#hate his stupid hair i hope he goes bald

[mary-kasexual]

he is most enjoyable

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Intrinsic: Jameson in Therapy

Prompt from Anon:  If you're still taking prompts... "Have you tried NOT doing that?"

CW: Noncon survivor discussing future consensual spice, Jameson’s masochism, frank references to noncon and pet whump, brief internal victim-blaming, world-building detail about WRU

Dr. Berger tucks a bit of graying hair behind one ear, smiling slightly at Jameson from her place in the soft armchair she uses during appointments. “Well,” She says, thoughtful, “have you tried not doing that?”

He looks up at her from where he sits curled up on the long sofa, knees to his chest, picking absently at loose threads across the knee of his baggy blue jeans. As always, she is careful not to let her eyes move to the places where hair is slowly growing back in over bald spots where the straps of a leather muzzle had rubbed, careful not to look at the scars he wears on every inch of exposed skin - she’d made the mistake of being caught looking, however briefly, and had discovered that the newest of her clients was deeply insecure about the visible evidence of his captivity.

She’d apologized, but it had taken time to develop enough trust to come back from her initial mistake. She would not jeopardize that now, after they’ve made so much progress and she’s begun to see a shift in how he talks about and relates to his new life, his world.

He even told her the name he chose for himself, and that he’s been telling the others in the house, one by one. Accepting that it won’t be taken from him like his original name was - that it belongs to him, and is his to share or not. 

She would never, ever admit it, but... Jameson is one of her favorite clients to work with. He’s working so hard, every week that they meet he trusts more and more that the path he’s on is one that will move him forward. 

“What?” 

His voice is slightly rough - someone who has screamed enough to have permanent vocal chord damage, she thinks. She makes a note to speak to Jake Stanton about having a physician check on the potential for nodes or other issues that might pop up later. She’s not a medical doctor, but… well. She’s had a lot of clients with vocal chord damage in the sixteen years she’s been working in the pet lib movement, and you start to pick up on the little signs and symptoms they don’t necessarily declare out loud.

“My question is really just me being a little facetious, I won’t lie, but I do want to talk through the spirit of the question. When you mention feeling guilty that you are having a physical response to your housemate, that you are attracted to them and have been struggling with... well. I’d like to really dig in to where that guilt comes from. Now, I am aware that adjustment houses tend to discourage relationships between household members during their time in residence to cut down on the chance for conflict, but that’s not where your guilt lies, is it?”

He goes back to picking at the hole slowly wearing through his jeans. Dr. Berger waits, giving him the silence and time he needs to think his way through the question and the possible answers. After a long time, he says softly, “No. It’s not. I don’t give a fuck if Stanton wants me to hold somebody’s stupid hand or not.”

She has to force her smile not to widen, wondering if Jameson is aware of just how like Jakob Stanton he really is. No wonder they don’t always get along. “Okay. So can you talk to me about just what you sense of guilt, this worry you feel, is rooted in?” 

She watches with some small surprise as the angry, defiant recovering Box Boy who has spoken frankly and openly to her about being maimed, injured, treated as an object, referred to as an animal... blushes.

“I want-... It’s not the, um, the response. That I hate.” He won’t look at her now, and he’s one who loves to stare her down whenever he thinks she’ll be shocked or disgusted by what he has to tell her. But this… this, he’s ashamed or embarrassed to say. “They’re fucking gorgeous, that’s... anybody would like them. It’s… it’s what I want from them that... scares me.”

“You are accustomed to a certain level of unwanted physical attention, it’s not at all uncommon in Romantic rescues to continue to feel sexual attraction and desire after freedom-”

“No. It’s. It’s not that I-... I know that’s normal. It’s… I want…” He shifts, uneasily. “I want… I want Allyn to hurt me.”

The last sentence is whispered. It’s not sharing a thought, it’s confessing what he feels is some kind of sin he is committing or intending to commit. Dr. Berger sometimes feels like a priest in a confessional booth, although she’s never been one to suggest atonement - no, fear of oneself is where the core of most of her clients’ pain lies, in her experience. Instead, she works on reconstructing the impulse or fear from its foundations, breaking apart the horror of its weight and reconfiguring it so it’s easier to understand. 

