#each chapter is at least about 6-8k long

[antisociallilbrat]

Even When The Sun Rises, Don't Wake Me Chp. 7

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Chp. 6

Chp. 8

A/N: Welcome back, I offer you this monster of a chapter. This chapter is ALMOST 8k Going back to my 2k - 3k chapters after this

Also Mike and Bill have a conversation in the beginning and part of it is stenbrough related but the other half Bill shines some light on Mike's problems with Max. Also Bill is a cheeky bastard.

he news said to brace down for the long haul as the snowstorm would be lingering. This news brought nothing but groans to Mike's college home.

It was day four of the snowstorm now and the snow was still piling up outside. It was almost to his waist now. Thankfully the snow did seem to at least be thinning out as the snow mounds outside weren’t growing in height as quickly as they had been.

The power has been coming and going and while it’s on right now, Mike fears for when it’ll go out again. Everyone has been dressing in multiple layers to keep warm. Their apartment has this old fireplace that they were all surprised, and relieved, to see that the chimney chute was clear. Bill had bought some shoty firewood from a gas station one time, about a month ago, planning to try it out. This was before they knew the chimney was clear and Derek had chastised Bill to not even think about it.

Now Mike is just happy for Bill’s ignorance because he kept the wood hidden in his closet. Very convenient for their current situation. 

Emily, Bill, and he have made a little fortress in the living room. Bill dragged out his mattress so that he and Mike could share it. Emily has taken over the couch. They pass time by playing card games and munching on Derek’s snacks, trying to bare through the harsh cold.

In these past three days, Mike has seen Max two times.

The first time was the morning of the second day when she came out to get some crackers and bottled water. Her skin was flushed and she looked like she was sick. He was on Bill’s mattress, pretending to be asleep. Not wanting a repeat of the previous night he let her be. 

Later that day they all could hear retching sounds coming from his and Bill’s bathroom. Max allowed Emily to come in and check on her. When Emily came back out she told him that Max has caught a stomach bug. She didn’t look like she believed it, but he was not about to tell her that Max was sick because the drugs were working their way out of her system. 

The next time he saw her was last night. She had snuck out of his room once again thinking that everyone had gone to bed. Mike had been asleep until the nightmares awoke him. The Mindflayer rampaging through Starcourt, hold your breath don’t let it get El or Will! He was sitting against the couch, Bill half flung on him, twitching in his sleep.

Max had pitter-pattered over to the fridge, the light revealing something that made him wish he was still asleep. Last time she was flushed and yet this time she looked like a corpse. Dark circles ragged under her eyes and her face resembled more of a skeleton’s. His sweater hung off her, eclipsing her body. Is it possible to lose that much weight in days?

Again, he said nothing. Not even when she turned away from the fridge, arms full of string cheese and deli meat, and their eyes met. She didn’t appear surprised to see him awake and for a moment they just stared at each other. It felt like he should have said something but he couldn’t bring himself to. What was there to say? They both are in a shit situation, her more than him, and at that moment it felt like there was nothing he could do to make it better. She remained quiet as well and eventually made her way back to his bedroom. He heard the soft click of the lock. Despondency radiated through his whole being as it did.

The days were starting to run together. His sanity was running out and honestly, he wanted his room back. Ha, imagine him going to the door, pounding on it, and demanding that Max give it back to him! The chaos that would follow! For fuck’s sake he’s been reduced to wearing Bill’s clothes! 

Yet, a small part of him is relieved his is happening. He had no idea how he was going to get Max to detox and honestly hadn’t planned on attempting that for a while. Ultimately quitting drugs was going to have to be her choice but as the circumstances are, she doesn’t have one. 

Bill’s liquor and weed are in his room and Max hasn’t thought to ask for some yet. Maybe he can get Bill to lie, and say that he’s out. Maybe Bill wouldn’t question that request from Mike but that would mean he gave Bill enough pieces to put the puzzle that is Max together. 

Her body looks ragged from the detox, maybe he can convince her that she doesn’t have to put herself through this again. That this snowstorm is a miracle from God or the universe or whatever. Why not just quit now that she's already gone through the detox? No need to shoot up again. Guide her stubborn ass into making the right choice, quitting now. Get her to a NA meeting. 

Of course, this would require talking to her first. A feat he doesn’t feel up to right now.

Because for her to quit, he has to figure out why she started in the first place. How did the Max he knew get started on heroin? How did she let herself sink that low? They went through the trauma of the upside down together and yet he’s never felt the need to run away from it through the means of dangerously numbing himself. 

He has a nagging feeling that the answer lies with Billy. Deep in his grave. With the worms and maggots. 

There’s a sense of guilt too. The Party pretty much just moved on after Starcourt. It wasn’t their brother that was lost. They kinda all just left her in the dust. Fuck, he’s angry with himself. Yes, he and Max weren’t that close but how could he not have reached out? Someone who he had risked his life for and who did the same? He’s ashamed of himself and honestly, the whole Party should be too. They abandoned her. 

Tomorrow he’ll talk to her, whether she wants to or not. He’s abandoning her now by not doing so and he’s just letting the past repeat itself. Never again. 

It’s too late to do so now and he’s really hoping she’s managing to get some sleep. She needs it. He himself can't sleep, and sits up against the couch yet again. His mind too busy thinking of every way Max is going to get herself killed.

“What are you th-thinking about so hard?” Bill breaks him out of his stupor. He didn’t know he was awake. 

Mike rolls his eyes, “Go back to sleep asshole and go back to your side of the bed you hog,” he jostles him from where Bill had been creeping towards him. 

Bill shakes his head against the pillow, “Can’t.”

“Can’t go back to sleep or can’t sleep on your own damn side?”

“Yes.”

Mike sighs, “You're impossible you know?”

Bill smiles as he flings himself on top of him to snuggle him, his head now in Mike’s lap, clinging to him in an iron grip, “Maybe but you luh-love me.” 

“Pfff as if. You’re an idiot who never learned the meaning of personal space,” he chastises. 

“I like to love on my fruh-friends. Deal ww-with it jjerkface,” he pinches his thigh.

Mike pinches him back in the neck, Bill letting out an “ack!” before he reminds him to be quiet. Emily is asleep on the couch right behind him. They fall into a comfortable silence. 

This is familiar. Him and Bill being awake in the living room, not talking but enjoying each other’s presence. Once Mike’s nightmares wake him up there’s no going back to sleep. He has a working theory that Bill has insomnia but he’s never asked. They just deal with the long nights together. 

Bill shuffles off of him, not before elbowing him in the stomach on purpose accidently, to tend to the dying fire. They’re almost out of their convenient firewood and if this snowstorm doesn’t end soon their Christmas tree will fall victim. Their sad little tree that has no presents underneath it with it being so close to Christmas. Would it be weird if he wrapped the one gift he bought and put it under the tree? He’ll ponder this if he can ever get back to his room. 

As Bill is watching the fire, waiting to see if the new log he added will catch, he’s staring intently at his phone. With their power limited their phones had been resigned to stay on the charger dock, but Bill checks his every chance he gets. Mike has no reason to check his, it would just be his mom fretting over him or maybe even El checking on him. 

When Bill crawls back into the bed, Mike can’t help but notice that Bill seems…crestfallen. His easy smile disappeared. 

This time Bill lays flat on his back, a space between the two of them. Mike feels like maybe he should pry into whatever has Bill in a sour mood. He does care about him but Bill is also Bill. Dramatic, always waxing woes. That stupid writer's brain of his. In a way, he reminds him of Dustin. And there was only so much he could deal with Dustin. 

Turn around, look at what you seeeeheheeee-

Mike rubs at his face, groaning, deciding to be the good friend for once, “What’s up dude? You’re pouting.”

“Am not!”

“You literally are!” he juts out his lower lip, making an over-dramatic pout overtake his features, “What’s wrong? Who made poor ole Billy sad?” he babbles. 

Bill smacks him on his chest, “Beep b-beep!”

“Stop saying that! I don’t know what it means!” Mike whispers.

He huffs, “Well you should!”

Emily starts to rustle on the couch behind them, their hushed argument making her stir. They both watch with weighted breaths as she turns her head and lets out a loud snore, some of her curly hair falling in her face. Mike doesn’t push it back from her face. 

Bill flops back down onto his back, sighing deeply, “Do you really wa-want to know?”

“Absolutely not,” Bill glares at him and Mike shakes his head, going for a softer tone, “Clearly I want to know, what’s getting you, Big Bill?” 

“It’s fuf-fucking Stanley.” 

That’s a name he wasn’t expecting to hear. Honestly, in all his shit with Max, he’s kinda forgotten about the catastrophe from the frat house concerning Bill. How Bill was making out with mister pristine and accidentally bumped his nose, making it bleed. Okay, it was kinda Mike’s fault but he’s not taking that blame. 

Since that frat party, he’s seen Stanley a couple of times. First at the study session time before fall break and at them since. It’s like he’s now a permanent attendee of them which sucks because if he’s there, Bill won’t be. There's also the fact he's gotten to witness the evolution of Patty and Stanley's 'friendship'. He hasn't told Bill about that. But also there hasn’t been a time for him to ask Bill about the Stanley situation. Not that he’s tried to make time either. Guess he hasn’t just been a shitty friend to Max.

“The guy you were making out with at the party?” he asks even though he knows.

Bill pulls his pillow over his head and mumbles, “Stan! Yes!” or that’s what he guesses Bill said. He can barely understand him.

He pulls the pillow off of Bill's head, “What about him?”

“There’s just ss-so much, I don’t even know wuh-where to begin. Too much history,” he concedes. 

Yeah, he knows the feeling. He knew when Stanley had said that he “only knew of Bill”, that it was bullshit. “How about you just tell me this, how do you feel about him?” he offers him.

More huffing, “As if that’s an easy question!” Bill looks like he’s lost in his mind, reliving through something and Mike lets him sit for a moment. Bill slowly comes back to himself and meets Mike’s gaze. He looks focused now, determination set in his blue eyes.

“Stanley and I, we go way buh-back. We’ve been fr-friends since we were kids. Actually, there were suh-seven of us. A group of outcasts, The Losers club we dd-dubbed ourselves. I loved all of them, but Stan was ddifferent. You know how you can have cluh-close friendships but that one is dd-different?”

Mike nods, knowing exactly what he means.

“Anyways,” Bill waves off, “Stanley, he was ddifferent. Our ff-friendship was different. He was always there for me. Fuck, I basically luh-lived at his home during high school. You know he’s the reason I got into this ststst-stupid school? He single-handedly made sure I p-passed my classes,” he smiles fondly as if remembering.

“I just thought that we’d end up to-together. I thought we both felt the suh-same way and we were just waiting t-t-till university to finally be together. It wasn’t sa-safe in our small town,” he laughs humorlessly, “No one is safe in Derry.”

That sounds so ominous but he doesn’t butt in to question him. Just lets him vent.

“We got into the suh-same school! I was so sure we were thinking the sssame thing! Why would he fuh-follow me here if not? NYU wasn’t in his top choices but he applied anyway! Then when we got here…he wanted n-nothing to do with me!” Bill grips tightly onto the bed sheets, “I was some fu-fu-fucking stranger to him. That frat party was the f-first time I got him to talk to me. I overheard sssomeone say they were meeting up with Stan there so-so I went and cornered him.”

“Oh, so that frat party wasn’t just about you forcing me to liven up then?”

Bill represses a chuckle, “Nope. Sorry dude.”

He looks like he’s not going to say anything else but Mike knows he needs to get this out so he nudges him gently, “Come on Bill, what happened at the party?”

Bill lets go of the sheets and throws up his hands, “We got drunk! We mmm-made out! That’s it! Now he’s back to not t-talking to me and I think he’s bluh-blocked my number. None of my mm-messages are going through now. Probably t-too busy messaging back fu-fucking Patty!” he spits out.

Ah, so Bill knows about that and odds are he found out through Patty herself too.. They are supposed to be friends after all. Mike forgot about that.

“I don’t think they’re dating Bill,” he tries to reassure.

“They’re nn-not dating yet,” Bill corrects. 

To that he has nothing. He’s not going to lie to him. Mike is many things but he’s not a liar. Friends don’t lie. 

Instead, he says: “It’s his loss then. You're a great guy, he’s missing out.”

Bill doesn’t acknowledge this and his next words put Mike at a loss, “I think I love him.”

Shit. Mike is not the guy to give out advice on this. Everyone Mike’s ever loved has left him. All Mike knows how to do is make people leave him. Thankfully Bill isn’t looking for answers. He just looks resigned to his fate. 

“Th-thanks for letting me rant man, it fffelt good to get that off m-my chest,” he reaches over to pat Mike on the cheek, “You’re a good friend.”

No, he’s not. 

Mike flings the pillow at Bill’s face, “No I’m not.” Bill laughs and takes back his pillow, getting it comfortable under his head. Mike is wondering about something from Bill’s tale, something that leaves his lips before he can stop it, “What caused you and Stan to be so close anyways?”

Bill’s breath hitches, eyes widen, “My little brother was murdered.”

He regrets asking. He wants to take it back, but the dam has busted wide open and Bill looks like he’s about to cry as he blubbers, “After his dddd-death, all my fruh-friends were there for me, th-they were amazing like that, but Stan was really there."

Kinda like how the Party was there for eachother when Will first went missing. Just without the romantics. He misses how close he used to be with Dustin and Lucas. 

Bill still looks grief stricken and Mike takes a chance when he says: "Tell me about Georgie Bill."

Surprisingly, Bill smiles softly, his panic striving off, “His name was Georgie. I huh-haven’t said his name out loud in a long time…it fffeels nice. He was always s-smiling, always giggling. He loved to race pa-paper boats in the rain.” 

“He sounds like he was a great kid,” he says honestly. He can picture Georgie now, a little miniature Bill. He hates that he’ll never get to meet him.

“He was,” Bill answers simply. 

Mike finds a sudden interest in his pajama shirt. It was Bill’s and it has DHS WRITERS CLUB in bold print across the front. Bill has shared a deep, intimate part of his life with him and truthfully, it feels nice to have someone trust him so profoundly. He decides he can trust Bill too.

“Max’s brother died too. Well technically, he was her stepbrother.”

Bill sits up, maybe sensing the impact of what Mike was telling him, or maybe because he’s found out someone else near him has gone through the same as him. Though Mike doubts that losing Billy had the same impact on Max as losing Georgie had on Bill.

“Is that why she’s muh-messed up?”

Messed up. That's one way to word it. Aren’t they all messed up? After the upside-down how could they not be? “Yeah, I guess. There’s more to it but essentially yes.”

“How’d he die?” It’s only fair that he asks, he said how Georgie died. Murdered. 

Now comes the lies. Those feeble lies that feel almost like an insult to those that died. Billy died protecting El from the Mindflayer. The only good thing he possibly ever did in his life. 

“We had this mall and a fire broke out. A lot of lives were lost, it was a town disaster. Her stepbrother, Billy, was among those that died.”

Bill’s silent and it takes Mike a moment to realize he’s waiting for him to go on. He preferred this conversation when Mike wasn’t the one exposing stuff about his past but there’s a reason he did this to himself. “Me and Max, we weren’t great friends, more like we just happened to share the same friends. We fought a lot and the summer before high school she convinced my girlfriend to break up with me. Too bad because the breakup didn’t stick…that time.”

Bill in all his chagrin, laughs. Mike rolls his eyes and continues, “But we were friends during the time that Billy died. I was there the night he died. All our friends were and his death was brutal.”

Mike doesn’t want to continue but Bill prods him, “How’d she tt-take it?”

This is when Mike laughs, almost in self-hatred. “I don’t know! We all got busy with our own shit and we didn’t exactly check to see how she was dealing with it,” they abandoned her, he abandoned her, “Eventually she wasn’t talking to any of us. We deserved it but honestly, we were too busy being shitty friends to even notice her absence at first. We weren’t amazing like yours were.” How badly he wants to replace the word ‘we’ with ‘I’ as he speaks.

It feels like a wire is exposed and Bill is looking at him disappointed wearily that he feels like he has to explain more. “It’s not like Billy was a great guy! He was racist to my friend, her boyfriend at the time! He was a drunk and abusive. One time he tried to run my friends and me off the road with his stupid camero!”

An uncomfortable silence falls between them. Mike fears that Bill is judging him. He can’t blame him if he is. He deserves it. 

“You were kids. Kids shouldn’t b-be expected to know how to duh-deal with dddeath.” Bill wasn’t judging him and now he hates himself a little bit more for even thinking that. Bill lays back down and starts to creep his way back over to Mike, getting his head back in his lap. He lets him.

He starts to think that that’s the end of the conversation but turns out Bill’s not done, “Did you ever th-think that maybe Max is fffeeling more than gr-grief over her stepbrother’s death? If he was that bad th-then one would almost feel relieved that he died. Even if he was her ssstepbrother. I can’t imagine the kind of gg-guilt that would walk hand in hand with that relief.”

There have been very few times that Mike has ever genuinely felt like an idiot. Now is one of those times. Leave it fucking Bill to put Billy’s death into a perspective he’s never considered. 

Mike deflates against the back of the couch, the wisps of Emily’s soft snores sending chills down the back of his neck. “You know Bill, you’re too smart for your own good.”

Bill laughs, “Don’t call me sssmart just yet! The reason I ff-first thought of when you s-started bringing Max around was buh-because you had a crush on her.”

He resists the urge to shove Bill off him. Is Mike having a crush on Max?! Gross! A perversion of nature! …Right? Mike flicks Bill in the ear, “Ew! No! That’s just wrong on so many levels!”

The bastard starts to make kissy noises, “I don’t know, I tt-think Mike has a lil crushy wuh-wushy!” 

“I swear to God Bill I will smother you in your sleep.”

Bill gives in but he's still sniggering as he lets his eyes flutter shut. That’s the first good idea he’s had all night. 

-

The next day Mike was determined to follow through on his resolve to get Max to talk to him. And to get his room back.

…Okay maybe not so much that one but he was going to get her to talk to him today dammit!

The next morning starts how he expected. Running on maybe three hours of sleep he tiredly made breakfast. And by making breakfast he means eating crackers and cheese. Their food supplies were running low. 

Bill and Emily split the rest of Derek’s oreos. Mike pointed out that Derek wasn’t going to be happy when he came back and all his food was gone. To which Emily flipped him off and Bill said: “Derek can dd-deal. He’s not the one in a sn-snowstorm. Too bbusy soaking sun in Muh-Mexico.” Mike couldn’t argue with that. 

He tried to knock at his bedroom door, trying to offer her some different food besides cheese sticks, but Max just yelled at him to go away. She sounded tired, defeated almost. If the gameplay here is to wear her down till she talks to him, he’s down. Albeit that gameplay is a little messed up, Max feels like shit with the drug withdrawals. This is potentially the only time in her life when she can be “worn down.” He’s biding his time.

The worst thing this snowstorm has brought was boredom. Mike is so incredibly, mind-numbingly, bored. At least the snow has stopped coming down. Should only be a day or two left now. His time to talk to Max is running out. 

Middle of the day Mike decides to take a nap. Emily and Bill have been watching some boring silent film from the 1920s and Mike is not nearly sophisticated enough to enjoy it. Also, it’s dumb. There’s a reason silent films are outdated.

But his wonderful nap gets interrupted by a loud crash. 

In a panic he sits up on the couch, having taken over Emily’s ‘bed’ to nap. The living room is empty but Bill’s bedroom door is open and the light is on. Another crash comes from the room.

Emily is half in the doorway and Bill is sitting at his desk. At his desk where he keeps his weed in the drawer. For someone who’s having their room torn apart, he looks pretty nonchalant about the whole thing. Shit is all over the floor and his nightstand has been torn apart.

Max is tearing open Bill’s dresser, throwing things out of it. She’s frantic and her movements are erratic. Like a roach when the light comes on.

“What the hell is going on here?!” He demands.

Max whips around on her feet, regarding him with nothing but contempt, “What the fuck is going on here Micheal is that your buddy pal here is hiding his fucking weed!”

Bill shrugs his shoulders, “I told you, I’m out.”

“You! Out?!” she chides, “Based on the size of your stash last time I know you’re basically a pothead!”

Before Bill can say anything else, Mike steps in, “So you’re destroying his room?! Because he doesn’t have any weed?!” 

Max is right, Bill is an almost pothead, but Bill has picked up on the fact that Max is not to be given any type of substance. Mike didn’t even have to tell him. Fuck, he owes Bill big time. 

Max literally screams, “I just need something! Anything! You don’t know what it’s been like for me these past couple of days!” 

He closes some of the distance between them, almost like a shield. He doesn’t know if he’s trying to hide Max in her delirium or to protect Bill and Emily from it. “Because you’ve been hiding in my  room! You locked me out!”

Max races up and shoves him but Mike holds steady this time. When Bill stands to intervene, Mike holds a hand out stopping him. Bill sits back down. 

“Yeah because I could totally do with the signature judging Mike Wheeler look! You don’t want to help me! You only want to ridicule me and- and- and make me feel small!” she shoves him again, weaker this time, “You just want to make me feel small!”

That knocks the wind out of his chest. “I-I-I-,” Shitshitshitshit, how is this her conclusion?! 

Oh yeah, because he’s a bad friend. 

Max watches him flounder just for a moment before she gently grabs his upper arm, “Mike I just need to get high, please. Help me, Mike.”

This breaks his doldrum. She’s asking him for help. She’s asking him to help her get high. To maybe bribe Bill into giving her some weed. She even said ‘please’. He can’t recall a time she ever said that. She doesn’t even care that Emily and Bill are here, now having figured out what is truly up with her. All she cares about is getting high.

She looks like a corpse. Can the dead now talk to him?

He shakes her hand off his shoulder, ignoring the look of betrayal she gives him. “Max I…”

“You know what?” She laughs, “Fuck this shit,” and then she bolts.

It’s like a scene from Looney Toons. He can swear he sees the dust from the spot where she once stood. It’s the slam of the front door that gets him moving. It’s like a horrible flashback as he charges out after her, trudging through the snow. 

Outside is so cold it sucks the air right out of his lungs. He pants as he follows Max’s path through the deep snow, it immediately numbing his bare feet. His pajama pants are soaked to his legs.

“Max! Wait!”

Her hair shines in the street lamp lights as she manically tries to get away from him. The snow prevents her from being too quick but she’s determined. It looks like she's out in the middle of the road but it’s hard to tell. Everything is too deep in the snow. 

“Leave me alone Mike!” she yells over her shoulder. 

“It’s too cold to be doing this! Let’s just go back inside!” 

She ignores him and trudges on. He’s about to plead with her again when she trips on something hidden in the snow and falls face-first. “Max!”

Max is still laying in the snow when he finally gets to her and he’s terrified that when he turns her over she’s going to be dead. God, don’t let her be dead.

“Max?” When he turns her over, snow is littering her hair and the front of her his sweater soaked, he’s surprised to see she’s crying. “Max?” he asks again, unsure of what to do.

She sits up, making a crater in the snow, and clings to her legs, sobs racking her body. Hesitantly he puts an arm around her and is thrown off guard when she twists her body to cling to him tightly, getting his shirt wet with her snot and tears. 

He’s never seen Max cry, let alone like this. Her sobs threaten to tear her in half, ripping their way out of her throat. She cries so hard that her body can’t keep up and it launches her into a coughing fit a couple of times. 

The only thing he can think to do is hold her tight and hope that he can prevent her from shattering. She’s so tiny in his arms and it feels wrong. “You make me feel small.” MadMax is never supposed to be small. Maybe if he can hold the pieces of her together then maybe one day she can mend herself back into a whole person. He never meant to make her feel small. 

For a very brief moment, he thought he had lost her and he was terrified. 

He doesn’t know how long they sit there. In their little crater in the deep snow in the middle of the maybe road. His body is numb and he keeps sniffling. Maybe it’s not just the cold, maybe it’s because he’s crying too. Maybe he’s mourning everything that was taken from him and Max. Taken from the party. Maybe if they got to have actual childhoods, ones not filled with flesh-eating monsters, Max would be okay. They wouldn’t be here now. 

Emily starts to walk down the path in the snow that Max and Mike hastily made when they were running. She’s holding two blankets and she keeps her distance. He’s thankful. 

Max’s sobs taper out and she’s left resting her face in the crevice of his neck and shoulder, probably not ready to face what happens next. Mike feels guilty when he nudges her but if they stay out here any longer the threat of catching hypothermia is very real. 

When they stand, Mike helping her to her feet, Emily approaches them. She hands Mike one of the blankets and puts the other around Max’s shoulders. “There you go darling,” she soothes. 

Max can’t meet her eye and stares at Emily’s slipper-clad feet, “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice trembling. 

“Oh no no no,” Emily tuts back. She grabs Max’s chin and forces her to look at her, “Don’t you dare apologize. No one is mad at you. We’re all a little fucked up and sometimes we do and say things we don’t mean.”

“But- But- But I destroyed Bill’s room,” she rebukes.

Emily laughs a little, “Bill isn’t mad at you either. His room is always a mess. If anything, you improved it.” Max doesn’t laugh but she smiles weakly which is good enough for Emily, “Now come on. I have a warm shower going for you. It’ll be good for you to decompress and warm up.” She puts her arm around Max’s shoulders and starts to guide Max back to their home. Part of Mike wonders if that’s because Emily is worried about Max running away again. 

Silently he follows back.

Once inside Emily leads Max to his and Bill’s bathroom. Mike heads to his room to change clothes.

He hasn’t been in here the past couple of days but besides the wrappers in the trash can and the unmade bed, it looks barely touched. He isn’t sure if he should be surprised or not that Max didn’t pilfer through his things. 

Some feeling starts to come back into his hands and feet but he can’t stop himself from shivering. He takes off Bill’s lent, now soaked clothes, and double layers everything in his own clothes. In his drawer, he finds his old Hellfire t-shirt and decides to wear that too. It’s long-sleeved. 

For Max, he lays out some of his pajama pants and socks. From his nightstand, he pulls out Max’s long sleeve shirt from that first night. The one that she puked on and the one that concealed her needle marks. Now it’s clean and can serve another purpose, keeping her warm.

While he waits for Max to warm up in the shower, he wraps a blanket back around his shoulders and heads into the hall. He can hear Emily in the kitchen warming up the kettle and smiles. Emily and Bill are the best and he has a lot to be grateful for.

He stops at Bill’s door when he sees him out of the corner of his eye picking up things from the floor. Bill has put most of the stuff that was flung from his nightstand back, albeit a bit haphazardly, and is starting to pick up his clothes.

“Hey…Bill?” he lingers in the doorway, a bit unsure what to say, “I’m sorry about-”

Bill waves him off, “Don’t wuh-worry about it. It ddo be what it ddo be,” he says unconcernedly. 

Mike sighs and goes to put a hand on his shoulder, hoping to convey how thankful he is, “Just, thanks, man. For everything.” Thank you for not giving her weed. 

He shrugs Mike’s hand off of him abruptly, “St-stop! Your hhands are i-i-icicles! I can fuh-feel it through my shirt!”

“Are they now?” he asks innocently before jabbing his cold hands onto Bill’s neck.

“No! Stahp!!” Bill clamors to his feet and runs out of his room, Mike on his trail, trying to touch him. 

They scurry into the kitchen, Bill stopping and making Mike run into him. Emily stands at the bar, rolling her eyes and sighing,“Now now boys…” she scolds.

She hands Bill a mug of tea and then passes Mike two of them. It’s peppermint. “This one is for Max, it should help settle her stomach…and her nerves.” He grins and accepts it, heading back down to his room. He heard the shower cut off when he was chasing Bill so maybe she’s ready to see him. 

When he knocks the door falls open so he enters. Now or never.

Max is sitting on his bed, dressed in the clothes he laid out for her. Her hair is still wet but it’s brushed and for the first time since this has started it looks clean. She has her arms tightly wrapped around her legs, staring into the abyss. 

He breaks her out of her trance when he offers her the mug of hot tea. She accepts silently with a small smile, wrapping her hands around it to warm them up. Or to try to control the small tremors wracking her body. Stiffly he takes a seat across from her in his desk chair. 

An awkward silence falls between them. 

“So…how do you feel?” He goes for something relatively easy to break it.

Max guffaws at that, “My body feels like it got hit but a semi-truck.” 

“...Guess that’s what a drug detox does to you.” 

When Max flings her cup of hot tea at him it’s going to scald right? He’s going to lose his eyebrows? Because a statement like that can only make her angry. 

Except…Max doesn’t get angry, her shoulders just slump and she looks, and she looks detached. “Yeah, I guess that it does,” she whispers. 

They haven’t been frank about her drug addiction, fuck they’ve barely even discussed it. Now is the time. Now after she just cried so hard in his arms, something Mike never thought would ever happen. 

“Tell me,” he presses, “Tell me why, why heroin? Because honestly Max I’ve been racking my brain, for a while now, and I don’t understand. You barely drank soda as a kid! And now you’re shooting up?”

Remarkably she doesn’t get up to leave or flip off, but she gives him a deflection, “Why are you back in your nerd shirt? Hellfire? I always thought that was a waste of a metal name.”

“D&D is metal!” 

He takes a deep breath, Max is trying to rile him and that’s not what right now is about, “I’m trying to be serious Max, I want to be here for you. Let me do that, please.”  

Max’s face is stoic, unreadable, but her words cut like knives, “You weren’t there after Billy died, none of you were there.”

He leaps to his feet, almost spilling his tea, but he stops himself. His gut reaction is to get defensive and tell her that she didn’t let them be there for her, but that’s not the whole truth. Yes, Max purposefully distanced herself from the Party, but none of them bothered to try and stop her. None of them cared enough to. So he sits back down, Max looks at him with a confused twerk in her brow, and he reframes what he says next.

“I know. I’m sorry. That was, that was pretty shit of me. All of all of us.” Max just studies her hot tea, taking a small sip. She says nothing.

He hasn’t been able to get what Bill said last night about Billy out of his head. Is Max happy that he’s dead? And if so, is it the guilt that crushes her now? He has to know. But he doesn’t get to ask before Max takes the words out of his mouth.

