Doll, I assure you. Falcone is secure at Arkham. He has no control over his minions now.” He says, waving off the topic. He walks around the couch and sits right next to you, thigh touching thigh and his arm wrapped comfortably around your shoulder. You look at him curiously. “Well… that is true… but how long before another takes his place?” You say, eyeing him carefully. He has a lot of influence in these kind of court cases with these mentally ill people.

He looks at you his eyebrows furrowed. “I suppose we just have to trust the law and our spandex clad warrior to handle them.” He says grinning. You snort out a laugh and shake your head. “Do you really think he wears spandex?”

Jonathan raises his eyebrows dramatically and nods. You shake your head at his joke and continue watching the news.

Once you finish your coffee and the news switches to football or another sport, Jonathan checks the time on his watch.

“Unfortunately I have to leave soon, love.” He says, leaning in and kissing your forehead. You look at him worriedly. Jonathan isn’t the only one with a secret today, but unlike him, you are pure and honest to him. Well, most of the time. You decide to hold your tongue and nod, “Don’t miss me too much.” You say with a sly grin; turning to him and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips.

He smiles, a rare sight for anyone in Arkham. But a very common, and cherished, one for you.

Reluctantly, he stands from the couch and disappears into the bedroom to change into his work clothes as you continue to sit on the couch and watch some morning talk show.

(A/N): pls give requests :)

[minnielvr]

december - hwang hyunjin

˚ ༘ pairing bf! hyunjin x fem! idol! reader

˚ ༘ genre fluff, song fic

˚ ༘ wc 892

˚ ༘ listen to december - ariana grande (seriously, listen to it.)

˚ ༘ note the arianator inside me is coming out😭 this been sitting in my drafts since the beginning of december🙏

you had just released your new solo song today. it was a christmas themed loved song. hyunjin was on your mind the whole time you were making it, so you guess it was a little early christmas gift for him.

you opened the door to your guys' shared apartment and kicked off your shoes. you ran towards hyunjins little art studio and barged in.

"babe babe! did you hear the new song i released?!?" you hoped he did already.

he chuckled softly and put down his art palette, wiping his hands and taking off his little apron, he invited you to sit down on his lap.

"no i have not baby, wanna show it to me?" his soft eyes were staring right into yours, making you shy. you nuzzled your face into his neck and muttered something incoherent to him.

"hm? what was that honey?" he tried to lift your face out of the crook of his neck but it was no use.

"j-just search it up and play it.." you looked up a little bit into his eyes.

"but thats no fun," he pouted. "how about you sing it for me? it can be an early christmas gift." he smirked. almost as if he knew it was for him.

"fine, but no laughing!" you took his phone and went to youtube to search up the song.

he giggled. "okay baby, i won't laugh, i promise." he moved you a little bit backwards on his lap so he could get the full view of you.

you pulled up the music on his phone and started singing, trying to avoid eye contact with him.

when december comes, i bet you want to wrap me all up and take me home with you see what i look like under them lights we'll keep it quiet, whatever we do

you winked at him after that verse. his mouth opened a little bit but he still smiled nonetheless. your voice sounded like honey to him. he liked where this song was going so far.

i'm just tryna keep my baby warm through the wintertime i'm just tryna give you something to remember through the summertime and whatever is on your list, i'll do it boy, whatever it is, you know i'll do it

his smile grew wider realizing that the song was about him, he grabbed your chin with two fingers and tilted your head up to meet him eyes. he really wanted to kiss you right now, but that can wait until after you're done.

merry christmas, here i am, boy gonna love you, gonna give you all i can, boy merry christmas, here i am, boy i'm the present and you know it, here i am, boy merry christmas, here i am, boy gonna love you, gonna give you all i can, boy merry christmas, here i am, boy i'm the present and you know it, boy

he smiled so softly but wide at you and his eyes did that thing when he smiled so big. everything about this moment was so perfect to him. your voice, the song, the lyrics, everything. he really couldn't believe you made a whole song dedicated to him

so he did the only normal thing anyone would do in a situation like this. he paused the music, grabbed your chin, and kissed you.

you felt fireworks going off in your stomach. this definitely wasn't your guys' first kiss, but it sure felt like it. you guys stayed like that for about five seconds until you both pulled away for some oxygen.

"y/n i seriously cant believe you, that was the cutest and hottest thing ever." he pulled you closer and let his head rest on your chest.

you started cascading your fingers through his soft hair, taking out any tangles. "well thank you very much," you giggle a little bit. "but i wasnt even finished singing." you pouted.

"oh honey i'm sorry. it's just that i thought it was so cute that i had to kiss you." he looked up at you and smiled. he then sat up properly and grabbed your cheeks. "i love you so much darling, thank you for writing that about me." he connected his forehead to yours and gave you a tiny peck on your lips.

"i love you more hyune, you don't have to thank me by the way. i would do it for you in a heart beat." you gave him a little peck on the lips back.

"so, im expecting you to be wrapped up in a bunch of bows on christmas day okay? since you're my present and all." he teased.

"in your dreams lover boy" you winked at him and got off his lap, making your way to the bathroom to go shower. it was hot in his studio, not to mention and the tension that was going on. he pouted at you and asked where you were going.

"i'm going to shower!" you called out from the main area.

hyunjin perked up at that statement. he scrambled off his stool and almost tripped to go catch up with you.

"w-wait for me!" he ran towards the bathroom but he was too late, you had already shut the door.

"get your head out of the gutter hyunjin" you called out from the bathroom and laughed at him.

[missmaywemeetagain]

Sweet Symphony 🎻❤️‍🔥🎹, a '68 Special Era One-Shot

A/N: This one has been sitting in my drafts unfinished for quite a while. Sweet Symphony started as a special request for '68 Special era Elvis from my Get to Know Me Gala way back in March! I also included the prompt, "Do it again, please." Nothing like a good two-fer!

A professional violinist Reader gets a little more than she bargains for after rehearsal for Elvis Presley's '68 Special...

Mature 18+ || Word count: 9.2k

TW: Sexxx in various forms, fluff, cussing, dubious use of a piano

For my most patient baby, @savedrebelcreation 💗

(If you want to get stories like this early, come join my Patreon!)

Sweet Symphony

A ’68 Special Era Request

You’re early. Too early, in fact, but your mother always said, “If you’re on time, you’re late,” so it goes to reason that for such an important job, you find yourself clicking your heels into the rehearsal room a full hour before it’s set to start.

The only reason they allowed you in this early is that your brother-in-law, Billy, is the one in charge of this portion of the production rehearsal, arranging the music for Elvis Presley’s television special due out in December. He had been tasked, rather last minute, to take over the musical arrangements. When your sister called on Billy’s behalf, saying he desperately needed a professional violinist to fill in for the one who’d been suddenly struck with a bout of appendicitis, you were a little confused at first. Why in the world would Elvis Presley need a violinist? had been the first thought in your head, but a job is a job, and you figure a television special of this magnitude wouldn’t hurt your classical resume.

Sure, why not? you’d thought, then packed up your violin and got a ticket for the next plane out to LA. If nothing else, I’ll get some sun.

Since your plane arrived late, you made the executive decision to go straight to the studio rather than chance the traffic by checking into your hotel first. Which is how you find yourself in the near-dark rehearsal space before anyone else has even thought to arrive, violin and suitcase in tow. At least you’ll get a chance to look over the score Billy just handed you before anyone else arrives, you think, finding a chair and settling in to unpack and prepare your instrument.

So focused are you that you don’t really register the door opening and then latching closed. You figure it is just Billy, who had been frantically going over sheet music up in the booth. When the piano begins to play, softly, you nearly jump out of your skin with surprise, having been so lost in sight reading and humming your part that you were oblivious to the presence of another in the room.

“Oh my god!” you gasp in surprise, managing to knock the loose pages of the score off the music stand as your hand flies up to your chest. “Damnit,” you mutter under your breath, scurrying to pick up the pages and put them back in order.

“I’m sorry, honey, I didn’t mean to startle ya,” you hear a gentle voice drawl out from the darkness.

“Oh, no, I just wasn’t expecting anyone in here so early and I was so caught up in…” you taper off, furrowing your brow and trying to get your sheet music situated.

“Here, lemme help you with that,” the voice says, kneeling to pick up loose pages.

“Oh, thank…” your voice hitches when you look down at the man holding up more music that had fluttered away across the floor.

It’s the sparkling sapphire blue eyes that catch you first, framed in criminally long, dark lashes, blinking up at you from where he’s kneeling on the floor next to your chair. They are utterly mesmerizing in the way they search your face apologetically. Your voice dies in your suddenly dry throat, and so mesmerized are you with those eyes that it takes you much too long to take in the rest of him.

That’s when you realize that the man with the pretty eyes on his knees near your feet is the one and only Elvis Presley.

“…you. Thank you,” you manage to finish, gingerly taking the pages from his grasp.

Elvis smiles up at you so bashfully, so charmingly, that it takes your breath away.

It doesn’t hit you until this very moment that you are playing for the Elvis Presley. Between everything happening so quickly and you assuming you wouldn’t get to meet the man himself, you just hadn’t considered the magnitude of the job.

You’d just hit your teenage years when Elvis came into his stardom, the timing perfect for swooning over the Southern boy with the rebellious good looks and the completely unique sound. But your parents had been strict and conservative, opting for your upbringing to be filled with learning and playing classical music, so the only chance you’d had to listen to Elvis was when you went to your girlfriend’s house. There you could swoon over him unimpeded, but it was more vicarious than anything else. And by the time you were old enough to properly swoon to your heart’s content, you were so busy with your music degree that it hadn’t really crossed your mind to ogle over Elvis.

To be quite honest, you had become a bit of a music snob at that point, so Elvis wasn’t really on your radar, though you had been impressed by his reworked English version of O Solo Mio. His It’s Now or Never had been a massive hit, and he had amazed you with his vocal talent, which you were convinced was wasted on silly pop songs. Needless to say, Elvis and his music had been off your radar for a long, long time.

You certainly hadn’t realized the man had only gotten more attractive as time went on. Magazine pictures and even his movies (which you hadn’t cared to watch since the beginning of the decade) don’t do him justice, which is saying something since you’d never once seen the man look anything less than handsome. But those damn eyes pop against his tanned skin and raven hair, and that curved-lip smile has butterflies flying in your stomach like a schoolgirl.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he asks quietly, still kneeling at your feet.

“My name? Oh, um, my name is y/n,” you stammer out. You could kick yourself for how gobsmacked you sound, a grown professional woman nearly forgetting her own name in the presence of an attractive man. But the thing is he isn’t just attractive—he’s ethereal.

“Well, hello there, y/n. I’m Elvis,” he says, as if he were just some regular Joe and not one of the most famous men alive. “What do you play?” He motions to your music.

“Uh, violin. Well, and piano, but violin professionally,” you reply, unable to take your eyes off him.

His eyes light up at this. “I play piano, too,” he says, with such a little boy quality that you can’t help but smile.

“Oh?” This surprises you quite a bit since he is so synonymous with the birth of rock and roll and you’d only ever seen him with an acoustic guitar.

“Yeah, a lotta people don’t know that, but between you and me, I like playin’ piano more,” he says, with a wink. Elvis stands up from his crouch with little effort, so lithely that you equate it to a dancer. Your eyes follow up, up, up his lean frame, and you try not to notice just how well his tailored outfit fits him.

He walks back towards the piano he came from, and you blush when you catch yourself staring at his backside, like some sort of lecherous creep. Quickly turning your attention back to the pages of music in your lap, you force yourself to try and make sense of page numbers, shuffling them back into order.

“Do you know this one?” Elvis suddenly asks, shocking you by playing the opening notes of a well-known Beethoven piece.

“Yeah, I mean, yes. I do,” you respond, still stumbling over your words. “That’s Moonlight Sonata.”

“What happens after this part?” he asks, playing the beginning again. The question seems quite honest, still having that curious, young quality about it. Before you think better of it, you’re walking over to the piano.

“May I?” you say, standing near the bench. Music is your language. You’ve always been better with an instrument at your fingertips than with your words. It makes you feel bolder, so when Elvis only scoots over instead of yielding the bench, it doesn’t stop you from perching next to him.

It only takes a second for the movement to come back to you and you place your hands on the keys, letting them speak for you. You’ve done your share of teaching, so it doesn’t take but a moment to fall into that role. You just try not to think too hard on that fact that it’s Elvis Presley that you’re teaching.

He’s nodding along, eyes focused solely on your hands. So close to him, you can feel the way the music affects his body. It’s something you can relate to.

You stop yourself from speeding too far ahead in the music and pull your hands away from the keys. “Is that…do you want me to go again, or do you want to try it?” you ask.

“Do it again. Please?” he asks watching your hands with incredible focus.

You do, trying to keep it simple and without too much flourish.