To take control of, to direct.

She helps them to own themselves, not to fear the prospect but to see in it freedom they have always deserved. 

Fear is the absolute last thing any of her clients should ever have to feel again. They have been taught to devalue and debase themselves, to fear what their bodies can be made to do. If she does nothing else, Dr. Berger hopes she is able to help them be just a little less afraid of the bodies they live in.

“You want your housemate to hurt you?” She asks, gently. “Do you mean in the sense of a serious injury, or…”

“No. Um. No, I fucking… I think about them, um. Hurting-... like… like they used to do. Biting me, or... or scratching... I th-think sometimes about Allyn h-holding a... never mind. Just. Hurting me. I’m-... made to be hurt.”

“You are made only to be yourself,” Dr. Berger reminds him, her voice low and without any hint of judgement. “We’ve talked about your captors before and how you were held. You believe that you were made into a masochist as part of your training, and so you’re frightened that your mind is thinking about your housemate in ways similar to how you were once forced to think about your captors.”

His nose wrinkles - he’s more dismissive than most of the language she uses, and early on delighted in insisting on using words like owner, handler, master. Things he thought might shock her. But Dr. Berger has heard nearly everything she thinks there might be to hear, by now. She only smiles slightly at his expression, jotting quickly down on her notepad a few notations. 

Finally, he offers hesitantly, “I-I guess. Allyn is… good. They’re soft, and nice, and they’d never-... but I want them to. And it’s-... it would make-... them be like Robert, or… wouldn’t it? It’d be… treating them like… I don’t ever want to be what I was again, so why the fuck can’t I stop thinking about it?” 

He is so rarely vulnerable. Dr. Berger doesn’t take for granted the gift he gives her by letting her see past the wall of anger and derision he has built to keep himself safe. In many ways, he reminds her of when she saw Jake Stanton after his own brush with WRU’s handlers and their methods. Bristling, defensive, and with wounds that cannot be bandaged. They instead need to be exposed to the light.

“Intrusive thoughts that contain elements of your captivity are absolutely normal. You are still in the early stages of making progress, and progress is never linear, Jameson. There is no starting line, no ribbon at the end of the race. There is only moving forward, bit by bit, even if sometimes we move back.”

“You mean I move back,” He says, sullen now. “You don’t do shit. You’re already fine.”

“Mmmn, that’s not… quite accurate. I actually see someone myself, you know.” Dr. Berger smiles at his obvious, visible surprise. “My mentor once told me he never trusted a provider of therapy who did not themselves seek it out. I have my own progress to work towards, just as you have yours.”

“Problems are probably real fucking different, though.”

“Well, that’s true.” She allows herself a warm laugh - and is rewarded when he doesn’t bristle or assume mockery like he used to, but relaxes and even gives her a very small smile in return. “But I would advise you not to compare yourself to others. Your situation, while not unique in some ways, is still unique to you. You’ve been through a kind of horror that no one else has - even if others have experienced some similarities, the traumatic events they experienced will never be entirely like yours.”

He nods.

“But-” She holds up one finger “That doesn’t mean we can’t use what we know as a framework, a foundation you can build your own way on. Think of an ancient Roman road paved into a highway in modern Italy, for instance. The foundation was there, a path laid by people who came through before. But you can take what you need and use it to find your own way. I know that you’re scared of your thoughts, I know that you are frightened of wanting to find gratification or satisfaction in pain because you think it means a return to how you were treated before, or that you are inherently changed in damaging ways by your captivity, but…”

When she trails off, he leans slightly forward “But?”

She chooses her words carefully. “Jameson, would you be willing to consider something that may make you a little uncomfortable?”

He looks at her, depths of feelings in his brown eyes, and slowly nods. “Why not? I’m already fucking uncomfortable. All the time.”

His thin shoulders under the oversized band shirt he wears make angles under the fabric as he shrugs, although in the time she’s been seeing them those sharp edges have already begun to round out, the lines of his jaw and cheekbones are softening.

She’s seen it over and over again, the physical changes reflecting the rebuilding of an entire life. It never ceases to amaze her, how hard each and every one of them works. 

“Okay. This may be hard to hear at first but I think it will help you.”