“I’m happy he’s dead.”

“What?” 

Max acts like she didn’t mean to let those words out of her mouth and she looks ashamed, “Forget I said that!”

He sets his tea down on his desk and moves to sit on the edge of the bed, hesitantly placing a hand on her knee, “No Max, tell me. Billy wasn’t a good person, no one can blame you if you felt relieved over his death.” 

She doesn't shake his hand off but she sits up in a reserved manner, “You don’t get it!”

“But I want to! Max, I want to get it!”

“Why?! Why now?! After all this time?!” Max charges. 

Mike rubs at his face with his other hand, the voice of his mom in his head telling him to knock it off be damned. “Because! Because Max I finally fucking realized how shitty of a friend I was!” Am “I mean you watched your stepbrother die and no one bothered to ask how you were handling it! It doesn’t matter if it was Dustin, Lucas, or me! None of us cared enough to ask you! And I’m so sorry! I'm sorry I made you feel small!” tears are springing his eyes but he won’t let them fall, “But-but I’m here now. And Max I care! I know I can’t always show it and fuck, I’m even bad at saying it, but I do care about you! We were friends at one point. We went to hell and back, that has to count for something! If the Party can’t rely on each other then we’re all screwed!” None of them have been good at that as of late. 

Max eyes are glazed over as she shakes her head, “No I was the one who pushed you guys away after-”

Mike grabs her wrist, “Don’t try to take blame now, not after I just waxed poetic about how shitty I and the Party was,” And that, that makes her smile, it’s a little one bit it counts. “I’m serious Max. You know we were in the wrong, not you. You were hurting and we let you push us away…have I apologized for that yet?” 

She sniffles, “Yes, I think you have.” 

He nods, feeling emotionally drained but determined to power on, “So tell me about Billy, I’m listening.” 

And she does. Max tells him about how she felt so guilty when Billy died because she spent so many nights wishing for it. That maybe he would wreck his camaro or drink too much and pick a fight with the wrong guy. An accident. She wanted him dead because he went out of his way to put her and the people she cared about through hell. She never thought he would actually die though.

When he did it felt like she had manifested it into existence. She laughed grimly at that, at how ridiculous it sounded. Max was never one for fate or destiny. She blamed herself for his death. He tries to remind her that it was the Mindflayer but she won’t hear it. Not right now. 

It’s not just the guilt that gets to her. It’s the questions too. Who could he have become? Could they ever have had a normal brother-sister relationship or was Billy too filled with anger? Could she ever forgive him for what he’d done? Can she forgive herself now?

She doesn’t miss him, she misses the good person he had a chance to become. When he gave his life to save El that showed there was something good in him, just buried deep down. And now he’s dead and she blames herself. 

“I’m not a good person, Mike,” she chokes out.

“No, don't say that!” Mike grabs her hand now, having set her tea down as she was talking, “You were the one who gave El a sense of self, and you ran into tunnels filled with demadogs to fight with some nerds you just met. You made Lucas happy! A bad person wouldn’t have done that!”

She tries to argue but he won’t hear it, “Look, Max, me and you? We fought a lot. A lot a lot. And that was because we were both trying to do what we thought was good for our friends!”

“I thought it was because we hated each other.” There’s no malice in her tone. 

“Okay well, maybe that too. You convinced my girlfriend to break up with me, that was a real punch.”

“El was too good for you.”

He snickers, “Yeah you’re right.” 

Mike is terrified that he’s going to say the wrong thing. Max is finally opening up to him. He’s not a fool to believe that she believes him when he says she’s not a bad person. He’s been there, he still doesn’t think he’s a good friend but dammit he’s trying. “I’ll leave it at this: I don’t think you’re a bad person and friends don’t lie, remember?”

“Thanks, Mike,” Max gawkily pats his hand resting on top of hers but she sounds sincere. 

It’s almost…peaceful between them so he hates to ruin it. “Is Billy’s death why you started using drugs?”

Max appears like she was expecting this question but she still isn’t excited about answering it. She takes her hand away and he lets her, “Yes? No? I don’t know. It’s not like I woke up one day feeling like shit over him and decided to shoot up.”

“Then what is it?” This answer is the key to getting her to quit. 

“It was everything I guess. Being a year older than Bill will ever get to be, having no friends,” she scoffs, “fucking Gary and my mom.” Mike has no idea who Gary is but he’ll later find out that it’s Max’s rich new stepdad who carted her mom off away to Seattle. “All of it got to me and I was just looking for a way to get away from it all. Somehow I got here.” 

“But now you can stop with them.”

Max rolls her eyes, “Mike don’t go down this road, I can stop whenever I want to.”

“Can you?” There’s a flash of annoyance in her eyes and he backtracks, “I’m not asking to be condescending. It’s just what happened in Bill’s room earlier, that didn't look like ‘I can stop when I want’ to me...Max, you need help.”

“Mike, I don't need you to try and fix me!” her voice raises.  

He’s learned from his past mistakes with El and Will and that comes in handy now, “I’m not trying to fix you! I just want to give you the tools so that you can fix yourself! Max, you're one of the strongest people I know, I know you can do this!” 

Max’s anger deflates, “...I wouldn’t know where to begin.”

Mike, ever the researcher has an answer to this too, “There’s an NA meeting at a local church, I figure we could start there. You can try to keep clean and we can attend the meetings. You’ve already gone through the worst of the detox period so this is a good start.”

She’s silent for a moment but she accepts his plan, “One problem with this, what do you mean by ‘we’?” 

“Yeah, ‘we’," he says obviously, "You can do this by yourself but there’s nothing wrong with accepting a little help.”

“As long as you don’t become ‘hero’ Mike,” she groans. 

“No promises.”

She wacks him on the back of his head, “Mike I swear!”

“Okay okay! I’ll try to keep from my heroness!” he retracts, “Only if we have a deal though?” He holds out his hand. 

Max eyes it but shakes it after a moment, “You’re such a nerd.”

“I could’ve spit in my hand, we could’ve made a spit pack,” he jests.

“Gross! Mike!”

He’s still laughing when he looks over and accidentally sees on his alarm clock that it’s past midnight. It’s officially Christmas Eve. Huh.

Max watches him as he stands and goes to his closet. He bought this before their first D&D session and didn’t know if he was going to ever actually give it to her. In light of their conversation now feels like a good time. 

She stands and walks over to him silently, bewildered by what he’s holding in his hands. “What is that?”

Is this…embarrassment? Why is there a blush keeping up his neck? He stiffly hands over her gift without a word. 

Max runs her finger up the panel and spins one of the wheels, “Did you get me a skateboard?” He doesn’t answer her and she looks up to scowl at him, “Mike did you get me a skateboard?”

“It’s nothing. I haven’t seen you skateboard in a long time and I just thought-”

“It has Wonder Woman on it.”

Fuck did he mess up? “El told me that was your favorite superhero!” Way to blame it on El Mike.

Max grins softly and traces the Wonder Woman symbol, “El told you?”

“She did.” Mike desperately wants to tell that El also misses Max but now is not the time, “Also I figured that if you wanted to try to get yourself clean, skateboarding could be a good distraction.”

Max smirks, “Guess you do have some good ideas in that head of yours nerd.”

He resists snarking back, this is supposed to be a nice moment, but he still flips her off as he says: “Merry Christmas Max.” 

A/N: RIP Georgie

Don't ask me how Bill's stutter works, I don't fucking know

Have I forgotten to mention that the events of IT chapter one has also happened in this AU? Whoops. Mike and Bill really should trade some notes on fighting interdimensional monsters

Disclaimer! Weed is not a bad drug! (At least in moderation) But remember Max is going through major withdrawals from hard drugs so she's looking for anything to take the edge off. Weed in this context would not be good for her.

I love Emily and Bill. They're honestly the best for Mike and for Max too. Derek...you get your snacks eaten.

OKAY so so much happened this chapter. Please keep in mind this fic is a slow burn, a painful one. Max is no where near out of the woods but finally Max and Mike were frank about her drug addiction and they had to conversation about Billy. I'm getting back into *hopefully* weekly chapter updates. The next chapter will be shorter (plz 7k chapters can't be normal for this fic) and the next chapter is filler of sorts. Basically fluff. Bc you're going to need it after this chapter and the next major chapter.

Side Note: Max did apologize to Bill but I couldn't fit in, it just happens off screen.

ALSO MAX AND MIKE CAN BE HARD TO RIGHT FOR WHEN IT COMES TO EMOTIONAL SCENES AAAAA BUT I THINK I DID GOOD

Thank you for being patient! I'm sorry for the long time between chapters but I have the best commenters <3 Please excuse any errors

[mahi-does-some-art]

Fellow SlothMahi shippers, have I got a SURPRISE for ya'll....

[ggukkiereads]

Fic Recs | Themed Series - OT7

These recs are based on an ask about 

“OT7 fics that has a story line for each member and they're all connected/in the same universe”

Because there are so many universe/s, I categorized the fics into the ff:

Band/Music/Idol AUs

CEO/Office AUs

College AUs

Mafia/Gang AUs

Science Fiction/Dystopian AUs

Supernatural/Fantasy

Secret Agents/Spy AUs

Slice of Life

Credits go to all the writers who planned these series. Thank you dear writers for sharing these gems with us!

And if you happen to see/read fics listed here and enjoyed them as much as I did, don’t forget to show appreciation through reblogs, comments, or other positive interaction you could think of.

Note:  These are NOT polyamory fics but rather, themed series set in one universe and each member gets their own story/ one shot / series

if link to fic doesn’t work, click on author and go to their masterlist

Melodrama Tour @jungkxook - one shot per member | punk band AU, musician AU | angst, fluff, smut

Make it Right | Jungkook - Exes AU

Backseat Serenade | Taehyung - Brother’s Best Friend AU

Other members fics coming soon

beyond the scene is a seven-member pop-punk band known for their most recent breakthrough success, taking the world by storm with their sold out melodrama tour. but, as rumour has it, the newly shining stars each seem to have their own melodramatic secret to go with them

You can also check their vlogger series: Not a Clickbait

The Sunset Series @ilikemesometaetaes -  one series per member | Rockstar AU | angst, fluff, smut

Don’t Hold Your Breath | Jungkook - series [6/10] | rockstar AU, Exes AU, CEO!Reader

Other members fics coming soon

Brothers ‘Til Sunset (BTS) is a world renowned rockband consisting of seven members that operate on and off-stage

BTS in 10 Years AU @hayjeon - drabble per member | idol AU

In 10 years, once BTS has amiably broken up and the members have moved on to find their places in their new careers and personal lives, they end up settling right exactly where they needed to be.

CEO Series @hisunshiine -  CEO AU, Office AU | smut, fluff, angst

Business Attire | Taehyung - Regional Manager Taehyung x Assistant!Reader

Devious Ethics | Namjoon - CFO!Namjoon x Environmentalist/Activist!Reader

Competitive Advantage | Yoongi - Head Lawyer!Yoongi x best friend of the tree hugging environmentalist

Fiduciary | Seokjin -  coming soon

Insider Trading | Jungkook -  coming soon

Client Centered | Hoseok -  coming soon

Supply and Demand | Jimin -  coming soon

seven shot series where each BTS Member has his own story that intertwines with the main plot of Namjoon and Seokjin taking over as CEO and CFO of their families company.

Cardiovascular Palpitations (Jungkook, FWB AU, Surgeon AU) and Cut Me Open (Yoongi, Husband AU, Divorce AU) belong to the same universe - @/hayjeon

Operation: Love Letters @ve1vetyoongi - mystery, college!au, romance | fluff, smut

Sign up for the Love Calculator today to find your perfect match?

It’s one series split into six (6) chapters and each member gets highlighted.

It’s a mystery, so you guess who is the endgame for OC

Needless to say, I had fun with this series =)

You’re so Creepy (drabble series) @whatifyoulivelikethat  -  crack, university au, creepy girl au | fluff

kim namjoon - part i | part ii (fave)

kim seokjin - part i | part ii (fave)

min yoongi - part i | part ii  

jung hoseok - part i | part ii (fave)  

park jimin  - part i | part ii (fave)  

kim taehyung  - part i | part ii

jeon jungkook - part i | part ii  

There’s always at least one campus creepy girl. Or seven. Part 1 (1st kiss) Part 2 (2nd meeting). Also part of this reading list

Worshipers Series @jimlingss - one shot per member, unless indicated as a series | God AU (can be read interdepently but best to go through sequentially

Worshipers of the Stars | Yoongi -  Goddess of Light and Life!OC x God of Moon!Yoongi

Between Heaven and Hell | Hoseok -  Human!OC x Human!Hoseok, War AU

Worshiper of the Sky | Taehyung - series [3/3] | Goddess of Sky!OC x Sacrifice!Taehyung

Worshiper of the Spring | Jimin - ??!OC x God of Wine!Jimin

Worshiper of the Souls | Namjoon - Ghost!OC x King of the Underworld!Namjoon

Worshipers of the Sea | Jungkook - Pirate!OC x God of Sea!Jungkook

Worshipers of the Sun | Seokjin - Goddess of Love!OC x God of Sun!Seokjin

Long ago, there were gods who resided in Heaven — existing to watch over and protect the universe. Each of them had their own flaws, trials and tribulations; some which were more sparing than others, but these are their stories...

Crescent Bound @parkhabits - BTS | 31.9k | Seven werewolves. A pack bound by the moon. | S, F, A  ~ [3/7]

Jungkook - one shot | 12.3k | Werewolf AU, Bestfriend AU

Yoongi - one shot | 8.5k | Transfer Student, Strangers to Lovers 🌷

Jimin - one shot | 11.1k |  Werewolf AU, Ex Friends AU

Seokjin - to be posted

Hoseok -  to be posted

Taehyung -  to be posted

Namjoon -  to be posted | Werewolf AU, Arranged Marriage AU

if this is more organized and detailed, it’s because it was part of my reading list and I just copied 😊✌

Werewolf AU @littlemeowmeowschimmy - one shot per member | werewolf AU, Tattoo Artist AU (well some of them)

Mark Me | Jungkook  - bestfriend jungkook x human reader

Come Play | Taehyung - classmate taehyung, FWB (sort of)

Vamps and Wolves | Jimin - werewolf!jimin x vampire!reader, Enemies to Lovers (this is actually 🥕my favorite from the series). read Part 2

Librarian | Namjoon - Librarian Namjoon x Hunter Reader

My Moon | Hoseok  - Tattoo Artist Staff Hoseok  x Bartender Werewolf!Reader

Sexy Drug | Yoongi - Werewolf Yoongi x Witch Reader, Music Prodcuer (my 2nd favorite)

Best Friend | Seokjin - Tattoo Artist! Seokjin x Bestfriend!Reader

Tempting Universe @kinktae - series or one shot per member (maknae line) | demon AU, Angel AU, supernatural AU, Fantasy AU | smut, angst

Tempting | Taehyung - series [13/13] | 67k |  Demon Taehyung x Angel Reader, Forbidden Love

Soliloquy | Jimin - Angel Jimin x Reader, Unrequited Love, Fluff, Angst

Too Tempting | Taehyung - a sequel [3/?]

Supernova | Yoongi - coming soon

Valentine | Jungkook - coming soon

A definitive masterlist of all my stories written within the tempting universe, listed out chronologically/in the order that I would have you read it.

Tales of the Purebloods @rosaetae  -  maknae line (series per member) |  Vampire AU, Royalty AU, Soulmate AU | so far, we have Jungkook’s story

Spellbound to Be | Jungkook - series [1/?] | witch reader

Ardently | Taehyung - series [coming soon] | sort of exes (?)

Of Whim And Tonic | Jimin - series [coming soon] | human!reader

In the Upper World, hidden from a mere mortal’s naked eye, holds the naturals of nothing but super. These stories encompass the tales of three brothers who have been born with vampire’s blood in their system, their names bringing goosebumps when mentioned for they have been feared by both the Upper World and the mundane world over many centuries.

sorted: a hogwarts au @gukyi - hogwarts AU, various AU | fluff

white chocolate fudge | seokjin — one shot | 11k | head boy x head girl

interconnection | yoongi — one shot | 8k | pining, letters/poems

tutor | namjoon — one shot | 11k | enemies to lovers, rivals

a series of scenarios featuring each member, set during the same hogwarts universe.

BTS!Supernatural Series @preternatural-fools 

Black Magic - Witch!Yoongi - (4.7k words)

Rune Stones - Psychic!Jimin - (5.1k words)

Blood Drive - Vampire!Tae - (8.6k words)

Purple Haze - Fae!Jungkook - (8.6k words)

Macabre - Necromancer!Hoseok - (6.3 words)

Moon Shine - Werewolf!Namjoon - (8.9k words)

(Jin) - coming soon

Mythical BTS @thesammtimes - Supernatural AU 

Bloodless - Jimin | Vampire

Epoch - Jungkook | Grimreaper (complete)

Pure - Seokjin |  Angel

The Chaser - Yoongi | Hunter

Erratic - Taehyung | Demon

Vile - Namjoon | Vampire (never posted)

Immortal - Hoseok | Fallen Angel

This is the recommended order for reading the AU (use desktop to check the list)

(note: the series is incomplete but it’s a great read because of the intermixing of the stories. you really have to follow the recommended reading order)

Guarded (The Gajog) Universe @xjoonchildx - Mafia AU | fluff, angst, smut

Guarded | Hoseok - series [7/7] | 26k | Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Tsundere, Bodyguard

Guilty | Namjoon - series [4/4] | 17k | Boss AU, Assistant AU, Mutual Pining

Greedy | Yoongi - series [7/7] | 46k | Doctor AU, Pining *also I really find him intriguing since Guarded - Taehyung too (though KTH doesn’t really get a story hahah)

you can read how I raved about Hoseok’s story here if it helps (have yet to post for Namjoon and  finish last few chapters of Yoongi’s sorry 😥)

Mafia Series @neonlights92 - series per member | Mafia AU, Gang AU, Arranged Marriage AU | angst, smut (uhm this is the first mafia series I’ve ever read 😁)

Monster | Taehyung - series [6/6]

Enigma | Yoongi - series [6/6]

Burden | Seokjin - series [7/7]

Charred | Hoseok - series [7/7]

Change | Jimin - series [7/7]

Run | Jungkook - ongoing [6/?]

Namjoon - TBA

This is the story of seven men. Seven dangerous men.  These are the stories of how they fell in love.

Top Priority Suspects @yminie -  one shot per member | Gang AU, Mafia AU | angst, smut, fluff

Kim Seokjin – The Boss | Read Here

Min Yoongi – The Underboss | Read Here

Jung Hoseok – The Caporegime | Read Here

Kim Namjoon – The Consigliere | Read Here

Park Jimin – The Spotter | Read Here

Kim Taehyung – The Supplier | Read Here

Jeon Jungkook – The Carrier |  Read Here

Bangtan and Mafia Universe @yoongiandchiminie - one shot/series per member | Mafia AU, Gang AU, Mafia AU (no masterpost for this series)

Addicted | Yoongi  - 01 02 03 04

Contrary | Jungkook

Rekindle | Seokjin

Crescendo | Jimin

Vague | Taehyung - 01 02

Kismet | Hoseok - 01 02

Brave | Namjoon - sadly never finished 😥

I’ve read it a long time ago and I just checked now but it hasn’t been updated. It’s also drabble-ish, so even if the parts are unfinished it’s still okay to read

When you’re born, you can’t see a color until you meet the eyes of your Soulmate for the first time. Bangtan is known as one of the most infamous gangs around. This series will focus on the lighter side of things, their soulmates- Well, maybe they’re lighter. Maybe.

Wanted Universe @jincherie -  Alien AU, Science Fiction, Soulmate AU, Action | fluff, angst, smut

Wanted | Jungkook - series [6/6] | 55.9k | Selkie King Jungkook x Human Reader who is a wanted “criminal” that crash landed on another planet

Tentacledipity | Jimin - series [6/9] | 50k+ |  This tale starts, as any good fiction does, with a girl crash landing on a foreign planet.

Fragmentation (links to general masterlist) or read on AO3 @thebiasrekkers - [10/10] drabbles per character as a prequel to Defragmentation (coming soon) | The Matrix AU

also check the card set [01 02] for this series, this is just so cool!

The Company @btsmakesmehappy - Secret Agent AU | fluff, angst, smut

Broken Vase | Namjoon - series [4/4] | 25k | Agent!Namjoon x Agent!Reader

Palate Cleanser | Taehyung - series [5/5] | 35k [ Agent!Taehyung x Baker!Reader, FWB AU, Strangers to Lovers

Sweet Scent | Jungkook - series [4/4] | 28k | Agent!Jungkook x Forensic Doctor!Reader

MicroWave | Yoongi - series [1/?] | 4.8k+ | Agent!Yoongi x Neighbor!Reader

Jimin -  coming soon

Hoseok -  coming soon

Seokjin -  coming soon

If you click the masterpost, the profiles for each character is  omplete with their skill set and level of competency. just amazing =)

Hobiverse Universe @bloomsuga - Slice of Life, Time Traveler, SMAU (but with written parts) | fluff, angst, smut

Forever We Are Young (pianist!yoongi x art student!reader)

BLOOM (idol!jungkook x idol!reader)

COLLIDE (artist!taehyung x waitress!reader)

ROSES (dad!seokjin x photographer!reader) - there are spinoffs for Jungkook and Yoongi stories too

ANONYMOUS (rapper!joon x singer!reader)

KIWI (idol!jimin x coffee shop owner!reader)

WOKE (time traveler!hoseok x writer!reader)

a series of chaotic slice-of-life social media au’s connected by one thing; parallel universe-traveling wannabe cupid, jung hoseok, who’s in charge of making sure you find your soulmate

Map of the Hearts Drabble Collection by hoseoksyn/bluesxde  - drabble series per member | Slice of Life AU | fluff, angst, smut

Keeping Things Simple | Namjoon - series [15/15] | 24k | Doctor AU, Fake Marriage AU

An Abundance of Scrunchies | Hoseok - [13/13] | 24.3k |  Single Parent AU, billionaire!hoseok x teacher!reader, enemies to lovers

Hesitate | Yoongi - [2/?] | 2k+ | Police Office AU, Friends to Lovers

The Formula for Love | Seokjin - [3/?] | 4k | Single Parent AU, Professor Seokjin

Cat Got Your Tongue | Jimin - [3/?] | 5.8k |Divorced Jimin, Cat Cafe AU, Brother’s Best Friend AU,  Secret Relationship

Say Hello to Me | Taehyung - [1/?] | 1.2k+ | Singer Taehyung, Friends to Lovers

Before the Sun Rises | Jungkook - [1/?] | 2k+ | Bar Owner Jungkook, FWB AU

a collection of drabble series set within the An Abundance of Scrunchies (aaos) universe

Amourville @artaefact - one shot per member | slice of life, fluff, angst

Grinchly, Yours | Hoseok - Christmas AU, Florist AU, Bookshop AU

Bakery 1995 | Jimin - Bakery AU, Childhood Friends to Lovers

A Letter in Roses | Taehyung - Valentine’s Day AU, CEO AU, Husband AU, Established Relationship

The Devil in Chanel | Jungkook - Bodyguard AU, Enemies to Lovers, *coming soon

just recently realized that the Jimin and Hoseok in Taehyung’s story are the same ones in fics #1 & 2. This is fluffy goodness 🥰

Snowball Effect Project by various writers @stutterfly @gukslut @fortunexkookie @ddaenggtan - Christmas AU | fluff, smut

Snow Don’t Tell - PJM | 27.2k | Neighbor AU, Friends to Lovers AU

The Holiday Unplugged - JHS | 17.4K | Domestic AU

Tip of the Iceberg - MYG | 20.1 | Strangers to Lovers AU, Single “Dad”

Frost Impressions - JJK | 41.3k | Teachers AU,  Enemies to Lovers, Pining, Bestfriend AU, Gamer AU, Idiots to Lovers  🌷

Cheapskate - KTH | 25.2k | Domestic AU

Half-baked Holiday - KSJ | 12.6k | Bakery AU, Friends to Lovers, Idiots to Lovers

Midnight Wishes - KNJ | 10.3k |  Roommate AU, Friends to Lovers, FWB AU

part of this reading list; it’s one small town and they’re all friends who found love during the holidays. what a charming series

BTS Dad Series @bts-reveries - SMAU series per member | Single Dad AU, Single Parent AU, Parent AU, Family AU | fluff, angst

Daddy Diaries - Yoongi | single dad AU x baker!reader

One Night Light  - Hoseok | choreographer x singlemom!reader

Page Turner - Namjoon | author AU, fangirl!reader, single dad AU

Daddy Duties - Jimin | Parents AU (new dad)

Mini Me - Taehyung | artist!taehyung x singlemom!reader

Young One - Jungkook | parent AU, photographer AU, 

Expect the Unexpected - Seokjin | parent AU, CEO AU, designer!mom

read in order to make sense since characters will appear in other SMAUs

Halloween Hookups by Krisaissosmart [ao3] - one shot per member | 17k | Romance (or hookups) one Halloween Night | F, S

Mario Edition - KSJ |  "I can't believe I had sex with a guy dressed as Mario."

Haunted Tour - MYG |  that time you met a hot guy during a haunted tour and took him home to have loud sex and piss off your roommate

Emergency Edition - JHS |  Halloween is a rough day for EMT's. You and your partner, Hoseok, need to find a quick way to release stress in between calls

Scary Move Edition - KNJ |  “We’ll get kicked out if we get caught.”

Mortal Kombat Edition - PJM | When Sub-Zero met Scorpion

Car Burglar Edition - KTH | Exes AU,  "So…Tell me. Do you still masturbate to the thought of me?” 🥕my favorite!

House of Horrors Edition - JJK | no summary

so I rarely recommend AO3 fics since the platform has a more organized way to read fics and I want to highlight tumblr works instead. But I don’t think this has been recommended yet and I just love that Halloween becomes cute instead of spooky. 

Read in order, the characters will make appearances which will make sense when you read the other one shots

Activate Your SIM Card Series @stutterfly​ -  IT/Nerd Reader x OT7 | one universe (so same character makeup per series) but for each series IT!Reader ends up with that highlighted member instead

Love Bytes - KNJ | [9/9] | Bestfriend AU *completed

Swipe Right - JJK [4/?] | Personal Trainer!Jungkook, Enemies to Lovers *ongoing

Love Virus - KSJ | Chef!Seokjin, Friends to Lovers |  *TBA

Overloaded - MYG | Bartender!Yoongi, Friends to Lovers, Heavy Angst | *TBA

Cable Switch Tango - JHS | Dance Instructor!Hoseok, FWB AU  *TBA

Pixel Perfect - PJM | Model!Jimin, Friends to Lovers |  *TBA

Cache Only - KTH | Artist!Taehyung, Friends to Lovers | *TBA

IT/TechSupport/NerdReader gets dating help/advice and ends up falling in love with them instead

so I debated if I should include this or not but it kind of fits the bill! It’s also interesting to see alternate scenarios like what if OC ends up with Jungkook instead (read Swipe Right) or maybe with Model Jimin (go to Pixel Perfect). Haven’t seen anything like this so give it a read! 

🌷 posted: 2021 Mar 20 | updated: 2021 May 02 🌷 other lists 🌷 I love to read so feel free to recommend a fic =)

[space-anon-writes]

"Weekly" Fic Recs

Once again brought to you completely unbiased

House of Gold by Drhair76

A Percy Jackson crossover, featuring Tommy trying to figure out who his godly parent is. Things go about as well as expected. (Do not let this child try to set two people up on a date to prove he's Aphrodite's kid)

Chapter 1/1 - 11k words - complete

If I Was Your Hero, Would You Be Mine? by FractalFiction

Wilbur has been on the streets with nothing but his voice and his guitar for a long time now, his dreams for the future fading away. Yet, he's helped unexpectedly by a young hero, and the two rely on each other more than they'd like to admit. Everything sort of changes from there.

Chapter 1/1 - 12k words - complete

In the Arms of an Angel by Impala_Cherry_Trickster

Tommy, also known as the Executioner, is the son of a ruthless tyrant, and he's just been captured by the enemy in an attempt to negotiate peace. The enemy, for their part, find out that he's just a kid, and don't realize just how dangerous he really is.

Chapter 1/1 - 12k words

icing those hurts by Drhair76, plantform

Wilbur is part of an Olympic hockey team, and he's excited to compete. That's before he realizes there might be more going on with the resident figure ice skater than he originally thought. The entire hockey team trying to adopt one traumatized child ensues.

Chapter 1/1 - 33k words - complete

I Want To Be Friends! (I Want To Be Equals) by FractalFiction

In a world where robots, unable to empathize with humans, have taken over and decided to keep humans as pets, Wilbur is excited to adopt his first human. The human in question is less than enthused.

Chapter 1/1 - 10k words - complete

The Cell that isn't Empty by Impala_Cherry_Trickster

Techno got himself captured, but it's fine. He assumes Phil will break him out eventually. However, things get more complicated when he realizes there's a small avian boy placed in the cell next to him.

Chapter 1/1 - 4k words - complete

When the curtains fall by Drhair76

Tommy is an child actor on a TV show, and he loves his television family. Maybe. Maybe more than he should, considering they're not his real family, but they feel like one. He's just not sure anyone feels the same.

Chapter 1/1 - 28k words - complete

I Love You Beary Much by FractalFiction

Wilbur, a bear hybrid, is excited to meet the new kid his family decided to adopt. Then it turns out the kid in question is also a bear hybrid. Fluff ensues.

Chapter 1/1 - 4k words - complete

Breaking a Binding by Impala_Cherry_Trickster

Phil, Techno, and Wilbur are very old and very powerful gods that have been summoned and bound by a king. A very bold move to make indeed. However, things get more complicated when they realize they've been bound in order to help a young boy learn the full potential of his powers. Both murder and adoption are now on the agenda.