“Okay, so it’s like this then?” he says after you finish, and as his long, slender fingers glide across the keys, you realize they are musician’s fingers. They may be dripping with jewels that are likely more expensive than your apartment, but they are quite perfect for the kind of instruments he plays. It strikes you he was made to do this.

You recognize then that Elvis is truly a musician and not just a performer. The way he concentrates, learning and adapting quickly as you show him more of the song, only by ear and sight, amazes you.

It's through the music that you begin to calm. Talking one musician to another is much more manageable than considering the magnitude of the person you’re speaking with. Frankly, you are completely amazed by how incredibly gentle and disarming the man is.

When the door opens again, both of you are consumed enough in the music that it doesn’t faze you much.

“Oh, hey Elvis! Just the man I needed to see. I hope y/n isn’t bothering you,” Billy says, in a teasing tone only a family member could produce.

“Hello to you, too, Billy,” you say, a bit annoyed at the interruption and at feeling put in your place as if you were still a child.

“Oh, no, not at all. She’s a great teacher,” Elvis grins, bumping your shoulder. “You two…know each other?” he then asks, his smile faltering in the slightest as he looks from you to Billy. The question is innocent enough, but the way he says it gives you pause and your heart flips.

“Since she was practically in diapers. She’s my sister-in-law,” Billy says.

“Twelve isn’t in diapers, Billy,” you scoff at him, then turn to Elvis. “He’s married to my older sister yet has never hesitated to treat me like a baby. Lucky me.”

“Aw, you know I only put up with you because you’re too talented for your own good,” Billy ribs, making to muss your hair.

You duck swiftly out of the way, bumping into Elvis in the process. “Oh, sorry!” you breath out.

Elvis just chuckles at the two of you, looking pleased as punch, though you’re not exactly sure why.

“I think what you meant to say is, ‘Thank you for dropping everything to fly across the country last minute to help me, dearest sister-in-law,’” you throw at Billy, batting your lashes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure I’ll never hear the end of it. Now, skedaddle. I need to talk to Elvis,” Billy shoos you.

You suppress the urge to stomp your foot and pout, but you realize you really should act more professional than you are. Settling for a huff at Billy, you turn to Elvis. “It was nice to meet you,” you say, all the spunkiness you had towards Billy deflating into shyness the moment you look into those dark blue eyes again.

“Oh, I have no doubt we’ll be talkin’ again soon, honey, and thank you for the lesson,” Elvis drawls softly.

His words send a cascade of shivers through your limbs. You feel heady as you stand from the bench, shooting a familial glare Billy’s way, noticing the frown on his face as you do so. God, even with you being 27, Billy had the ability to make you feel like a scolded younger sister.

You force yourself not to look back as you head to your chair. Be a professional. Just because Elvis is handsome doesn’t mean he’s not the man you’re ultimately working for. Busying yourself with rearranging your music, you hear Billy usher Elvis out and up into the booth.

Well, that’s that, you think, rosining your bow, and you get to practicing.

*

You’ve been at your share of long rehearsals, but you will admit this one is both long and intense. The music Billy has arranged—this “Guitar Man” medley of some of Elvis’ songs—isn’t difficult music to play, per say, but you can now sense an underlying importance around this entire operation. Part of it is the barely held back frantic look in Billy’s eyes, and knowing him as you do, for him to be this frazzled means there’s a lot on the line. However, it’s when Elvis comes back, much later, to run through the medley with the orchestra, that you realize you can sense it in him, too. It’s well-hidden, to be sure, when the man introduces himself and shakes hands with the members of the orchestra, and you probably wouldn’t even have noticed if it weren’t for the relaxed way he’d been with you earlier in the day, but it’s an undercurrent all the same. Then, they send him into the booth to do his thing.

And, boy, does he. You’ve worked your share of Broadway musicals and operas, but you’ve never seen a man completely give himself over to the work in just a rehearsal quite the way Elvis does with this medley. It’s like he’s singing for his life. By the time it’s all through, Elvis exits the booth, dripping with sweat, exhausted but exuberant. His eyes sparkle and his body hums, some part of him tapping or jiggling or wiggling every moment, as though the music had become electricity in his veins.

You try not to stare as you slowly put away your bow, your violin, collecting your music from the black stand. You try not to, but you keep stealing glances because not only does he look enticing, but it’s also more that you connect with the feelings he seems to be having. The way the music can just take over and become something else inside you, as if you are the conduit to something much bigger than yourself. This you understand. And you’d never imagined a sensation like Elvis Presley would feel the music that way, too. Perhaps this is the secret to his massive success.

Almost all the other musicians have packed and left by now. You tell yourself you’re stalling so you can say goodnight to Billy before hailing a cab and finally checking into your hotel by midnight. You are exhausted, after a day of traveling and frenetic rehearsal, yet you are buzzing with the excitement only music seems to bring you. And you can’t help that the part of you that feels that way is being drawn towards Elvis like a magnet.

When Elvis catches your less-than-sly stare, a million-dollar smile spreads over his face and your heart flip-flops in your chest so hard it takes your breath away. Caught, you quickly and conspicuously look up and away, as though that will save the burning embarrassment on your cheeks. Suddenly, all you can think of is how fast you can get out of here, and you finish packing up like a fire has been lit under you. You scurry towards the door, hoping to escape before making a fool of yourself further.

“Hey, Miss Moonlight,” Elvis says, fingers light on your arm, stopping you before you reach the door, “whaddya say you join us back at my place for a little get together?”

The nickname would usually make you roll your eyes, but coming from him so sweetly, you balk under the attention. It distracts you so much that it takes a full second to realize that he’s just invited you to his place.

“I…uh, it’s been a long day. I-I haven’t even checked into my hotel yet,” you stammer, the excuse so unconvincing you might laugh if you weren’t so befuddled and nervous that Elvis is asking you…well, you’re not exactly sure what he’s asking you.

He quirks a perfect raven brow at you. When he steps in closer, you can feel the heat radiating off him.

“Well, I can have Joe swing you by your hotel before headin’ over, if you’d like, though there’s plenty of space at the house. We can set up a room for ya…s’probably more comfortable than a hotel,” Elvis drawls quietly in your ear.

You’ve never heard a man make a pass so naturally in your life, so much so that you almost hesitate to believe it is one. His low voice and the open suggestiveness spear straight into your core, threatening to melt you into a puddle on the spot.

In any other circumstance, you would laugh in a man’s face for suggesting such a thing. Generally shy, reserved, and cerebral, you’re certainly not the kind of woman who just spends the night at a strange man’s place. But this isn’t any other circumstance. This is Elvis Presley asking you to stay the night with him.

And maybe he does just mean it casually—a “hey, come party with us and you can sleep on the couch”—but at the moment, your body doesn’t know the difference. Your inner pragmatist begins listing off all the ways this is a terrible idea, but the only thing that cuts through the noise is the regret you know you’ll feel if you don’t accept this invitation.

“Um…well, okay. I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose, of course,” you manage to breathe back.

His lip curves up into an almost bashful smile. “Oh, Moonlight, you couldn’t be an imposition if you tried. Plus, you hafta show me how to play the rest of that piece,” he says, running a calloused fingertip down your pointer finger.

You can’t help the shudder that runs through you or the way your heart catches in your throat. “Well, how could I possibly refuse?” you finally get out.

“Fantastic! Hey, Joe, this is my new friend, y/n,” he says enthusiastically, calling over the shorter man. “She’s gonna be joining us tonight.”

Joe seems kind enough, albeit barely looks or speaks to you after the main introductions. Before you know it, you, your violin, and your suitcase are packed into the back of what you assume is a ridiculously expensive vehicle. Elvis slides in behind you, and you, now sandwiched between him and the car door, think you ought to feel apprehensive about the situation, but all your attention is fixed on how Elvis’ side is pressed up against yours. The heat radiates off him, bleeding into you, his leg bouncing so quickly that you think he might need to get out and run laps. He makes conversation, asking about how you came to be a musician and you uncharacteristically and nervously start rambling about yourself. You’ve got to give him credit for the way he nods and hums, truly seeming to listen to you even though your mouth is running almost uncontrollably.

By the time you arrive at the house, you feel as if you’ve told Elvis your life story and you abruptly shutter your mouth closed. God, I am such an idiot. Way to play it cool, y/n, you berate yourself.

Elvis kindly helps you out of the car, walking you toward the house as Joe follows with your violin and suitcase in tow. The way your heart pounds against your ribcage threatens to do you in—it’s all suddenly become very real that Elvis Presley is leading you into his house where you are going to surreptitiously spend the night. His hand is guiding you so gently at the small of your back, but the heat of it blazes through you.

Oh, get a grip! The man has probably touched thousands of women, you’re no different. You’re not special.

Realizing you’re holding your breath, you force yourself to take in air as inconspicuously as possible.

“You don’t gotta be nervous, baby,” he says, a cheeky little smile gracing those luscious lips of his.

“Sorry, I…this just isn’t where I thought I’d be at the end of this very long day,” you chuckle.

“Well, let’s make you at home then.” His smile turns reassuring and warm.

He spends the next hour getting you comfortable and fed, having the most amazing ability to relax your normally nervous nature without hardly trying. You can’t help but feel butterflies in your stomach at the way he seems to be continuously touching you—the press of his leg, an arm around your shoulders, the graze of a finger against yours—in a familiar way, even though you’ve known him less than a day. If it were anyone else, you would have leapt off the couch and run for the hills.

What surprises you the most is that you aren’t uncomfortable at all. Excited and nervous, yes. But you don’t feel preyed upon or anything of the sort. Frankly, you are trying not to get ahead of yourself about what the rest of the night might bring.

An impromptu jam session with his old bandmates has you feeling even more surreal. If someone had told you yesterday that you would get a private concert with Elvis Presley and his former band, you would have laughed at them. You find yourself unable to take your eyes off him and how he seems to get completely lost in the music, and you right along with him. His gritty baritone combined with the sensual way he tackles each song has warmth pooling in your belly. Despite the cranked-up air conditioning, you find yourself sweating and parched, especially in the moments he smiles in your direction.

You aren’t sure how much time passes, only that you feel the heady exhaustion of being up too long coupled with an uncharacteristic hungry adrenaline running through your veins. When the jam session ends, you are both disappointed and exhilarated for what might come next.

Don’t get your hopes up, you remind yourself. This night has been amazing no matter what happens next.

“Did you enjoy that, Moonlight?” he leans over and whispers in your ear. It tickles you and sends a shiver down your spine.

You nod. “Oh, yes.” It comes out more breathless than you’d like.

You feel him smile against your cheek. “Are you up for teaching me more of that sonata, honey?” he asks. It’s an innocent enough request but you can’t tell exactly what his motivations are, though for the first time in your life, you’re not sure it matters.

“Of course,” you say quietly, starting for the piano in the corner of the living space.

His warm hand catches yours, and you look back, surprised, as he shakes his head and pulls you in the opposite direction.

Your heart threatens to beat out of your ribcage as he leads you down the hall and into what you assume is his private suite. It’s not until he closes the door and you realize that you are utterly alone with him that you feel a glimmer of trepidation.

It must read on your face because he jumps in to reassure you. “Oh, honey, I just want to get to know you better, away from the rest of them. I’d never hurt you or make you do anything you didn’t want to do. Honestly, I don’t want the other guys ribbing me…they don’t go for the classical stuff,” he says quietly, looking away, and you think there might be a little pink rising on his cheeks.

His sincerity is palpable, and you certainly never expected him to be bashful about playing classical music. There’s a softness to him now, almost a shyness, that wasn’t present moments ago around all his entourage. It is like a yearning for one-on-one connection, and this part of him melts all your reservations and tugs at your heartstrings.

“Well, I do…go for the classical stuff, I mean,” you say quietly. You smile and squeeze his hand reassuringly as his deep blue eyes find yours again.

He looks giddy as he leads you to the second piano in the house, a baby grand in the far corner of the large suite. You sit down, opening the lid, and he slides in beside you. The heat of him rolls around you, the smell of his cologne and a day’s worth of sweat combining into an alluring combination that perks up your senses.

“Show me what you remember,” you say, and he starts to play, long, nimble fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. It amazes you that he committed everything you showed him earlier to memory so fast and so accurately. Something about it tightens a coil low in your belly. Unsure whether it’s your attraction to him physically or musically that has you so aroused, you swallow hard as he finishes abruptly.

You shake it off as best you can as you show him more of the movement, hoping the music might quell the buzzing in your veins. You go through it a few times, getting a little lost in the notes, as you tend to do. It only serves to stoke the fire in you when he picks up what you’ve shown him so quickly.

He finishes a phrase, and you move to show him the next, but his hand suddenly covers yours. Surprised, you look over at him to find his oceanic eyes searching your face so intimately that warmth blooms across your chest and your breath catches in the silence.