Eventually he nods. “Yeah,” He half-rasps. “Yeah, okay. Just say it. Everything… everything else you’ve said has helped. Go ahead.”

“Okay. So, what I would like you to consider… perhaps what you see as an enforced flaw, a crack that was put into you, a danger you present to your housemate due to your conditioning and mistreatment… it might be in fact an intrinsic part of your sexual expression, and simply an aspect of your attraction to them, and the wish you stated to me to perhaps escalate your current relationship.”

He swallows. The color drains from his face, except for two spots of bright red high along his cheekbones. “What?” His lips barely move. 

“Jameson…” Her tone dips, reassuring and soothing. “I know what you were told. I know you were likely given a series of half-truths and whole lies designed to engender dependence and teach you to loathe yourself and therefore disconnect from your body. But… that body? It’s very real, and it’s entirely yours. I think that we need to look into the possibility that you already had certain tendencies that were exploited and twisted. Those tendencies are not inherently unhealthy or damaging if you learn to pursue them in a safe environment.”

He blinks, once, twice, his eyes glittering. 

She’s made a misstep and she knows it immediately, clear as the tears Jameson never allows to fall. She didn’t time it quite right. They should have spent more time working up to it…

“Are you saying I’m just-... like this?”

“Not the way you are suggesting,” Dr. Berger says softly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t express myself clearly enough. Please let me elaborate a little.”

“I fucking hope you d-didn’t mean that I’m-... that I’m just fucked up,” He says, looking away from her, down at the floor. She pretends she doesn’t see one hand go up to curve around the side of his neck, recreating some of the weight of the collar they are so often taught to rely on for a sense of safety.

“I absolutely did not mean that. One thing WRU excels at - one of the reasons they have been so successful - is that they utilize very effective techniques that encourage a sense of complicity and responsibility in the people they abuse and violate. I’m going to hazard a guess that you were told that you chose what happened to you.”

“I signed up for this,” Jameson whispers automatically, rote and robotic, without hesitation. At least, Dr. Berger thinks, she’s been doing this job long enough that hearing that no longer gets to her like it used to. “I wanted to be some rich asshole’s-”

“Yes. That. One way I think they are able to convince so many individuals so thoroughly isn’t only because of the standard methods of sleep and nutritional deprivation, the repetition, memorizing, the mistreatment… no, I think one thing WRU does is find in each of its victims a core truth they can exploit and cause you to fear in yourself, making you more vulnerable to the idea that this company is somehow saving or helping you by ‘making use’ of it. They find your weak point and use it to shatter you, but what WRU never realizes is that the very weakness they exploit is also often the same piece of you we can recover, that we can reclaim. In your case… Jameson, have you ever heard of consensual masochism?”

He’s hooked, she thinks, on this line of logic. On the lifeline she’s thrown him, something to grab onto. A way to begin to believe, in some small way, that he isn’t ruined. They all think they’ve been ruined, by the time she meets them.

None of them is.

“No, I-I haven’t. Does this mean… there are people like me who aren’t, you know, fucktoys-”

“Recovering Romantics,” She corrects, gently. “And yes. Masochism is a not-uncommon mode of expression that many people engage in consensually in the context of healthy sexual expression.”

He swallows, hard. She watches his throat move. Sees the look in his eyes, the minute changes in his expression. The hand pushing against the side of his neck slowly drops. She can see the gears turning within him, a shifting point of view maybe. She can see what he doesn’t want to speak out loud.

There’s another silence. This one is more comfortable, and as always she gives him all the time he needs. 

“How-” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat, blinking rapidly again. His knees slowly uncurl and his feet, clad in old hand-me-down sneakers, find their way to flat on the floor. Without his ever-present scowl, he looks years younger. Terrified.

Hopeful.

“How can I-... how do I-...” He takes a deep breath. “If it’s just… part of me… how do I make it safe?”