Chapter 2/2 - 7k words - complete

sticks & stones by Drhair76

Httyd crossover featuring Tubbo capturing an Enderdragon, and proceeding to befriend him. All the while keeping it a secret from his best friend.

Chapter 6/? - 16k words

Little Siren by FractalFiction

Wilbur works at a pet store, which is not the best, at least not until he discovers a creature in the gold fish tank that is very much not a goldfish, but instead a very tiny baby siren.

Chapter 1/1 - 8k words - complete

Don't leave me by Impala_Cherry_Trickster

Tommy is an angel, that gets stuck when the gates to heaven are closed before he can make it through them. It's fine thought, someone will realize he's missing and come back for him. They wouldn't just abandon him. Now if only this demon could fuck off while he waits.

Chapter 1/1 - 5k words - complete

You Were In The Darkness Too (So I Stayed In The Darkness With You) by FractalFiction

A human Wilbur, considered one of the most dangerous creatures in the universe, gets abducted from Earth. Somehow, this gives him the opportunity to befriend a space dragon. Life now has its ups and downs.

Chapter 1/1 - 13k words - complete

The Smallest Voices Cause The Largest Tidal Waves by FractalFiction

Siren Wilbur decides to adopt a small human child he finds in a shipwreck. Even with a magic pendent so he can live underwater, Tommy is very different from the other kids. He just wants to feel like he belongs, but how can he when no one gives him the chance.

Chapter 3/? - 9k words

[ghostbustermelanieking]

tma fic masterpost

love letters (of a sort)

(jonmartin, seasons 1-5, fluff, angst, wc: 13k)

Want to grab dinner later? I know you're going to be working absurdly late anyway, and there's a new Italian place I've been wanting to try. — M

Yes, that sounds nice. I'll try to be finished by 7:00. — J

Oh, yes. God forbid you don't work absurdly late. ;) — M

-

Or: The notes and letters Jon and Martin have written each other, through the years.

cracks

(post mag 200, tim & sasha, jonmartin, wc: 1k)

Sasha finds a tape on her kitchen table. A new one. The last one. She doesn't even need to listen to it to know it's the last one. And she has a voice-mail on her phone from Annabelle Cane.

She calls Tim first, right then, at one a.m., and he picks up. She knew he would. She knows he felt the change, too. "We have to go," she says. "Right now. We've got to go back. Something's happened."

microfics: tender, trembling hands, drastic

in the moonlight

(wtgfs, pre-canon, fluff, wc: 2k)

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass

Or: Georgie and Melanie on a late-night ghost hunt (in an "unromantic" field).

after words

(jonmartin, mag 102 au, hurt/comfort, wc: 3k)

things you said prompts: "13. things you said at the kitchen table."

Or: After Jon's escape from the Circus, Martin offers for Jon to stay with him.

warm

(jonmartin, scottish safehouse period, wc: 2k)

things you said prompts: "1. things you said at 1 am"

Or: Huddling for warmth after the Lonely.

reunions

(post mag 196, canon divergent, jonmartin, wc: 2k)

Martin and Jon find each other again at the remnants of Hill Top Road.

cursed grounds

(bly manor au pt 1, jonmartin, ensemble, slow burn, wip, wc: 14k)

When there's a lull, Martin speaks up, because he has to, he knows he does, he won't get a better opportunity. He says, "I've got a story," and when they look at him with interest, he adds, "A… a statement, really. It might be hard to hear, but… I think we all need to hear it again."

He shifts in his seat, sits up straighter, clears his throat and looks out at the lot of them and begins. "Statement of Martin Blackwood," he says, "regarding the Magnus Institute, and everything that happened there." He takes a breath, hears the familiar words in their familiar cadence rattle through his mind: the Archivist is taking a statement. He says, "Statement begins."

--

Or: In 1985, after the disappearance of Gertrude Robinson from the reclusive grounds of the Magnus Institute, Jonathan Sims is brought in as a replacement. As he adjusts to the new job, and begins to bond with his new coworkers, the strange happenings on the grounds that the Magnus Institute sits on become harder to ignore.

Years later, Martin Blackwood makes a statement.

variations on a death scene

(ensemble, jonmartin, wtgfs, aus, revenge stories, wc: 6k)

Or: Eight times Jonah Magnus was killed, and everything was fixed.

tapes winding forward

(jonmartin, time travel, season 1/season 5 au, word count: 48k)

Chapters: 6/6

Martin gets a closer look at the calendar, and his breath catches in his throat. He's gotten a look at the year, and it's wrong, it's all wrong. 2018. October, 2018. Right there, in Martin's own handwriting, on a Saturday, he's written things on little dates that Martin can't read, because he can't take his eyes off the year. 2018. 2018. They look differently. They have scars they don't recognize. Their hair is longer. 2018.

Martin seizes the calendar off the fridge and goes back into the living room. Jon's still at the coffee table, poking through the tapes piled there, but he looks up when Martin comes back in and says, "Martin, where…" with a familiar bite in his voice.

Martin ignores him, stops him mid-sentence to say, "Jon, what have you heard about time travel?"

---

Martin and Jon wake up two years in the future. It goes about as well as can be expected.

cat's cradle

(georgie & jon, wtgfs, the admiral, s5 au, cat angst & fluff, mag 189/190, word count: 5k)

Jon and Martin go out one day, on a trip to the eldritch horror-trap grocery store, and show back up in the tunnels after a few long hours, longer than any of the trips to the store that Georgie has been on. Martin has a bag of horrible spooky food, and Jon has a bag shut at the top that is wriggling suspiciously in his arms. "Oh, great," says Melanie, when Georgie fills her in. "What monstrous thing has he brought home now?" Georgie would giggle if the situation wasn't at least a little potentially dangerous, Jon could have anything in there, really.

---

Or: an exploration of the fate of the Admiral, after the end of the world.

rising static

(archivist!martin, jonmartin, s5 au/canon divergence/spec, word count: 14k)

Martin forces his eyes open to look at Jon, bruise blossoming at the top of his forehead, eyes red and wet. "Wh-what's gone?" he asks softly, almost afraid of the answer.

"It. All of it, or at least some of it, I don't know… I can't feel it anymore. The statements, the Beholding, it's—it's…" Jon breaks off mid-sentence, shaking his head. He leans forward so their foreheads are together, and Martin can feel him trembling all over. He says, voice low and thick with fear, "I'm… not sure I'm the Archivist anymore."

---

The initial confrontation with Jonah Magnus goes badly, and Martin wakes up outside the Panopticon to find Jon missing. In the wake of this initial loss, something about Martin starts to change.

northern-bound trains

(safehouse fic, jonmartin, post mag 159, pining, word count: 6k)

Martin rides with Jon to the train station. He insisted. Said he shouldn’t have to go there alone. “Nothing worse than leaving on a trip with no one to send you off,” he’d said. Jon had nodded, gratefully, and swallowed back the burning lump of what he wanted to say—Come with me, come to Scotland, I don’t want to leave you alone again. He kept hearing Martin’s words in his head: I really loved you. And he couldn’t ask Martin to do that, to leave his whole life and everything behind to become a fugitive, cower in Scotland and throw his whole life away. It’s too much. And Martin has already sacrificed so much for him.

He’ll be content with Martin seeing him off. That can be enough. That will be enough.

knowing

(s1 archives crew, timsasha, season 4 au, word count: 3k)

Jon falters, looks at the ground, one hand over his mouth. "You… you were both in the same place. In a… domain. D-Daisy was in one, too, a different one. I got her out. And I… I thought, afterwards, that maybe I could get the two of you back, too."

---

Or: After the Unknowing, after the Buried, Jon finds Sasha and Tim again.

journeys at the end of the world

(wtgfs, melanie king, season 5 au/spec, word count: 8k)

Melanie doesn't remember what happened after the world ends.

(Or: Melanie searches for Georgie in the wake of the apocalypse.)

a hidden statement

(season 1 au, s1 archives crew, jonmartin, timsasha, wc: 100k)

Chapters: 5/15 (wip)

Martin finds the tape in the wall. Specifically, in a small hole in the drywall, tucked behind boxes and stuffed with so much crumpled paper and tissue that it's almost impossible to see anything else in there. It's a cassette tape, the sort Jon uses to record statements, labeled on the front with a brown strip of tape. It's addressed to the Head Archivist in a spidery handwriting.

--

Or: Gertrude Robinson made a tape as a warning to the next Head Archivist. What if he had gotten it?

[love-bokumono-fics]

WIP Wednesday - Trio of Towns

Trio of Towns has no shortage of wonderful works that are in progress. Some of them I know are years in the making and I always look forward to an update.

So here's hoping you find a new story to love!

If you're reading or writing a Trio of Towns WIP that didn't get featured today, please feel more than welcome to drop it in the Submission box and share with the rest of us! (When I only share 10 fics at a time, there's always something that's bound to be missed.)

Two in One - by PineconeTheKitten; WIP, 1/?, 1.3k

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Categories: F/M, M/M, Multi

Fandom: Trio of Towns

Relationships: Ford/Wayne, Female Farmer/Ford, Female Farmer/Wayne; Characters: Female Farmer, Ford, Wayne, Dessie, Inari, Witchie

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Magic Revealed, Gods, Goddesses, Spirits

Summary: Ford and Wayne were once two people. Now they aren't. Holly doesn't know what to do. As it turns out, Ward is pretty into Holly, and she into him.

Two Individuals in Love can be Asexual, a Case Study - by chickadeequill; WIP, 1/?, <1k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandom: Trio of Towns

Relationship: Farmer/Ford; Characters: Ford, Female Farmer, Wayne

Additional Tags: Asexual Relationship, Romantic Fluff

Summary: After years of painstakingly avoiding romance, the town's eligible and single doctor Ford finds himself facing a simple question: is there room in his life for love? It seems the hardworking farmer just past the crossroads is still single as well, and Ford just can't figure out why she keeps declining advances from the other eligible singles in all three towns.

Watered-Down Ideals - by LemWrites; WIP, 3/?, 4k

Rating: Not Rated; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Categories: M/M, Multi

Fandoms: Trio of Towns

Relationships: Farmer/Ludus; Characters: Original Male Character(s), Frank, Megan, Hector, Colin, Noel | Noelle

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Fluff, Self Confidence Issues, ADHD, I gave a farmer adhd and anxiety, this may have more projection then intended

Summary: Join Steve, the newly appointed farmer in the Trio of Towns world, on a journey full of; useless gay pinning, being a disaster, self hatred and more!

Earth and Rebirth - by TheBeckster; WIP, 17/?, 66k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Categories: Multi, Gen

Fandoms: Trio of Towns

Characters: Holly | Nanami, Frank, Marlena, Wayne, Ford, Lisette, Brad, Carrie, everyone

Additional Tags: Undecided Relationship(s), Additional Tags to Be Added, lots of headcanons, Minor Character Death, Eventual Friends to Lovers, I'm not going to tag every single character, but they will all have a part in the story, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, New friends and found family, world building, Angst with a Happy Ending, Holly is an extrovert, endgame ship tbd, Cover Art

Summary: Holly considered herself fortunate to be living about as close to the dream as any young twenty-something could. A great family, a loving husband, and well, she'd admit their apartment was awful, but they'd be moving onto bigger and better things soon enough. She truthfully couldn't wish for more. But when an accident rips it all away from her, Holly finds herself seeking a change of scenery. Her Uncle's farm out in the middle of nowhere is the perfect place for her to hide to mourn. A familiar story with a twist or two.

Fire and Dew - by Juliko; WIP, 9/26, 73k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings; Category: F/M

Fandoms: Trio of Towns

Relationship: Yuzuki/Original Character(s)

Characters: Original Female Character(s), Yuzuki, Sumomo, Lisette, Colin, Wayne, Brad, Carrie, Shizu, Yaichi, Tatsumi, Omiyo, Umekichi, Lynn, Marlena, Daryl | Darius, Ittetsu, Moriya

Additional Tags: farming, Slice of Life, Drama, Family Drama, Family Issues, Autism, Autism Spectrum, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Original Character(s), Major Original Character(s), Female Character of Color, Friendship, Male-Female Friendship, Friendship/Love, Past Child Abuse, Child Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eventual Romance, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Humor, Eventual Happy Ending, Comedy, Friends to Lovers, Adoption, Sick Character, Lulukoko characters won't appear in this fic, Falling In Love, Dorks, Ableism, Happy Ending, Romantic Fluff, Break Up, Past Relationship(s), Cows, Chickens, Sheep, Rabbits, Flowers, Stimming, Family Fluff, Bisexual Female Character, Pansexual Character, Lesbian Character, Children, Childhood Memories, Childhood Trauma

Summary: For as long as she could remember, Harper Leigh Maxwell's dream has always been to become a farmer, but her father's job makes it hard to do so, since it involves lots of moving. After graduating from college, she finally decides to take a chance and get her own farm. She's determined to make the most of this opportunity and do what she's wanted. In the process, she makes new friends, learns many new things, and faces many hardships. One of the friends she makes is Yuzuki Fujiwara, a mellow, sweet natured man from the town of Tsuyukusa who doesn't have the best constitution. The two of them form a strong connection that may even end up blossoming into love. But Harper's past might make things complicated, and when it threatens to catch up with her, she may find herself facing the demons from her pre-adoption early childhood. This is the story of two different people, with different interests, passions, and paths in life, walking the same dirt road every day...

Tiny Steps to Big Leaps - by Distracteddiddlin; WIP, 29/?, 28k

Rating: Mature; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Other

Fandom: Trio of Towns

Relationship: Ford/Holly | Nanami; Characters: Ford, Holly | Nanami, Brad, Wayne

Additional Tags: Fluff, Developing Relationship, surprise parenting, rating and tags will update, NB Farmer, Idiots in Love, Wet Dream, Love Confessions, oh it's fucking started now, Mildly Dubious Consent, for like the smallest split second

Summary: Me while writing this months ago: what if I did that that Ford/farmer fic again but with a twist? Basically it's what if Ford accidentally became a single dad after the farmer meets him

Stranded - by TheBeckster; WIP, 2/?, 4k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Gen

Fandoms: Trio of Towns

Relationships: Ludus & Siluka, Ludus & Iluka, Iluka & Siluka; Characters: Ludus, Iluka, Siluka, Tototara, Zahau, Caolila

Additional Tags: all aboard the childhood trauma boat!, Pre-Canon, Peril, Wilderness Survival, Mild Blood

Summary: Desperate for an adventure to break up the interminable boredom of a long summer, three kids set to the high seas and get way more adventure than they ever hoped for or wanted. AKA: Let's explore the Lulukoko Trio's shared childhood trauma!

Trio Of Towns - Figuring Out Love - by vampireprincess624; WIP, 6/?, 5k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: Multi

Fandom: Trio of Towns

Relationship: Ford/Pixie; Characters: Ford, Pixie, Wayne, Brad, Lisette, Carrie, Noelle, Colin, Miranda, Frank, Megan, Hector, Other(s)

Summary: Pixie Fawn is left with a mess she has to sort out after leaving Ludus at their wedding because Ford, who had been away for seven months, appeared as a guest. But how is fixing things with the stubborn doctor more difficult than sorting things out with her ex husband-to-be? Are they destined to be friends or will their stronger feelings for each other lead to love? A lot of Ford/Pixie scenes where they figure out their love for each other. This is Part 3 to my series, Life In The Towns, and I strongly advise you read Part 1 (or at least the last few chapters) before this, but it should still make sense anyway. Hope you enjoy :)

The House That We Built - by CherryQDoodles; WIP, 2/?, 8k

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences; Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandom: Trio of Towns

Relationships: Holly | Nanami/Ludus; Characters: Ludus, Original Characters, Lulukoko Villagers, Westown Villagers, Tsuyukusa Villagers

Additional Tags: Slow Burn, story building, Learning from the Past, Tons of fluffy moments, farmlife shenanigans, Festivals, Romance, Dark skinned MC, Other Additional Tags to Be Added

Summary: Nicola knew as soon as she was able to talk that she was very different from the family she was raised in. From her dark skin to her snow white hair she stuck out as the black sheep, but she loved them like they were her blood, and vice versa. But Nicola always dreamed of wanting more: to become a farmer. Growing crops, raising animals and everything in between! She just had to convince her father that she could handle the hard work within two years time. Follow Nicola's journey to becoming the best farmer she dreams of, and her adventures in the Trio of Towns!

Ford's Roses - by thelighthouse33; WIP, 5/?, 3k

Rating: General Audiences; Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply; Category: F/M

Fandom: Trio of Towns

Relationship: Farmer/Ford; Characters: Ford, Female Farmer, Wayne, Megan, Frank, Miranda, Carrie, Brad, Lisette, Noel | Noelle, Colin

Additional Tags: My First Work in This Fandom, better late than never, Ford x Holly, Story of Seasons Trio of Towns, Harvest Moon - Freeform, Gaming

Summary: This is a story of how the doctor of Westown, in charge of The White Capsule Clinic, falls in love with the new farm girl...

[mable-stitchpunk]

How long does it take you to write something ? And how do you stay motivated ? The sheer size your stories have motivated me to try writing more than simple one shots. However it's been a week and I barely got 8k written down despite spending about 4-5 hours a day typing on my phone (because i keep rewriting the same thing like 15 times until i get it to sound right). It feels more like a chore than something that's enjoyable

It actually takes a while. Back when I was doing CGHA and AFLH, I was writing a 5k to 6k chapter a week just about. Recently my chapters have been getting heftier and I've been working two projects at once, so this has slowed it to a typical posting every 1.5-2 weeks instead.

Motivation is a tricky one. See, I try to write every day, but that doesn't mean I make progress every day. In an average week, I might only get one or two days where I get a few thousand words done while I might chisel a few hundred words on others.

So, here's my trick to it-

1. I don't write on ideas until I'm absolutely sure they'll 'take'. I get a lot of ideas that seem interesting and get a lot of inspiration for, but then have them crumble about halfway through. Nowadays, I try to avoid this by plotting ahead and making sure I have most of the story decided on before I begin, so I don't get stuck on a train without a track. That doesn't mean it always works. My rule of thumb is to not seriously tackle a new idea until I have the time. If I'm still interested in it when I have that time, I'll probably have enough motivation to make it through.

2. When I'm working on two projects, their content is vastly different. By which I mean, I wouldn't work on two major FNAF projects at once. Or in original content, I wouldn't work on two novels that shared similar settings, tones, ect. The too much of a good thing rule really applies here. You can easily burn yourself out. I kind of do recommend two projects at once though. Even though it IS more work and can burn you out, it also gives you a second story to work on if you can't work on the one. Sometimes when you're stuck at a point, the best thing is to work it out slowly without stressing out. Second projects give me a reason to take my attention fully off one story and onto another.

3. Indulgence is key. Writing flows a lot faster when you're writing scenes you want to write. Beginnings, transitional scenes, moments where you have to draw away and explain something to the audience are absolutely needed, but can be a little more difficult to work through- at least, I find they are. Moments you're interested in are going to come a lot faster and fill up the wordcount a lot quicker, and you might be surprised, but sometimes audiences love that indulgence as much as you do. The standard story structure tells us to be restrained, but there's nothing wrong with cutting loose.

4. Don't force it. Seriously, a lot of the time I get the feeling that, "I should be writing," but the truth is that you shouldn't write unless you're feeling ready and able. If you're thinking, "I want to do x, but I should write," then go do x. I'm not saying to avoid writing altogether, because I HAVE done that, but it is vital to take breaks and to keep a guiltfree mindset. Otherwise it will get you anxious.

5. Also, take frequent breaks if you're not feeling it. If you are feeling it and are on a roll, keep going!

I would absolutely not recommend anyone sitting down and trying to write thousands of words straight. Even I don't do that. On my most productive days, periods of writing usually come between other activities. Don't stare at a blank page, do something else and brainstorm during it. Works a lot better! ^_^

The thing is, I don't think there's a lot of people who would enjoy writing the way I do. It's very time consuming and more than a little intimidating. Honestly, it would be more beneficial to not write every day and to take more breaks, but this is just sort of the pattern I work on. You've got to find your own pattern that works for you.

Also, when looking at the size of my stories- such as CGHA and AFLH- it's important to remember that they took a long time to write. Both of those stories were being typed up over a process of two years each. I know there's people out there who could do it in half the time, but I honestly couldn't, and I don't think I'd want to.

Writing should be fun and when it is it will show in the work. ^_^

...One last thing.

6. Write when tired. I kid you not, this works. The spelling and grammar might get a little wonky, but you'll find a lot more progress getting done when you're half-asleep. Ever hear how Hemmingway used to say, "Write drunk, edit sober?" (It was actually Peter De Vries, go figure) Well, this is the same premise, except it's a natural thing that's going to happen to you daily anyways. Not saying to stay up all night typing, but if you're feeling groggy sometime, try it out.

And don't give up! :D

[monday-headache]

Hey Simon! Thank you for the amazing ask <3 Right back at you:

I love that you're writing/arting about characters that have never met in canon (Gaige and Sasha, Fiona and Scarlett). What drew you to writing these characters together? And are there any more that you'd love to explore one day? :D

Hey Sarah, glad it made you smile. I want to have more interaction with the fandom so I’ll try to make this a regular, so please be free to send me questions whenever. I’d love to read your thoughts ;)

And Omg, that’s a fantastic question as well but, be aware, this is gonna be an essay as well.

Mhh where to start, where to start.

So first things first, My headcanon of why I think Gaige and Sasha would be best friends started a pretty long while ago, way before I even got gently pushed towards the Idea of really starting to write about it in the first place. Because you must know, even though Strays is my first longshot, it is also my very first fanfc I’ve ever written in like ever. So no matter how shitty, great or whatever it will turn out to be or how well others will be, Strays has and will always have a special place in my heart. And I’m not gonna rush things either, even when the fandom will die out, my Ideas for it will flow ;)

But yeah how it started. To put it simply Gaige was my first character In Borderlands ever that I played myself. I knew about the Lore of 1 and I’ve played 1 with a friend by the time it came out, but I played 1 myself AFTER I finished 2 So that may be a big reason, why I have such an open spot for Gaige. But also because she is fun, quirky extreme, punky, loves robots and tech... to put it simple a lot of traits I really love about a character. Her backstory with the science fair was so fresh and funny, and it may be one of my favorite spoken dialogue interactions heard over echo cassette’s

Then after Bl2 my love for Borderlands continued, played 1, played TPS and then... There was Tales, and by god do I loved Tales, and I hella still do. You probably know the feeling yourself. And with the love for the game, came a huge love for it’s cast. Like seriously I think besides Tector there isn’t really a character where I was going like, “ugh this one is trash” on the contrary. And besides my obvious love for the main 2 characters, there was a big love for the Deutagonist’s of this masterpiece. Namely Sasha and Loaderbot.

Loaderbot may have officially taken the spot for me as most favorite Robot in video game history ever (and Gortys for the most precious character ever). Like his whole segment of kidnapping them, forcing them to tell the truth, only to show how much he had grieved, how betrayed he felt and that he did all of tha  for his loved ones. Man say what you will about him, but damn he was written perfectly. I was blown away.

Secondly is of course, as you might have guessed it Sasha. I could go lengths for her too, how much I love and admire her character, how real she felt as a sister, a pandoran and last but not least as a human. Sasha felt to me like the most well rounded out character of the 6 (pls don’t hate me for it guys) From the punk rebellious attitude, to learning that she had an anti Hyperion pirate radio, that she used to broadcast bad things that happens in her neighbourhood, to her adapting her morals and learn that even in the most corrupt organisations there are still normal people struggling with their own life, and then progressing from it. And lastly after everything was at loss, the money the plan, she was willing to sacrifice her whole life for a dear friend/s, even on her dying breath putting both Rhys and her Sister at ease and in her last moments. Amazing.

Oooh boy and that was just the prelude to it all XD

After that I noticed a lot of similarities, between characters. Sasha and Loaderbot for instance are both pragmatic, put the lives of their loved ones over their own, love tech, are socially open people while holding back on information and emotion. Not to mention the scenes in 2 and 3 and also 4 and 5 where it is slightly hinted how well Sasha and Loaderbot work together, without sharing much words. So naturally the Idea was born that Sash and LB became quite close.

And the same goes for Sasha and Gaige. I was actually surprised that nobody (not entirely true, I saw one fanart of it) seemed to made that connection before as it was so obvious to me. So basically Sasha is a softer version of Gaige, in many terms. They both have a big heart for tech and especially guns. They both hosted a small radio broadcast that blew up in their region over night. Both are anarchist’s who spread the word for awareness, how fucked up the company war actually is. Both are not really good at their aim. Both call robots as their closes’t friends. Both share a deep hatred for Handsome Jack and his doings. Both fought a giant ass Vault Monster and nearly died in the process of doing so. Both got screwed up big time and now have a huge bounty on their head... So you see the list goes on, and honestly the more I write them, the more similarities I notice, both hc wise and canon wise. So there more I thought about it, and noticed similarites the more I fell in love with the Idea of them becoming close. And from there the Idea was born, that they probably met on a job ( the most likely scenario in the Borderlands universe). It had to be before BL3 of course, and to be after Tales naturally so that only put one timeline in the focus, Commander Lillith.

To be honest, I didn’t expect everything turning out so big. Like seriously I orifinally planed like 8k words or so. Now I’m dangling on the Idea of having 13 chapters and a big ass finally, a neat wrap up of everything and even a possible epilogue XD Yeah, that wasn’t what I expected either but damn do I love doing it.

Like seriously my headcanons only just gotten bigger and bigger. From a whole nebula system in the galaxy, to regions I created in my own mind for it, to even complex backstorys. Like why Sasha wears a headband, why she loves guns so much, what happened to her and Fi’s parents, why she was raised by her aunt, what does Felix have to do with it, Why Gaige has this kicks of both sudden depression and manical behavior. Why she’s so close to her dad, but her mom wasn’t even mentioned once (but teased), why she wanted to become a wedding planer, and why she is so obsessed with robots and margarita mix. I think one day, this thing will turn into a tabletop game or something XD

So estimated 20k words on my answer later and now we are going for my own created ship Scarleona. Don’t worry, as much as I like to gosh about that too, it wont take as long I prommy.

Scarleona was created in a sudden urge while thinking about what happpend to Fiona while Strays happened. And similar to Gaige and Sasha, Scarleona was born from a dynamic. Especially of those from two Ladybosses with Silvertongue and speech 100XD Fiona and Scarlett may have become my favorite Fiona ship (no offense everybody) because of how well they play off each other. Fiona is a con artist, her whole life she was used to swindle, to play it cool and by ear, go with the flow, and expect the unexpected. So here core idea is that she is manupulating people by LYING to them.

Scarlett on the other hand is similar while also the complete opposite to it. She is backstabby, plays with her charm and most importantly she is dead honest while tricking people. In fact even so honest that people don’t even realised that they got tricked even though she told it several times before. And this dynamic is so fascinating to me. You see, Fiona has almost an answer an action for everything prepared, but the idea that her winning honesty, is mind puzzling to Fiona is so perfect. @michellespenscratchz wrote me a drabble several months ago and I think that line describes it just perfect

“So, let me see if I got this straight,” Fiona tilted her head inquisitively at Captain Scarlett. “You needed these Vault Hunters’ help to find this treasure for you. So you…just asked them?”

“That’s right.” Scarlett nodded, inspecting her hook nonchalantly.

“Even though they knew you wanted it for yourself?” Fiona asked.

“Indeed,” Scarlett replied.

“And they…” Fiona blinked, “…knew you planned on fighting them for it once they had it.”

“Of course they did,” Scarlett shrugged. “I told them as much.”

“You told them?”

“Yes.”

“And they helped you anyway?”

“Precisely.” Scarlett turned her hat against the blistering wind. “I fear I don’t quite grasp what about this is so difficult to grasp, Fiona dear.”

“Huh.” Fiona cast her gaze out across the expanse of Pandoran horizon. “I guess I just gotta–I dunno–rethink my whole life right now.”

So yeah, that was basically it. I kinda diagressed and didn’t want to hurt your eyes more looking at the long ass text, but please if you have some more questions to it, pls hit me. I love to gosh about it <3

And thank you so much <3 This was hella fun

[the-hopeless-haze]

Someone to Pull You Up Short, to Put You Through Hell (Being Alive Chapter 6)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Read on Archive

A/N: Okay this is over 8k words. Sorry? But it’s got everything: angst, fluff, smut... so there’s a reason this got away from me. This is also my submission to @thefanficfaerie​ ‘s DW quote challenge: I had #49 “Never trust a hug. It’s just a way to hide your face.” 

CW: Smut as aforementioned. This is NSFW!

Where the hell had you been hiding that dress? It was a simple green number that clung tantalizingly close to the curve of your breasts and waist, and then flared slightly to rest at a slightly inappropriate length, halfway down your thigh, about three or four inches of fabric past your ass. Rafael would definitely question taking you home to his mother in a skirt that short. It was strange, seeing you wear this because you often dressed conservatively. Hell, Liv showed more cleavage than you did on a day to day to basis.

But your legs in that dress, lengthened by a simple pair of black heeled sandals... his breath caught in his throat as you walked into the bar with Carisi and he never was able to fully exhale because you kept flitting around, barely paying attention to him. And it was hell, watching you play pool with Carisi against Nick and Amanda, Carisi’s body flush against yours as he helped you set up your shot.

“You okay, there, Rafael?” Liv asks.

“Mm,” he responds, barely looking at her, eyeing you across the bar. You were taunting Amanda; he could tell by your facial expression as she was setting up her cue stick. He’s pulled up short by how young you look; god, you really were a kid compared to him, weren’t you?

“I know the verdict didn’t go the way any of us wanted it to,” she says, but his mind is so far removed from anything that might have happened at the courthouse today. “But try to relax.”

“I’m relaxed,” he murmurs. Figures she would think he was tense because of work. A few months ago, that would’ve been what was running through his mind while he nursed his drink. But now, work stayed at the courthouse and his office because he had you to put him through hell when he was outside of it.