Slowly, Elvis leans over, cups your cheek gently, and kisses you. It’s almost chaste the way his incredibly soft lips press into yours and your surprise is so great that by the time you register what is happening, he is already pulling away.

His eyes open slowly, those lashes fluttering along with the fluttering in your heart and belly. Shock has you outwardly frozen but it’s as if he lit every one of your nerve endings on fire with the touch of his lips.

He must register your surprise as hesitance because his gaze changes to something akin to apologetic.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare ya. I shouldn’t’ve—”

Before he can get the rest of that sentence out, your body miraculously obeys you and you unfreeze. Boldly cupping his jaw with both hands, you pull him back to you and plant your lips on his.

It surprises both of you, and it’s a second before either of you relaxes into the kiss. This permission is all it takes, however, and then his mouth is languidly searching yours and his arms are wrapping around you to pull you close. Soft, short kisses alternate with longer more passionate ones, and you feel utterly spellbound by him, every inch of your body aware and alert to his.

Never in your life have you been kissed so well or so thoroughly. It’s as if the music in his soul must find a physical outlet, and the way he explores and opens you up to him is like him playing a new instrument. When his tongue rolls softly against your lower lip, you can’t suppress the low moan that comes out of you, causing you to open your mouth. He accepts the invitation readily, expertly, and the wet plushness of his tongue slowly begins exploring.

The warmth that sparkles and blooms across your chest travels lower still, sparking fires as it goes, until you feel your pulse throbbing between your legs. It’s nearly unbearable the way he stokes you without hardly trying. You’ve never felt so aroused so quickly or so completely.

Your eagerness is impossible to contain, your fingers buried in that luxuriously soft hair at the base of his neck, your body rolling towards his of its own accord, as if magnetized. You follow his rhythm, meeting his music with your own.

When he pulls back to trail kisses down your jaw, you are left breathless and clutching the lapels of his half-unbuttoned shirt. The nuzzle of his nose on your cheek as he finds and licks the tender spot behind your ear leaves you gasping. Pleased, he does it again and your entire body shudders.

Every inch of you yearns to be consumed by him. It’s never felt like this, not with any man you’ve been with. Those were fumbling amateurs playing one handed melodies in comparison to the symphony Elvis is invoking. While he is leading and in control, you sense as much eagerness from him as there is in you. It’s reassuring and flattering all at once.

There is an embarrassing amount of slick between your legs already, soaking the cotton of your panties and leaving you clenching your thighs together in search of friction. He must notice this as he kisses down your throat and across your décolletage because then he’s looking up at you for permission with those pink, swollen lips and dreamy bedroom eyes.

It’s unspoken, but you nod and he continues his sweet journey, one hand deftly unzipping the back of your dress while his lips follow gravity as it slips down your arms and reveals your chest. Pushing the fabric off and to your waist, his hand is then hot against your bare stomach. He hums in approval when his mouth finds the swell of your breasts that spill from your simple, beige bra.

A low whine escapes you. His apt response is to thumb your nipple to attention through the thin satin before lapping at the bud with his tongue. The result is a jolt of electricity shooting straight into your core, sending you clutching his neck and writhing against him. Expertly, he undoes the clasp in the back and abandons your bra to the floor in what must be a well-practiced motion based on the speed of it.

Goosebumps rise across your now fully exposed flesh, both from the cool air in the room and the way his fingers brush so lightly over your breasts. He seems pleased with the way your nipples stand at attention under his heated gaze. You don’t have the wherewithal to feel your usual self-consciousness; instead, the sight of his pupils blown black with arousal has you shivering with nothing but anticipation.

The combination of the way his tongue darts between his lips as he lightly pinches the hardened buds has you begging for more. “Please,” you moan and that’s all it takes before he’s lathing his tongue over and around the sensitive nubs, palming the fullness of your breasts. You can hardly stand it, how everything he does makes your body sing and want to scream his praises.

A quizzical look crosses your features though when he stops his ministrations and slides to his knees on the carpet on his side of the bench. For a second you are worried something you’ve done something to hurt or displease him, but when he beckons you towards him at the end of the bench with such arousal in his eyes it nearly knocks you over, you obey without a thought.

Elvis scoots you forward and kisses your belly, sending a new wave of tingles over you. He removes one of your low-heeled pumps and then the other, ghosting kisses along your ankles before running his large hands up the smoothness of your pantyhose, pushing your dress up with them. As if under a spell, you can’t help the way your legs fall open for him when his thumbs drag up the insides of your thighs. The little coy smirk that graces that beautiful face when he feels the damp that has soaked through to the gusset of your hose has your cheeks flushing and your lips parting.

You can’t bring yourself to be too embarrassed at how wet you are because the pleased look on his face at the discovery makes you feel like you’ve won the lottery. He pulls on the waistband, forcing you to lift your hips, before gently rolling the hose down your legs until they are off and discarded on the floor.

What you don’t expect is how he begins peppering soft kisses up your now bare calves, at the inside of your knees, and then up your inner thighs.

A swell of panic hits the farther up he goes, and you jerk up, unsure of what exactly he’s meaning to do. The men you’d been with in the past had been rather direct about the whole thing—once the clothes were off, they buried their pecker inside you and thrust above you, all with varying levels of success in getting you off as they did so.

But not a single one had kissed up your thighs and spread them open with a hungry and expectant look like the one Elvis had now.

Looking down at him, confused, you ask, “What are you doing?” in a voice that is a little too apprehensive for your liking, but you need to know.

He cocks his head at you a moment, as if trying to determine your level of seriousness. Then his eyes shine with understanding and in that low, Southern drawl of his says the downright naughtiest thing you’ve ever had a man say to you: “You ain’t never had a man take good care of your kitty before, have ya? Give her all the love and attention she deserves?” He runs a fingertip lightly over the wet cotton at your center and you shiver.

He can’t possibly mean what you think he means.

You must be gaping because he rises on his knees and catches your lips with his own before breathing, “Close that pretty mouth baby or you’re liable to catch flies up in there.”

You are speechless, unable to form words, but the question is written all over your face.

He leans back on his knees with a contemplative smile. “That sweet little kitty of yours ain’t never been eaten, has she, baby?”

Oh my god.

It’s all you can do to bite back a moan and shake your head at him.

He looks positively gleeful about this development, his shining eyes taking on a whole new level of arousal. Then he seems to notice your trepidation and reigns himself in.

“That okay with you, baby?” he asks.

You had never even considered it an option before, or that a man might like to do such a thing. Maybe he’s teasing you? Suddenly you feel very conscious of the mechanics of the act and breathlessly mumble, “You don’t…you’re sure?”

“Oh, I am.” The smile of anticipation on his face seems to echo the sentiment.

The enticing thought of that beautiful mouth of his being down there on you outweighs your uncertainty and prudishness. You nod your head. “O-Okay.”

You’ve never seen a man look so thrilled at the thought of being between your legs as Elvis Presley is. “Don’tcha worry, I’m gonna take real good care of ya,” he says comfortingly. “You just lie back and relax and let me make you feel good, honey.” Then he places a kiss just under the waistband of your panties and you let out a little sigh.

The piano bench feels slightly warm on you bare back as you lay down. Elvis, grabbing under your thighs, pulls you to the edge, and your heart resumes its pounding. You truly can’t believe any of this is about to happen and steel yourself for him to rip off your underwear and go to town.

But he doesn’t.

No, he takes his time warming you up, as if he’s trying to get you used to the idea. He kisses down one hip then trails down the panty line. You tense the closer he gets to your core but then he only ghosts a breath over it before jumping to the other leg and kisses up the crease on that side. The ticklish sensation is almost too much to bear as he works his way up to the waistband again.

You are panting by the time his mouth is grazing from your belly button downwards, pressing into the soft curls beneath the fabric. He stops just short of that forbidden little spot where your aching clit resides, and you push up on your elbows to shoot him a look.

A grin spreads over his features, his eyes narrowed like a crocodile’s and full of desire and he watches you intently as he finally places a light kiss over that sensitive little button.

The sensation is nothing like anything you’ve felt before and the whole scene has your body flaming white hot. You don’t recognize the low mewl that erupts from your lips and the only thing keeping you from throwing your head back is the way his eyes are locked on yours, as if feeding off your reaction. Then he uses his perfect nose to nuzzle into it before placing a firmer kiss there.

“Elvissss,” you whine, unable to keep from throwing your head back this time.

“You like that, baby? I barely even started,” he speaks, his hot breath puffing over the slicked core of your panties. He kisses down, down until over your entrance, where he then tongues the fabric, pressing it up and into you.

“Honey, you’ve done soaked right through,” he murmurs.

You’re not sure if he’s speaking to you or directly to your pussy. You’re not sure you care for the way you moan, the way your body shudders and writhes, suddenly starving for anything he’s willing to give.

“Lemme see how pretty she is,” he says, and God, if his filthy yet somehow sweet words aren’t stroking you in such a way that you wonder if you could come from his lilting voice alone. He pulls your underwear to the side, finally baring yourself to him, and he whistles.

“Just lovely, and all weepy for me, too,” he says, voice thick with lust now.

The anticipation has your heart racing and your fingers clawing at the wooden bench with a whimper.

“Okay, baby, I hear ya,” he murmurs kindly, then hooks his fingers in the sides of your panties and finally slides them down and off your legs. Then his hands are pushing them apart and his tongue is lightly skimming up your folds.

You gasp at the soft and silky feeling, unready even despite his preparations. When he circles your clit and then kisses it, bare this time, you are so aroused you’re afraid you might weep. But the teasing is done, and he tests you expertly. His tongue flattens and takes in the full breadth of you, licking a stripe up your pussy that sends your hips rolling.

He seems to gauge every reaction carefully, giving equal and alternating attention to every piece of you. Nipping, suckling, and kissing your swollen clit into submission and just when you think that heated coil in your belly might snap you in two, he moves down and kisses through your folds. When he laps at the arousal dripping from your tight little hole, tongues it, and then plunges it inside of you, you find yourself screaming out his name.

You can feel him smile and hum at your response, the vibrations adding entirely new sensations to the slew of new sensations you are feeling. He thumbs at your clit as he laps at your hole, and you think you might hyperventilate with how fast you’re breathing and how hot you feel.

So completely attuned to you, he pulls back and gives you a break, despite your whimpering protests. His full lips are swollen pink and slick down to his chin with you, and when his lip curls up into a knowing but almost bashful smile, you think this might be the eighth wonder of the world.

“You alright? I’m doin’ okay?” he asks, his left eyebrow quirking.

You giggle, almost drunkenly even though you’re entirely sober, because the question is so absurd but sweet of him. “Yes, yes, yes,” you say, words slurring.

“Okay, good,” he says, nodding. Then he rises on up on his knees and commands you forward with a come-hither motion so deft and quick, it has you drooling.

You are powerless to resist and push your dazed self to your elbows on the bench. He meets you halfway, kissing you deeply, lewdly letting you taste the tang of yourself on his lips. Distracted as you are by his wandering mouth, you aren’t ready for the way he slides two of those perfectly long musician’s fingers up through your silky folds and deep into your wet heat.

A shocked gasp quickly turns into a moan that he swallows with another kiss. He begins ever-so-slowly pumping those fingers into you and the rough pad of his thumb circles that sensitive bundle of nerves at the hood of your sex.

“Goddamn, you’re so perfect, so tight,” he breathes into your mouth.

You can’t stop the shiver that ripples through you. “I-It’s been a-awhile,” you pant. You can’t help but look down and watch the way he works you.

“Don’t you worry, baby. I gotchu,” he purrs, then curves his fingers just so and the pleasure that courses through you has you crying out.

Your brain is fuzzy, with only one thing on its mind. Luckily, Elvis seems to be reading it because he smiles that coy smile and returns those full lips of his to your clit.

For a moment you think you might die from the intensity of the sensations he’s procuring from you. Seems an awful lot like God gave him long fingers and a full mouth not only for music, you think. Though the way he’s playing you right now and the noises he’s coaxing out of you makes it seem like a whole different type of song he’s expert at.

The way he traces and flicks and suckles your clit, coupled with the obscene sounds coming from the way he’s fingering your pussy has you writhing on the bench and gripping his beautiful hair in your hands.

More, more, more, is the only thought left.

He hums against you with one last kiss and a wildly accurate thrust and curve of his fingers. The coil inside you explodes, then white-hot, full-body shudders violently overtake you as you silently scream and hold onto him for dear life as to not fly away into the stratosphere.

Your orgasm is utterly mind altering and earth shattering.

“Good job, lil’ girl,” Elvis coos, soothing you through the aftershocks with a lathing tongue.

You can’t think straight enough to respond, only whimpering from the empty feeling when he removes his fingers, then gasping again when he laps at the arousal pouring out of your core.