-

@astrobly @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @whump-tr0pes @raigash @moose-teeth @orchidscript @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @eatyourdamnpears @boxboysandotherwhump @vickytokio @whumpfigure @outofangband @downriver914 @justabitofwhump @thehopelessopus @butwhatifyouwrite @yet-another-heathen @nonsensical-whump

[greekbros]

"greek-Bros": Rat Tail

*Every god has their secrets....this is the tale of Ares's secret*

Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes: *chatting away about stuff*

Ares: *comes in sort of dancing after a long day of WAAAARRRHHHHH* do do do, de do *takes his helmet off, revealing a slightly long but thin braided rat tail just gently unravel down his shoulder*

Dionysus, Apollo and Hermes: *stop everything and just stare at the literal war crime against humanity that was hiding under Ares's helmet this whole time* (̲̅ ͡ಠ_ಠ)̲̅.......

Ares: *goes over to a fountain to wash up like some homeless dude.*

Dionysus: *raises arm and over dramatically points at Ares*......OH SHIT. A RAT!....tail.

Ares: *turns around nonchalantly* ugh....yeah....yeh guys didn't know?

Apollo: Oh really? Did you HONESTLY think we would even suspect the existence of that........THING?!?

Hermes: Yeah man, I mean... really? A rat tail????

Ares: Ugh...yeah...I mean, it's convenient.

Apollo: SO IS SLAVERY AND GENOCIDE BUT YOU DON'T SEE THOSE BEING PUBLICLY ACCEPTABLE!!!!

Ares: ok I'll bite, why do you guys have such a problem with my hair style?

Apollo: *deeply offended and disgusted by it* oh how do I put it.......ITS FUCKING HORRID.

Dionysus: *personally feeling like Ares could do better with a mullet or something* yeah ugh....looks a little out dated

Hermes: *actually having the insatiable craving to just pluck it right off* ugh...*sweats profusely* .......*does the grabby hand thing and just kinda is mesmerized at the possibility of just easily ripping that tantalizingly thin braided strand like an satisfying ASMR video* ....hhhhnnnnggggg.

Ares: .... First off, fuck off. I ain't getting rid of my "Leonidas's rope". Second, you guys don't understand how hard it is to maintain this look and third off Aphrodite braided it herself so ain't losing that too.

Apollo: Oh there's your accomplice.

Dionysus: I always knew she was an enabler how toxic of her to do so.

Hermes: ....*slowly sneaks closer*

Ares: *slowly backs away.* Screw you guys, I'm going to get a snack. *Covers his rat tail with his hand while he runs off*

Hermes: *like a predator who has been triggered by the running of his prey* must. yank. *

Apollo: *grabs Hermes's collar* no no. I have a plan.

Hermes: *whines* ....but...it would have been so....ﾟ.*･｡ﾟsatisfying ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

*later*

Ares: *eats his 3rd gryo*

Dionysus: *tries to lasso the rat tail*

Ares: *moves like 3 inches*

Dionysus: *lassos an amphora, pulls the lasso without realizing he has pulled the wrong thing and gets the whole bottle to the face*

Ares: *reaches for the amphora but he notices it's gone.*..........*shrugs and goes get another*

Dionysus: ow.

*later again, in Hephaestus's secret lab*

Apollo: So...do you have any suggestions?

Hermes: *playing with what looks like a stim toy because he got bored* c:

Hephaestus: hmm...yes.... Ares's unfortunate choice of hairstyle is a challenge...but...I do have an idea. *Pulls a rope and a overly complicated Rube Goldberg-esk guillotine the cuts a pumpkin in half* .....

Apollo and Hermes: *both feeling that was WAY too much* ....

Hephaestus: .....

Apollo: ...um... don't you have something a little less..... drastic?

Hephaestus: *lying through his teeth knowing the plan was to at least save his marriage by just killing Ares* ....I apologized dear half-brother...but I'm afraid that is beyond my capabilities.

Apollo and Hermes: *look at each other*

*later*

Ares: *standing in the middle of a platform with ropes and such tied to different places on his body and only the one tied to his rat tail actually does anything*.....are you sure this isn't going to emancipate me for my 'rope'

Hermes: Wut? Oh no of course not, me and Heracles just wanted to do...ugh...an experiment. *Holding on to one rope on a pulley system*

Heracles: *has been brought from his room to harass Ares, holding on to the other*

*later after that failed spectacularly*

Dionysus: *puts a raw steak on his face from earlier* ....so....no plan?

Hermes: no....and I've already satisfied my craving to yank that thing off. Honestly it probably wouldn't have been interesting anyway.