“Sure,” Olivia says sarcastically, but she follows his gaze, and his pulse quickens once she sees that you’re right in the line of it. “You squeeze that glass any tighter and it’s going to break.”

Rafael sighs, looking down at the glass of scotch in his hand. He downs the rest of it, rolling his eyes.

“(Y/n) looks nice tonight, hmm?” Olivia asks, a glint in her brown eyes that makes him wonder if feigning innocence is even worth it.

“She always looks nice,” he says, deciding to play into it since he had no other cards left. But you don’t look “nice”, you look fucking delicious, and “nice” is an understatement if there ever was one. Anyone in this bar would think going home with you was akin to winning the lottery.

But you’d go home with him, at the end of the night, or at least... he thinks.

You’re still leaning against Carisi even though there’s no real reason to now, and he tries not to think of how much sense you two would make as a couple but ultimately fails. Sure, Carisi had never been married either, but he was also almost ten years younger than Rafael. He was taller, fitter, maybe more attractive, and he was a detective and there was no sticky situation with the DA that would have to be sorted out if you two got serious. The two of you were always attached at the hip whenever he stops by the precinct, but now you’re attached by more than even that, what with hands on shoulders and backs pressed against chests.

As a complete shock to absolutely no one, you and Carisi end up losing the game of pool and have to buy the next round. You were tipsier than he’d ever seen you, your face flushed from the copious amounts of alcohol in your system. Amanda, the awful influence she is, evidently talked you into doing shots with her earlier in the evening, and you kept sucking down cocktails afterward.

Rafael himself is feeling the effects of the scotch more tonight. He’s honestly lost count of how many he’s had, and seeing you in that dress had him inebriated already, but he’s feeling particularly woozy and melancholy as you come back over with another old fashioned, the amber liquid sloshing around in the glass. You slide in the booth next to him, maybe a little too close for appearances’ sake. Carisi sidles in after you, saying something in your ear that you laugh loudly at.

“I don’t think he’d appreciate it,” you say. Were you two talking about him? Son of a bitch.

“I think we should order an appetizer,” Olivia says, her tone concerned. “You need to sober up a little, (y/n).”

“I’m fine,” you protest.

“You could barely walk over here,” Rafael says, and you raise an eyebrow. “You either have to eat something or slow down.”

“Okay, Padre,” you snicker. “What do you suggest we get, then?”

“I’ve been dying for a quesadilla,” Rollins says before Rafael can answer. “I’ll split one with you.”

“Deal.”

Rafael is startled when he feels your foot against his. Then he thinks his heart might stop as you slide upward, past his ankle, your toes getting caught in the hem of his dress pants to touch the bare skin of his calf. Were you really going to do this here? He catches your eyes and he knows by the glint in them that yes, yes you were. If this night wasn’t hell already...

Your hand comes to his knee, and you’re nodding at something Nick just said, biting into your quesadilla. And your hand slides higher up his left thigh, halfway, before sliding back down to his knee. You do this a couple more times, tantalizing slow, your hand coming up a little higher each time before it makes its descent.

Just as your hand reaches the apex of his thigh, he grabs it and pulls it away. The last thing he needs is a hard-on in front of all of SVU, and while he’d need a little more attention to get there it was best to stop you while you were ahead. Your lips form a devilish smirk as you sip from your glass, but you take the hint and keep your hands to yourself.

Rafael will be damned if you think you’re the only one allowed to play, and if it weren’t for the few drinks loosening him up he would’ve never even thought about it, but your legs in that dress... tentatively, he takes his left hand and places it on your right knee, squeezing tight enough to leave the imprint of his fingers and he edges up against the soft skin of your thigh until he reaches the hem of your skirt, and then travels back down, copying your ministrations from earlier. You don’t stop him as he rides the fabric up a little the next time his hand meets your inner thigh, his fingertips touching the hemline of your panties, and his breath catches in his throat not for the first time that night. You were wet. You couldn’t seriously want him to do this? Not here? Rafael had never been an exhibitionist but he’d be a goddamn liar if he said this wasn’t turning him on. Ultimately, he errs on the side of caution. He wasn’t going to take advantage of you when you were this drunk and he isn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of giving Carisi a free show, either. Rafael cannot wait to get the fuck out of this bar.

The conversation splits into fragments, Olivia and Rollins chatting about some new store that opened up while Fin and Amaro rehash the case again. Neither discussion sounds particularly interesting to Rafael, and he turns to you, but you’re deep in a tête-à-tête with Carisi.

“You’re the best partner I’ve had, (y/n),” Carisi says.

“Mm. You too.”

“You just saying that, doll?”

You giggle. “No.”

“I mean it, though. I’ve had bad luck with partners... and squads.”

“Poor baby.”

He chuckles, rubbing your arm and pulling you closer to him. “Not anymore. Manhattan’s a good fit. We've got a good squad here, a good ADA, and you. Best pardna in the world."

"Aww, you're too sweet," you slur.

“No one’s as sweet as you, doll.”

You crinkle your nose and laugh. “Does that ever work, Sonny?”

“Sometimes,” he chuckles. “It doesn’t work on you?”

“You wish,” you tease. “But no.”

“Anyway...Nah, I mean, you saw it. No one liked me when I first got here except you.”

"It was because of the mustache.”

"Now you're being mean."

"Sorry, baby, but you know that mustache was awful.”

“Okay. Maybe. But... all my other partners, I mean, not that it lasted long, but none of them ever wanted to talk to me and got aggravated with me. You and I, though? We’re the dream team. And I just want you to know I really appreciate you.”

“I appreciate you, too, honey. So much," you say and you press your lips against the side of Carisi's mouth. You would’ve kissed him on the lips if you weren’t so drunk that you missed.

The hell you have condemned him to now is ultimately ten times worse than the hell he'd put himself through earlier. Before it was only speculation, but now? That was it. You were going to leave him. Of course you would. That’s how the story always went from the start, and that’s how you would go, too. Instead of Alex, you’d leave him for Carisi, and he’d have to spend every day a living hell, watching the two of you at the precinct the same way he had to watch Alex and Yelina together. Who was he to think you would be any different?

Carisi's face reddens in the dim light of the bar and he laughs. "Jesus, someone needs to tap you out, huh?"

“Probably,” you slur, nestling yourself against his shoulder. “I can’t remember the last time I drank this much.”

“No more then.”

“Whatever you say, honey,” you murmur, and you kiss his cheek again, the print of your lipstick visible on Carisi’s face.

Rafael can’t stand it anymore, can’t stand the way the two of you are already all over each other. Couldn’t you have talked to him first before you decided you wanted to drape yourself on another man? Even Yelina had that decency!

If he thought he disliked Carisi before, he hates the man now as he kisses the top of your head, smiling down at you.

“I’m calling it a night,” Rafael announces abruptly, standing up just as quickly, grabbing his suit jacket and his briefcase. “Goodnight, all of you.”

Just as he reaches the door, Rollins catches him by the shoulder. “Aren’t you going to make sure your girlfriend gets home safe, Barba?”

What, were you going to send Amanda over to add insult to injury now? Fuck this. He’s far too old to be playing these games, and he should’ve fucking known better to get involved with you.

“Fuck off,” he snaps. “You know she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Hostile, much? Bet you wish she was,” she teases.

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “What do you want?”

“Listen, it’s just... you live the closest to (y/n), right?” Amanda asks, knowing damn well that’s not the case. “Well... you know she’s had a few more than she should have. So could you please take her home?”

Fighting the urge to roll his eyes, he sighs and nods. He can’t be that much of an asshole even if he’s hurt right now. “Alright. I’ll get us a cab.”

“Thank you, Barba. Been a real pleasure,” she says, smiling brightly. “Keep your hands to yourself, though. She probably won’t remember it tomorrow.”

He steps out into the humid August night, a slight breeze in the air indicating fall was on the way. Irritation seeps through his veins as multiple cabs drive by that he could’ve caught, but you must have been too busy giving your goodbyes to your new lover. Jesus Christ, could Rafael be any more self-pitying? It was time to start getting over you and start getting used to the sentence of being single again.

You head out a few minutes later, stumbling in your heels. He catches you but maintains a distance. His only goal was to get you home because even though he hates you right now, he hates the thought of what could happen to you inebriated in this city at this hour more. You were already a file on someone’s desk. He didn’t want you to be one on his.

You smile widely up at him, your eyes glassy as marbles, and you kiss him full on the lips. He doesn’t kiss back, only shrugs you off him, heading toward the street and hailing a cab.

“Rafi, baby, why don’t you wanna kiss me?” you whine. “Wanted to kiss you all night. Want your hands all over me. Remember earlier? Please, baby.”

“You were kissing someone else,” he snaps harshly.

“What? No, I wasn’t,” you say, furrowing your brow, swaying a little.

“I refuse to believe you’re that drunk that you don’t remember what happened minutes ago,” he says as a cab pulls over. Rafael opens the door. “Get in.”

“No, honey, what are you talking about? I didn’t kiss anyone. Don’t wanna kiss anyone but you,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest. The cab driver tsks, rolling his eyes.

“Get in the goddamn cab, (y/n),” Rafael says sternly. “You need to go home. We’re done.”

You don’t say anything, but he sees your face fall as you nod and oblige, staggering into the backseat of the cab. Rafael follows, closing the door behind him, telling the driver your address. It’s silent for a few moments until you turn to him. He can’t make out much in the muted lighting of the cab but he knows you’re on the brink of tears; your lower lip trembles and your eyes are glassier than they were outside the bar. “Rafi, baby, ‘m sorry. I don’ know what I did but I'm sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Like you don’t know what you did! You were all over Carisi all night!” he barks, and he’s startled by how guilty he feels when you finally do break out into hysterical tears. He’d known you were drunk, sure, but maybe you really were that intoxicated that you didn’t know why he was upset until now.

“Sonny and I are friends, Rafi. I don’t want to be with him. I only want to be with you,” you stutter in between sobs, grabbing his collar. “I’m sorry for...whatever you thought, but it’s not like that.”

There you are again, tugging on heartstrings he didn’t know he had as you tug on the fabric of his shirt. The pang in his chest now tells him no, that you weren’t done even if he wanted nothing more than to escape this hell you were putting him through. “Can you stop?” he says gently. “Stop crying. Shh.”

“But you’re mad at me,” you whine. “I don’t want you to be mad.”

“Then why would you do that?”

“I don’t know! I didn’t wanna pay too much attention to you because you don’t want them to know about us.”

“That doesn’t mean you have to make out with Carisi!”

“I didn’t. I know I would never do that. I love... I love being with you, Rafi, honey, and I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You sniffle and try to stop crying, snuggling against him the way he ached for you to at the bar. Ultimately he’s struck by how much you care and how much he cares in return. For all his talk of not wanting to get too close he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of you getting close to anyone else, either. And living like that wasn’t fair to either of you, was it? He’s reached an impasse. Either he has to stop keeping you at a distance or stop keeping you at all.

“Do you really wanna end it? Please don’t. I’m sorry. Please, Rafi,” you beg.

“You kissed him,” Rafael says irritably.

“Oh really? You’re acting like I fucked him in front of the whole bar. I kissed his cheek!”

“So you do remember.”

“But I don’t understand why you’re that mad! It doesn’t mean anything! We’re just friends!”

“Like I’ve never heard that one before,” he scoffs. “What were you trying to do? Hm? Make me jealous? Well, you can fuck right off with that, (y/n).”

“I wouldn’t do that! Why are you being such a jerk, Rafael?”

“Why are you acting like a goddamn child?” he asks and immediately regrets it as you start crying again. You’re not uncontrollable anymore, but you’re clearly hurt and you shrug away from him.

“I’m drunk and so are you,” you hiss. “So maybe we shouldn’t talk until the morning before we say more things we can’t take back.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t,” he sighs tiredly.

Despite arguing professionally, Rafael could never win interpersonal spats, so he stopped trying. And some of his partners took it as if he didn’t bother to argue, then he didn’t truly care. One time his mother told him, “Buena suerte, mi hijo, if you think you can find somebody that doesn’t put you through hell,” after he’d ended yet another fling because they’d gotten into a fight Rafael didn’t see the point in resolving. Why should he make himself miserable because she felt slighted? Why should he have to apologize for saying words in anger that he obviously didn’t mean? Why should he have to give up any of his comforts for the other person? Why should you have to fight at all? Little disagreements were fine, he’d had those with you about cases and such, but there was no harm done in those. You both got over them and kissed and made up. But here and now, you were both hurt by each other’s words and actions, and there were tally marks etched on the chalkboard for a score to be kept between the two of you. Who would come out the victor? One of you would win, and the other would have to lick their wounds.

He’d seen it so many times before, his mother cowering down in front of his father, admitting fault and crying to herself as she did laundry or cooked. She always took the blame, even though he clearly was at fault in being the aggressor.

Suddenly, he realizes with horror that he is taking the role of his father in this situation. How many times had his father come home drunk, reeking of beer and cigarettes, hurling baseless accusations at his mother that she had been sleeping around? One time he had even asked if Rafael was his own son, which, nice try—Rafael was the spitting image of the elder Barba—but how different was Rafael right now? What was Rafael doing now other than fabricating stories in his head and reading more into looks and touches than he should have?

Jesus, he was far too drunk himself to be thinking about this now. All he wants is to go home.

But you don’t let him.

He walks you up to your apartment, and you leave the door open. “Please come in,” you say. “I don’t wanna talk tonight. Please just come to bed.”

“But—“

“Don’t argue with me anymore tonight. Save it for tomorrow,” you whine, slipping out of your heels, damn near falling until he catches you. “I don’t care what you say to me, Rafael, but I’m telling you neither of us is leaving. What we have is too good and you know it. No one’s going anywhere, honey. So come to bed. We'll figure it out tomorrow."

What a series of bold statements coming from the mouth that drank half her weight in liquor. He’s dumbfounded by how confident you are in them, but he supposes maybe it’s the alcohol itself that's giving you this unshakeable nerve.

Rafael can't help it, and he tightens his grip on your waist and kisses you harshly, tasting the sweetness of the orange and bitterness of the whiskey and the hints of salsa on your tongue as one of his hands threads in your hair. "You're mine," he growls.

"When did I ever say I wanted to be anyone else's?"

That's right, you hadn't. He’d only assumed, like the complete asshole he is.

-----

The light from your bedroom window bleeds in, waking Rafael up hours before he wanted to. It wasn’t often he had a Saturday he could sleep in and usually he took advantage of it, but your apartment is far too warm and he can't stay asleep. Memories of last night come back in fragments, and if the aching of his head is any indication, he had a few more than he should have last night. By the time you wake up, he's worried himself into oblivion. Were you going to smarten up and leave him?

“Mm. Good morning,” you say, looking up at him. “I’m never drinking again.”

Rafael chuckles. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Don’t talk so loud,” you whine.

“Do you...remember last night?” he asks quietly.

“Yeah. Are you still mad at me?”

“A little. But I’d understand if you were mad at me too. And I—“

“Okay. No. I need coffee first.”

“Mm. Woman after my own heart,” he says, and you smile, but it doesn’t quite meet your eyes. Had he already lost you?

You’re still clad in that goddamn dress as you get up, but it’s lost the glitter and glamor from last night, as now it’s wrinkled and askew, the fabric clinging to your right hip and giving him a peek of your ass before you pull it down on your way to open your bedroom door. You might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, even though you’re hungover, even though you have mascara tear-stained under your eyes, even though you’re both upset with each other. And isn’t that worth holding onto, even if you had your own circle of hell reserved just for him?

After both of you clean yourselves up a little, you’re brewing coffee and swallowing pills to relieve the aching in your heads. You lean against your counter, and Rafael stands awkwardly in the middle of your kitchen, stealing glances at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

“Okay. So talk,” you say, handing him a mug when the coffee is done.

“I suppose I should apologize,” he says, sipping his coffee, wincing at the acidity. "My accusations were out of line. But you can’t be hanging off Carisi if we're going to do this. I'm not watching that.”

“Hanging off Sonny? Really?”

Rafael rolls his eyes. “What do you call it, then?”

“I was...maybe a tad more affectionate than was appropriate, Rafael, I’ll give you that. But Sonny’s my partner, honey. And I’m not going to stop being friends with him because it makes you uncomfortable that we’re that close.”

“I didn’t say that, did I? I’m not going to control that. But cool it with the kissing, okay? And you leaning up against him all the time, the flirting, all that bullshit? You’re not single just because they don’t know about us.”

You look at him, stunned. “I didn’t know you cared that much.”

“What?”

“You always seem so distant. I really didn’t think you got jealous like that,” you say, shrugging.

“I’m not jealous,” he scoffs. “I just don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Mm.”

“You’re leading him on whether you realize it or not,” Rafael says. “So cut it out.”

“I am not leading him on, Rafael! Jesus Christ. You’re friends with Olivia. I don’t say shit.”

“Last time I checked I didn’t kiss her and drape myself all over her last night, did I?”

“Well, whatever. To be fair, I think we both know I wouldn't have been so affectionate if I was sober. I get like that when I'm drunk," you say, your face flushing. "I'd have kissed Amanda too if I was sitting near her.”

"Maybe you shouldn't drink so much, then."

"Maybe not. Trust me, I'm feeling it right now."

"I bet you are."

You grimace, rolling your eyes as you gulp your coffee. “Why did you have to go there, though? Threaten to end it? Jesus, I know you were drunk, too, but... that was completely unfair.”

"I know,” Rafael says, sighing. “I just...”

"Why can't you just admit that you hurt, Rafi?" you ask suddenly.

"W-what?" he stutters. "What does that even mean?"

"I know I don't know all your ex-lovers' names or even how many there are. And I don't need to know. But I know it wasn't just Yelina that hurt you and you need to stop letting that get in the way of us. I haven’t left yet. I’m still here. Rafael, I'm begging you: can you stop thinking of all the ways this can go wrong and just let it be? Jesus, I can feel the pounding in your head sometimes. You need to relax. Entiendes?”

“(Y/n)... I...” he trails off, at a loss for words.

“You don’t have to say anything. Come here,” you say, and you put your coffee down, hugging him tightly. “I know where all of that came from last night, and I get it. You’re in pain; anyone can see that, Rafi. But I’m not going to be punished for crimes I didn’t commit.”

“Of course not,” he murmurs as you pull away. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. You’re forgiven. Just relax, honey.”

Rafael reaches back for you, hugging you close, not so much because he needs the support but so you don’t see how close he is to tears. It’s something his abuelo used to say, something Rafael never quite understood when he was little: “Never trust a hug. It’s just a way to hide your face.”

Sure, he was mostly joking when he said it, because one of Rafael’s younger cousins, Néstor, was infamous for stealing jewelry from his abuelita, and he’d always hug his accuser so they didn’t see his guilty smirk. But in hindsight, he thinks maybe his grandfather was also warning him about his mother’s favorite defense mechanism - whenever Rafael asked about the screaming between her and his father, she’d give him the tightest hugs, and he’d hear her sniffling in his ear, but he never did see her cry.

Well. He understands it perfectly well now, because god forbid you see him this emotional over this. Rafael still isn’t used to this tenderness - is this what being loved feels like? It’s been so long, he doesn’t remember. Or maybe this was this just a conniving way for you to put him through hell? Get him to trust you, maybe even love you, only to pull the rug out from under his feet?

Could you really be that cruel?

“Rafi, you okay?” your voice cuts through; like it always does.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t let you go until the heat behind his eyes fades, until he can make himself force a smile.

——

You are a fucking tease. He wonders how any man ever put up with it, although he thinks he may be the first man you reserved this torture for, and maybe he should be more flattered, that you feel this comfortable with him. But this? This was the very definition of cruelty. Apparently what you had done at the bar had only been a prequel to the hell you had in store for him.

He wants to quit his job if only to get away from you. He doesn't think he can handle it anymore.

You’d said that when you were ready to have sex, he’d know. Never in a million years did he think this was what you meant.

"You have sauce on your tie," you tell him as you're walking up to the courthouse. "I have that stain remover stuff in my purse. Let me take care of it."

"Oh, no, I know better than that," he laughs, but it's really not funny at all. "I have to present my case in fifteen minutes."

"That's enough time," you protest. "Come on, you really want to go up there with tomato sauce on your tie?"

He rolls his eyes, stopping you short by gripping your upper arm. "Given the choice between a stain and a raging hard-on, I'll take the stain," he growls in your ear. "I'm not playing your game today."

"Rafi..." you whine, and he hates you. He thought whining would be a turnoff, would be too juvenile but fuck, it goes right through him and shoves him right through the gates of hell, where he belongs. “Who said anything about that? I was just going to help you. Didn’t know you got excited from stain removal. I’ll bring you my laundry if you ever want to do it.”

"Shut up," he chastises, then looks down at his...spotless tie. He doesn't know what he expected. "Nice fabrication."

"I wasn't under oath," you say, blushing a little. He remembers the last time you'd told a little white lie a week ago, told him his suspenders weren't fastened correctly, and under the guise of helping him you'd gotten him completely riled, like he was twenty years younger, kissing him and feeling him up until he damn near took you on the couch in his office.

And then you left.

What the hell kind of game were you playing?

“I’m still charging you with perjury,” he snaps back, still holding your arm. “What was your plan, hm?”

“I plead the fifth,” you say, a brilliant grin playing on your strawberry lips. He wants to kiss you so bad, it takes all his strength not to.

“Of course you do, niñita.”

“I’m no little girl,” you say, stepping closer. He’s all too aware the two of you are outside the courthouse and the last thing he needs is for press or defense to see the two of you. He’s thankful he’s not on a high profile case.

“No, maybe not. But you’re definitely a bad one,” he says, letting go of your arm.

“Well, maybe you’ll have to punish me, papi,” you whisper, and then you’re leaning up to kiss him. A shiver runs down his spine - who had ever been able to get a reaction out of him like that? - and he damn near ravishes you right there.

But he can’t. He has five minutes now.

He pulls away, reluctantly, taking your hands from his shoulders and squeezing them in his own. “You’re awful,” he mutters, looking into your eyes. “Straight from the womb of Lilith.”

“Ooh. You wound me,” you say sarcastically as he lets you go and starts walking up the courthouse steps. You follow, and once you get to the courtroom you say, “Go get em, tigre.” And then you wink, straightening his tie.

“Do you ever stop, mujer?” he asks, exasperated.

“No rest for the wicked,” you snicker, pecking him on the lips.

He hates you so goddamn much.

---

“I’m working, (y/n),” Rafael mutters.

“You’re always working. You shouldn’t have taken on that other A.D.A.’s cases too. You deserve a break, honey. Let me give you one,” you say, moving closer to press your lips to his jaw. “We don’t have to go out tonight. I can cook something later.”

“What did I buy that dress for then, hmm?” Rafael wasn’t exactly in the habit of gifting things, but after seeing you in that green dress he decided you needed one like that in every color, and he started with a deep red number that he left by the door for you when you walked in his apartment. And, just like the green one, it caught his eye and pulled him from his work whenever you so much as moved.

“I think it’d look better on the floor,” you murmur. “Don’t you?”

“You’re killing me, (y/n),” he groans as he meets your eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I told you not to question me, Rafael—“

“Yes. I know. But I still want your consent.”

“So you are going to stop working?” you purr.

He chuckles. “You let me finish this paragraph and I’ll give you the attention you so clearly crave.”

“How long is that going to take, hm?”

“A lot longer if you keep talking,” Rafael snarks.

“Fine,” you say, and he foolishly thinks that is that, but you have other ideas, as always. Your lips attach to his jaw again, and normally he’d be able to work through that, but one of your hands slips down to stroke his thigh and he can’t even remember who this fucking email was for, never mind what it was about.

“You know it isn’t funny, right?” he asks, glaring at you.

“What, Rafi?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“Teasing me like that,” he says, finally closing the computer and placing it on the end table. He grabs you by the waist and pulls you on top of him, relishing in your squeal of surprise.

You laugh, squirming against his grip on you. He doesn’t let you get away, and pulls you down to kiss you roughly, his tongue dragging against yours as his hands tangle in your hair.

“You’re an awful woman.”

“Mm...so you’ve said,” you say, looking up at him, lust-blown pupils so wide that only a thin ring of iris can be seen. “What are you going to do about it?”

He doesn’t say anything, just kisses you deeply, again and again, moaning softly as he thrusts his clothed cock against you. “Mm, feel me? That’s what you’ve done to me all week.”

“What about what you do to me, papi?” You whimper. “How am I supposed to control myself, mm?”

“Talk about it,” he says, running his hands over your breasts. “Tell me, niñita, and maybe I’ll go easy on you. Make me a deal, cariño.”

“Mm. Love when you talk to me in Spanish,” you say huskily, leaning down to kiss him, trailing down his neck. “Mm, and then when you’re concentrating, you’ll cross your arms across your chest, and your sleeves are rolled up, and mm, all the muscles in your forearms flex, and I can see the veins in your hands bulge as you click your pen open and closed. Amanda makes fun of me for staring, but how can I help it, papi? And don’t even get me started on the suspenders, mm, love to pull on them when we’re alone in your office. Love when you kiss me like I’m your last meal on death row.”

He meets your eyes as you lift your head back up, groaning softly. God, hearing you put a voice to it... and then he kisses you just like that, letting go of any reservations he once had, his hands pulling up your dress as he rolls his hips against yours. “Mm, you’ve been a bad girl, though,” he whispers against your lips. “Letting them know you stare when we’re supposed to be working...”

“I can’t help it, papi,” you say pitifully, trying to grind against him and ultimately failing due to his grip on you.

He chuckles, pecking your lips. “So what do you want? I’ll give you whatever you want if you plead guilty.”

“Guilty to what?”

“Oh, you know what,” he says, running his hands over your now-bare thighs, squeezing your ass lightly, earning a moan from you. “Being a tease. Pulling me up short when I’m trying to work and putting me through hell with teasing me all week. What's your plea, niñita? We both know you're guilty, but I need you to admit it."

"Mm, and if I don't?" you ask, starting to unbutton his suit jacket before he takes your hands in one of his to stop you.

"Then I bring you back to your place."

“You drive a hard bargain, counselor,” you say, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth. “Mm. I plead guilty to being so attractive that my boyfriend can’t keep his dirty hands off me when we’re supposed to be working,” you tease, smiling cheekily. You were like him, in some ways, sometimes, that brass ego shining through. Rafael knows more than anyone, though, that brass egos always serve to cover up deeper insecurities.

He laughs, drawing himself back to the present, kissing up your jawline to your ear, only to whisper, “Not what I said. Now, do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Your whole body shudders against him, and you suck in a breath as he sucks at your pulse point, your heartbeat racing wildly against his tongue. “Fine. I plead guilty to being a tease. Now for god’s sake, do something else, Rafi,” you whine. “Wanna feel you. Want you to make me feel good.”

“I think we need a change in location,” he says, more to himself than you, and carries you off to the bedroom, flicking on the light before laying you on the bed gently. You were a vision, that tight scarlet dress bundled up at your hips, giving him a peek of the black panties you wore underneath. He takes his suit jacket off, kicks off his shoes, staring at you the whole time. You stare back, blushing at the intensity of his gaze.

"Rafi," you whine. "Come over here."

He laughs. "Miss me already?"

"Need you."

"Well..you can't have these heels on my bed," he says, helping you take them off and then massaging up your legs until his hands are at the precipice of your thighs, your breathing rate audibly increasing as he reaches higher.

"Rafi. Please," you groan as he makes eye contact with you, starting to kiss back down all the skin he just touched. "Who's the tease now?"

"Oh, absolutely still you."

"Objection."

He chuckles against your thigh. "Yeah. See, the difference is I'm going to come back up here and give you what you want. You just leave after you rile me up."

"I had to go back to work,” you protest.

“Mm.”

“Are you actually mad at me? I can stop—“

“Oh, don’t you dare stop,” he says, kissing back up your other leg. “I get splitting headaches, and the interruptions help some.”

“Yeah, the aching goes somewhere else, huh?”

He chuckles. “Guess you could say that.”

“I didn’t want... I didn’t want the first time we had sex to be in the office,” you say. “I’m sorry if that’s what you thought—“

“No, I understand,” he nods, coming back up to kiss you on the lips gently. “I get it. I don’t want to pressure you. I don’t feel like I’m owed anything. Okay?”

“Okay,” you say, kissing him again. “I want to, now, though.”

“Ask and ye shall receive, princesa,” he says, riding up your dress even more to reveal a few inches of your stomach, kissing down to the hemline of your panties before taking them off. “Hermosa,” he breathes, staring at your pussy, already visibly slick from arousal. “Is it okay if I go down on you?”

“By all means,” you say. “If you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” he murmurs.

His tongue delves in, tasting you for the first time. You’re quiet at first, tentative, but as he starts to eat you out the way he kisses you: like a man on death row, as you had quipped, your moans become a chorus to edge him on. He teases you too, purposefully moving away from spots you’re more vocal at, only to be met by your fingers running through his hair and pulling at him, in any attempt to get him back over there. He can’t help but let out soft moans every time you pull hard. His hands reach up to squeeze your hips, and every so often he’ll look up to see your chest heaving, your face flushed. Sometimes your eyes would flutter close as you’d let out a moan, tugging at his hair. He can feel strands against his forehead - you’d broken through the gel he’d put in this morning. “(Y/n),” he grunts, slipping two fingers into you as his tongue swirls around your clit. “Mm, tan dulce...such a pretty cunt. Who are you so wet for? Hm?”

“Ohhhhh, fuck,” you moan, rolling your hips in a vain attempt to ride his fingers. “I think you can make a pretty good guess.”

“No,” he growls. “Tell me. Or I’ll stop.”

And to prove his point, he does - and he knows he’s being mean, verging on cruel, but there’s something about the way you’ve teased him all week that makes him think you’ll respond in kind to his edging. Besides, seeing you beg for him? His cock swells at the mere thought, never mind you actually doing it.

“Rafi, I was so close,” you whine.

“Then be a good girl and tell me who brought you there,” he whispers, his lips searing hot against your hipbone as he pulls his fingers out of you slowly.