It’s all too much, and, overstimulated, you whine and clench and pull at him.

He sits up again, between your legs, looking mighty pleased with himself. “Come ‘ere, darlin’,” he says, pulling you up by your arms and sliding you onto his lap. Boneless and naked (save for the dress bunched in a ring around your waist), your legs fall open, easily straddling his hips. Your hands grip at his shirt and you bury your head into his neck, still dizzy with release.

He holds you steady. “Didja like that? Your kitty all happy and purrin’ now?” he whispers in your ear, sending a new set of shivers down your spine. All you can manage is a pleased hum and a nod. You kiss his neck, tasting salt on his tanned skin.

A soft moan escapes his lips at that. Suddenly, you become quite aware of the hardness in his slacks, pressing up near your swollen folds. The embers of your arousal have not died, and you kiss his neck again while slowly rolling your hips into his.

Groaning, he tightens his arms around you, holding you to him. You nip at the throbbing pulse point on his neck and are reminded just how talented and famous these hips of his are when he rolls them back into you in response. He’s rock hard, straining against his zipper, the tip of him bumping against your sensitive clit. You moan and find his rhythm, feeling the wetness between your thighs start to soak through the fabric of his slacks, creating a delicious friction.

Elvis pants heavily in your ear, murmuring curses and praises as he grinds into you. At this rate, you think he might come in his pants, which just won’t do. Not with the way your pussy is buzzing, and that coil is tightening again in your belly. No, you need him inside you. You need him to fill you.

You use what little returning strength you have and rise on your knees, away from his needy cock. The man actually pouts, his lower lip jutting out with a desperate little whine and it is so alluring you almost forget what you’re trying to do. You place a finger over his lips to quiet him, then set to the task of trying to undo his lavish belt and zipper.

Once he understands, he races to help, making much quicker work of the whole thing and finally his cock springs free. It’s quite long, and the deep pink tip peeking out of his silky foreskin is already shiny and weeping with precum. Of its own accord, your finger slides over his slit, circling the slick tip and spreading the wetness gathered there. He hisses. You bring your finger to your mouth, tasting the salty musk of him.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his hand palming his length. He gives it a pointed tug, then another, his lips falling open as he watches you.

He’s gorgeous in every way and it’s almost intimidating the way he looks at you with such open and vulnerable lust. You can’t bring yourself hold back or tease any longer, needing desperately to give him all of you, to give him what he needs. Hovering over him, you help line him up, then slowly descend onto his cock.

You are plenty wet—he’s seen to that—but even still, the stretch of him burns. It’s been too long since a man has been inside you like this and he is much longer than you anticipated.

A quiet, “Oh, oh, oh,” is all you manage to puff out as you bob slightly up and down, taking a little bit more of him with each tiny pump. He presses gentle kisses everywhere he can reach and murmurs encouraging praises with each inch that you conquer.

By the time you settle on the hilt of him, snug in his lap, you’re both groaning. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders because you are so full of him you don’t know what to do. You’ve never been so gorged and the pressure is a little frightening.

“Snug as a bug in a rug,” he slurs happily, letting you adjust around him. “Little Elvis likes you lots and lots, baby. S’like you were made just for him.”

“Little Elvis? H-He’s not so little,” you say with wide eyes, then giggle a little, which causes you to gasp from the tightness below and how it makes you clench even harder around him.

He groans. “If ya keep doing that, he’s not gonna last very long, darlin’.”

You try to move, but in this position and after that orgasm, you feel weak and a little like he’s spearing you in two. You’re almost too full, and the angle is not quite right. You wiggle in his lap, your brow furrowed, as your arms grow tighter around his neck. A low whine escapes your throat.

He notices your distress. Petting your hair, he babytalks at you, which under other circumstances might be strange for a grown man, but it comes so naturally to him somehow it both comforts and arouses you, “Oh, shh, shh, baby, s’okay. He’s a widdle much for ya, ain’t he? Sometimes he gets too ‘cited and gets ahead of ‘imself. But he’s gonna take real good care of ya, I promise.”

And with that, he gingerly shifts sideways, leans forward, and lays you down on the plush carpet under the piano. The movement has him sliding partially out of you, giving you some relief from the bursting sensation, and you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. Your body relaxes.

He looks so gorgeous above you, with his raven hair falling in his eyes and a soft, bashful smile gracing his lips. You can’t help but smile back at him.

“That better?” he asks.

You nod.

Leaning down, he nuzzles your nose, then places soft kisses on your mouth. He coaxes you back to him, the heat building between you with each deepening kiss. So focused on the rolling of his tongue against yours, you don’t even realize he’s pressing deeper into you until he’s nestled almost completely, but much more comfortably between your legs.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth. The pressure still has you feeling full, but in a delicious, silky way this time as you finally relax around him. He rolls his hips smoothly, the strokes slow and deliberate, in time with the movement of his lips. Each stroke is better than the last as your increased arousal combined with his own slickens your inner walls.

“There she is,” he moans quietly into the crook of your neck.

That feeling is back, a chant of want, want, want running through your brain as the tension and fire in your belly begin to grow once more. When he bottoms out this time, your punctuated, “Ah!” is from pleasure and not discomfort. He’s managing to hit places inside you that you didn’t know existed.

You writhe under him, starting to meet his thrusts with your own, trying as you might to find that perfect spot he keeps slipping past. If only you had the right leverage…

It comes to you once you’ve hitched your legs up around his svelte waist. You lift your hips and plant your bare feet against the grainy wooden underside of the piano, meeting his next thrust with your leveraged one. It sends him deeper, driving into that little spot just perfectly. You keen.

“Oh, goddamn,” he moans along with you.

Each thrust seems deeper than the last with your legs pressing up like this. They shake from the exertion, but it’s worth every ounce of effort for the way you feel driven into the earth by his cock. Sweat drips off his face and onto yours as he showers your body with pleasure you didn’t know existed.

He thumbs your clit, timed perfectly with the piston of his hips, and you can barely breathe at the sensation. Gasping, your entire body shudders of its own accord as you hurtle towards another release.

“I…I…I…” is all you can seem to manage as your second climax starts to crest, and he grunts with effort above you, his eyes glassy with unbridled desire.

He mutters a string sweet filth that only fuels you forward, slurring and panting, “Oh, fuck, yes…such a good yittle kitty…good girl for me…look atchu taking ‘im so deep…never been s’deep…Jesus, I can see ‘im in your belly.”

You both look at the swell of your abdomen on the next thrust and this time he holds you flush against him so you can see the tip of Little Elvis bulge out the slightest bit. The moan you let out is obscene. Holding you at the waist, he doesn’t let your hips down, instead running the palm of his hand over the protrusion while he flicks your clit furiously. Then he presses down at the same time he thrusts as hard and as deep as possible.

Your climax hits so hard and so fast that it knocks the breath out of you, leaving you gasping his name, “Elvis, Elvis, Elvis!” Flaming white stars flash behind your eyelids as you flutter and clench around his length. Molten fire spreads from your core outward. You shudder and claw at him, at the bottom of the piano, at anything that will keep you tethered to reality while the rest of you shatters into a million pieces beneath him.

“Good girl, s’good fo’me,” he praises you through it, losing himself to you as you come apart.

You feel his hips start to stutter into you again because a primal need has him beyond the point of waiting any longer. Somehow, through shivering aftershocks, you have the wherewithal to force your eyes open, even as the rest of your body goes slack. He looks like Adonis in the throes of passion, his full and swollen lips falling open. In one fell swoop, he drops your hips and pulls his considerable length from you, his knowing hand pumping his slick-covered cock with expert precision.

Watching him come is a marvel and you make yourself commit this moment to memory, knowing it will fuel your arousal for years to come. He tenses above you, those sapphire eyes fluttering closed. Shivering tension ripples over him with a choked cry and through gritted teeth. Thick and warm white ropes erupt and splatter over your torso and you moan along with him. Then his eyes pop open pointedly as he watches himself cover you with his seed. The poignant, dramatic end of a brilliant symphony.

“F-fuck,” he pants, finishing off with another shiver. Exhausted, he catches himself just before crushing you with his weight, instead pressing his sweaty brow into yours. Your hot, heavy breaths mingle as you both try to come back down to Earth. He nuzzles his nose into yours before kissing your cheeks and your mouth.

Eventually, you find your words. “That was…incredible,” you say breathlessly, with no exaggeration.

He pulls back to look at you, with a goofy, pleased grin. “I told you I’d take care of you, Moonlight. And boy oh boy, was that a neat trick with the piano there…that part of your classical trainin’?” he says, blowing a lock of hair out of his eyes.

“Putting that college degree to good use,” you say with a giggle.

His eyes go wide and then he laughs—a musical, beautiful, contagious sound—which fills your heart up in a way you don’t quite understand.

He crawls back and helps you out from under the piano. Your back is rubbed raw from the carpet, which he kisses gently with apology, but you barely feel the sting. You are too dazed and relaxed to worry about much of anything.

When he helps clean you up and pulls you into his big bed, slotting you in next to him, you want to savor every minute. How he smells delicious and masculine, how the heat of his long body envelops your own—you want to remember everything.

Exhausted, you fall fast asleep, sated and cared for, knowing that you’ll never, ever be the same.

*

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[crisiscutie]

i really Love your HOS au!! i've considered sending a request for it but i'm not sure if they're open? i hope this isn't strange to say, but you're my favorite sephiroth writer and i literally visit your blog everyday! i try to engage with your posts and i'm sad that your writing isn't getting the attention that it deserves 🫂

This has been sitting in my drafts for a while because I struggled with how to get my thoughts down and needed some time away. For context: this is a late response to the overall discussion I had about engagement in early December.

First and foremost, thank you, anon, it really means a lot. The inbox is always open, and I deeply appreciate you and the few others who engage with my work. You know who you are. You guys truly rock and keep me going more than you probably realize.

But... I need to get something off my chest. There’s this growing disconnect with the audience of this blog that I can’t ignore anymore. And I will not lie; it’s been turning me off from writing and sharing lately.

Why? Because it feels like- No. I'm going to be blunt this time: Most of this blog's audience only cares about fictional dicks inside them and not much else. I doubt they're even reading this, since this post is not a fic about Sephiroth's dick. Can't get these people to show concern, courtesy, or give a single fuck about anything unless there's a fic involved.

Don't get me wrong, smut and other superficial content have their place (and I don’t think there’s anything inherently wrong with them), but it's not the purpose of this blog. I really wanted to explore so much more about FF7; analyzing the themes, diving into the implications of the plot, and telling genuine, layered stories.

Instead, the engagement I get superficial. A lot of ‘likes’ here and requests there, but not much interest in deeper conversations or meaningful discussion. Mostly when I try to post something that isn't smut or fluff, it's a fucking ghost town. I guess my takes must be terrible or useless.

And then there’s the catch-22: interacting with the other side of the fandom isn't much of an option. Most probably stay away because they assume my blog is only just reader-insert shit and/or because it contains DDDNE content, with the latter especially being a source of anon hate at times. Which is a reason some content I've hidden away will never come back and why I started posting on AO3. So either way, I lose.

In a nutshell, most of my content isn’t appealing to the fandom. And for most who do like it, don't actually care about it. Oh, and with anon hate as a pretty cherry on top of this "cake". So yeah, the confirmation bias and depression don’t help. Every time I see this pattern, it's more proof that I’m wasting my energy, giving so much and getting little to nothing in return.

I’ve been sitting with this feeling for the longest, and I don’t have all the answers yet, but I know I can’t keep doing things the same way. Lately, I’ve been considering a revamp, figuring out where my energy is actually best spent and how I can create in a way that feels fulfilling again. I gotta get these words out of me, but it's been so hard.

I really missed the early days of this blog. I was so happy and pretty much posted every day, talking about the worlds beyond. Now, it's just the void I'm talking to.

And for those so quick to give me advice, at least don't say, "take a break". What the hell do you think I've been doing?

Anyway, Happy New Year.

[bones4uuu]

Never to Heaven by Lana Del Rey

May my eyes always stay level to the horizon may they never gaze as high as heaven, to ask why May I never go where angels fear to tread so as to have to ask for answers in the sky The whys in this lifetime I've found are inconsequential compared to the magic of the nowness - the solution to most questions there are no reasons And if there are - I'm wrong but at least I won't have spent my life waiting looking for God in the clouds of the dawn I'll be up early to rise though of course - but only to make you a pot of coffee That's what I was thinking this morning Joe that it's times like this as the marine layer lifts off the sea from the view of our favorite restaurant that I pray that I may always keep my eyes level to your eyeline never downcast at the table cloth You see, Joe it's times like this that the marine layer lifts off the sea on the dock without candle lit that I think to myself there are things you still don't know about me like sometimes I'm afraid my sadness is too big and that one day you might have to help me handle it may my eyes always stay level to the skyline assessing Long Beach's glittering new development never higher than the tallest building never to heaven or revenant 'Cause I have faith in man as strange as that seems in times like these and it's not just because of the warmth I've found in your brown eyes It's because I believe in the goodness in me that it's firm enough to plant a flag in or a rosebud or to build a new life.