“Fuck, fuck, it’s you, Rafael. Only you,” you say desperately, evidently realizing he’s serious. “Please. Please don’t stop.”

“Mm. Buena niña,” he murmurs, and with that he plunges his fingers back into your heat, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit. “Didn’t take long for you to beg. Such a good girl, (y/n), just for me.”

You whimper, rolling your hips. “Need your tongue. Please.”

Rafael chuckles, but he obliges, swirling his tongue around your clit again and again as he scissors his fingers in and out of you.

“Rafi—I— I’m close,” you choke out as his tongue flicks over your clit a few times in quick succession.

“Good girl. Come for me,” he says, and he knows you’ve let go once your legs start shaking and your hand clenches into a fist in his hair. He laps up whatever you give him, his tongue licking broad strokes, and he has half a mind to think he brought you over the edge again.

Once he’s done, he comes back to kiss you, his tongue against yours, and you moan at the taste of yourself from his lips. “Rafi. Want you.”

“Fucking insatiable,” he chuckles. “Mm. Then why don’t you undress me?”

You reach up and make quick work of his tie, but the buttons on his waistcoat prove to be more difficult. “Oh my god, Rafi, I’m going to rip this fucking thing. You had to wear a three-piece today?”

“If you rip this, I’ll never speak to you again,” he says, half-kidding. “Maybe if you calmed down... what do you need?”

“I want to be good for you,” you murmur. “I don’t have the kind of experience you have and I—“

“Are you fucking serious right now?” he cuts you off and grabs your hand, placing it on his clothed, swollen cock. “You feel what you do to me even when you’re fumbling with my clothes?”

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips, as you keep eye contact with him and palm him through his pants, and he groans, pulling you on his lap and kissing you, harder than he thinks he’s kissed anyone in his life, or at least anyone recently. He finishes the buttons on his vest and unclips his suspenders, kissing you the whole time, and he helps you lift your dress over your head, unclasping your bra and cupping your breasts in his palms, running his thumbs over your nipples, relishing in how you shuddered at his touch. You help him shrug his dress shirt off his shoulders, and he lifts your hips to push two of his fingers in you. You whimper in his ear, probably still sensitive from coming so soon before.

“You still have too many clothes on, Rafi,” you protest, running your hands up his undershirt. God, your hands were smoldering against his chest. He doesn’t say anything as you pull the fabric of the shirt up. He knows he’s under your mercy now, and if he’s being honest, he likes the constant relinquishing and then gaining of control more than he thought he would.

Your hands run over his nipples a little too long, causing his breath to catch, and he tries not to let out a moan but he ultimately fails. You noticed everything, anyway. He would’ve been found out at some point.

“Mm? You like that?”

He nods wordlessly, and you lift the shirt over his head.

“Help me get those pants off you and I’ll give you what you want, papi,” you purr in his ear.

"What I want is to be in you,” he murmurs, as you pull down the zipper and unbutton them. Rafael places you on the bed gently, deciding to take them off himself and his boxers follow suit.

"What the hell, Rafael?" you ask, blushing.

"What?" he asks, suddenly self-concious.

"L-like no one ever told you that you’re packing," you stammer. "Now I know where that ego comes from."

"Shut up, (y/n)," he laughs, relaxing a little, and comes to lie down next to you again, kissing you gently, his cock throbbing painfully with anticipation. Then, you run your hands over his chest again, and pinch his nipples lightly, and he's a mess, moaning your name, running his hands up and down your waist as he comes to lie on his back.

"Mm, now I know what to do to get what I want," you giggle, your hair falling in your face and -- oh, your tongue swirls over his left one and every nerve ending in his body is on fire. This, the culmination to the hell week, it might be too much. He might actually die right here.

"(Y/n), please," he begs.

"What?" you ask, moving your mouth to the other nipple and your hand moves down to his cock, stroking him gently.

"You need--oh fuck, (y/n), fuck,” he pants. Not many coherent thoughts run through his head at this point.

"Words, Rafael," you say, your voice lowering an octave.

"I-- you need to stop, (y/n). Too good. Need to be in you now or I won't last," he chokes out.

You oblige. "We'll save that for another day," you chuckle, lying down next to him. "How do you want me?"

"Too many ways to count. But... do you want to ride me?”

“Sure, but you need to help me out first. It’s been a while,” you say, blushing.

"Anything you need," he says gently, motioning for you to lie on your back, his tip teasing at your clit before he pushes himself into you, a few inches and you're already whimpering. "You good?"

"Yeah. You can keep going."

Your hair is splayed across his pillow, your breasts tantalize him with each breath...god, he was never going to be able to get this sight out of his head. He's stopped short for a moment, looking at you. You look up at him and smile, and he smiles back, an intimacy there that’s maybe unprecedented.

It takes a few minutes before he bottoms out fully, your walls quivering against him.

“Mm, fuck, Rafi,” you moan, running your fingers over his nipples again, bucking your hips against his. His lips attach to your neck, sucking gently on your left side, careful not to leave a mark. “Help me get on top.”

He does as you say, and you’re tentative at first, needing some encouragement from him, but your body knows what it’s doing. He’s so horny and strung out from the week that anything could bring him over the edge.

It’s his fucking nipples that threaten to do it again, though, and he knows they’re going to be sore tomorrow from all your rough ministrations. He never had a woman be so enthusiastic about playing with them before, and it’s just another way you drive him absolutely insane.

“(Y/n), fuck!” he groans. “You have to stop.”

You pout, drawing your hands away from him, quickening your pace. He leans forward to press his thumb against your clit, eliciting his name from your lips over and over again.

“Mm. Take my cock so well, bebita, mm, buena niña,” he says under his breath. “Such a good girl for me. Mm. Come on. Get off on my cock.”

He meets you thrust for thrust now, and he can feel it before you can, your walls tighten against him, and in seconds he has you flipped over, driving into you brutally from that angle as you fall apart, high-pitched moans and heavy breaths falling from your kiss-bruised lips.

The clenching of your walls is enough to drive him over the edge, and he bites at your shoulder without thinking, the feeling too much as he spills himself into you. “Such a good girl,” he whispers, kissing and licking at the bite mark. “Mm... fuck.”

"Mm, try not to think about that when we're at work," you laugh and he groans, flopping down on the mattress, his face pressing into the pillow.

"You are going to be the death of me, cariño," Rafael says, laughing too.

But oh, what a way to go to hell.

Tags: @caked-crusader​ @thatesqcrush​ @law-nerd105​ 

Want to be added to my tags? Let me know!

Next Chapter

Also I’d really appreciate feedback on this one since it’s my first time posting smut and I’m nervous ahhaha lol

[beckkii]

Love Yourself

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (or so) favorite works your created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

tagged by @mollyinthewater !! aww thank you so much for tagging me molly :)) <33

ok let me think...

1) Someone to Stay

this is definitely my favorite entrapdak fic! it’s only a one shot, but it’s about 8k words even though i planned for it to be much less xD it was my first entrapdak fic, too! it’s kinda funny to look back on because i was so scared to post it since i was new to the fandom. but, it was well received, which was super encouraging :D and now i’m pretty involved in the fandom! :)

Hordak knows his lab partner well enough by now, so he’s quick to notice Entrapta’s sudden shift in behavior. Less loud talking, less jumping around here and there with her hair, less excitement and liveliness.

And while he initially tries to ignore it all and let whatever spell had taken over her pass, that doesn't exactly work out as planned when the sanctum suddenly goes dead silent one day.

-

(Set in late season 3)

2) Change of Plans

anddd this is probably my favorite detroit: become human fic! i wrote it out on a whim during quarantine (i even remember drinking whipped coffee while i wrote it, remember that trend?) and i really like how it all turned out! the perfect amount of angst and hurt/comfort for my fav hank and connor duo <3

Maybe his breakfast isn’t a gourmet meal, and maybe it’s way too early for his liking, but at least it’s somewhat peaceful in his house. Sure, there’s the roaring blizzard outside, and the occasional groan of his house as the framework shudders under the wind’s force. But still, it’s calm inside. Normally Connor would be bright and chipper even at this early hour, blabbering about something or another and-

Wait.

Connor.

Hank straightens up in his seat, suddenly wide awake.

Connor isn’t anywhere in sight.

—

A one shot in which Hank wakes up early one morning to a blizzard raging on outside and a quiet home devoid of his partner.

That is, until he finds the bathroom with the door shut tight.

3) Stuck in the Past

i have a love/hate relationship with this fic, but i gotta include it because it’s def my biggest fanfic accomplishment! i love it because it’s the first fic i ever posted, it’s super long, AND i never gave up on it, but i hate it because the beginning has SUCH bad style and i definitely included some plot points that were just plain rediculous that with wish i never included xD plus, it’s got some really angsty themes that i wish i had toned back on a bit, but overall the ending is happy so i’m glad i finished it!

Connor, ever since he became deviant and had escaped from Amanda’s clutches, felt safe, content, and in control. After all, he lived happily with Hank and his dog after Markus and the androids led a peaceful protest. What was there to be concerned about, anyway?

That was what Connor believed until, however, a nightmare led him think otherwise. With new thoughts of feeling as if he could lose control of his program to Amanda yet again and become a danger to Hank, Connor can’t help the rising worry within him. And while he tries his hardest to hide his fears from Hank, that plan may not work out exactly as he hopes.

Note: This fic deals with suicide. If you’re sensitive to that topic, please read with caution or refrain from reading. Stay safe my friends <3

4) Brightest Star

ok so this fic isn’t finished yet and i started it JUST at the end of last year, but so far i like how it’s coming along and i’m so excited to write all of it! when i first joined the entrapdak community, i promised myself i wasn’t gonna write a multi chapter fic more than a few chapters, but i just love hordak and entrapta so much that i HAVE to write a longfic about them. so, here we are, 6 chapters in! :)

After all of the chaos of the war, Hordak is now free. Well, from Horde Prime, that is. The princesses certainly don’t think so, and they don’t appear too keen on allowing him to be anytime soon.

Except for Entrapta. Through everything, she stays there by his side, remaining as a comforting constant amidst this new and unfamiliar life post war. And Hordak, of course, greatly enjoys her companionship.

...More so than he realizes, it seems.

5) ‘Dating’

this was the second entrapdak fic i wrote, and i really like it! it’s kind of funny because i wrote this back when i didn’t want to fully commit to a longfic but still wanted to include some shippy slow burn stuff, so it’s about 3 chapters at 10k! it was also my first time writing something that was pretty shippy, so it was a fun learning experience for me!

“So, what’s it like? You know, dating geek princess?”

Hordak’s brow furrows at her words.

…Dating?

-

Hordak wants to ask Entrapta on a date after first learning about the concept from Catra. It goes about as well as you’d expect.

ok, that’s it! :D i’m not sure who to tag because i’m not sure how many of my mutuals are also content creators of any sort, but if you’re a mutual of mine, please do this!! i’d love to see your work <3

[plaidbooks]

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 2

A/N: Chapter 2 is here! Skipped forward a couple years from the last chapter, and there’s a little bit of a hinting at some of Devon’s past. This chapter takes place during season 8, when Olivia was undercover in Oregon with Porter. The first bit is a blurb between the two chapters.

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Tags: panic attacks, rape mention (and a little description, but not explicit), lesbophobia, homophobia, briefest allusion to consensual sex (blink and you miss it)

Words: 8k+ 

           Devon worked with Manhattan’s SVU department a handful of times since their first meeting. In that time, she had become closer to the detectives, especially Olivia and, by extension, Stabler. She and Stabler still butted heads every now and again, but they grew to respect each other’s methods, as Dr. Huang had predicted. As for Devon and Olivia, it was like having a sister that they never knew they wanted. As much as Liv loved her team, it was nice to have a woman to talk to about personal things, outside of the two women ADAs that SVU has had. And for Devon, though she’d never mention it to Liv or to herself, she gained a new best friend that didn’t so much “replace” Emma, but filled that spot for close female friend—though Devon made sure it never made it past that “friend” point, no matter how attractive Devon found the detective. She also knew that Olivia wasn’t interested in women, so Devon didn’t want to make her uncomfortable. Plus, Devon didn’t really want to get close to someone she was working with; her heart still hurt when she attempted to dissect her feelings for Emma.

Unlike Devon’s other work acquaintances, they actually kept in touch pretty well; enough so that Devon even met Stabler’s wife and family, before they got separated. Devon was rarely called to the precinct, maybe only once every 3-4 months, so the only time they really got to chat in person was either on the job, or when they randomly got to meet for a nightcap or lunch.

           It took Devon about a year to get into the rhythm of working with SVU—mostly because she wasn’t there often enough. For example, Devon always worked to protect the victims, whether they were held hostage or being trafficked around. SVU, however, was more about helping the victims, believing in their stories and helping them prove the abuser or perpetrator of their abuse. Putting the abuser behind bars. Getting enough evidence for a jury to convict them. In Devon’s line of work, the victims were being actively victimized; she didn’t need evidence, witnesses, or statements. Which is why the biggest fight she had was a year into the partnership with SVU, with ADA Casey Novak, and about testifying in open court.

           “I’m not testifying! Stop asking!” Devon had yelled, throwing her hands up in exasperation. Novak had asked once before, while they were both watching an interrogation. This time, they were standing in the middle of Precinct 16, officers and detectives alike coming to a halt and turning to watch a federal agent and an ADA duke it out.

           “I need you, though! Don’t you want to help put Ramsey behind bars?” Novak reasoned. She was keeping her voice level before, but it was rising now.

           Devon rolled her eyes. Of course, she wanted Ramsey behind bars; he was a rapist pig. But she couldn’t testify, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to go down memory lane with someone she didn’t really know. Especially not an ADA, acquaintance or not. She suddenly wished that she hadn’t helped catch Ramsey, that she had stayed in the court-free FBI, but then squashed that thought down; they had needed her, and she was glad to have stopped him before he escalated to rapist and murderer.

           “Casey,” Devon put a hand on Novak’s shoulder, noticing the unwanted attention from the officers watching and bringing her voice down. “I can’t testify. I need you to trust me on this. You’re a great ADA, you can do it without me.” It was true; Devon had read up on Novak’s conviction rate.

           Novak gave her a long look, long enough that Devon dropped her hand back to her side. She took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to tell you is that if you do not testify, then I don’t think I’ll win this case.” She let her words sink in, then added in a near-whisper, “don’t make me subpoena you.”

           Devon felt a weird twisting in her stomach; something she had never felt before. She tried to ignore it, look intimidating. “Is that a threat, counselor? Let me tell you what will happen if you don’t back off. I was offered an undercover in Iceland. Don’t make me go there until after this trial.”

           Novak’s eyes narrowed. “You’d really flee the country on a bogus mission to avoid testifying? It’s not that bad; you just sit in a box and tell the truth.” If Novak continued talking, Devon missed it. In her mind’s eye, she pictured herself in the witness box. She looked over at the defense attorney, one from Devon’s nightmares. He was distorted, his smirk too large for his face, his eyes turning black. The courtroom was a dark red color, the gallery’s faces blank, emotionless. Devon’s heart started beating faster, tears welling then flowing down her cheeks.

           “Devon?” Novak’s voice sounded leagues away. It wasn’t until Novak placed her hand on Devon’s arm that she snapped back to Precinct 16, ripping her arm away from Novak’s grip. The tears on her face were real, as was her frantically beating heart. For a moment, she thought she was having a heart attack. Her chest was heaving, she was gasping for air, but she couldn’t fill her lungs. She glanced at Novak’s worried face, vaguely noticed the detectives moving towards them. Devon turned and sprinted out of SVU’s department, pushing stunned officers out of her way. She ran past the elevator, heading for the stairs, taking them as quickly as her legs would carry. She didn’t know what was happening to her, all she knew was she needed fresh air. She made it to the bottom step before her legs gave out. She was shaking all over, openly weeping. She pulled herself across the ground, shoving herself in the corner of the stairwell, and curled into herself, pulling her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, burying her face into her knees.

           She didn’t know how long she was there, shaking, crying, clutching her chest and trying to think about anything but the courtroom, that small witness box. When she raised her head from her knees, she found Olivia sitting on the stairs by her, looking concerned. But Liv knew better than to ask; she knew how to treat victims. It took another 10 minutes for Devon to stop crying before she told Liv what was happening—not the whole story, just her and Novak’s fight and what she was feeling now. Olivia, having been through this before both with victims and personally, explained what a panic attack was and how Casey must have said something that triggered that reaction. After making sure that Devon was alright, Liv assured her that she wouldn’t have to testify, that she should go home and relax for the day. Devon and Olivia grew closer that day, and it wasn’t long until Devon told Liv the whole story.

2 years later

Apartment of Devon Motely

Friday, July 27th 6:24am

           Devon sighed as she let the hot water run over her, washing away the sweat from her morning gym workout and jog. The shower felt amazing, and she got out feeling refreshed, ready for the day. She was in the middle of drying off when her cell phone rang, the sound coming from her room. She hurried over to it, looking at the ID quickly before answering. Captain Cragen.

           “Motely,” she answered, sifting through her closet for an outfit. Better grab something loose if she was going into SVU and whatever mess they needed her for. Mobility was a priority for her.

           “It’s Cragen. Are you free to do an undercover for me?” Cragen replied.

           Devon had just finished a stint of undercover for the Feds—only a month--so she was off for the next week or two, at least until her shrink cleared her; definitely free to help out the squad.

           “Of course. How long?” she asked.

           “Hopefully only for tonight.”

           Oof, tonight? That was short notice. Well, she didn’t have any plans tonight, anyways. At least, not any important ones, unless she counted watching the baseball game and eating a pint of ice cream as important. Just “normal” things that helped bring her back to this life, not the made-up life of who she was for a month.

           “I’ll be right there,” Devon said before hanging up. She honestly didn’t mind doing some field work for NYPD; it was nice having…easier cases. Not that they were easy cases but compared to the hell that she dealt with on a near-daily basis with the FBI, it was like a walk through the park. Except for the court stuff. Devon refused to testify, but she did offer to transport, protect, and support the victims or witnesses that did testify. And, thankfully, Novak had backed off from asking her.

           It took Devon another 10 minutes to get herself ready. She was happy with her appearance, hoping that maybe the department wouldn’t change her outfit for the undercover op. She was in a scoop neck, plain black shirt and dark jeans. She thought about a light cardigan, but decided against it; it was in the 70s outside, plenty warm enough, even for her California skin.

SVU department

Friday, July 27th 7:14am

           Devon had arrived at the precinct and sought out Cragen. The only detective she encountered in the precinct was Munch, looking annoyed at being there so early. She happily waved to him before heading to Cragen’s office. Cragen closed the door behind her and he filled her in on the details. There was an LGBT+ bar that was mostly used by lesbians and bisexual women, barely any men. But there was a group of men that would show up in the wee hours of the morning, right before closing, stalk a woman that would come out of the bar, and then beat and rape her. This happened 4 times in the past two weeks, and the DA is treating it as a hate crime against lesbians. Each victim recalled one or more of their attackers saying something along the lines of, “fucking them straight.” SVU was positive that one of the men in the bar was a part of the group and would target the women from the inside before leaving and notifying his buddies. SVU was a little short staffed, so Cragen opted to call in Devon for this.

           “We’d like for you to be targeted by this group, or at the very least, find out who they are. We’ll have Stabler undercover in the bar to help keep an eye out, plus Fin and Munch on the outside, along with a temp transfer from Brooklyn, Detective Lake. You’ll be safe,” Cragen finished.

           “I don’t doubt it,” Devon replied with a reassuring smile. She trusted the detectives to have her back. Though, she was curious as to why Liv wasn’t mentioned. Did this Lake replace her?

           Cragen looked a little uncomfortable before saying, “I hope you don’t mind playing a lesbian.”

           “Not at all. But may I ask why Olivia isn’t up for it?” Devon asked, trying to dig some information out of Cragen without asking outright.

           “Uh, Detective Benson isn’t here right now.”

           What? “She’s not here? Where is she?”

           Cragen gave her a look. “I thought that you’d know better than I. The Feds came in and took her for an undercover assignment. Other than that, they’ve told me nothing.”

           That took Devon aback; she had no idea. Not that she talked to every undercover agent or their case workers. She wondered if she knew her case worker, if she could find where Olivia was if she dug deep enough. Maybe Jenkins knew where she was. Why did the FBI even need her?

           In an effort to keep the conversation light, Devon said, “Oh, so you’ve run out of female detectives to UC for you in a lesbian-dominated bar. Enter me, the only other woman you know.”

           Cragen gave her a terse smile. “I do have another temporary replacement transferring in...whenever 1PP decides to actually send her. I would, however, like to get this mess taken care of now instead of waiting for a detective I don’t know.”

           Devon let the conversation end there. She agreed with the Captain; she’d rather be doing this instead of some new detective that no one knew, or worse, trusted. As she left the office, she thought about the mission at hand. She honestly didn’t mind playing a lesbian; she was bisexual, anyways, so it wouldn’t be hard to feign interest in random bar tenets, no matter what their gender was. She thought about her wardrobe at home; did she have a more suitable outift for this? Or should she just let the department figure that out? She had until late tonight to get ready for it, but she knew the department; they liked to have everything planned out in advanced, to have their hands in everything. Plus, she still had to talk to Huang—or whoever the profiler they had on the case was—to make sure she knew what these dirtbags were looking for. She tried not to think about how terrible these men were; it was just making her more and more angry. She disliked rapists as much as the next person, but this hit close to home; hate crimes against queer women. She was getting tired of how men were treating them.

           Coming out of Cragen’s office, she saw that Fin and Stabler had arrived at work; both were at their desks, starting in on today’s crap. Then there was the new guy; at his desk talking to Fin idly. He was attractive, his tanned skin stark against his loose white shirt. He looked over at Devon and smirked. Devon greeted the others before heading towards Detective Lake. Might as well introduce myself, she thought. He was supposed to be one of the detectives watching her back tonight, anyways.

           “Detective Lake? My name’s Devon Motely,” she greeted him, holding out her hand. He took it, giving her a hearty handshake.

           “Don’t let her play you,” Fin said, jokingly. “She’s a Fed.”

           Devon rolled her eyes, looking faux-offended. “Wow, Fin. Tell him how you really feel about me.”

Fin shrugged. “Hey, he’s here as my partner. I gotta tell him how it is.” That caught Devon by surprise; Fin’s partner and not Stabler’s?

“Why did Cragen call in the big guns? Are you here for that lesbian case?” Lake asked.

“That would be correct, yes. Can you not tell I’m gay just by looking at me?” Devon retorted. Yep, SVU’s humor was definitely rubbing off on her.

Lake’s ears turned red, but Munch came to his rescue, piping up, “ah, that would explain why you can work with all these guys without getting distracted by our rugged good looks.”

“Man, no one is thinking that about you,” Fin replied, waving his arm at Munch.

Munch huffed, glaring at Fin over his glasses. “This is why we’re not partners anymore; you can’t even back me up on this.”

As much as Devon wanted to hang around and joke with the detectives, she was there to do a job. She gave them a half-hearted wave, then went to find Dr. Huang, who Cragen did confirm was the profiler on the case. She found him upstairs, pouring over files, coffee in hand.

           “Hey George. Whatcha got for me?” Devon asked playfully, still grinning from the conversation downstairs; even up here, she could hear the guys ragging on each other. She took a seat across from him and picked up one of the files. The pictures of the woman’s injuries took the wind out of her sails.

           Huang gave her a smile and a hello before answering, “I take it Cragen called you in on the lesbian hate crime?”

           “You’d be correct.”

           He took a sip of his coffee. “How does that make you feel?” Huang knew about Devon’s sexuality, not that she kept it private. But it also wasn’t something brought up in conversation often. Actually, she didn’t know if the other detectives, outside of Olivia, knew. The joke just now was the first time it came up, and she didn’t know if they had taken her seriously or not.

           “Pissed off. Why can’t men just…leave women alone?” she asked, exasperated. “I know that it’s more than that, but god, it’s infuriating.”

           Huang nodded. He knew what she meant. “Can you keep your cool for this?”

           Devon rolled her eyes. “Of course, I can. Just, don’t hold it against me if I punch one of those men in the nose.”

           Huang smiled. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. Let’s get you up to speed.”

           They both spent the better part of the morning going over what little description there was of the men, what the victims had said, done, been wearing—all the things that could be seen as a slight against a man’s fragile ego. In each case, a man would approach the woman at the bar, though it wasn’t clear if this man was in on it or not, but it was a constant in each case. The man, described as a “frat boy but in his 30s,” would hit on the women, using pick-up lines so bad, they couldn’t even be considered pick-up lines. In all four cases, the women shut him down quickly, all of them rude to the man—a little piece of information that Devon deemed important, squirreling it away into her mind. The man would then leave, though the women didn’t notice if he went to bother someone else or left the bar altogether. Then, with times ranging between 1 and 2am, the women left. The days were different, so it wasn’t a habitual thing; they couldn’t predict when it would happen. As the woman walked down the street, heading home or to a friend’s place, they were attacked from behind. They all claimed that they were pushed into an alley and then were restrained. They claimed something would pin down their limbs and torso. Only one woman was able to tell that one such item was a baseball bat; the others claimed something cold and metallic. None of the women could tell how many men attacked them, ranging from between four to as many as eight. All of them were raped twice, and the men wore condoms. No chance at IDing them with DNA.

           By the time Huang had gone over all the details from all four rape cases, Devon needed a bath. Or a couple shots of whiskey. Or both. She felt anger, downright hatred, and a strong urge for revenge, even though she didn’t know the victims personally. That was the thing about SVU; the victim’s pain became the detective’s, or in this case, the agent’s. She fought down the feelings of loathing; they wouldn’t help her here. She needed to play it calm, collected, the way she always did in an undercover op. Thanking Huang for all the information, she headed to the department’s undercover section, allowing them to pick out her outfit and makeup. Now came her least favorite part, having them paint her face.

 Lumber Jill’s Bar

Saturday, July 28th 12:38am

           Devon was at the bar, drinking a Dirty Shirley through a straw. She had been in the bar for about an hour now, opting to get there early, just in case the pattern changed; there were a few groups of people around. Some came with friends, others had met here, whether for the first time or as a plan, Devon didn’t know. Stabler had come in after Devon had relayed that a couple of other men had showed up, though none matching the description they were looking for. Stabler had decided to sit in a dimly lit booth, going mostly unnoticed, but having a vantage point to where he could see Devon, the front door to her back.

At first, Devon wasn’t sure this was going to work; the department dressed her in a tight black tank top with a light flannel jacket, and matching tight jeans, the fabric ripped above the right knee. She looked like a man had dressed her up to play the bitchy lesbian in a bad horror film. Devon fought to change clothes, but ultimately lost the argument. At least the makeup was more subtle. It wasn’t until Devon sat down and got a couple of, frankly unsubtle looks and even some flirting that she realized they may not have entirely screwed this up.

           Devon had started her night by drinking a normal Shirley Temple—Sprite and cherry syrup—knowing that she shouldn’t drink during an operation. That is, until a beautiful brunette had bought her one with vodka in it.

           The bartender placed the drink in front of Devon, and before she could object, the bartender said, “Dirty Shirley, compliments of Lily.” She smirked and pointed out the woman sitting across the bar from Devon. The woman, Lily, smiled coyly before taking a sip of her own drink, causing Devon to forget how to breathe temporarily. Undercover or not, Lily was the most beautiful woman Devon had ever seen. And she had bought her a drink? Devon felt like a damn high schooler, sitting there slack jawed, staring at the woman. Lily snickered, snapping Devon back to reality. She awkwardly lifted the drink in a thank you before slamming it in one quick motion. She then stood up and practically ran to the bathroom. She splashed water on her face, ignoring the makeup the department plastered her with—she learned then that it was waterproof.

“Everything okay?” Stabler’s voice whispered in her ear, causing her to jump. She had the earpiece in for so long, she had forgotten it was there.

“Just a quick bathroom break,” Devon said into her mic. She wasn’t used to being mic’d up; the FBI had listening devices in every kind of accessory anyone would need. Devon’s favorite was a pair of square glasses, or a flashy gold bracelet. Tonight, though, she had the NYPD’s normal wire-up-the-shirt mic, taped to the inside of her bra. She looked into the mirror, tried to work up the courage to turn down Lily. Even if she didn’t entirely want to. It had been almost a year since the last time Devon had a partner to warm her bed; actually, Devon warming someone else’s bed was more accurate. She kept her work life and her social life—sex life—separate. She even used a fake name, a shortened version of her middle name, just so that they couldn’t find her after their one-night stand, no matter who it was. It wasn’t like she hated the thought of relationships, but she was afraid that anyone she would date may be put into harm’s way. She was an FBI agent; she had enemies. She ignored the side of her that tried to remind her that she was also afraid of opening up to people, of getting close to anyone. The last time she even entertained the idea of dating someone, they were shot in the head.

Devon mentally shook herself; she couldn’t be thinking of relationships, dating, or feelings, especially when she had decided that she was going to turn down Lily. She took a deep breath then headed back to her seat at the bar. Lily was no longer there, though. After a few minutes of searching the bar area, Devon found her sitting at a booth with three other women, laughing at whatever joke was said. God, her smile lights up her face perfectly, Devon thought before shoving the thought aside. She turned away, remembering why she was there, and took her seat at the bar again, flagging the bartender.

           She did stick with drinking alcohol, though, something Devon had never done before; she never drank while working. She vaguely noticed Stabler giving her a look when she had ordered—alcoholic drinks came in different glasses than non-alcoholic. If he had any complaints about her drinking, however, he didn’t mention it. Besides, who knows? Maybe the men wouldn’t show up tonight; it was nearing 1:30am, and no sign of the suspect. Maybe Devon could spend the night with someone; she was feeling lonely, if not sexually frustrated. Damn, she shouldn’t have gone to the bathroom, she shouldn’t have opened this door in her mind. Her thoughts were interrupted, though, when Stabler’s voice came through her earpiece again.

           “Group of six guys just came in, looking like trouble,” he went quiet while he watched them—Devon avoided turning to look, relying on Stabler’s assessment—before he continued, “looks like the leader is coming to you.” Devon mentally braced herself as a man slammed an arm down on the bar next to her, standing way too close for comfort. She could smell the Axe Body Spray radiating off him.

           “Hey honey, you look sad. Want me to cheer you up?” he asked in a way that made it sound like it wasn’t a question.

           “Was that supposed to be a pick-up line?” Devon replied. Devon remembered that the women reported being rude to the man at the bar, and “rude” was Devon’s middle name.

           The man scowled, “I don’t need a line to pick up hot chicks at a bar. Women flock to me.” Devon took this time to look at the man, carefully crafted disgust on her face—not like it was too hard to fake--and glanced him up and down. He was in his early to mid-30s with shaggy blonde hair. He was wearing a red polo shirt and cargo shorts. He almost looked like if he stepped out of a frat house, but never grew out of the mindset. All he was missing was the backwards ball cap. Everything about him screamed creep-who-was-full-of-himself-and-didn’t-hear-no…and he matched the victim’s descriptions perfectly. The fact that he came in with five other men was as much of a green light as Devon needed. She could at least get him for harassment if he somehow wasn’t their perp.

           “Uh huh. Well, why don’t you try and flock elsewhere? No ‘hot chicks’”—she did air-quotes around the words—“are going to be interested in you here. You’re not our type,” Devon said, rolling her eyes as if she were stating the obvious.

           The man’s face was turning red now. “Oh yeah? Well, no one’s calling you a hot chick,” he spat.

           “Then why are you even talking to me?” She glared at him, then, putting all the venom she could muster into her voice, dismissed him, “get lost.” The man gave her one last death glare before turning and heading back to his buddies.

           “If that’s not at least one of the guys we’re looking for, I’ll eat my jacket,” Devon whispered into her mic.

           “I’d take that bet, except I’m almost 100% positive that he is our perp. We won’t know until you leave, though,” Stabler replied. “Let me go first, wait five, then come out and take a left. Walk naturally.” As if he needed to tell Devon how to do her job.

           “You alright, honey?” the bartender asked.

           Devon put on a smile. “Yeah, that guy was a dick, though. Does he come in often?”

           The bartender glared at the door, as if the man might come back, before answering, “I’ve seen him only a couple of times, now. Him and his buddies. They seem to try and start shit with someone at the bar, but leave before I can officially kick them out. I don’t know how they always seem to come in when my back is turned.” Devon nodded. If that were true, then him and his group could very well be the rapists they were looking for.

           Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Stabler get up, pay for his beer, and leave. Thankfully, it was pretty busy at this point; the bartenders didn’t notice a man sitting by himself in a mostly lesbian bar, nor the fact that he left so abruptly, even though they should’ve been on high alert after the group had left earlier. Devon sipped at her drink before hailing the bartender and paying. When she stood, she was a little shocked to feel how light her head was. She didn’t think she drank that much, but oh well. She wasn’t too far gone, just a happy buzz. She made her way out, glancing around the bar once more. She saw Lily, still laughing with her group. Stamping her lust down, Devon headed out the door.

           It was a nice night, even this late…well, early. It was a balmy 60 degrees, perfect temperature to Devon. She pulled the flannel around her in what she hoped looked like a nervous manner before taking off in a brisk walk down the street she and the SVU detectives agreed upon earlier that day. It didn’t take long until she heard footsteps behind her. She kept her pace as normal as she could; being an undercover agent meant she had the skills to act natural, but being a woman meant she had the instincts to speed up, to protect herself. It was hard fighting those instincts as she heard the footsteps moving faster, jogging after her. Fuck training, she thought as she whipped around to confront her stalker. She was stunned when she saw that it wasn’t the creep from the bar, but Lily trying to catch up with her.

           “Wait,” she said a little breathlessly. Devon fought the blush that she knew crept across her face. “I didn’t get your name.”

           “Oh, uh, it’s Olivia,” Devon replied, silently cursing herself; it was the first name she thought of. How’d she forget her own fake cover name?

           Lily smiled at her, having caught her breath. “What a beautiful name.”

           God, how is her voice this pretty, too? Devon thought. She pushed away the accompanying thoughts about what that voice may sound like in a bedroom. “N-nice to meet you,” Devon stammered out, face flushing. Keep it in your pants, Motely, she thought to herself, embarrassed that just talking to this woman turned her into a blushing mess. Devon had heard of the term “disaster bisexual” before, but never attributed it to herself…until now.

           Lily laughed and Devon thought her face would explode with how hot it was getting. “Same to you…would you like to come back to my hotel room?” Lily asked. Wow, that was blunt.

           Devon’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth as she fought against herself. God yes, was her first thought. She damn near jumped out of her skin when she heard Stabler clear his throat awkwardly in her ear. Right, she was still mic’d up, and while it was only Stabler who was talking to her, she knew that all the other detectives could hear the conversation. Great.

           “Are you alright, love?” Lily asked, concerned. She put a hand on Devon’s shoulder to try and stabilize her. Devon felt electricity through the touch as she struggled controlled herself.

           “Yeah, sorry, I’m fine. I, uh, I’d love to go with you. But, uh, could we maybe raincheck until tomorrow night?” Devon asked, her voice rising an octave. Lily had only a moment where her face fell, when Devon heard more footsteps.

           Suddenly the group of six men from the bar appeared out of nowhere around the two women, Red Polo Shirt holding a bat and pointing at Devon. Well, seems like they were their perps, and that they were breaking pattern tonight; attacking two women and not blitzing them from behind. Instantly, Devon’s mind snapped back to calm, calculating, collected; her normal field agent’s instincts returning. She felt like herself again, adrenaline pumping through her veins—she felt alive.

           “You ain’t going anywhere tonight,” Red Polo Shirt announced. Devon looked around, trying to gauge the situation. They were on a sidewalk, no lights except for a couple dull streetlamps. There was a building at their backs, six men in a half circle around them. Besides Red Polo Shirt and his bat, Devon saw that only three of the other five men were armed: one also holding a baseball bat and two with what looked like metal bars. All things that could be used to hold down someone while the unarmed did whatever they wanted to the victim.

           “Get out of here, you bastard,” Devon said as clearly as she could. ‘Bastard’ was the code word that her and the SVU detectives had agreed upon before.

           “Move in,” she heard Stabler say to the rest of the team. Hopefully, they were close. But until then, it was stalling time.

           Red Polo Shirt drew Devon’s attention back to the scene when he took a couple steps closer. The other men followed suit, effectively closing the semi-circle around her and Lily. They were maybe twenty feet from the women now; close enough that the space between the men were almost non-existent. Lily got closer to Devon, and Devon shifted so that Lily was partially behind her. “You just don’t know how to not be a bitch, do you?” the man called out loudly, making his friends laugh.

           “And you don’t know how to take rejection,” Devon replied. Her whole body was tense, mind frantically trying to find a way out of here, or a way to stall further.

           Lily moved closer and whispered in Devon’s ear, “maybe we shouldn’t upset them.” Her voice was laced with fear, and Devon felt the sudden need to protect Lily, to never let fear taint that pretty voice again. No matter what happened, Devon would make sure that Lily made it out of this unharmed.

           Red Polo Shirt frowned. “See, this is what you bitches deserve. You need a good man in your life to teach you your place.” Well, if there was any doubt in Devon’s mind about this group of guys being her target, it was gone now. She backed up, and Lily followed suit until they were up against the wall. Devon’s mind flew into overdrive, trying to figure out a way out of this; if Stabler and the detectives weren’t there soon, then there was going to be a fight. Devon was confident in her fighting abilities, but even she knew that six against one was a losing battle. She was unarmed, plus the fact that she now had a civilian to protect. The two unarmed men were on either side of her and Lily, the two closest to the wall. Devon could feasibly rush one of them and shoulder her way past; that would just lead to a foot chase, with her hopefully being fast enough to outrun them until help arrived. But would Lily be able to make it out of there, too? In the heels Devon noticed she was wearing, she highly doubted she could run at all…though she had jogged to catch up with Devon in the first place. Maybe she was one of those women who learned to run in heels, in case something like this happened.

           Thankfully before Devon had a chance to find out, a cop car appeared on either side of the group, sirens and lights only going off once the group was blocked off, so as not to startle them into running. Stabler and Munch launched out of one cruiser, guns drawn, while Fin and Lake hopped out of their car.

           “Freeze, NYPD!” Stabler yelled. The two unarmed men instantly had their hands up. The two with metal bars let them fall from their hands, clattering to the ground, while they rose their hands. The other man with a bat attempted to run, only to be tackled to the ground by Lake. Red Polo Shirt cursed loudly before throwing his bat on the ground with a loud clang and raising his hands.

           “We didn’t do nothing wrong,” he called out to the detectives.

           “Yeah yeah,” Stabler replied, keeping his gun trained on him as he inched closer, pulling his cuffs from his pocket. Fin and Munch started cuffing the other men who were still standing. More cop cars arrived on the scene, officers rushing to help the detectives apprehend the suspects.

Devon walked over to Stabler, smiling, “thanks. I owe you one.”

“At least you don’t have to eat your jacket,” he replied, making Devon laugh, nerves still buzzing. Stabler gave her a grin before looking over her shoulder, subtly nodding to something behind her.

Devon suddenly remembered Lily, who hadn’t moved from her spot against the wall, still looking alarmed. Her eyes roamed over the scene before landing on Devon’s. She turned back to Stabler, taking the earpiece out and pulling the wire from under her clothes. She dumped them unceremoniously into Stabler’s hands before heading back to Lily. He gave her a subtle thumbs up before leading Red Polo Shirt to his squad car.

“Hey, you alright?” Devon asked once she was close enough.

“I—yeah. What just happened?”

Devon didn’t want to dive into the heinous details of the investigation, nor did she want to explain how she had lied about her name earlier. But she also didn’t want to lie now, either. “Long story short, I was working undercover to bust some homophobic, misogynistic assholes. And I think I just did.”

Lily looked her up and down. “So, is that why you turned me down earlier, Olivia?” Her eyes widened as if something just became clear. “Is that even your real name? Are you even attracted to women?”

Devon hated the accusatory tone in Lily’s voice, though she understood it. She also hated that she was going to lie to her once more. “My real name is Ryn,” she swallowed the nasty taste it left in her mouth--it was short for Kathryn, her real middle name—then continuing, “and yes, I am attracted to women.” Lily still looked skeptical, so Devon jokingly added, “I mean, who wouldn’t be after seeing someone as stunning as you?”

That made Lily smile. “Really? A pick-up line? Haven’t I already invited you back to my place?”

Devon’s cheeks warmed. “Ah, yes, you did. I’d also like to take back my earlier response in place of a new one.” Lily nodded, a smile dancing across her lips. “I would be delighted to go back to your place.” Especially now, with all the adrenaline still coursing through Devon’s veins.

 SVU Department

Monday, July 30th. 8:00am

Devon practically bounced into the 16th Precinct feeling lighter than she had in months. She still felt a little bad about lying to Lily, leaving early enough in the morning that Devon never even had to speak to her, Lily’s sleeping form breathing deeply in the hotel bed, clothes thrown around the room. But it was normal to Devon; form no attachments. She didn’t have the time to even think about seriously dating; work was her number one priority and hooking up when she was stressed seemed to be the easiest answer. Not only was she on-call at all hours of the day, every day, she also went on undercover cases for months at a time. How could she devote herself to someone when she couldn’t even devote time to herself? Work came first. Always.

Devon shook herself, forcing herself to remember why she was there in the first place. Stabler had texted her, letting her know that they were about to start the interrogations of the men from the bar. He had asked if she wanted him to wait for her and was elated when she said yes. I’m alright with letting these guys sweat for a little, he had written back. Devon smiled and waved at the detectives as they drank their coffee, trying to wake up. She never did understand how officers were not morning people.

“Hey Dev,” Stabler greeted as she made her way into the observation room. Devon grinned in response and looked through the glass. Red Polo Shirt was alone in the room, still in the same clothes from Saturday night. Sometimes, Stabler could be cruel, leaving a perp to stew all weekend in the cage. Not that Devon was feeling particularly bad for this piece of scum.

“He say anything interesting?” Devon asked. Even if Stabler left him and his buddies to sit all weekend, that didn’t mean that they were ignored. There were officers that worked weekends and would pay attention to anything the perps in the cage would say.

“Just a lot of cursing and complaining.” So, no confession yet? That shouldn’t be too hard to pry out of him.

“Hmph. Hopefully he’s as stupid as he looks,” she said. Just then, Fin and Lake entered the observation room, along with Captain Cragen.

He gave Devon a nod in greeting before instructing, “Fin. Stabler. You’re up.” The two detectives nodded, making their way into the interrogation room. Cragen, Lake, and Devon watched as Fin took the lead as bad cop, while Stabler took the sympathetic cop. Devon had done only a handful of interrogations in her career, which is why she enjoyed watching these guys do it. They were good; if she didn’t know Stabler any better, she’d believe his act of being a woman-hating, misogynistic bastard. Shockingly, though, Red Polo Shirt—Richard Morrisen—wasn’t confessing easily. Devon had been positive that it was going to be a slam dunk, yet Richard seemed to only be interested in screaming profanities at the detectives.

After about an hour, Cragen pulled the detectives out. They were getting nowhere, and Devon could tell that the whole squad was getting frustrated.

“Guy just won’t stop running his mouth,” Fin said as the interrogation door closed behind him. “At least he ain’t asking for a lawyer yet.”

“What now?” Devon asked. She’d never seen the detectives not get a confession before. Though, she’d only sit in on a couple interrogations; she was usually busy with another case before they finished processing whatever case she had helped them with.

“Now, we call Novak, see if we can set up a line-up,” Cragen replied.

While the detectives were setting that up—most of the time was spent getting lookalikes for six different line-ups—Devon took the time to talk with Detective Lake. Temporary assignment or not, it was always good to meet, actually meet, the people that Devon was going to be working with, even if this was only a one-time thing; something they wouldn’t know for a while.

“Hey, I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable the other day,” Devon said, leaning against the man’s desk. Devon had said only one sentence to the detective, but the look on his face said enough in response.

“Nah, just caught me off guard. It’d take more than that to make me uncomfortable,” Lake replied, chuckling.

“Good, I’m glad,” Devon smiled. “Though, the thought of Munch as someone with ‘rugged good looks’ is slightly disturbing.” That made Lake laugh, his shoulders relaxing. Devon wasn’t great at making friends, but she was glad to see that she could at least make people laugh.

When he stopped laughing, she saw his body language change again; nothing big, but a clench of his teeth, his back stiffening slightly, and she knew he was nervous about asking this next question. “I mean, Munch isn’t really…your type, is he?”

Devon never understood why people were so interested in sexuality. She knew that for some people, it was an important label, a type of identity that people could spend years figuring out. But why people felt the need to ask others, especially when faced with the fact that they may not be straight, she just didn’t get. But Lake seemed to be genuinely curious; besides, Devon was a hard person to offend.

“I mean, he’s old enough to be my father. So, I’d say no, he’s not my type. I tend to look for people around my own age,” Devon said, smirking. Her use of the word “people” didn’t go unnoticed.

“Well, do you think that…I would be more your type?” He kept his cool when asking, the only signal of his nerves showing as his ears reddened.

Oh, so that’s it, Devon thought. She looked at Lake, really looked at him. He was slightly taller than her, lean but built, and very attractive. But he was also an SVU detective, someone that she may have to work with on a constant basis, which went against her one-night stand mentality.

“If you weren’t in the same line of work as I am, then yes, probably. But as it stands, I have a strict no-dating-your-coworkers rule,” Devon said, keeping her voice as light and neutral as possible. No one liked rejection.

Even so, his face fell, just slightly. “No, I get it. That makes sense.”

Before the awkwardness could continue, Novak came out of the observation room, signaling for Devon to come over. She gave Lake a small smile and wave as she went to talk to the counselor. Novak said nothing as she closed the door behind the two of them, sealing them from the rest of the squad.

“Devon, I know you’re going to hate me, but just understand that I would not ask this of you unless it was a necessity,” Novak blurted out. “I need you to testify in this case.”

“Casey--,” Devon started, but Novak cut her off.

“Listen to me. Out of the four victims, only two of them could ID any of the assailants, and even then, they only ID’d the two unarmed men as the rapists. Unless the detectives can get a full confession, then I have nothing except you tying these pigs to the assaults.”

Devon swallowed the lump in her throat. After Novak asked two years ago, causing Devon’s panic attack, Devon had been having recurring nightmares at least once a month. Always in a witness box. Always in a courtroom. Devon fought through the fog in her mind, trying to find any way out of this. Suddenly, a thought struck her.

“What if I interrogate Morrisen? He hates me, hates women; I’m sure I can get him to tell me every horrible thing he wanted to do to me,” Devon reasoned. Her brain had latched onto the idea, refusing to let it go. It was a life preserver in the ocean of darkness that was the courts.

Novak sighed heavily. “You get one chance. If you don’t get a confession, though, I’ll have to prep you for testifying.” Devon would not let that happen.

“Come in with me; SVU doesn’t  have another woman to spare,” Devon said instead of answering. Without another word, Devon led Novak to the interrogation room from earlier, Morrisen in the same seat, slumped over onto the table, clearly tired.

“Oh, so now they send the skirts in after me,” Morrisen croaked out. Then his eyes locked on Devon’s. “Wait, you’re that bitch from the bar!”

“That’s Special Agent Bitch to you,” Devon responded.

“Woah, woah, wait a minute. You mean you’re a cop? Isn’t that, uh…entrapment or something?”

Devon let out a low whistle. “Wow, that was a three-syllable word. I didn’t think your vocabulary was that enriched.”

Morrisen gave Devon a confused look. “No, it’s not entrapment. No one made you harass women at a bar,” Novak said.

Morrisen’s eyes moved over to her. “I didn’t harass nobody. Those bitches got exactly what they wanted, what they deserved,” he sneered.

Wow, this is easier than I thought it’d be, Devon thought. “Are you sure it’s what we wanted? Because I distinctly remember telling you to ‘get lost,’” she said. Let’s see if we can lead him to it.

Morrisen gave Devon the greasiest, creepiest smile that she had ever seen before replying, “your mouth said no, but your eyes were all over me.”

God, I need a nice, long shower after this, Devon thought, suppressing a shudder. “Trust me, Richard. No one wants whatever it is you think you can give them.”

Morrisen’s smile turned into a scowl as he jumped up from his seat, sending the chair toppling over behind him. Novak gave a startled jump, but Devon held her ground; she didn’t even flinch.

“You know what I gave those stuck-up sluts? I gave them just what they wanted! They needed some rough and tough lovin’ from yours truly. Once you go Dick,”—he pointed at himself—“you never go chick.”

Devon was feeling fully disgusted at this point. She looked at Novak as if to ask is that a good enough confession? Novak shook her head, and Devon looked back to this scum.

“Wow, did you think of that line all by yourself? Tell me; why did someone as…’rough and tough’ as you need a posse of five other men to help you assault those women? I mean, if that’s what they all wanted, why use a baseball bat to hold them down?”

Morrisen smirked, picked up his chair and sat down triumphantly in it. “Sometimes, I like to spread the love around, ya know what I’m saying? Those other guys may be my bros, but they don’t got game like I do. It’s kinda like doing some community service.”

Devon sat down across from him. “Oooh, so you’re the good guy in all of this, helping your bros out. How exactly do you help them?” she asked, leaning on her elbows on the table.

It took about another 30 minutes to get the whole story out of Morrisen. Once he started talking, he didn’t stop. Novak, to her credit, had taken out a small recorder, informing Morrisen that his conversation would be recorded. He didn’t seem to care; actually, he seemed to like the attention of two beautiful women listening to his assaults. By the time he had finished, and Devon and Novak left the room, they both felt sick to their stomachs.

“I think I need to bathe in hand sanitizer,” Novak mumbled.

“Can I join you?” Devon replied. She gave the counselor a small smile before asking, “so, am I off the hook?”

Novak sighed. “For now, yes. I should be able to put Morrisen and his gang behind bars for quite a while. Besides, during his confession, he also indirectly admitted to the hate crime. I doubt this will go to trial; they’ll probably all plead out.”

Devon felt a huge weight lift off her shoulders. “Thank you.”

Novak gave her a long look. Devon raised an eyebrow in question, waiting for Novak to say whatever was on her chest. “Look, Devon. I…understand you have a phobia of testifying. But I want to help you through it,” Devon opened her mouth to object, but Novak continued on. “I’m not going to force you to testify, or to do anything you don’t want to. But I’d like for you to come by the courthouse one day. I think it may help you to sit in the gallery during a trial…. Or, at least come with me into a courtroom after it’s closed. No one will be there; just us.”

Devon thought about it. She was touched that Novak wanted to help her with her fear, even if it was for her own personal gain; if she could get Devon over her fear, then she’d be able to testify in later cases. But the thought of sitting in on a trial was enough to make her heartbeat faster.

“Can—can we start with the latter?” Devon asked, her voice faint. She didn’t trust herself enough to speak louder.

Novak smiled. “Of course. And I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Devon returned her smile despite herself.

[carbootsoul]

i was tagged by @katarahairloopies!!! thank u :mwah:

name: leo! @/zeitgeistofnow on ao3, @lazypigeon & @timetohope on here, altho i’m considering uh switching back to not having an art blog :/ i have to think abt it.

fandom(s): ace attorney is my main one rn bc i’m replaying the games with a friend of mine and it’s reminding me how invested i am in the characters!! a lot of my recent fic is atla stuff, altho i’ve been distancing myself from the fandom bc i’ve kinda exhausted my interest in it. finally i’ve been reading a lot of mp100 fic but i don’t think i’ll ever write for it. i just love how dumb all the characters r (with the dubious exception of ritsu)

where you post: ao3!! tbh i always get suprised when people say they write/read fic on any other platform like i haven’t messed around w wattpad or ff.net since middle school... catch up........

most popular oneshot: going just by “one chapter” as the definition of a oneshot, the firestarters, bc it’s fluffy and modern au :) i wouldn’t necessarily call it a oneshot tho bc to me a oneshot shows like, one scene? so like by my definition and your sweet sweet sun makes me crazy (i wanna lay you down and see how you amaze me is my most popular!! (also @ kit u thought UR fic titles were unnecessarily long??? i’ve hit the ao3 LIMIT for characters in titles. it’s about the aesthetic

most popular multichapter fic: sdkjflakjlkj it’s two crowned kings; and one that stood alone, which is a w359 fic i wrote back in late 2017. it’s literally the last fic i haven’t orphaned from when i actually wrote podcast fic (i have 4 other podcast fics but they were all borne out of nostalgia and written after i stopped participating in the fandom). i rewrote all but the last chapter? the last two? about a year ago and i fucked up halfway through so like chapter 6 and 7 are repeated and there’s something missing but i’m too lazy to fix it. no one’s going to read it now anyway :) it WAS the top minlace fic for a little while tho which i take great pride in.

favorite story you’ve written so far: oh that’s a hard question akfsldkfj i honestly like most of them!! and i write a LOT so there’s a lot to choose from. tonight, we are young is def one of my favorites- it was fun to write and i got to explore the ways zuko and yue r similar, which i LOVE to do outside of a zukka/yukka view. you can lean on my arm as you break my heart  is one that i’m really proud of? the whole “cooking as an expression of bato’s love” is definitely some of my favorites. a lot of my ace attorney fics would be categoried as my favorites if i hadn’t improved, too, if that makes sense. like they’re no long my favorites because i can see where my writing is shitty and it bothers me, but if i had written them a month ago they’d be my favorite.

fic you were nervous to post: figures 1-5: killing gods def!! it’s a lot more purple-prose-y than most of my fics and it was also written before i’d kinda like emersed myself in the atla fandom so i didn’t have as good a grasp on the general understanding of zuko’s character as i do now. tbh it’s one i’m rly happy w tho!! i have a few people leave really nice comments on it and rereading them makes me really happy. also it was the start of me hating the position of fire lord and being at least passively anti-it in my fics.

how you choose your titles: they’re almost all song lyrics!! only 14 of my 50 words AREN’T song lyrics and about half of those are from before i started writing ace attorney fic lol. sometimes i go into a fic with a song in mind for the vibes and then i usually go with lyrics from that (like in ‘cuz we’re the greatest /they’ll hang us in the louvre), but otherwise i usually pick an artist i’ve been listening to and go through their songs until i find a lyric that fits. sometimes the lyric doesn’t even really fit the fic and i just chose it at random or because i searching up the word “fly” in my spotify library or whatever. honestly i like coming up with titles? i know a lot of fic writers hate it but being able to just use song lyrics is v soothing for me and while i know that most people won’t search out a song just bc it’s a fic title like.. seeing that the title of a fic is a hozier lyric does affect how i read it and i kinda like that.

do you outline? i outline my long form/multichaptered fics with varying strictness. usually anything over ~8k will have some kind of outline. sometimes i go into it with every single scene planned out, sometimes it’s just notes on the side of the google doc that say “it's about MORE family. about how it's not betraying your existing family to find more” and “scenes i want to include: [...]” and “vampires... ngl kinda hot.” i’m trying to outline super strictly less bc i’ve found it’s less fun? but i do try to keep a plot arc in mind. since most of my fics are more character-driven than plot-driven, that usually just means keeping track of what character development i want to happen or what is motiviating the characters. 

complete: um everything posted on ao3 i guess. also the MULTITUDE of orphaned fics out there asksfjldkj i always click ‘leave my pseud on’ so if u look up my username you see all of my fics and then a. lot of other ones.

in progress: - a fic titled ‘dad phoenix’ that is actually just a no DL-6 au with defense attorney miles edgeworth and single dad bartender phoenix where neither of them want to date for A While but phoenix gets wrapped up in one of miles’s cases. it’s about family. it’s about writing teenagers. it’s about the background franmaya which is ALWAYS what i’m here for in wrightworth fics - a franmaya werewolf/vampire au because i’m ~gay~ and love rivals to lovers and also franziska and maya both being angry their older brothers r dating each other. - my secret santa fic!! which i can’t talk about much but it does feature toph and zuko and also piandao and jeong jeong???? idk where they came from but they are Part Of The Fic Now also i forgot iroh existed for half the fic and wrote piandao as zuko’s father figure and now i’m in too deep. - a 5+1 bakoda fic (maybe a bato/hakoda/kay fic??? i need to decide. that’s part of why this fic is still incomplete bc i can’t decide which relationship dynamic i prefer) that’s 5 times bato said he loves hakoda and one time hakoda said it back. possibly i have already written him saying i love u back and i need to change the title a little. - retail au klapollo where klavier works at an overpriced boutique and apollo comes in to buy earrings for nahyuta’s birthday. klavier gives him a punch card (one that the store doesn’t actually offer anymore as a bid to get apollo to come back) and all of apollo’s family come in to use the punch card and also give klavier variations on the shovel talk/find out if he’s actually into apollo. - a LOT of atla fics that i don’t think i’ll ever finish :(

coming soon/not yet started:  - i want to write some blackmadhi bc they’re.. cute..... and it’s a good excuse to also write athena and i love her - my stuff for yueki week!!! i have NOT prepped enough but hopefully i’ll remember in time! i wrote the prompts in a way that kinda set up stuff i’ve already wanted to write (don’t look at me lol) so hopefully i’ll get at least two or three fics finished in time. - i want to rewrite the wrightworth fic i have about them not getting married bc it was interesting and i like what i wrote about but i think i could have written it better and made it more interesting. rewriting fics is hard tho bc i’m never sure if it makes sense to just edit in the new work or to repost it? and then if u repost it do u delete the old one? conflicting so i might just not

do you accept prompts? totally!!! a disclaimer tho i’m not super into writing atla stuff anymore (most of the atla stuff i’m still writing is  something i made a commitment to finish) so if your prompt is an atla one i probably won’t do it :/ basically anything else is fair game tho!! podcasts/aa/sa/uh i don’t remember anything else but like if you search a fandom on my blog and come up with more than two posts about it chances r i’d be happy to write fic for it!

upcoming work that you’re most excited about: oh huh i mean probably the no dl-6 au!!! it’s the longest ace attorney fic i’ve written already and since it’s wrightworth it’ll get more attention than any franmaya fic i write. my standards r so high now tho after getting to much feedback from atla fans... love u all... obviously i have no choice but to pressure my atla mutuals into playing ace attorney. pls ask abt it bc i WIll Give You A Sales Pitch about why you’d like it in relation to atla

tagging: i’m not rly tagging anyone!!! @deadflora if you still consider urself a fic writer also consider urself tagged! also any of my other mutuals who write fic i just can’t think of anyone rn

[baepsaetan]

Inkarnate

Summary: Hoseok is a film student looking for muse, and Yoongi is a tattoo artist looking for money. When they meet, the two find that they could give each other far more than creativity and cash, but soulmate isn’t spelled p.e.r.f.e.c.t, and Yoongi’s tattoos cover up more than just his skin.

Chapters:  pt.1, pt.2, pt.3, pt.4, pt.5, pt.6, pt.7, pt.8, pt.9, pt.10, pt.11  -> read on Ao3

Genre: Soulmate! AU, Angst

Warnings: Smut, main character death, swearing, implied alcoholism, implied past abuse, seriously a lot of angst, cancer.

Length: 8k

A/N: Another one! Already! Ideally this frequent posting will become a Thing but if we’re being honest Maybe Not. Still, hope some people have a chance to read this! Also shout out to @samwithham​! It really has been a hot second, but I’m grateful you’re still reading <3 

---

The last short finishes with a melancholic flourish that’s a little campy but still effective, and applause fills the theatre. Unlike at normal showings, there’s no immediate mass exodus; almost everyone stays to watch the credits, and even as they roll to a close, only a few people drift out. A low murmur arises from the crowd, and Hoseok hears snatches of opinions on the piece.

“Can you believe he said that?”