I was gifted Violet Bent Backwards Over The Grass by Lana Del Rey from my cousin this past Christmas. I've been wanting this book for years but never found myself wanting to spend nearly $30 on it.

I always struggled in English class when we had to write poetry. I would sit there and stare at my blank notebook and try so hard to write anything but was left with nothing that felt right. Any poetry I would read, I just couldn't fully grasp it. It wasn't until this book that It finally clicked. It might have to do with the fact that I've been listening to Lana since BTD days, and her music has heavily influenced my adolescence, but she has such a way with words and being able to write something that I can feel so deeply it's like she's read my mind.

The poem above is my favorite from the book. She has the unedited one as well, and I prefer it over the final draft, but both still resonate so deeply with me. I might dabble a little more in the realm of poetry after this. Maybe turning 22 in December led me into a new path of life where I understand this shit now. Not mad about it. Maybe I'll even attempt to write some now (probably not).

[bitchesgate3]

This has been sitting in my drafts since December, but this was the confirmation that they softened the "alliance of convenience" premise in early access in the launch version.

(source)

Swen Vincke: Originally the very idea was you met a bunch of party members that had absolutely no reason to trust you, but plenty of reasons to distrust you. And we went a little bit too strong on that, which is hard. Because we ended up with a party that everybody hated.

Compare the above screenshots with this one from 2020:

(source)

“There's been a group of people complaining about the fact that the companions are snarky and they have to have an opinion,” Vincke reveals. [...] “I didn't expect people to be that sensitive to how the companions thought of them[...]”

At the end of the day, Larian made a successful game that reached a large audience and raked in big cash by "dumbing down" and "toning down" the characters.

But the sacrifice for that was a more nuanced and challenging story with companions (especially the women) who were more realistically motivated and not just narrative set-dressings easy to win over.

[mulling-over-milgram]

My current Hotaru theories and thoughts

ahh- this has been sitting in my drafts so long sorry…I just really could not make sense of the recordings and was really struggling with them (sorry I’m stupid ^^;) but now some people have done theories on the recordings I feel like I can post this with out needing to go into the recordings.

if I am wrong @74n5n I apologise eternally!

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First I’d like to attempt to establish a timeline. Using two pieces of evidence. “It's cold, and snow has barely touched the ground.” This implies that the murder took place in winter so since I think sumi-gram takes place in japan? That would place the murder somewhere between December and February. Then the second piece of evidence.

The blurry text “I’ve lost the desire to try any more during the last year of school” now according to google school in japan starts around April ends around of the next year March. Hotaru's profile puts them at age 20-25 and since university in japan starts at 18 and goes through 22 we can probably assume they are 22 since they mention it being their last year of school. We see what I believe are cherry blossoms? Which bloom around late March early April again according to google which means this could either be from the start if the school year April or the end of the school year.

murder = dec - feb

memory = april - march (very start or very end of the school year)

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Now this might sound a little weird but I strongly believe that Hotaru killed themself after their murder. Migram is referred to as another life for hotaru. “Another life that you'll give me.”

Then theres a couple other lines that could suggest it as a possibility:

-Ahh, that's not fair. Isn't it? But, I've grown pretty tired already. Going to rest. (If this line follows the conventions of milgram then it should be directly after the murder)

-“This year. No more years.”

-“They touch the empty air with their hand. It's impossible to reach you.”

moving on too what actually inspired this theory , the fact that Hotaru is pretty consistently associated with death. There is the fact they changed their name “I changed my name in papers, but everyone keeps on calling me by the old one.” Which could be considered a death of identity. They reference hell “Well, maybe you'll go to Hell and pay for it.” (Personally I believe this to be hotaru speaking but I could very well be wrong) and the names remi suggests are heavily tied to death. For rei she points it out herself

“I know a perfect one! Rei! As in, "rei" that means "ghost",

Rei is also a murder victim in milgram which could further hint at them being dead.

(she also mentions rei meaning zero which idk if this is a common thing but I’ve heard negative numbers be called dead numbers?. Zero in this context a number between the living and dead?)

The second name she suggests tama. In Japanese tama is a suffix that can also be used to refer to souls or spirits. She also mentions the name sounds like a cats name and cats have heavy associations with evading death or having multiple lives.

“Like... Tama... No, that sounds like I'm giving you a cat name.”

then their current name means firefly. Fireflies are symbolic of departed souls and there is a superstition that fireflies coming into the house means someone will die soon. Then there’s

“It's enough of a crime that I'm here , Right into Hell, I'll take you with me.” Here possible referring to the murder location but also seems to possibly reference milgram? So it’s enough of a crime they are there at the murder location? To go to hell (milgram?) either way they intend to go to hell with this other person hell is ofc where you go after death. After the crime they will go to hell > after the crime they will die?

suicide and suicidal thoughts is in the trigger warnings which doesn’t mean it applies to hotaru but it does mean it is possible.

their murder location dose seem to be a tall building so them dying or killing themself directly after the murder is logically possible.

so when hotaru comes to the prison they are named and are suggested names that mean souls of the dead hence I believe they are dead and were revived by milgram.

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Moving on to more name stuff. There were to common threads in the name meanings I’m not sure what to do with gems and storms.

Fireflies are also called lightning bugs and one of the other means of tama is thunder. According to google storms are symbolic of change but then again most things are symbolic of change if you look hard enough…

Another meaning is tama is jewel and the name rei has connections with jade.

Then rei and hotaru are both unisex name but tama has strong associations with the male gender (fun fact tama is literally the word for boy in my countries native language) maybe I’m reading to much into this but since hotaru’s story seems like it might have some themes about gender identity I thought I should mention it.

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hotaru could also have symbolism as the beginning of the end? Their birthday is the beginning of the last month of the year , they are the first prisoner and as such will be the first to receive judgment in the final trial. The start of a new life coming from the end old one? Or like if this follows novel-gram rules hotaru could die if they are voted guilty at the end so its the start of a new life that will end? They are in their last year of university so they are at the end of schooling but at the start of working life? Idk I kinda just had this thought while looking at the character profiles its not a super serious theory.

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we’ll we are on the topic of thoughts I had while writing this “Another presence is to your side. Not in the form of a real human, nor a foggy silhouette. What does it feel like? Want them to go? Want them to stay?” Now this is most likely a person but “not in the form of a real human” got me thinking what if its hotaru’s identity? Or past identity? I don’t fully believe this myself but I thought I’d chuck out the possibility of this not being a person but more of a concept…if that makes sense?

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their seems to be alot of duality with hotaru’s character theirs ofc the hair but also to of the symbols that they have been associated with cherry blossom and fireflies also have duel and opposite meanings in Javanese culture. Fireflies are love and war and cherry blossoms are life and death / beauty and violence. (Which yay more death symbolism to add to the pile :D)

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finally I’d like to talk about what I think the murder was “It's cold, and snow has barely touched the ground. Are you afraid of heights? Is your head spinning? When you glance down, there is an unmoving body; although you can't even see it.” Okay so we know from hotaru’s prisoner card their murder location was a tall building or bridge.

so they won’t be able to see it very well because water in the case if the bridge or the height if the building. Them knowing the body is there without seeing it implies they were the one for lack of better of better phasing put it there. (Tho I wouldn’t throw out the possibility of their murder being induced suicide…? I didn’t mention it earlier because I don’t have any hard evidence ‘its enough of a crime I’m here” / “you say not everyone here is a murder is a murder i’m pretty sure I must be” as counterintuitive as that sounds makes me feel like its somewhat possible that it wasn’t direct murder but again possible I don’t currently believe that to be what actually happened)

“Another presence is to your side. Not in the form of a real human, nor a foggy silhouette. What does it feel like? Want them to go? Want them to stay?” Now I’m not fully sure on who this is.. ^^; I think the other person from the recording is either the victim or the person here.

They touch the empty air with their hand. It's impossible to reach you. If my suicide directly after the murder theory is true then this would be when it happens.

so in conclusion who ever they mention in the “In fact, I’ll kill you with my bare hands next time.“ is probably who they killed and I believe they most likely pushed them off the roof of the building and then someone else came up onto the roof but hotaru died before that person could stop them. After they died they were taken to milgram. I think that the person they killed is either one of those girls mentioned in the recordings or the person they were talking to in said recordings.

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My voting thoughts

I’m going to vote victim as it dose seem they were possibly the victim of mis-gendering/neglect and definitely deadnaming/bullying or harassment it doesn’t seem so far like they saved anyone so far and I don’t think I understand enough to firmly vote Perpetrator from what I understand currently it doesn’t feel right to vote them that.

[engbergsinfinland]

OK -- so I got delayed again, and I wrote part of this post on Wednesday and part of it on Friday! I will signal what is what ;)

The following four paragraphs are what I wrote on Wednesday:

Greetings and happy Wednesday to everybody. Today, I taught, and it was my last day of new content for the semester. Next week, the students have a workshop for their final presentations and then the following week they have their presentations. I can't believe how quickly we've arrived at the end of the term! Of course, we're not quite there yet, but it's within view.

I feel like I was very busy early this week. And there's still a lot more to do. Tomorrow, I have to sit on an interview panel for Fulbright and I have two recommendation letters to write for students from UNM who are applying to grad school, both to PhD programs (one in Biology, because I teach part of my load in Biology and I am happy to answer questions as to why, and one in Technical Communication), and I also have to get ready to circulate a draft article to a reading group in about ten days. This research/reading group is the "space/environment reading group" here at Tampere University and my literary studies work, the tiny bit of that that I still do, fits into their focal areas, so they're going to be nice enough to give me feedback on my draft in preparation for a presentation I'm giving to the Lawrence London Group in mid-December. I also have to make more progress on the 5th chapter of the book that I'm co-authoring with my colleague Joe. And finally, I'm writing the protocol for a research project that my colleague here, Maija, and I are doing and we have to have it go through ethical screening, because it is based around interviews with technical communication professors in Finland who teach exclusively online. Anyway, I haven't given much of a work overview lately, so, there ya have it! Whew! Stresses me out even listing everything I have to do -- and that is not even everything ;)

So, I wanted to return to "a Finnish thing" that you should know about -- since I don't have much day-to-day fun to recount, as things have been pretty routine here as of late. OK, so the Finnish national epic poem is called the Kalevala, which I wrote about last post. Let me fill in a few more details. It was compiled by a man named Elias Lönnrot in the 1830s, and he assembled it from Finnish folks songs that were well known to folk singers across eastern Finland, largely, but not only, in the Karelian region (which is now in Russia, but that is another story). So, my college roommate, Halima, and I have created a reading group to get through the Kalevala together. She loves epic poems and was game when I suggested we do this. We are about 10 cantos/books in, and it is so interesting! I have read the Odyssey and Iliad, and I have read the Irish epic (The Táin), and I had read some Icelandic epic poetry, a little bit. But, the Finnish one is a bit of an oddity, because it is not something that has been in existence as a text for very long -- only two centuries. But, as I know I mentioned, it was foundational to Finland's movements towards independence.

Anyway, Halima and I had our first Kalevala reading group on Monday. We talked about the role of women in the epic, the strategies used for enacting magical acts through song, the manner in which the hero (Väinämöinen) is cursed for not following directions, and we noted parallels to other epics. I went to the public library, Metso (which is called this because it is shaped like the bird the capercaillie, and the library is shaped like that bird), on Monday afternoon, and I ended up getting two books that are scholarly works about the Kalevala. I also checked out a kids' book called The Canine Kalevala, and the kids have read it, though I have not yet, but I looked at it enough to see that they changed a fundamental part of the narrative concerning the relationship between Väinämöinen and Aino, the sister of Joukahainen, who Joukahainen "gives" to Väinämöinen after he loses what amounts to basically a rap battle. In the epic, Aino does not want to marry Väinämöinen and drowns herself (again, I mentioned this in my last post), afterwards becoming a mermaid, and she gets to refuse Väinämöinen one more time in this form. In The Canine Kalevala, Aino does not decide for herself whether she is going to marry Väinämöinen and deny him, but rather she is rendered as a kind of Miss Piggy figure, who is in rapt pursuit of the hero (in Miss Piggy's case this is Kermit, of course). The Canine Kalevala situated Väinämöinen as having to flee from the advances of Aino! He travels north to try to evade her. This is such an odd and inaccurate change, but perhaps the author of the version for children did not want to deal with Aino's self-sacrifice and self-determination as a woman, to not marry the old man who she was given to by her worthless brother.

OK, I am writing all of the following on Friday!

So, I am going to include -- because I am a scholar, what can I say, and I need to show you textual evidence -- images of the original passages that deal with Aino deciding her own fate and of the way in which The Canine Kalevala presents Aino to children.

I encourage you to zoom in on these images and read them, you know, with all of the time you have on your hands ;)

OK, I will leave this little detour into comparative literary analysis to the side for now and tell you more about our week. Eric and I survived three more Finnish classes, a practice we manage to succeed to perform every week. There has been a real decrease in the number of students though. Some have had to leave the class because of work, some have had to leave because Finnish is just too hard a darn language, and some have had to leave because they have moved. This week, were were learning about how nouns take on different endings to connote where (from where, at where, and to where) something is taking place or where something is. It is super confusing as you might imagine, because in English and Spanish, the only two languages I know (well, I can read some French), there are actual prepositions that describe those spatial relationships. Not so in Finnish. Here is one sentence as an example. "My phone is in my purse on the table." In Finnish now: "puhelimeni on laukussani pöydällä." The first word there is "phone," the second word is "is," the third word is "in purse," and the last word is "on table." The basic forms of those words are "purse/laukku," and "table/pöytä." Now, if we were changing this to be "my phone fell out of my purse onto the floor," the directionality of the "out of" and "onto" would create new endings for those two nouns. Totally crazy! As you see, or at least this is how we feel, Finnish is a very difficult language. And on top of it all, there is a spoken Finnish and a written Finnish ;)

OK, I will tie this all up, because this has been so long! Tonight we are going to the local professional hockey teams' match against each other! They are both in the top division, which I have talked about on this blog, and they only play each other twice, about, each season. So, tonight is the Ilves/Tappara game and we are going with another family. And we're going to dinner first! Otherwise, we will have a relatively relaxed weekend, I hope, as the calendar is rather sparsely populated with things we have to do. We might do some Christmas decorating! I am sure I told you that people do that earlier here than many Americans do. We are going to jump on board that train this year.

[nicholsroy]

December (+ early January) updates & January goals

Blog | Monthly updates

Hello and happy belated New Year! I am back with a (very) quick (and very belated) updates post for this month, as I’m simply unwilling to throw this monthly tradition by the wayside in January. I don’t know, just seems like a shitty way to start off a new year.

December (+ early January) updates

Query letter: My query letter for LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE is technically done (finally), but I’m sitting with it for a while because I’m still not fully satisfied with parts of it. I’m considering getting a paid query critique from someone in the genre once it’s fully polished, if funds allow. At this rate, that will most likely happen either late this month or early next.

Edits: Edits are progressing at approximately the speed of molasses in winter right now (mostly because I’ve been doing basically nothing but reading over the past couple weeks), but I made some decent headway in December. According to my tracking document, the restructured Act I is currently about 65% complete. Act II is still less than 10% complete, as I originally intended to not touch Act II at all until Act I was complete, but I am blocked on areas of Act I that require supplementary research (which, yes, is because I’m procrastinating on said research), so I have tinkered with Act II in the meantime in order to continue progress. Many of the Act II scenes are in good shape and only need to be line edited and structured differently into chapters as needed.

A secret third thing: I… may or may not be working on a (short) new project for which inspiration struck about a week ago. I’m about 70% done with the draft, which I’ll most likely set aside for at least a few weeks prior to polishing and sending it out on submission. It is a short piece which will probably comprise around 2,000 words in total.

January goals

Keeping it simple for this month, especially seeing as it’s already nearly halfway over (I say “already” as though I haven’t been complaining all month about how slowly the time is passing):

Polish my query letter.

Get up to at least 75% progress on LIFE IN BLACK AND WHITE edits.

Complete supplementary research needed for some of the Timeline B (present-day) scenes in Act I (because I have really been dragging my ass on this for months now…)  

General life news (not writing-related)

Finished my 2023 reading challenge – on New Year’s Eve, no less – with 12 out of 12 books read! I’m working on a retrospective post of my thoughts on all these books (with ratings out of five), which I intended to post much sooner and is achieving a length much greater than intended (which is, truly, very me-coded).

I’m setting my 2024 reading challenge to 20 books, one of which I’ve read since the beginning of January. I am currently on my second, Harrow the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir. In fact, I’ve accidentally become such a born-again bookworm that my time spent on social media, including Tumblr, has become minimal as of late. Not a bad thing by any means, but I do certainly miss my friends and fellow writers on here!

Personal goals for 2024 include, among a few other things, saving money (and, in particular, spending less of it on takeout), progressing in my career, and going on a couple of bucket list trips: namely, travelling across western and central Canada on The Canadian, and going pod camping.

That’s all for now. I hope your new year is treating you with heaping quantities of motivation and possibility – and if it’s not, I hope you’re finding ways to hang in there nonetheless.       

[krisravencroft]

Darkwhisper Chronicles: December 2023 Update

Hello again; it has been a little while. In my introduction, I mentioned my interest in documenting and sharing a bit of my journey as I continue my writing projects. As of now, I will be trying my hand at posting updates and figuring out how I want to go about that. In time, I may adjust the format for clarity, ease, and balancing the amount of information given. Perhaps I might even extend the amount of time in-between updates to avoid putting unnecessary pressure on myself and to avoid flooding those who would follow along with equally unnecessary posts. As of right now in the latter case, I'm thinking bi-monthly (the longer meaning) or even quarterly updates, but we will see how that goes.

As will be reflected on my blog, there has been a leap in progress since my introduction. In balancing life events with my work, my progress has been steady at an average of one writing fugue per week. In working on the novels "The Nhordara Crusade" and "Damnation Trilogy I: The Scouring of Morthir," I have found that the scale of each entry is rather consistently going to be about three-times the size of my early projections, and for that, I will avoid noting progress on books of mine that are sub-100 pages even if they are close to said marker. With that said, let's begin.

I tend to scale my work in one of two formats. The first, which I will call my draft format, is a very simple page adjustment that helps me structure my paragraphs neatly and be more conservative with how many words I try to shove into a page. I use it primarily to soothe any sort of quirks I have about the presentation on individual pages. Once I have a substantial enough draft, it then goes through my review format (as suggested by my friend) which gives the pages a more realistic book scale and appearance that is no longer subject to my eccentricities about presentation. I have found that when converted to review format, there is around a 10% decrease in page-count per chapter, and that is spectacular news for me as it means chapters will be more digestible and I will have more room for writing as I continue the story unabridged and even add onto it. When sharing progress, there are a few things I advise be kept in mind: 1. Page counts provided are derived from draft format, and ideally, published format will condense even unedited work into fewer pages; 2. I do not keep track of edits and additions I make to older chapters, and so page counts alone do not reflect how much writing has been done or how much progress has been made; and 3. Typically, edits are adding information or tweaking wordage (and thus expanding content), unless a substantial overhaul is required for earlier chapters.

Now, most of my writing since my introduction has been concentrated on the first book of the Damnation Trilogy; enough so that it has caught up to The Nhordara Crusade in terms of scale. As of present, removing dedication and disclaimer pages, removing the glossary from the back and the timeline with lore context from the front, removing the table of contents, and leaving exclusively prologue and chapter content: The Nhordara Crusade is sitting at 414 pages representing 20 chapters, and Damnation 1 (The Scouring of Morthir) is sitting at 443 pages that also represent 20 chapters. Damnation 1 is certainly halfway finished and The Nhordara Crusade is ambiguously also past that threshold... though by how much is unclear even to me, since it will take exploring all of the plot points and scenes I want included to see just how long the story continues before reaching its intended ending. Unless stated otherwise, I will not be counting going back and editing older chapters in progress reports, nor accounting for compression by format changes. Over the past two months, I have been on a Damnation Trilogy kick, and so I can safely say that with those disclaimers in mind, I have written seven chapters representing 136 pages in Damnation I: The Scouring of Morthir.

At the start of this month, I have written an additional 24 pages in Damnation I, but I may be scrapping most of them and starting again from relative scratch. I believe that with the diverging narratives in the current act, the novel will be better served if I write them completely out of order while riding off of specific inspiration, so that way the tone remains consistent throughout them all, and so not a one is written unevenly from the rest. As far as I am concerned, I can stitch them all back together later.

I look forward to sharing more of my journey. I will be back in a couple months.

[vinetae]

You have promised that you will upload full circle series at the end of December please upload it soon

Finally done! So sorry for the wait, guys.. At first I had been really sick for around two weeks, the Christmas came around the corner like that, and now my cat has a UTI 😔

I had MAJOR writer's block with this chapter, so I hope it's not terrible. This had been in my drafts for over 2 weeks 👀

I hope you enjoy it! (Does have a lil smut and oop- Jimin's got a lil addiction to something. Can you guess what? Lmfao.)

____________________________________________________________

Chapter 2: Addictions

Pairings: Jimin x Pregnant Reader

Genre: Pregnancy!AU, Unexpected Pregnancy, Angst, SMUT SMUT SMUT, Sperm Donor mishaps

W.C: 6.3k

Summary: Y/n's now a little further in her trimester and acceptance of her situation. While Jimin on the other hand...

Not so much..

How will they both find a way to cope through this new way of life?

Chapter 3

Chapter 1

______________________________________________________________

This was it. 

He had a feeling about it. He knew you’d find out eventually. The dates had just added up too much to be a coincidence. 

You were carrying his child. 

The thought stuns him each time it crosses his mind. The fact that his child, your child is his own. He’s the father, and he barely even knows you. Sure, he’s hung around you in the past a few times but it had always been short lived from Namjoon’s early and late arrivals. When he got time, you’d scoot further away from Jimin, giving him a small jab in the heart at the cold gesture. 

The door creaks open, noticing how you’re just sitting down in the chair across from the doctor’s desk. Your hair pulled into a loose ponytail. The flow of your dress had been graciously splaying across the skin of your thighs. He takes in a deep breath, before revealing him fully. 

“Jimin, did you not feel like waiting outside anymore?” You flash him an adorable smile, which makes his heart pang with sadness. Will you hate him for this? Will you leave and never let him see your child? Can you file for sexual assault?

All of the questions are simmered by the doctor’s short commentary. 

“We’re actually waiting for someone, sir. If you’d like to wait outside for a little while longer-” 

They weren’t going to believe this. He sighs, pulling his phone from the hidden pockets of his jeans, dialing the last number in his unknown contacts. The doctor quickly picks up the hand held phone that sat on her desk before answering. 

“Hello?” 

The simple word was all the confirmation that doctor Lee needed. She sets the line down before offering Jimin to take a seat. 

Your glimmering eyes set on his. “Why’d she call you, Jimin? How do you even have her number?” This was torture. He couldn’t stand this. The pain, regret, and everything else you’ll feel will be all his fault. 

“Well, shall we get started?” You tilt your head to the side. Confusion paints your expressions. 

“Aren’t we waiting for the donor?” Your voice is so sweet, so innocent. Like a spoonful of smooth honey coating a sore throat for a great relief. His eyes land on your straight figure. Hands rest in the crease of your thighs, while your ankles cross at the joints. Before Jimin could say anything, the doctor speaks. 

“Donor 519, Park Jimin.” 

~

Your body freezes up. His eyes glisten with a certain gleam. Worry? Maybe some even pity in his saddened chocolate irises. Your heart races from the new information. 

This can’t be happening..

There’s no way Jimin’s the-

“Mr. Park came in on the 12th of last December. Two supplements had been provided, totaling his earnings to 300,000 Korean won.” Your eyes fall back between the two. Jimin had sat in silence, focusing his sights on the papers he’d been skimming over. 

“So, since the two parties already have been in contact before, have you discussed a plan for when the child arrives?” Your eyes are both set on each other. An awkward silence falls upon the room. 

“If not, Mr, Park; you’re legally obligated to sign over all permissions to miss Y/n.”

Jimin’s fist clenched, as his eyes darken in his gaze. “And what will you be doing about this mess up, hmm? Last time I checked, it’s not exactly an accepted practice to accidentally inseminate the wrong patient.” 

Doctor Lee’s eyes widened at his words. The lump in her throat visible to anyone who’d take a look. She pulls at the tight of his button up collar, loosening the fabric to get pressure off her windpipe. Your hand comes to rest on Jimin. His gaze immediately softens when looking at you. 

“We can figure out the logistics of this later. What about the couple who’d originally planned for the procedure?” She quickly starts clicking the keys on her keyboard, until she turns the screen to face the two of you. 

“The couple is already scheduled to get the right procedure taken care of on Monday morning. You two have nothing legally to do with them, so need for no  introductions.” You nod, watching as the little vein in Jimin’s neck starts throbbing.

This was going to be a difficult conversation indeed…

~

The door clicks shut as you lean up against it’s hard surface. Jimin follows soon after, as you both avoid eye contact with each other. The TV’s bright lights switch off, as Namjoon rises from his seat on the couch he’d been laying on while watching the first few episodes of Love Island. 