“… still caught me by surprise. I liked the depiction of family as…”

“Weren’t you crying? I thought…”

They wash over him, and he drowns in the ideas and impressions bleeding their vivid colours into existence even after the film is done. It doesn’t matter that the lights are coming on, that the screen is black, that people are slowly finding their feet and their car keys and getting ready to leave. There’s something comforting about his satisfaction, something tangible and unquestionable and honest, and Hoseok wants to bury himself in that emotion until he can’t see or feel anything else, forever.

He wants to, but he can’t.

During the presentations of the films, especially as they’d gotten into it, he’d managed to submerge himself in the experience, yet now that it’s over, Hoseok is drained, exhausted. Yoongi had kept hold of his hand for most of it, they’d eventually banished the arm rest and curled up together, and if the artist had dozed off once or twice during the four hour showing, well, Hoseok isn’t in the mood to hold it against him. At least he’s awake now, watching the black screen with a furrowed brow that makes Hoseok think he might be creating some tattoos off of what they’ve seen.

Hoseok eventually rises from his seat, unexpectedly stiff, and Yoongi is much worse, cursing and standing up so slowly he may as well have claimed a senior’s discount. Watching the grumbling sight, against his inclination Hoseok smiles.

“Such an old man,” he comments gently.

“That’s not what you said last night,” Yoongi replies, and laughs at the instant flood of red across the face of the other man, the quick glance to see if anyone heard.

Once he’s sure there’s no one within earshot, Hoseok relaxes, though he’s not necessarily keen on keeping up this line of conversation. Not in public, anyways. As they file for the exit, he asks, “What was your fave? Film, I mean.”

Yoongi pauses by the garbage at the entrance and throws out the wad of Kleenex he’d shoved into his pocket when his nosebleed had ended, a few minutes into the first film. “The one with the girl who gets lost,” he replies. “Though it’s fucking bullshit she never finds her way out.”

Hoseok chucks away the now-empty bag of candy that his boyfriend had impatiently refused every time it had been offered. Remembering the picture Yoongi’s talking about – the editor had gone crazy with the light filtering, but the tracking shots were gorgeous – Hoseok frowns. “You’re calling the ending bullshit but it’s your fave?”

A shrug. “I think we’re supposed to be pissed off about it. Mad no one helped her or something. It being bullshit is the point.”

That… is deeper than he’d expected Yoongi to go, and Hobi probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he is. It’s not like his boyfriend isn’t a thoughtful person – not in the least, actually – but he tends to get impatient trying to explain what he means, and it isn’t often he sounds so calmly certain about a point he’s trying to make. And Hoseok finds himself agreeing. There had been something demanding about the end of the short, about the way the camera spiralled away in an ever widening shot, something that asked why she was left standing alone in that barren space.

“Didn’t look at it like that, but I think you’re right,” Hoseok says quietly, and can’t quell the swell of guilt that washes over him. Had Yoongi been able to see it so clearly because he feels equally abandoned?

The other man glances at him, eyebrow raised. “I’m glad a soon-to-be famous film director agrees with my theory. Maybe I should publish a thesis paper or something.” Sardonic, but lightly so, and Hoseok may or may not be imagining the searching concern hidden behind that sarcastic gaze.

“You can put my name on it, if you want.” Hoseok smiles as he says it, but turns away from the worry his conscience might be making up. If he’s right – if any of the thoughts skittering through his head are right – it isn’t Yoongi who should be looking at him with that veiled compassion. If he’s right, he thinks his heart might just break under such a look.

“I’ll take you up on it,” the tattooist promises. “Until then… what was your fave, Mr. Expert?”    

Did he even have one? It’s not that he can’t remember them all individually, but it’s as though Hoseok had tried so hard to submerse himself in the films that he had accidentally pushed too hard against them, smudged the colours and details of their wet-paint newness into a blur. There’s nothing that truly stands out, and that’s… well, that’s just a shame.

“They were all so good. I’m not surprised any of them were included in the festival.”

Head ticking to the side, Yoongi sucks on his spit, opens his mouth, seems to think better of it. He looks down as they push their way through the doors and out into the early evening, his hands crumpling the beanie he’d taken off long ago into a tight ball before shoving it into his hoodie pocket. From the corner of his eye Hoseok catches him chewing on the inside of his cheek, the motion almost savage. Throwing up a hand to shield from the sudden sun, eventually the artist mumbles, “I just – I hope you enjoyed it, yeah?”

“Of course!” The reply is immediate, fervent, because Hoseok can’t bear the tentative way he asks that question. “Especially – man, that you thought of me at all. That you got the tickets for me. That’s so cool, Yoongs.”

The other man relaxes. “Well, like I said, they were free. Really wasn’t much.” That had been such a relief the first time Hoseok heard it, and even hearing it again has him sighing gratefully. He knows Yoongi doesn’t have money to spare – he makes a respectable amount tattooing, but almost everything goes into the rent for Born Tiger – and the thought of him paying had put Hoseok’s throat in knots. At least Yoongi had set that straight during the first intermission between showings.

It suddenly occurs to Hoseok that he knows that Yoongi isn’t lying about getting the tickets for free. Knows, not assumes or believes. It’s like knowing a fact is true because he’s seen it for himself. Where does that certainty come from? Where did–

He jerks his thoughts to a hard stop. He’ll figure it out, one way or another, but for now… for now Yoongi is watching him with gentle, tired affection, and if his eyes are bruises and his skin too blanched, at least he looks happy. Hoseok would do a hell of a lot more than play dumb to keep that expression in place, if only for a little while longer. They stop a little way down the street, keep out of everyone’s way. “You wanna get something to eat?”

Yoongi considers that for a moment, but eventually shakes his head. “I don’t want to take too much of your time – it’s already cool you agreed to spend some time with me today.”

“Y’know, I’m not a celebrity just yet. It’s not like my time is worth gold or anything.”

“Nah,” Yoongi replies with a wry twist of his lips, “just worth something else. Let me start paying you?” Then he reaches over, catches at the back of Hoseok’s neck, and Hoseok is already grinning at the familiar joke, but his smile becomes softer under his boyfriend’s mouth.

This kiss is quiet, almost too timid, so he throws his arms around the other man, pulls him closer, anything to cement their contact. His boyfriend responds with a low hum, the sound a reverberation of appreciation that pulses through Hoseok’s bones, replaces his marrow with a contentment that’s too airy to hold the weight of everything else. But – for a moment, it can manage. And it does, as they break off and Yoongi presses his face against Hoseok’s chest, though not quickly enough to hide the expression on his face, so tender it appears a mere breath from falling apart. Tightening his arms around the small man’s shoulders, as though that alone could hold them both together, Hoseok kisses the top of Yoongi’s head. Was there a way, some magic of filmography he hasn’t found yet, to extend this moment forever? Not freeze it like a photograph, but just… keep it going, keep all the affection and warmth and the way the sun burnishes Yoongi’s blonde hair into feathery gold?  

“I love you,” Hoseok murmurs, and for once there’s no anxiety in those words, no uncertainty or fear of rejection. He and Yoongi – together, like this – is so right. Maybe only for a minute or a moment, but for as long as it lasts, he can close his eyes and feel that rightness like music in his ears, like honey on his tongue, like a shot of some view you’d climbed miles to see.

For a long time, there is simple quiet in response, but Hoseok is aware of Yoongi’s shoulders trembling as he struggles to draw in breath after breath. Eventually the artist clears his throats, whispers shakily, “Yeah. I love you too, Hobi… so much,”

They stay as they are for several minutes, secure, linked by touch and something so much heavier, something Hoseok can’t name. Eventually though, Yoongi stirs in his arms, eases himself away. His mouth is a reluctant slash when he looks up, but nonetheless he says, “We should go. You got too much shit to do to be standing around.”

In more ways than one, he’s right. Hoseok can hardly think about the various project deadlines and exams coming up in the next two weeks, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. And besides, if he’s actually going to make himself go through with the plan…

It’s his turn to take in a deep breath. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I’ll drive you home first.”

“It’s not that far,” Yoongi snorts dismissively, already turning to walk away.

Hoseok catches his wrist. “You set all of this up for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Aish… okay.” The surrender comes quickly, more quickly than Hoseok expects it to, and he finds himself wondering at it as they begin to stroll to Hobi’s car. For all of Yoongi’s dismissive tone, it is a pretty far walk to Born Tiger – is that why he’d agreed so promptly? Because a walk like that is hard for Yoongi nowadays?   

Jiggling his keys to keep the electric tension at bay, the warmth dissipating like water through his grasping fingers and leaving something cold in its wake, Hoseok can’t stop himself from chatting as they walk, but his heart isn’t in it. Neither is Yoongi’s, to judge by the distracted responses, and he keeps expecting there to be a sudden crack, a sudden halt, a sudden outpouring of whatever is welling up inside the both of them. It never comes, though. The thunderous clouds just swell without rain, and he’s no god to know how to change this weather pattern.

He has to try, though.

By the time they’ve slipped into the car and Hoseok has pulled into rush hour traffic, that knowledge has hardened into resolve. When the other man takes out his phone and starts fiddling with it, he glances over – probably too intently – and asks so casually that it’s not casual at all, “Are you gonna call your doctor for an appointment now?”

Yoongi fumbles the device, drops it into his lap. “What – right now?” he asks, picking it back up.

“Not everyone works ‘til two in the morning, Yoongs. Pretty sure doctor offices close soon.” His companion is frowning at him, and Hoseok just hopes Yoongi assumes he’s nervous about bringing up something that was close to starting an argument a few hours ago. Which he is. Amazing how even a lie can rest on a foundation of truth. Clearing his throat when the other says nothing, he coaxes, “It’ll only take a moment.”

“And you get to see me doing it,” the artist observes flatly.

Hoseok flinches, can’t deny the implicit accusation. But neither can he backtrack, so he keeps his eyes on the road and sits a little straighter. “You put this off a lot, Yoongi. I’m just – I’m trying to help.”

A violent exhale from the man beside him, and Hoseok flinches again, more from the guilt of what he isn’t saying than anything else. After a moment of fraught silence, another sigh, considerably softer than the first. “I know you’re trying. I’m trying too. It’s just, this,” he touches his nose like it symbolizes all the misery he’s been going through, “this ain’t anything until someone tells me it’s something y’know? And I think I would have preferred… I mean, that I’d prefer not knowing. Easier.”

“But not necessarily better,” Hoseok says quietly, and wonders how much of this is real and how much is just more of the same.  

“Maybe…” A few seconds pass in torn silence, and then abruptly Yoongi snorts. “Fuck. I guess it doesn’t really matter, does it?” Without waiting for a reply, he scrolls through his phone, has it up to his ear before Hoseok can doubt if he’s actually going to call. “Hello? Dr. Cho? Yeah, this is Min Yoongi calling. No, not – not about that.” It’s impossible to miss the tension in Yoongi’s voice, the coolly impassive look plastered across his face when Hoseok risks a glance, but Hoseok can’t make out anything the person on the other end is saying, just hears an incomprehensible voice.

“No, I don’t want that. I just wanted to schedule another appointment….” A pause as he lets the other person talk, and if anything, Yoongi’s expression grows colder. Or maybe not colder, maybe just… rigid. Eventually he seems to interrupt. “I know all that. Thanks. Like I said, just want an appointment. Some time next week? Yeah, sure. Uh huh. Mhm. Yeah. See you soon. Thanks.” His hand drops to rest limply on his thigh, and it takes several more seconds before Yoongi hangs up the call.

He turns to Hoseok. “Three o’clock on Tuesday. You satisfied?”

Refusing to rise to that combative tone – it’s obvious this call has unnerved his boyfriend, and in between his guilt and his pity, Hoseok can’t feel anything else – the film student just smiles as brightly as he can. “Sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Thanks, Yoongs. Seriously – thanks.”

His voice has lightened into something closer to grumpiness than anger when he replies. “Yeah, whatever. Now I get to spend an hour having her rip into me for not scheduling sooner.”

“Do you not like her?” Hoseok asks in surprise. He’s always assumed Yoongi’s aversion to getting a checkup was an internal issue, but maybe it was partly his doctor’s fault? That makes him hope. Maybe he is overreacting. Maybe it really is as simple as that. Maybe…

Yoongi grimaces. “It’s not like that. She’s just… pushy. Doesn’t like putting up with my bullshit.” His laugh isn’t very amused. “Guess that makes two of us. Anyways, no, I’ve had her for awhile now. She’s fine. I’m just being a bastard.”

“Good to hear.” Although it isn’t, not really.

They don’t talk much for the rest of the trip, Hoseok sweating over somehow giving himself away while Yoongi seems withdrawn and comfortable staring out the window without speaking. When they pull into a spot a short distance from Born Tiger, Hoseok feels like he’s about to have a heart attack. Hands pressing into the steering wheel until they ache, he almost doesn’t manage to make himself do it. Yoongi’s gathered up his stuff, hand on the door, before a surge of desperation rips the words from Hoseok’s tongue.

“Uh, hey! Could I borrow your phone for a sec? Mine’s dead.”

“What do you need it for?” Yoongi asks, but he’s already handing it over, nothing but distracted amusement on his face.

“I forgot I wanted to text Jimin, tell him I’m just gonna grab some fast-food for dinner. Ask if he and the other guys wanted anything.” The pads of his fingers are sweaty, and he has to try a few times to type Yoongi’s password – genius – before getting in. He hovers for a moment over Contacts, struggling to make himself move.

Meanwhile, Yoongi scoffs. “Dunno why you even need to ask. Tae and Kookie would eat out of a garbage bin if someone told them it was free.”

Hoseok cracks a weak smile. “Probably not out of it.” He still can’t make himself do what he’s been planning since before the films.

“Yeah, you’re right. They’d get plastic plates first.” It’s the fondness in Yoongi’s voice that does it. Pushes him into leaving Contacts untouched and pressing on Phone History. Because that gruff, protective affection for the younger boys… Hoseok can’t lose it. He can’t stop having those rough, secure words in his life, not when everything before Yoongi was too smooth to hold onto. He just can’t. And if this isn’t what he dreads it might be, well, Yoongi will be pissed, but he’ll also be forgiving, sooner or later. Haven’t the last few months proven that?

Phone tilted away from the other man, Hoseok taps into the most recent call, made to a Dr. Cho Jiyoo. Moving his fingers like he’s texting, he just stares at the number there instead, committing it to memory to the best of his ability. A few seconds later, he actually goes to Jimin, sends the message, and then hands the cell back to Yoongi with an empty hollowness in his stomach. It’s a good thing his boyfriend has his own things to worry about, because Hoseok isn’t exactly doing this with picture perfect guile.

It doesn’t take hardly any time at all for Jimin to reply, which is a blessing. Hoseok can only repeat the numbers in his head for so long before he’s bound to mess them up, especially while encouraging Yoongi to do most of the talking.

Breaking off a story about a guy who fainted dead away within five minutes of his first ever needle, the artist checks his vibrating phone. “Jimin says Taehyung is eating with Jin, but he and Jungkook could go for something.” Another buzz of an incoming message, and he barks a laugh. “Jungkook votes for McDonald’s, so I was right; he would eat out of a dumpster if it was free.”

Shaking his head at that – 4, 53, 67, 32, 08 – Hoseok asks, “Did Jimin get a vote?”

“Subway. You roll with the most high-class people, hey?”

“Oh, ‘cause your choice would be so much better.” When Yoongi opens his mouth, Hoseok adds, “Starbucks isn’t that classy, Yoongs.” 67, 32, 08…

“You would know,” Yoongi shoots back, with a gummy smile that’s nothing short of breathtaking, and it lurches through Hoseok’s throat until he almost lets go of the numbers and plan altogether. He can hardly breathe through his shame about not speaking honestly to Yoongi, and with that trusting grin right in front of him…

“Yoongi,” Hoseok says, and the man across from him dampens his smile at the strangled tone, leans forward a bit.

“Yeah?” the artist asks quietly, brows furrowing in miniscule tension.

Please tell me the truth. The words are so easy – so impossible to say. What is the truth? What is the nagging feeling that drags like oil across Hoseok’s brain whenever he looks at his tattoo? What is the crumpled expression Yoongi wears when he thinks no one can see him? And what the hell could Hoseok do if Yoongi refused to answer any of those questions?

And what if he didn’t?

His fingers drum against the steering wheel, and when he can’t get them to stop, Hoseok wrenches them off, buries them in his lip. He smiles, or tries to. “I’ll call you later tonight, okay? You can listen to me cry about how behind I am with everything.”

“My favorite mixtape,” Yoongi jokes, though the furrow across his forehead doesn’t really disappear. “I’ll be expecting that call. Don’t skip out.” His way of saying that he’s around to listen, that he doesn’t want Hoseok to keep it to himself. If they don’t get away from each other soon, Hoseok really is going to start crying.

Keeping his breath shallow, he shakes his head. “I won’t. Don’t worry. I’ll see you later.”

He’s actually relieved when Yoongi doesn’t make any move to kiss him goodbye. It’s not the usual – just another signal of how off things are between them – but Hoseok’s pretty sure if they touched right now, everything would come spilling out. Not necessarily through his lips, but maybe through his skin, or his head, or his heart… or wherever this aching connection is anchored, somewhere beyond his mere body.

Hand against his neck, Yoongi hesitates before he opens his door. “Happy belated b-day, Hobi,” he says, and the humour is so pale it might as well be invisible. All Hoseok can do is incline his head and murmur a tight thank you. Fingers still stroking across his neck, there’s another breathless pause before Yoongi shuts his eyes and heaves himself out of the car, movements stiff and pained. “I’ll see you later,” is his low promise, and then the door is thudding closed between them.

Because the spikes of restless agony are threatening to drive straight through him if he doesn’t move to avoid them, Hoseok doesn’t wait to watch his boyfriend walk to Born Tiger. Because there’s something ripping him apart already and anything added will splinter him into even smaller pieces, he doesn’t look in the rear-view mirror once he’s beyond the other man. Because the only thing he can do right now is go forward, Hoseok doesn’t stop, doesn’t turn around, doesn’t go back. He sets his jaw, looks up a number and an address on his almost fully charged phone, and puts it into the GPS.  

---

The office looks as conventional as any medical company Hoseok has seen, at least from the outside. Short and insistently rectangular, the building is painted a sandy brown, while the double doors of the entrance are white, and plenty of windows dot the squat structure. There’s a little bed of flowers and some potted plants out front. It doesn’t look like a place where people go to learn they’re dying.

But it is. This isn’t the doctor’s office Hoseok had expected when he looked up the name and the number he had taken from Yoongi’s phone. He isn’t really sure what he’d expected, but it wasn’t an oncologist’s office. The CL Courage Clinic is, according to the website, a specialty cancer clinic that deals with various kinds of chronic leukemia. There aren’t all that many cars in the parking lot, but then again, it’s kind of late. He wonders if Dr. Cho is still here. He wonders what he’s doing here.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat, and when Hoseok swallows it feels like his heart is about to burst through his trachea. He knows what the doctor looks like – the website had all of their pictures – but there’s a layer of static over everything he sees and he’s not altogether confident he’ll even be able to recognize her. Breath so harsh he can’t hear the music playing on the car radio, eventually Hoseok shuts it off, anything to reduce the unrelenting everything that’s crushing him into a panicked nothing.

What am I doing here? He’s falling to pieces so quickly he can’t put himself together again. Am I really about to– He can’t think about it, he can’t, he can’t. He has to do it.

He has to, but for a long time Hoseok just sits in his car, shifting constantly, rubbing his fingers raw against anything that comes under his hands. He’d thought he’d go into the building, ask for the doctor, but now he’s starting to wonder if maybe he should just wait for her out here. Maybe she’s gone home already. Maybe the thought that has him caressing his collarbone and then jerking away as if stung is more ridiculous than anything else he’s managed to think up. After so many months – after what feels like a lifetime – would Yoongi really not have told him?

By now, Hoseok isn’t really sure what he’s talking about, even within his own mind. Told him what? About sickness? Or soulmates? Or are they somehow the same thing, now?

Minutes pass and doubts churn trenches through Hoseok’s head, ruthlessly treading the same paths over and over again until it feels like there’s no way to think outside the ditches, no way to leap beyond their bounds. He thinks, and only manages to dig himself deeper into paralysis.

For the seventh or eighth time, the clinic door opens, and someone steps outside. He looks towards them, empty of expectation. That might be why it takes him a moment to recognize the lady in a flora summer dress as she hitches a purse over her shoulder and walks with quick, short strides. When he does, everything… collapses. The fear, the doubts, the shrieking, formless anxiety, they don’t disappear, but they contract into a place somewhere just behind his sternum. It’s almost as though the sheer weight of his breakdown has finally ripped a blackhole into existence, and it’s dragging his heart and lungs and stomach into a mangled mess of impossible heaviness. What emotions could escape the gravity of such dread?

He forces his door open too hard, has to wrench it back to avoid smashing into the truck he’d parked next to. Clambering out of the luxurious car feels like a confession of sin, and his jerky steps are quick to leave the sleek vehicle behind.   

“Dr. Cho. Umm, Dr. Cho!” The second time he calls she hears him, turns his way. His immediate impression is thinness – thin black hair, thin lips, thin eyebrows, thin shoulders… thin patience, if the expression on her taut face is any clue. He’s not sure how old she is – maybe fifty, though the exasperation makes it harder to be sure.

“May I help you?” she asks, in a slow way that suggests she’s hoping the answer is no. He can’t entirely blame her, given the time and the way he’s accosting her outside her work.

Bouncing his weight back and forth from foot to foot, Hoseok nods several times as if the motion alone might shake some words from his head to his too-dry mouth. It doesn’t, but the compression in his chest hasn’t managed to swallow his tongue quite yet, and so he manages to push out a quick introduction. “Uh, hello, Dr. Cho. My name is Jung Hoseok. We haven’t – I saw you on the clinic website, and I, umm, was hoping we could talk.”

If anything, her eyes narrow even further. “I’m sorry, Mr. Jung, but I generally only meet by appointment, and only during office hours. You could have phoned the clinic and scheduled a time to talk.” ‘Should have’ is more than implicit in her words, but the doctor’s displeasure hits his chest and – dissolves. It can’t gain any purchase in the flattened landscape of his feelings.

“I’m really, really sorry, but I couldn’t – I only just, uh, found out I need to talk to you.” Because I’m stupid. Because I’ve failed him.

Dr. Cho sighs, adjusts the purse on her shoulder. The motion makes her seem less annoyed and more… tired. “Did you receive a referral from your family doctor? I know it’s always very terrifying to receive a possible diagnosis, but it really would be better to schedule an appointment, so I have the opportunity to look at your information and –”

“I’m sorry,” Hoseok interrupts, the pressure mostly squeezing embarrassment into oblivion. He doesn’t even flush at accidentally giving her the wrong impression. “It’s not about me, it’s about one – one of your patients.”

Immediately her back is a little straighter, her brow a little more creased. “One of my patients?”

“Yes. His name is Min Yoongi. He’s… I think he’s been seeing you recently?”

She mouths the name, not as if it’s unfamiliar, but rather as though it surprises her to hear someone mention it. The tightness behind his ribs contracts even further, to the point of pain. He’d thought – hoped, prayed, begged – that she wouldn’t know what he was talking about, but she definitely knows Yoongi. Everything had suggested that she would, but if it had been a misunderstanding, if he’d gotten the wrong doctor… It’s getting a bit hard to breathe.

For a second, it looks as though curiosity might impel Dr. Cho to speak further, but the inclination is quickly suppressed, and her wariness comes back. “We’re not permitted to discuss our patients without their permission. It’s best if you ask him about–”

“He won’t tell me.” Even to his own ears, the toneless certainty is too flat to be anything but despairing. Hoseok tries to picture it – tries to imagine a conversation between he and Yoongi that leads towards them understanding each other more, and not breaking apart – but he can’t. He believes Yoongi loves him, but now, with the open chasm of truth before him, Hoseok knows his boyfriend would do anything to avoid pitching him into its consuming blackness. That must be why. It’s the only reason he can think of for why they haven’t taken this plunge together.

It doesn’t make him feel better – if anything, it just makes it worse. He had thought honesty was white, was open, was a bridge between two trusting people, but this – this isn’t that.

Her eyes flick to his face and then quickly away again, embarrassed or uncomfortable with whatever she finds there. When the doctor speaks, her voice is kind but without an inch of give. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t help you with this. It seems best that you talk to him directly. If he gives permission for me to disclose information…” By the way she trails off, Hoseok isn’t the only one who knows that won’t happen. How long has Yoongi been seeing her for, that she’s so aware of that fact?

Straightening her shoulders, expression apologetic in face of his hopeless silence, Dr. Cho inclines her head. “I’m sorry,” she says again. “I hope everything works itself out.” And with that she moves to leave.

It turns out there’s one thing strong enough to escape the blackhole nestled in his chest – desperation. “Wait!” Hoseok reaches out, jerks back his hand before he catches her. Nonetheless, she pauses. Hardly knowing what he’s doing, he finds himself scrabbling at the high neck of his shirt, yanking it down with enough force that it sounds like the fabric is ripping. Ignoring that, he pulls it even further, baring the wilted flower there. The way her eyes widen, the way she leans forward with a mixture of revulsion and reluctant fascination, tells him it’s exactly as it’s been for the last few weeks.

He knows what she’s wondering as her gaze traces the withered lines, the tones that smudge more towards ashen rot than any real flower would ever experience. Why would someone get a tattoo like this?

Why did he get a tattoo like this? And God, doesn’t he know the answer?

“This belongs to him,” Hoseok blurts out, still only half sure of what he’s saying.

She doesn’t look away from the decaying image, but there’s no dawning awareness on her face as she replies, “Yoongi is a tattoo artist, isn’t he? He did this?” Can he blame her for not understanding? How long has it taken him to finally grasp what’s been hovering over this mark? How many times has he been on the verge of holding it, only to let go at the last moment, afraid that comprehension will make it into a reality too heavy to carry?

He takes too long to respond, grappling with what to answer. Dr. Cho straightens, finally pulls her eyes away. “It seems you’re good friends, and he’s obviously very talented, but that… I still can’t help you.”

“No, I don’t –” Just what is he trying to say? The pressure crushing his insides is finally too tight; cracks are ribboning through the blackhole, fissures of agonized acknowledgement that his whole existence isn’t enough to suppress. Guilt, terror, rage, grief – what are those words in the midst of the detonation blossoming it’s frenzied heat up his throat?

His hand finds the tattoo, presses against it. Too hard, his nails digging into the skin, but the heat remains, and so does the flower. It will continue there. He can’t rip it off. Nothing can. Nothing can separate the mark from the flesh. Hoseok finds a sudden, bracing relief in that thought, as though, with everything spiralling out of his hands, this alone will remain as it is. No matter what he says, no matter what he does – this bond is going to remain.

He breathes through his clenched teeth, as if the air burns his lungs, but there are a few words that haven’t been immolated in the fire. “This tattoo belongs to Yoongi,” Hoseok repeats, his tone almost too shrill. “It belongs to him, because–” There is a small falter, another hard inhale, before he continues, voice picking up force and certainty. “Because he belongs to me.”

Caught up in the torrent of his declaration, Dr. Cho understands what he means immediately, and her expressive eyebrows jump up in startled incredulity as she takes an involuntary half-step back. He almost wants to do the same, with the words still searing his tongue and blistering his lips. Saying it feels like releasing a spell, like casting some kind of dreadfully powerful incantation that he couldn’t undo even if he wanted to. At the same time, there’s a shuddering throughout his whole body, as if his muscles and bones are snapping into their proper places, for the first time in forever. He belongs to me. Hoseok wouldn’t unsay that, even if he could.  

This time, when her gaze lands on the mark, it tears along the lines like a surgical knife, trying to separate the bleak colours from the skin, to see it in a different light. And see it she does, as the understanding settles into something deeper, sorrowful realization mingling with heavy pity. Hoseok doesn’t want to see that – he wants to shut his eyes – but that won’t stop the sensation discharging through his arteries and carrying liquid anguish to the rest of his body.

“You two are bonded?” Dr. Cho all but whispers, and it’s so easy to ignore the way his eyes are aching and simply nod instead, as though he’s known all along. So easy to acknowledge that blood is red, tears are clear, Hoseok has a tattoo, and he and Yoongi are soulmates.

Why is it so easy? After months of refusing to believe, embracing this truth feels like holding onto Yoongi; light, warm, and altogether too real to be doubted. Hoseok finds himself mouthing the words, though he can’t quite say it yet. We’re bonded.

The doctor’s lips twist, her head tilting slightly, but nonetheless her examination doesn’t let up, body angled unwillingly forward to get a better view. “It hasn’t always looked like this?” she finally asks, and he wonders suddenly if there’s some kind of medical practice that takes the condition of soulmate tattoos into consideration. If she could have used this earlier.

It’s not so easy to shake his head, but Hoseok forces himself to do it anyways. “No, it hasn’t. Just – just recently. It’s always been – it’s never been absolutely perfect, but never this bad.”

“He really hasn’t told you anything?” Her disbelief hurts him, ashes and cinder burning along his throat as he’s reminded of how wrong this is.

Swallowing the embers, he replies, “No, he… I didn’t ask him enough. I should have pushed harder. I should have…” There’s too much to write in this column, not enough ink to jot it all down. He should have, he should have, he should have. “Please, I don’t know what else to do. Please, just…” Help me. Hoseok doesn’t know how to say that to this stranger, this woman who may well have been keeping his soulmate alive, who is undoubtedly judging him for his severe deficiencies now.

But if Dr. Cho is judging him, that judgement doesn’t overwhelm her sympathy. Eyes rising from his tattoo to meet his frantically imploring stare, the thin woman taps her forehead, where thoughtful creases have appeared. She doesn’t seem like the type to agonize over a decision for very long. And sure enough, far before the apprehension can do more than constrict his throat, the doctor turns away, begins to walk back to the clinic. Hoseok stares after her, not daring to expect anything.