You sigh, shuffling your way over to the stocked kitchen, rumbling through his goodies of sweets before settling on a bag of salt and vinegar chips. Jimin trudges over, plopping down onto the couch next to Joonie, sporting an exhausted expression. 

“Jesus you two. Did someone die?” Namjoon walks over, taking a few chips from the bag held in your hands. Quickly, you slap his hand away before he has time to grab a second round. You flash him a pissed look which tells him to back the fuck off. 

“No. No one died, hyung.” Jimin finally responds, making his way over to the kitchen, pulling out a cold beer before plopping down onto the barstool adjacent to the two of you. Namjoon’s gaze switches between the two of you, a questioning look arises. 

“Then what’s the matter?” His eyes go wide at the crazy thoughts filling his head. His hands quickly reach down to cradle your small bump. 

“Is something wrong with the baby!?” You shake your head before removing his hands from your lower stomach, pressing the palm of yours to his cheek to calm him down. 

“Everything with the baby’s fine, Joonie. It was perfectly healthy. Here-” You reach into the small of your pocket, pulling out the little sonogram the doctor had taken of your child a few hours before. You place the small piece of precious paper in Namjoon’s hand. His smile beams like rays from the sun as he examines the thin sheet. 

“Wow..” Is all he responds with. 

You clear your throat, leaning back into your chair to finish the remains of your meal. Once you’re through, you stand up to clean your mess and head to the bathroom to ready yourself for bedtime. 

~

The tinted night falls heavy upon the apartment’s lack of lighting. The moon’s bright rays peek through the thin curtains that flow from the A/C’s cooling winds. Namjoon had offered for you to spend the night since you and Jimin had gotten back super late. Offering his bed to you, you quickly refused, commenting that you’d much rather take the couch instead. You’ve slept on it before. 

Why would this time be any different?

Took him for about EVER to finally give in to your stubbornness, but he’d had a long day at work. So, in the end you’d won. Which led you to sleeping on the black faux leather sectional in the large apartment complex. 

Tossing and turning, your mind wanders to scenes from the hours before. 

“Donor 519, Park Jimin.” 

You groan, rubbing your face out of agony. Ever since walking out of the OBG/YN Office, your head hasn't stopped pounding. It felt as if a million tiny monkeys with anvils were bouncing on a bed. Your flip over, huffing from frustration. 

You weren’t going to sleep anytime soon. 

Sighing, you untangle yourself from the wrapped sheets you’d encased yourself in, walking to grab a glass of water. As you're chugging the liquid, your headache has subdued a bit. The loud being from the front door had alerted your hazy senses. A tall dark shadow messily walks into the doorway before shutting the door behind himself. He ruffles his hair while making his way to the kitchen cabinets. Rummaging through the shelves, he huffs before breaking the seal of a new chip bag. You turn to face you a few seconds later, his reddened eyes widen at you. A smile plasters his features as he stumbles over to embrace you in a tight hug. 

“Y/n! You’re here!!” You cover his mouth, trying to pry his heavy weight from you. “I’m here, Jimin. Fuck-” You push him back, feeling bile creep up the backs of your throat. You cover your nostrils to not projectile vomit all over the place. 

“You reek of alcohol. What the hell happened??” He pouts before laughing maniacally. He fumbles over to a stool at the bar before plopping down with his bag of chips and a new bottle of soju. 

“I went out and I was g-gonna buuy some fings for ma room but I thought about our baby! So I went-” He hiccups, banging his head on the counter. 

“Fuuuck. Is is loud in here? It’s so fucking loud..” You sit down next to him, rubbing the curves of his back. 

“You’re drunk, Jimin. Come on, let’s go get you into bed.” He whines as you help in rise to his feet before he collapses, falling to the floor while pulling your weight down with his. He laughs loudly at the silly position, as you’re trying to pick his heavy form up off the floor. 

“Jimin get uuup! You can’t sleep here” He whines, kicking his feet like a toddler pitching a tantrum. After a few more tries you sigh before swinging him around to drag him by his feet. 

“Weeee! This is so fuuunnn! We should d-do this more often, Y/n!” He laughs like a crazy person, as you reach the entry of his room. His navy blue silk button down had ridden up, revealing the toned dips of his stomach. You swallow quickly before helping him onto the flat sheets of his bed. 

“Stay here, I’ll get you a trash can.” He smirks before tackling your figure, pinning you against the his bed. 

“I’ve got a better idea~” His jet-black locks fall softly into your field of vision before the pads of his lips press gently kisses to your cheek. You groan, trying to push his weight off of you, but it has been no use. He was way too strong, and you had already been worn out physically. 

“Mmmm that’s so hot.” He moans, while the palms of his hands travel up to squeeze one of your breasts in his hand while the other pulls the hem of your over-sized -well, Namjoon’s oversized tee- to sit on your ribcage. 

“Jimin, stop. Get off me” His motions never stop. With each soft, angelic kiss had been paired with his naughty, devilish hands coming to explore the plains of your figure. Honestly, it had been so long since you felt any kind of touch. Even if he was drunk, would it really be that bad? He’s really fucking hot and it’d be awesome to loose your virginity to a God-like statue as attractive as this man was-

“GET OFF HER BEFORE I BEAT YOU TO A PULP.” Namjoon’s loud yells pull you from your lust-driven thoughts. You’d never been this horny before..

Namjoon immediately pulls Jimin off you as he lets out a pouty groan.

“No fucking way I’m letting you fuck my best friend too, Jimin!” Namjoon pulls you into a tight embrace, as he rushes you out before Jimin could make any kind of move. Once you’re both back into the safety of Namjoon’s bedroom, he locks the door before joining you on his bed. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n. I didn’t know that he had gone out drinking. He usually never gets this bad..” You look down to the floor, not wanting to admit that you’d been at fault for not stopping it either. 

“God, I promise you he’s never done anything like that.. This is so embarrassing.” He rubs his face harshly, hiding his shame between the cups of his hands. A big, frustrated sigh washes over his body. 

“He’s just- He’s being really weird lately. I don’t know why but it’s like he’s-”

“Jimin’s the father.” You blurt out. 

His head whips around to face yours, his eyes blown out like cartoon characters. His jaw practically drops to the floor. 

“H-He’s the- You and he-” 

“No. But… He was the donor. There were two Park Jimins and they mixed up the batches I guess. But we didn’t sleep together so..” 

“Wait, so let me get this straight.” He twists his body to face yours, holding out his hands to make sense of it all. 

“The doctors mixed up the products.” 

You nod. 

“And.. there were TWO Park Jimins..”

Nod.

“And.. My female best friend’s baby daddy is my roommate.”

You chuckle nervously. “You’re on a roll, Joonie.” 

“But.. you two didn’t sleep together?” 

You nod again. 

“But that still doesn’t answer on why he’s drunk as fuck right now.” You stand to meet him, locking your sights to his chocolatey irises before letting out a sigh. 

“He told me that he went to the store to get some things for his room, but then started to think about the baby.. Well, his baby.” Namjoon’s eyebrows knit together in your tone. You put your hands up in defense. “Hey, his words are not mine! Anyways- So I guess he tried drinking to understand it all..” 

Namjoon plops back down onto the edge of his bed spread. “This is so fucked up..” You nod before laying back on his bed, arms spread wide apart from each other. He soon joins, as you both stare up at the ceiling trying to contemplate everything. 

A few minutes of silence goes by before he asks.

“So, what are you gonna do?” 

You sigh, slowly turning your head to lay on its side while admiring his prominent features. You flip on your side, cuddling up to his arm. He scoots closer, slinging his opposite arm around your lazed figure. Both of your breathing patterns slowly come in alliance. 

“I don’t know.” 

..

The living room had only one patterned sound echoing through the background. 

The droning noise of boring daytime television. 

You’d decided to sit back for the day and enjoy the peace and quiet of Namjoon’s apartment. He’d left a while ago to meet with some architect for a piece he wanted to buy to add to his collection. He’d always loved collecting special items. Mainly abstract or unusual pieces to match his unique style himself. You’d started on cleaning around the rooms, but quickly had ran out of breath. So now, here you lay spread out on the gray sectional in his living room. Your chest rises and falls in a patterned way, breathing in the peace and tranquility. 

Until a quiet door had latched itself close. 

You sit up, seeing a ruffled haired Jimin stumbling his way out of his door to the kitchen. A bumble of silence buzzes over the room, before you decide to lay back down, not wanting to get into what had happened the night before, right now. You were too tired to even barely stand. My feet ached already, a migraine had been teasing you on and off repeatedly for around 7 hours now. It had started dully in the middle of the night. You had sat up to ask Namjoon if he had any pain medications, but his snores signaled to you that he’d been far to gone for any sort of communication. 

That’s when you’d met Jimin in the kitchen, early in the wee hours of the morning. He’d been following a recipe on his lit up phone screen, while watching a small pot of soup boil on the stove surface. He’d been leaning against the counter, bending forward to brace himself on the edge. It had been a few minutes before he finally took notice of you.  You quietly made your way past his body, reaching up to search the cabinets. He turns to face you, while his sights are still set on the boiling pot of stew.

 “Looking for something?” He finally responds, breaking the silence. You sigh, nodding.

 “I’ve got a headache..” He hums softly before sliding a little bottle of pills over your way, taking a taste of his stew as his face contorts into a grimace at the taste.

 “Thanks.” You walk away after popping one of the capsules in our mouth. 

-

Jimin plops down onto the couch next to you, glancing to look at your overheated body sprawled out on the couch. He takes a sip of the bottle he’d been nursing for the past hour or so. His eyes travel up the length of your elongated legs. Each curve and dip had been like candy tempting a little kid. 

The way your silk pink pajama shorts had been riding up the round of your peeking cheeks had something inside him begging to get a taste. Your worried tone pulls him from his daydreams. He watches as you arise from the sunken couch, reaching upwards to crack your back. The thin, silky material of your button down pajama shirt lifts slightly to reveal the tiny protruding bump. 

A smile creeps his face without knowing. He watches you rub the sides of your temples before plopping back down. A mumbled curse leaves your lips.

“Shit-” He’s quick to reach out, helping you keep your balance so you won’t fall over. You turn back, as he flashes you a worried expression, as it’s soon turned into a soft smile. His smile fades as you ignore his gesture.

“Y/n..” He starts, trying to get into your view of sight. Moving all around your vision while your eyes are fakely glued to the TV.

“Y/n.. I’m sorry.” He sighs, giving up trying to get your attention. At that, your head cranes to the side, giving him a soft glance. “I was really drunk and.. I never should have- touched you. At all.” You let out a gentle huff before fixing your attention back onto the droning television. He still continues. 

“I was just- it was so much to grasp, you know? I’m just.. Scared. I guess.” He chuckles, tipping his bottle up to take another sip. Your hand’s quicker as it reaches out, stopping him from drinking another drop. 

“At least stop the day drinking, Jimin.” He hesitates, but soon allows you to take the bottle away from him. You place it on the side of the coffee table, watching as his face contorts into a withdrawn expression.

“You’re right..” He chuckles at the thought. “If I’m going to be a dad, I guess I have to act it.. Right?” His small smile fades while watching you give him no sort of reaction. 

“I’m really sorry about last night, Y/n. I've never done anything like that, I swear..” You nod, surfing through the channels to browse. His hand reaches out to yours, cupping your small fingers between his large palms. A saddened expression paints his face. Yours soon follows to match. You felt bad for him. He didn’t ask for this…

Any of it. 

Your thoughts start sending you down a rabbit hole of possible outcomes of this. 

Number one: You could give birth, live a happy life..

But that means stealing his own. 

Or

Option two: Forget all of this, and put it behind you. Get rid of all of it. Move away to another country, and leave your past behind. 

It’s not like getting pregnant was in your life plans anyways. 

“Y/n?” 

Jimin’s soft tone pulls you from your detriment of spiraling thoughts. Your eyes focus back on the gentle features of his face. His thick, blackened sharp eyebrows knit together, expressing concern. His eyes glisten with a certain shimmer you’d seen so many times these past few weeks now. 

Your voice is weak and strained. You’re not sure from what though..

“Jimin..” You practically whine out. You hadn’t felt the tears welled up in your eyes, a few slipping down your cheeks before landing on the flesh of your thighs. He gives you a gentle smile, placing his thumb to your cheek, wiping the dripping liquid from your reddened cheeks. Your eyes had become puffy and red from the overwhelming emotions this tiny moment had revealed. Your breath staggers in your chest. The tight, bolt-like feeling screws in the back of your throat, as you hiccup through the emotions. He coos, pulling you in a tight embrace. His other hand comes to pet your hair as you lean into his touch.

You needed some kind of comfort. 

But this..

It Wasn't enough. 

You needed more. 

You craved more. 

He presses the front of his forehead to yours, as your lips reach out to meet his. His palm slides over your dampened cheeks, fingers caressing each and every beauty mark and freckle your features displayed. The digits of his hands caress the sharpness of your jaw, tracing along the protruding bone before resting at the hairline near your cherry red ears. Every dip and crater on your skin had been the mark of perfection to him. His eyes fluttered open just to peak at your tear-dropped eyes. Squinting with every emotion you’d been feeling from these past few weeks. His heart breaks at the sight. 

This was all his fault. 

He never meant to hurt you like this. 

His own stupid actions had led to your life ending. 

You were still so young. 

You had so much to live for. 

So many dreams he overheard you telling Namjoon about for the past two months. 

Every Time you had a night terror, he’d wanted to be the one to comfort you. 

Not Namjoon. 

Instead, he became the monster haunting you the most. 

You feared him. 

He could see that clear as day. 

But he also had seen something else hiding behind your innocent, doll-like eyes. 

Something he’d never even guess close to imagining lurking behind your gaze. 

It was the same thing he’d been stuck with as well. The need for something that you know you shouldn’t have. The longing for that comfort from something that will destroy you in the end. 

Yet,

You still run towards this thing with open arms.

You like the pain. 

You like to feel broken. 

Because you know, 

Even if it’s bad. 

It helps you to feel something. 

And that’s all you need to keep crawling back to your doom. 

With each passing day, you slip further and further into insanity. 

Every hour feels as if it’s a million, without the help of your comfort. 

You drip back into your vice like an IV bag trying to keep it’s patient alive. 

Only in this sense, 

It had been trying to kill you.

..

As this bitter-sweet tragic kiss is sealed, his mind replays all the horrible things he had done to you just some hours ago.

Touching you like that..

How warm your body had felt in his cold hands. The sweet scent of your newly purchased perfume had filled his senses more than any meal he's ever eaten. All he wanted was to show you how much you meant to him.

How much the both of you meant to him.

Instead, his own greed and selfishness led to you hating his guts even more.

As the kiss drags on, it felt like pins and needles as his hands caressed only the places he wished you would only give him access to. The fiery path he trails behind his gentle touches sends butterflies shooting into the pit of your stomach. Your soft moans grow in volume at his feathery light touches. He wished this moment could last forever.

Fuck.

He wanted you.

And damn whoever tried to get in his way.

His hands drip down to grip onto your hips, before pulling you to straddle his lap. You rise above a bit, hovering over his pelvis as to not cause him any disturbance. His moans rolls onto the tip of your tongue, pushing past all of your doubts to replace them with the images of what could be, instead.

The point of your chin is taken by his strong grip, as he leads the way in your passionate exchange of silent sentiments. His hand reaches to yours, guiding them downwards to drag along the straight plains of his chest. His forehead presses against yours, pulling away from the kiss for a second to gain oxygen which he had been more than happy to give away to you.

Then, it starts again.

The passion resumes, kisses exchanged. This time; more fiery and fierce than ever before. You both had an unspoken desire lurking behind these spirited reciprocity.

His strong, well toned arms come to lift the hem of your shirt above the dip of your belly-button, as you both admire the little pudge that had begin to show itself just in the first few weeks. You anticipate his next move, wondering what had been going on in his mind right now. Did he think you were fat? Were you ugly? Is it weird seeing that? Does it just look like you had a big lunch? Is this a turn off??

You watch as a smile tugs his lips before he flips the two of you around, until your back is pressed firmly up against the couch's. He's now sat right between the space of your thighs. The tip of his tongue peaking through his plump lips to wet the edges.

"Cute."

He smiles before bringing his lips to your lower stomach, placing tiny little pecks along your semi-rounded belly. Your eyes knit in confusion at his gesture. He glances up through batted eyelashes, flashing you a smile. Your head tilts to the side.

"You.. You don't think it's weird..?" A chuckle rolls past his lips as the hook of his index finger pulls down on the elastic of your silk pajamas. His eyes burn with an intensity so fine, it could melt through metal.

"Weird? Oh baby, " His plush lips come down to press soft kissing along the light red line that had marked your skin from your silky elastic shorts.

"Seeing you carrying my child is the hottest thing you could probably ever do." Your eyes widen at his comment. His, narrow to oppose your shocked expression. A smirk tugs the corner of his lips. You hadn't even noticed that your panties and shorts were already half-way down your legs until you felt a wet sensation press itself to your most intimate places. You grip onto the edge of the couch as a moan is forced out from the back of your throat. Your legs unconsciously part, wanting more of the unfamiliar feeling. He hums, satisfied with the response he'd received. He continues, testing your boundaries even more this time.

"Hmm, you like that? Like it when I eat your pussy out?" You watch as his features disappear from sight, as the wet sensation against your clit returns. Your moans quickly grow is size at his motions. You watch as he sticks his fingers into his mouth before inserting the smallest of his digit into your core. You reach out, gripping onto his should from the slightly painful sensation. I mean, you never really touched yourself anyways. When you had, it was no more than just your clit. Never really felt good with your fingers but-

with his ..

"Aww, I don't even have one finger in, baby. You already giving up?" You whine at his teasing, as your heads lulls back to hit the couch's backrest. You shake your head, as your breath fails to follow a certain, calmed pattern. You feel the length of his finger slide up into your core a bit, inching further inside you as his lips come to plant a soft kiss to your navel before looking back up to meet your messed gaze.

"That's my girl." He tsks, watching as your face contorts into expressions he's only dreamed of seeing. Your mouth falls open to rest at a O-shape, chest rising and falling at an uncontrollable pace. He watches with a smirk as your knuckles turn white from your gorilla-like grip onto the poor sectional's fabrics.

"What's the matter baby? Cat got your-" His thumb's quick to press circles into your throbbing bud.

"Tongue?"

Your eyes lull to the back of your head, as your thigh begins to twitch at his quick motions. You can't but help all the sinful noises that erupt from the bottom of your chest. You hadn't really had any relationships prior to meeting Jimin. You had just friend-zoned them all until you saw their true intentions. Many had just wanted in your pants, not on your friendship bracelet. It's not like you were saving it for some magical wedding night- no. You had just never really gotten the chance-

Let's not lie here: You hadn't really gotten the confidence either.

You'd always been so shy and awkward with your body. The way your parents had explained sex didn't at all help with the whole thing either.

Your body is a temple and it should be preserved and blah blah blah. You just wanted to live like everyone else and be normal for once. But, I guess the universe had other plans for you.

He grips your legs, motioning for you to wrap them around his shoulders as his mouth dips down to lick stripes up along the center of your core. You moan out, accidentally tensing up your thighs which in turn makes his moans drown out your own.

"Oh my god" He groans while sucking on your throbbing clit.

"Oh my goddd" You moan out as your leg starts uncontrollably shaking from the pleasure.

"OH MY GOD-" A new voice echoes through the hallways. Your head quickly does a 160-ish, watching as the bags Namjoon had been holding, fall to the ground. The milk busting open as it starts to leak on the floor. Your eyes go wide at his sudden entrance.

Shit.

______________________________________________________________

AHAHAHAHAHAHA ANYBODY SENSING A THREESOME HERE?!?!?!?!??!

I really hope you enjoyed this as much as I did while writing it!! I kept getting writer's block for WEEKS and then all of a sudden this idea popped into my head when i was cleaning. I did have to delete like 13 pages of nonsense before this so 😔

[imtheiliad]

freedom of the fall [1k words | breakdown| speculation] {ao3} 5b promo spoilers tw: dissociation, panic attack, brief mentions of blood a/n: so i have had this, "eddie breakdown" fic in my drafts since early december? and with a few tweaks and inspiration from the promo, that struck at 1:30 am, it finally felt complete. title from mice by billie marten enjoy <3

Eddie had felt himself on the edge of something so he knew that it was coming. He had felt a crack after being held hostage. He had felt it crumble in the middle of a crisis of all places. He had been calculated in his actions; following only what was best for Christopher.

But he was surprised that he found himself on the floor of his bedroom. Hamper tipped over beside him. Sheets violently ripped from the bed. Hands braced around a baseball bat. Several rooms and 2 doors between him and Christopher. The quiet stillness is just shy of haunting. his body sore, his throat tight, his breathing wild and irregular, and his face covered in salt.

He felt his phone buzz a few times, unsure of what the timing between them was.

He finally looked at his phone. How was it 10:13? Last time he checked it was just a quarter until 9. And there were several texts from Buck.

He blinked again and it was 10:32 and Buck’s messages were open on his phone in his shaky hands.

And then it was 11:06 and Buck was calling him.

11:23- 2 more texts and another missed call and a voicemail.

And he doesn’t know what to do.

But then it’ 11:29 and Buck is calling him again and he finds the will to control his hand so he can answer, but that’s all he has left in him in terms of control. He can’t breathe, and the background noise wherever Buck is is too loud, and feels like nails against a chalkboard in his ears and that only makes breathing harder as he chokes on his tongue and there are somehow more fucking tears. Buck’s voice is far away and tinny.

He can’t fucking let go of the bat to wipe the tears or maybe cover his ears. It’s all too much.

When had it all become so much?

God, it hurt to breathe, what if he just stopped for a minute or two? Maybe it would make it all stop for just a second.

When Buck enters the house it feels oddly still for a space in which he knows somewhere Eddie is struggling to breathe. He pokes his head into the kitchen and the bathroom.

When he found him in the bedroom he had never seen Eddie so small. Sure he threw out the occasional joke about Eddie being 2 inches shorter than him but this was entirely different. Eddie sitting on the floor, red faced, clutching a baseball bat like a lifeline, amongst the wreckage that was left of his usually overly orderly room.

Eddie was on the ground, knees folded to his chest, his forehead resting on the edge of the goddamn baseball bat. Every muscle tightened, the grip on the bat white knuckled, yet red. Eddie’s blood. And the sound that pierced the air ragged, air forcing its way into Eddie’s lungs only to be ripped out in an instant. He had heard it over the phone but it shook every bone in his body now that he was standing in the bedroom doorway. He had never heard it coming from another person before. Was that how it always sounded?

He shook the thoughts from his head as he sank down to the floor.

“Eddie-“ he says gently,

“I can’t,” Eddie sobs, pulling his head from where it rested,

Buck has never seen his best friend like this. He’d seen him upset, clearly sad, but this. This was an entirely different beast.

“I’m scared,” Eddie finally chokes out,

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s just me and you. Just me and you.” Buck says quietly, reaching a hand out to rest on Eddie’s.

“I don’t want to scare Chris,”

“No no, he could never be scared of you. Can I have the bat Eddie?”

Eddie’s fingers loosen underneath his and Buck catches it as the bat slips from the vice grip.

“That’s it, there you go. It’s okay. It’s just you and me. Right here, right now.” Buck repeats over and over again as Eddie finally leans into him, clutching his shirt, sobs still crashing through him like a tidal wave over and over.

Eddie breaths even out over time and Buck pulls back a little,

“Can I take a look at your hands?” He asks gently as Eddie’s eyes drift to the dried blood covering his knuckles.

Eddie just looks at Buck with red eyes, still brimmed with tears, swallows thickly and bites his lip,

“You don’t have to explain, just let me help,”

Eddie nods,

“You can hold this while I go get a few things from the bathroom okay?” He hands Eddie one of the pillows that formerly rested carefully on top of the perfectly made bed, it now had a hole, a few feathers spilling out.

Buck returns after what could have been eons or seconds with a few wipes, neosporin, and some gauze.

He wipes away the blood carefully revealing the small wounds, covers them with the ointment, and wraps them gently in gauze, brushing his fingers over the other man’s knuckles reverently.

“You have a little,” Eddie points at a small mark on Buck’s white t-shirt underneath his jacket, slowly turning brown over time, “sorry”

Buck looks down, and there’s a lurch in his stomach, but he swallows around it, “don’t worry about it, I was gonna get rid of this shirt anyway, could I borrow something though?”

Eddie nods, eyes fixed to Buck, watching carefully as he finds something else to wear. Then as he effortlessly pulls fresh sheets and blankets from the closet, picking up the hamper as he moves about the room collecting the pieces spread about and putting them back where they belong.

“I’ll be on the couch if you need me okay?” Buck says putting pajamas into Eddie’s hands, “and you have nothing to apologize for. We’ll talk more in the morning.” And he wipes a tear off his cheek that Eddie didn’t even know was there before pulling himself up and offering a hand to Eddie. Which he takes.

“Thank you,” it comes out rough, ragged, and broken,

“What for?” Buck tilts his head,

“Everything?” There’s a weighted pause, “for staying.”

Buck swallows, “anything for you. ‘Night” he picks up the bat on his way out, leaving the door open just a crack like he does for Christopher, and Eddie just stands, sweatpants in his hands, watching him go. Watching him stay.