Over her shoulder, she calls words that give him the barest hint of a reason to hope. “Come. We should discuss this in my office.”

Injected with something resembling relief – but not that, never that, not while Yoongi’s reality is still so twisted from what it should be – Hoseok hurries after her.

---

He’s collapsed on the couch, back pressed into the armrest, knees drawn up, a sketchbook resting on his abdomen and balanced against his legs, his coloured pencils on the table next to him. Yoongi is hunched over the drawing, almost curled around it, as though it’s an open wound that needs protecting. And maybe it is. He’s made several dozen strokes of his pencil along the page, but they’re just aimless slashes, split seams with nothing in between. He’d wanted to put his feelings down – on paper and otherwise – but his ideas keep slipping away, and if Yoongi knew what he wanted to draw when he sat down, he certainly doesn’t know now.

Hoseok’s face keeps intruding. That isn’t unheard of – and typically it’s more of a pleasure than a pain – but today is different. The sun without its rays is stark. Hoseok’s face without its smile is bleak.

Today had gone so fucking wrong.

I am so tired of this fucking bullshit.

It’s true, but it’s truer to say that Yoongi is tired of his own bullshit. Whether he means his body’s slow deterioration or his constant lying to hide that decline depends on the day – hell, it depends on the hour. Right now, he pretty much means the lying part. Pulling himself together enough to accompany Hoseok to the film festival after the news Dr. Cho had given him hadn’t been all that difficult – even Atlas had to get comfortable with the world on his shoulders, sooner or later – but had it even been worth it?

More and more, when Hoseok looks at him, Yoongi senses that the other man is… searching. Looking beyond the barriers he throws up, even looking beyond the concrete comfort that they feel when they’re together. His sun tattoo has been looking off recently, too. The colour isn’t draining, but the rays of light have become sharper, more defined, almost painfully distinct. Little spikes of anxiety. The overall tone has also shifted to a redder hue, more like a dying sun than a brilliant one.

Brushing his thumb over the inside of his elbow, he can’t stop the twist of his lips. Today, with Hobi all but demanding he call the doctor, Yoongi wasn’t sure if he wanted to kiss him or smack him upside the head. The concern is touching, a heart-hurt that he can only be grateful for, but it can only lead one way, the one way Yoongi can’t accept, and he suspects they’re getting closer to that path.  

In fact, as Yoongi had shut the car door and walked away, that feeling solidified into certainty. Hoseok found something. That’s what his demand was about, that was why he was acting so shady. The realization had been all altitude and dizziness for Yoongi, and even now, there’s nausea cringing at the corners of the artist’s stomach, like he expects the floor to collapse at any second and send him plummeting straight down. What had Hoseok found? Which secret? Any? Or is this just paranoia stacked on pain?

Another rough line added to the rest of the strokes, and it’s still a mess. Nothing clear. No answers. Just the wild apprehension teeming like termites through his wooden brain. Mumbling to himself, Yoongi tears out the page, holds it in his hand for a moment before, with a low exhale, he casts it aside.

He can’t start over anywhere else in his life, but isn’t that half the appeal of what he’s doing now?

This time, when Yoongi begins to draw, he has a better idea of where he wants to go. He’s borrowing from the film he’d liked. The concept, not the actual image. A single stem of soft blue orchids, floating in a black expanse that’s barely discernable as water. It looks more like ink. Some of the flowers are already partially submerged in the dark substance, the gentle petals streaked with oily shadows. There’s no ripple across the water, no sign of movement or change. Just the orchids, alone, slowly sinking.

It takes him a couple of hours, and during that time he can pour everything into the long funnel his focus creates, splattering the page with his loneliness. The fear, the anger, the guilt, the grief, it’s all there in that limitless lake of black. It’s nothing more than a sketch; he needs a table and a better setup to draw something worth showing to others. It is what he wanted to draw, though. As he finishes he knows that, yet… when Yoongi looks at it, his pencil falling into his lap, the itching, frantic feeling is already beginning to squirm to life again. He can’t exorcise it with this torrent of truth.

What if Hoseok does know? What then? Where is the beaming man in this picture?

Yoongi glances at his cell, checking the time. He’s only a little surprised to see that it’s a bit after 7. Time is a construct, after all, and it’s especially unstable when creativity and emotions come out to play together. A direct quote from Namjoon. Yoongi scoffs at it even as fondness makes him smooth the page against his knees with more gentleness than he might have done otherwise. The despair is demanding he crumple paper and shatter glass, but the artist shoves it down. Remembers the look on Hoseok’s face when he saw the theatre and realized where they were going.

His pencil – a yellowy gold tone – hovers uncertainly over the corner of the drawing. Can he add this? Does he deserve to add it?

Before he can make up his mind, there’s a knock on the entrance downstairs. Hard. It comes again, and then again, no regularity to the sounds. Again, like stuttering breaths or crippled steps. The pounding sets his nerves alight, and against any rational thought, Yoongi freezes, his fingers curling into fists. It’s probably some drunk messing up where they are; there are enough of those on Skymont, even if it is kinda early. Or maybe it’s a customer who forgot something, even though he’s meticulous about cleaning the studio and hadn’t found anything recently. It’s probably nothing. Maybe he doesn’t even need to answer.

It isn’t any kind of rational thought that has Yoongi casting his eyes down, half-flinching at a new round of knocking. It isn’t even intuition, the kind you laugh at during the day and heed while walking down dark streets. Something more forceful, inexorable, makes him drag his gaze back to the tattoo he had been considering only a few hours ago. A tattoo that is, before his eyes, slowly but surely dissolving through a slew of sickly colours, like diseased flesh across his skin. Yet, even as Yoongi watches in numb, detached interest, the form begins to solidify in an explosion of brighter, harsher tones.

As it does, he hears someone call in a voice stripped to its ragged core, “Yoongi!”

The sun loses its colours, finds them again, shot through with waves of distortion that look like a mirage. Repeat. And repeat.  

The entire process takes about five minutes, and the knocking doesn’t stop, and still Yoongi can’t make himself move. He watches the tattoo, waiting for it to fade into nothing, or at least go dead and black. It doesn’t, the jumbled swirls of colour continuing, but the person at the door calls again, “Yoongi! Yoongi – open the door.”

Yoongi’s complained about his thin walls before. Hoseok knows that he can hear. It wouldn’t even matter if he hadn’t. The tattooist – feels his soulmate. All the time, yes, but more so now, the awareness closer to a deafening noise than any kind of conscious recognition. And the wavering lines of the tattoo mean… just exactly what he’s suddenly terrified that they mean. The numbness is washed away in a flood of ice through his stomach, and Yoongi realizes that he’s trembling.

Almost too hard to make it down the stairs, hand on the wall for balance.

Stumbling off the last step, the artist makes his way down the hallway, through his tattooing parlour. The scents and sights of his chairs and equipment aren’t reassuring; he’s alienated from them, as though he’s become a ghost, just drifting through an existence that’s no longer his. Each knock jars him further from reality. He can’t seem to formulate any thoughts. No words or excuses or apologies to set his slanted world back on its straight axis.

The dread is a far stronger impression than anything else, coppery on his tongue, and by the time Yoongi gets to the front of the store, he can even feel it coating his fingertips. Lifting a too-heavy arm, he pauses at the lock, watches the way his hand shakes in front of it, and abruptly feels contempt. He’s so afraid. Does Hoseok deserve such a cowardly person?

“…Yoongi?” Quieter now, as though he knows how much closer Yoongi is, Hoseok’s voice wedges into the icy fear, sends little cracks shuddering through it.

His other hand comes up to press against his neck, almost hard enough to cut off air and dread altogether, and in the same motion, Yoongi throws the bolt. He can’t make himself open the door. He doesn’t need to. The other person must hear him fumbling with the lock – or maybe they just know – and a second later the door is jerked open.

The bell rings. Yoongi flinches. Hoseok doesn’t.

His crumpled mouth hurts more than even the red, frantic eyes, though those are hard enough to meet. It’s just, Yoongi hasn’t ever wanted to be the reason Hoseok frowns like that, like he’s going to crumple at any second. Hoseok is the most beautiful person on the planet when he smiles, and right now his mouth looks like it will never remember how to smile again. Yoongi caused that misery one too many times already, and he’s literally sacrificed everything to avoid doing it again.

Looking at Hoseok’s foundering expression becomes too painful and he wrenches his eyes down only to see his hands, running feverish tracks along the seams of his jeans. Faced with the silent, screaming pain of those fingers, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say.

[sheithfictioncatalogue]

What are some WIPs you’re all looking forward to updates for?

In addition to the in-progress ones from this list we did previously (some are completed now, but still good!), here’s some new ones we look forward to:

Alex:

A Friend Indeed - CGotAnAccount @illunelurks

ongoing, 4/? chapters, 9k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content. Background ships: friends with benefits Matt/Keith

There are a few things Matthew Holt has learned over the past few years of being launched into space, kidnapped, thrust into an intergalactic war, and hailed as a hero of the universe.

Firstly, space is as huge and beautiful as he always knew it was – just twice as terrifying as he could ever have imagined.

Second, his little sister is in fact the smartest human that will ever exist and nothing will ever convince him otherwise.

And lastly, Shiro and Keith will never, ever get their shit together.

Beam me up, Hottie - lasersheith @lasersheith​

ongoing, 7/? chapters, 34k. (Teen)

Shiro’s life is kind of a mess. His job sucks and his best friends are moving across the country back to their hometown. All he really has is Star Trek until the Big Bang pairs him with an artist that just might change everything.

“Do you remember that event I told you about?” His voice came out barely above a whisper.

Laughing again, Matt sat his sandwich down. “You mean your totally-not-porn writing competition?”

Shiro groaned. “It’s not porn,” he hissed out quietly, “and it’s not a competition, it’s just an event.” He said, looking up into Matt’s judgmental eyes. “Look, you own 6 replica anime swords. It’s literally illegal for you to judge me for anything, ” he pointed an accusing finger at Matt’s chest.

Matt held up his hands in mock surrender. “Ok, ok. So what about your event thing?”

Shiro looked back down at his phone with an awed smile. “I got paired with my favorite artist…” He answered wistfully.

don’t call me baby (unless you mean it) - akaiiko @akaiikowrites​

ongoing, 3/? chapters, 36k. (Explicit) Contains: PTSD

Getting with Shiro is worth anything. Anything. So Keith is going to fake being the cliche with daddy issues - complete with stuffed animals, booty shorts, and an utter loss of dignity - until he makes it. Hopefully along the way he’ll figure out why it feels like being Shiro’s baby boy might just be the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

Keith has a moment where he wonders, somewhat blankly, how he bought this perfectly serviceable shirt and then promptly forgot its existence. Then he looks down. And remembers in a series of post traumatic flashbacks exactly why he’d blocked the shirt from his consciousness.

Namely, three words, in a font that isn’t comic sans but comes insultingly close to it, garnished with red glitter: Daddy’s Little Boy.

“Keith?” Very slowly, he turns to look at the closed door to his bedroom. “Keith, are you okay? I heard…” Probably some kind of vaguely strangled noise. But Shiro’s too nice to articulate that kind of thing. “Keith? If you don’t answer, I’m coming in.”

For All the Stars in the Sky - allyoop_1 @isabelladeltigre​, Wolfy_P_Smith

ongoing, 4/? chapters, 34k. (Mature)

“They’re good kids.”

They both take a moment to look over at said kids. Pidge has her elbows on the table, butt in the air as she finger smashes on her DS and Matt is picking at a tear in the booth and eating what comes out.

“Well,” Keith says, turning back to Lance. “They’re…kids. Probably human.”

Matt licks at the tear in the seam and Lance grins. “Debatable.”

Or: Keith has two jobs, two kids, and a million problems. Shiro’s not the solution to all of them, but he sure does help.

Make Believe - LittleWhiteTie @littlewhitetie​

ongoing, 5/7 chapters, 18k. (Teen) Contains: PTSD

In which, in order to form an alliance, Keith and Shiro need to fake a relationship and endure a series of related trials.

This was a terrible idea. An excruciating, tantalizing car crash of an idea. Keith should never have agreed to this. It was everything he’d ever wanted and more. He was never going to be able to come back from this.

Careful metal fingertips traced his jaw, tipping his face up to meet gentle, storm grey eyes. He was close, so close. “Everything okay?” Shiro asked, quietly.

“Of course,” Keith said. “Everything is fine.”

It was a bald-faced lie; everything was not fine. It was wonderful and devastating and nowhere in between.

my doorbell, when you gonna ring it? - spectrespecs @exitlude​

ongoing, 2/3 chapters, 35k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content

Shiro, a chronic apartment renter, feels like it’s time for him to settle down and buy a house. He thinks so, at least. Keith, one of the finest real estate agents in the city, is the one tasked with finding Shiro a home. They both find a little more than intended.

a slow, dumb show - redluxite (wordstruck)

ongoing, 6/8 chapters, 19k. (Teen)

Shiro shrugs. “No.” His lips quirk in a little half-smile. “Are you going to ask me?”

Keith’s mouth curls, just a little. His eyes flick over to Shiro again.

“Why not?”

Shiro comically stumbles to a halt. “Sorry?”

There’s that amusement tucked in the corner of Keith’s mouth again, as he reaches out a hand to steady the pizzas in Shiro’s arms. They’re quite close together now.

“Do you want to go out with me?”

All Eyes On Us - Green_Destiny @green-destiny

ongoing, 4/? chapters, 32k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content

K_Red and BlackLion are camboys for the same website. Unrivaled in their power but rivals to each other, a chance meeting at an official event pulls them inevitably towards each other, as much as Keith would like to resist, gravity is always, always stronger.

the peace-weaver - magisterpavus

ongoing, 18/20 chapters, 203k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content, trans Keith, sexual violence

You will be the peace-weaver, his mother told him, smiling though her dark eyes welled with unshed grief. The one who brings two bitter enemies together and ends the bloodshed and death between us, once and for all.

But men will always crave war. The Galra, most of all.

Akira:

every breath you take - arahir @arahir​

ongoing, 5/7 chapters, 32k. (Explicit) Contains: nsfw content

Keith takes a swim, gains a secret admirer, and finds something to live for.

There’s a cut on his bottom lip, a row of tiny lacerations that smart when he pulls at them to get a better look.

He doesn’t notice the bruise on his upper arm until the next day. He catches the edge of it at the corner of his eye when he’s pulling on a fresh shirt: blue lines, like stripes, but when he turns and twists to see how they ring his arm, he realizes what they look like.

The lines are like fingers. It’s a handprint.

sweet sun, send me the moon - arahir @arahir​

ongoing, 2/? chapters, 8k. (General) Contains: graphic depictions of violence, temporary amnesia

Shiro still has one battle left to fight.

Keith’s body in his arms doesn’t twitch and his eyes don’t flicker. They’re open a little, Shiro realizes; dull, sightless slits of white. Not dead, though. He’s not dead. Damaged, yes, but they can fix this.

Kel:

The Alien at Camp Marmora - flukeloops

ongoing, 6/10 chapters, 19k. (Mature)

Shiro and Keith are back at Camp Arus and madly in love. Alfor has to take a week off to tend to personal matters and has left his friend Kolivan in charge. Kolivan presents the staff and campers with Camp Marmora: a grueling 5-day challenge that tests their bodies and maybe even their minds. Will Shiro and Keith’s fairy tale romance stand through it all? What will the challenge reveal about both of them?On top of it all, the longer Shiro stays in human form, the worse his legs hurt. He’s afraid that he and Keith’s worlds will drift too far apart if he has to live in the water.[SEQUEL to The Mermaid of Lake Altea]

Sweet Cherry Pie - keiti221 @starlightshirogane

ongoing, 8/? chapters, 18k. (Mature) Contains: nsfw content, abuse, stalking, implied/referenced rape/non-con, kidnapping, murder, threats of violence, threats of rape/non-con, death threats

After Keith shows up to perform at an event that didn’t actually want a male stripper, he spends the evening sipping wine coolers with the hottest detective he’s ever gotten his hands on. Unfortunately, neither of them have been particularly good at relationships - Shiro is always busy with work and Keith keeps attracting weirdos - but both want to make this one work. So what could possibly go wrong?

Shiro the Hero and the Happily Ever - Saasan @decidedlysarah

ongoing, 2/11 chapters, 8k. (Mature) Contains: nsfw content, a/b/o dynamics, mpreg

Shiro never thought he’d be able to find a mate, let alone have a family. As blessings keep piling up in his life, he thinks back on the road it took to get there. Keith had always feared mating, but being with Shiro is bliss–if only he’d be just a *little* less weepy-with-joy. Meanwhile, Lance and Pidge discover they will be having a family much sooner than expected. This story will follow the four of them on their path to parenthood and, because the author isn’t a dick (unlike DreamWorks), everyone gets a happily ever after.

See You In Court - arcadenemesis

ongoing, 2/5 chapters, 15k. (Mature)

If Shiro’s life were a movie, this would be the part where the music would swell and everything would slow down.

He’s not sure how long he stands there, just watching, but it’s not until another hotel patron brushes past him that Shiro comes back down to Earth. Thank God Keith hasn’t seen him yet. Meeting eyes from across the room seems romantic in theory, but Shiro’s pretty sure his open staring would be anything but in reality. Better going for a smooth introduction, he decides, steeling himself and walking over with confidence he doesn’t feel.

"Hey there, Wild Card.”

Takashi Shirogane is the best in the world at tennis, and the absolute worst at love.

(Or, Wild Card through Shiro’s eyes.)

[justsomelarryfics]

Here are the fics that I read in the month of March, 2019, that I finished and enjoyed. I will first shows fics from this month, and then older ones.

Sorted by length

New this month

Do You Wanna Ride by @phd-mama -  When Liam's attractive new business partner wins riding lessons with Harry, hilarity ensues. (one shot, 4k)

Tell Me I’m Punk by @tiniinbookland - ""How punk do I seem?"" The one were Harry wants to be a punk but Louis loves him just like he is. (one shot, 4k)

Just Go With It by @rainbowsandlovehl - “Brett, there’s something I need to tell you,” he started, inwardly cringing at his choice of words before taking in a deep breath. Brett seemed curious, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “The reason I haven’t been texting you back is that...” “Harry, they were all out of organic guacamole,” a raspy, unfamiliar male voice interrupted, startling him into silence. “So I got us the normal one. Hope that’s alright?” Harry has no idea how to escape awkward situation but luckily for him, Louis swoops in to help. (one shot, 6k)

Only One at the Finish Line by @horsegirlharry for @1dgayboficfest - “What don’t I know?!” Louis shouts, and then Harry is rounding on him, close enough that he can feel the heat of his body, the rage and the glory and the pain of it so close that it blinds him.“I want to be another alpha’s omega,” is what he says, and it comes out like something reckless, something wild. Like he doesn't care anymore if Louis hates him or not, if Louis understands, he just needs to speak his truth aloud to darkness, to the slender pines that surround them like a jury panel. (one shot, 9k)

fall in love with the moon (and everything beautiful) by @microlouis -  “It’s adorable that you think you can compromise with me on this,” Louis says. He places his hands on his hips and tries his best to look intimidating. “But I am not budging on this. Every book pun you say will result in one quarter in the jar.” “What jar?” Harry asks. He furrows his eyebrows together. Louis rolls his eyes. “Like a swear jar, but now I’m going to make yours ‘Harry’s dumbass pun jar.’ Maybe I’ll have you put a quarter in for every pun you say, not just the ones about books. Niall was right - you tell the worst jokes.” “One time Niall told me I’d never said a funny joke in my life,” Harry says casually. “Funny. He told me that too.” or, louis and harry work in a bookstore together and harry tells dumb jokes and they fall in love (one shot, 10k)

Naked Attraction - Naked Attraction: a gameshow where the contestant views 6 naked possible partners and narrows them down based off of pure attraction. Harry was not a fan of the shallow gameshow, so he decided to mix it up a little. Louis Tomlinson was the only gay and unfortunate staff member chosen to step in for one of the six possible partners when someone drops out. He hated working there, and he definitely didn't want to agree, but it was too good of an offer to be turned down. Nothing would come out of it, surely, and they even agreed to keep his identity a secret.That all changed when famous singer Harry Styles walked out. Louis had no idea who he was, and Harry liked that about him.. . .Or the one based off a British TV show called Naked Attraction that I found hilarious. (one shot, 12k)

All I Want Is To Fall With You by @2tiedships2 - The pair looked at each other for a few moments before Harry moved forward and gathered Louis in an unexpected hug. It was nice, but why the fuck was an unknown alpha hugging him? Maybe an even better question would be why did Louis feel so secure in this stranger's arms? Harry quickly let go and Louis felt something pull at him."Sorry," Harry said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Shit, um, that just seemed a natural response for some reason. I’m so sorry." Louis smiled up at the alpha. "It's okay. Thanks again, Harry." "You're welcome. I know it's horrible weather, and less than optimal circumstances, but this was a brilliant meet-cute." What the fuck was a meet-cute? Or the weekend ski trip where omega Louis discovers that he can’t change a tire and his skiing skills are debatable but still manages to find the alpha who will change his life. (one shot, 16k)

the act of making noise by @suspendrs - “Oh,” Harry frowns, waving him off. “No, I could never. I respect myself too much to sing for a living.”It feels like a slap across the face, but Louis does his best not to stiffen, blinking once and then frowning. “What?” “Those people are always so miserable, you know?” Harry says, hopping down off his stool and straightening his sweater. “There’s so much pressure on them, and they have to work so hard to keep up appearances, I can’t even imagine how difficult that is. I can’t even stand to listen to pop music today, let alone watch TV or read the magazines. It makes me so sad, thinking that those people, you know, the ones who actually went into it with heart, they only ever just wanted to make music and instead they got turned into things on leashes being paraded around to make money for other people,” he says. “Anyway, you can have the stool.” Or, Louis's famous, Harry has no idea who he is, and they get snowed in together at a ski lodge in Vermont. (chaptered, may be continued, 22k)

Take Me Down Slow (Don’t Let Me Go) by @jacaranda-bloom for @1dgayboficfest - Louis has always felt different. Not necessarily on the outer realm of societal norms, but pretty damn close to the edge. As an Omega, he’s supposed to want certain things; to want to raise a family, to want to build a life with a partner, and to want that partner to be an Alpha.Well, two out of three ain’t bad.OR the one where Louis wants to find the right kind of partner to love, Niall hates snowboarding, Liam wants to settle down, Harry is really good with his hands, and mother nature could be the thing that changes everything. (chaptered, complete, 26k)

Steady Eddie - “We’re bringing in a guy.” Ben said. Eddie stared at him.“You’re what?” Ben shrugged. “Apparently the gay market is grossly untapped,” he commented. “We stand to make a fortune. We have it on good authority that the gays love you. Of course,” he added with a dirty smirk. “Your size and all…” “Of course,” Eddie replied drily; something smarting in his chest. “I’ve been asking for a guy for the last two years…” “Well, now you’re getting one,” Ben smiled. (chaptered, complete, 84k, locked, read tags for a better understanding of what this fic is about)

Older fics

sweet, sweet fate by @bottomlinsons for @1dshortficfest -  Harry’s lived with a NSFW soulmark for almost twenty-five years now. When he finally meets the man responsible, he gives him a little piece of his mind. (one shot, 1k, feb. 2019)

Say It With Flowers by @reminiscingintherain - From the prompt: Person A owns a flower shop and person B comes storming in one day, slaps 20 bucks on the counter and says “How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?” (one shot, 2k, jan. 2019)

Got Me an Appetite by @flamboyantdaddy for @1dgayboficfest -  So it's something, and Louis isn't sure how to approach it. She doesn't want to sound ungrateful. The past few months have been heaven, and she doesn't want to make Harry feel like Louis doesn't worship the ground she walks on (ok, a bit over dramatic, but sometimes it feels like that). She just wants to make her girlfriend come. (one shot, 8k, feb. 2019)

All Hearts Come Home For Christmas by @itsprobablylarry - Gemma, who the fuck is that?” Louis hisses as he watches her wave back with a big smile. Her brows furrow for a second as she looks at Louis. “What? That’s my brother, you dork. Told you he’d pick us up, didn’t I?” Well fuck. Apparently, Mr. Handsome over there is Gemma’s brother. And Louis is spending a week with him. Pretending to be his sister’s boyfriend. Shit. (Basically: Gemma brings ‘her boyfriend’, Louis, home for Christmas and her brother is really hot.) (one shot, 8k, 2015, I also recommend the sequel)

You’re home now kitten by @thesedumbboys - “But, I'm just a stray” Louis looks so broken, sad, disappointed almost. Not even daring to look up from the floor, fumbling with his hands, ears down submissively. The sight almost makes Harry, known to everyone for his soft heart, tear up. “Nope, followed me here, this is your home now.” Harry smiles, speaking confidently, surprised himself that his voice didn’t come out shaky with emotion. “That’s the rule” He shrugs.... Louis is a stray and he follows Harry home. Harry likes him too much and makes him stay and Louis ends up quite liking it. (one shot, 9k, feb. 2019)

Your Touch Is The Only Thing I Feel by @2tiedships2 - Liam. Liam was finally here. Louis kept his eyes closed and cuddled farther into Liam’s side, revelling in the pheromones Louis’ body desperately needed. He wasn’t sure how long Liam had been holding him, but Louis figured it had to have been at least an hour by the way his body had loosened. The need of an alpha’s touch seemed to have been temporarily lifted from his mind. Louis listened to the sounds of the pub around him. It was louder than before he had fallen asleep and he briefly wondered why Liam hadn’t just woken him to go back to their flat.“Who the fuck are you?” Louis’ eyes flew open at the sound of Niall’s voice, and the arm that had been around Louis shoulders lifted in the same instant. He missed the warmth immediately. Louis looked from Niall’s stormy face over to the person who was definitely not Liam. The alpha Liam impersonator, who smelled a lot better than the actual Liam now that Louis was alert, looked back at Louis with wide eyes and familiar furrowed brows. Or the one where Louis refuses to settle for just any alpha despite intense touch deprivation. Fortunately Harry isn't just any alpha. (one shot, 15k, 2018)

bring out feelings in me i never show by @tomorrows - “I really think you should stop reading,” Liam says, having moved to hover behind Louis’ back at some point. “I can already see the cogs turning in your head, Louis, and I don’t like this.” “Shut up,” Louis waves him off and continues reading. I can do these things, at your request: openly hit on other female guests while you act like you don’t notice; start instigative discussions about politics and/or religion; propose to you in front of everyone; pretend to be really drunk as the evening goes on (sorry I don’t drink, but I used to); start an actual, physical fight with a family member, either inside or on the front lawn for all the neighbors to see. [Louis accidentally hires a felon to be his fake boyfriend for Thanksgiving. Or, the fake boyfriends au no one asked for, inspired by this.] (chaptered, complete, 24k, locked)

don’t tell the gods (we left a mess) by @bottomlinsons - After a misunderstanding with Liam’s mother, Louis agrees to accompany his best friend to a family wedding and pretend to be the world’s best boyfriend. But their simple plan goes awry when he learns that Harry, ex-boyfriend/ex-love of Louis’ life, will also be in attendance. (aka: fake!boyfriends with a twist ft. bromance, romance and cake.) (chaptered, complete, 71k, (I know, I also can’t believe I only just read this fic, as you can tell I was just really into fake relationships this month))

[thelioncourts]

I know you haven't posted the first chapter of your Mannequin Gallery Verse yet (I hope you're close) but I was wondering if you could tell me how you plan out stories/chapters or if you even plan at all. I'm trying to get started on writing a longer thing but I feel like I've tried everything and nothing has worked.

writing is so strange, isn’t it? there are a million and one ways to do it and no one way works quite the same for each person. 

here’s what i can tell you about what i’m currently writing and my lost long-ish thing i wrote, beyond the pale (22k); i’m approaching the mannequin gallery completely different to how i approached beyond the pale. a lot of that has to do with initial intention. from the beginning, i’ve intended the mannequin gallery to be a long story. i don’t have even a good guestimate on how long it will be, but i’m anticipating extremely long. beyond the pale was only intended to a 6-8k story when i first started it. 

when i started writing beyond the pale, which is a 5+1 fic, the only thing i had ahead of time was the summary (which i normally write after finishing a story or a portion of a story) and who each of the ‘5+1′ parts was to be about. other than that i just wrote, which is why it got way out of hand from where i guestimated it to end. 

the mannequin gallery was a really vague idea that i started putting together via research. i follow a photographer on IG that lives in paris and she got invited to shoot for dior during paris fashion week. that specific event rooted itself and i researched fashion week, modeling, photography, etc. and suddenly had this idea. i wrote a prologue for said idea over a year ago and, coincidentally, the prologue will not be used for the story now lol. i think the prologue, despite being only a few paragraphs, would give away way too much. 

in my preparation for writing the first chapters and stuff, i’ve done a multitude of things. i’ve written down important plot points that, at this point in time, are definite ‘must haves’ in the story. i’ve written down a few vaguer ideas that sound neat but i’m not overly attached to. then i started planning out the story, chapter by chapter. sometimes my chapter plans are really detailed, and sometimes they aren’t. there doesn’t really appear to be too much rhyme or reason, other than certain chapters have pivotal scenes (i.e. first meeting, first kiss, the usual, y’know?) and i write a lot. as an example, here’s my complete ‘chapter 3′ outline:

(sorry, had to blur to not put the whole story out there) but this one is a long detailed outline! my chapter 1 outline is, like, a quarter of this in length.

when it comes to the actual writing, so far what i’m doing is just writing what is in the outline. the chapter feels really stiff because of it, but the hope is that once i finish that (i think chapter one, without anything added, is going to be about 4-5k) i can go back through, edit what needs edited, and then add in what i want to add to really flesh out the story, whether that be more detail about scenery, about outfits, about relationships, etc. 

i hope that helps some? i don’t really think many people have this writing thing figured out perfectly lol at least i don’t, for sure. some days i need background music and some days i can watch a movie or a tv show and some days if i hear a pin drop i can’t get anything done.