Apollo: *massages his temples* that disgusting, trashy and absolutely repulsive little yarn weff is getting to me.

Dionysus: guys let's be real here ....are we all really going to let Ares's braid really bother us?

Apollo: I REFUSE to relate to another god who wears THAT behind his occipital region of his head.

Ares: *comes in* alright that's it, I'm sick of you guys being so fucking weird about my 'rope' and honestly it's not like you guys have something to hate either! Apollo you and your stupid bowtie on your head makes you look like a poodle! Dionysus I don't know what the shit is going on with your hair so for fuck's sake get a haircut and Hermes.....ugh....YOUR HAT WINGS PISS ME OFF....sort of.

Apollo: *not actually bothered by that comment considering its removable*

Dionysus: *scoff* I see you're jealous of my mane dude.

Hermes: *wings droop* :c

Ares: See? Doesn't fucking suck for someone else t-*hears a snip* .....

Apollo, Dionysus and Hermes: 👁️👄👁️

Artemis: *with a pair of scissors, has just cut the rat tail*...wut?

Ares: *absolutely speechless*......

Apollo: *surprisingly thankful* ARTEMIS! What on earth was that act of mercy for? :D

Artemis: wut? You guys don't have the urge to cut the tails off of rats or anything? Just me? Ok.

Dionysus and Hermes: *wanting to laugh like crazy but slightly feels like Ares is going lose his shit so their just quite*

Ares: *turns around in disbelief* ..........you... little....

Artemis: *unloving gives Ares his rat tail back* whatever Ares, fucking gross looking thing anyways. *Walks away*

Ares: *kneels down in defeat*..........

Apollo: well well well it seems everything is back to normal.

Ares: *sees that Artemis left the scissors, sees only red* .....well....looks like we got to go *picks up the scissors, looks at the trio* BALD.

Apollo, Dionysus and Hermes: *suddenly happy feelings gone.

*later*

Zeus and Hera: *waiting for the Olympians to arrive at the meeting*

Ares: *walks in a fresh buzz cut sits down*

Apollo: *expressionless and with his hair sloppily chopped in various places, looking like it was a home job*....

Dionysus: *slightly similar but he's feeling like a sheered lamb* .....

Hermes: *has a slightly messy version of a buzz cut but there's a really sloppy fade*

Zeus and Hera: *honestly have no idea what happened and look at Ares*

Ares: *has the look of satisfaction on his face*

Apollo: *sits down and slumps over*

Ares: *doesn't even have to turn his head*

Apollo: I hope you choke on those brass balls of yours because I hope you enjoy retaliation.

Ares: Name a place and time and we'll trade hands you pansy.

Apollo: man slut.

Zeus: BOYS!

Apollo: I SEE YOU DO NOT SEE THE ATROCITY YOUR SON HAS COMMITTED!

[eldrai]

Not Worth It

Whumptober 2021 - day 3 - prompt: insult

Character: Reid

Warnings: ableism, r-slur, brief/mild homophobia

Words: 2.2k

Summary: Spencer isn’t naïve. He is young and he looks young but he isn’t stupid. He hadn’t graduated with the expectation that because he was older, had qualifications to back him up, the world would collectively mature in kind. After all, he’d gained his relative immunity to insults because it hurt less to let them taunt him than it had to confront them and end up shoved in a locker or tied up on the football field.

He had hoped things might be different. Not expected. Not assumed.

Just hoped.

ao3 / masterlist

“—were actually invented in the early fifteenth century, though the first versions were, uh, significantly more spherical and made of a wood like beech. It’s also highly likely they used cows’ hair inside leather—”

The cop – Maciewicz – nudges the officer beside him. “Does he ever stop talking?”

Spencer is fairly sure the jab is intended to be audible. It’s an interesting social convention, that sort of insult, where everyone including the target hears it but the person who said it can’t be called out on it because they supposedly directed it at nobody in particular. Interesting, and very high-school of them: Maciewicz is closer to forty than thirty and beginning to bald, and the stale remnants of cigarette smoke follows his colleague wherever he goes.

It doesn’t offend Reid these days. Attending a public LA high school is its own distinct circle of hell but doing so at nine? University at twelve? He’s been called most names under the sun and petty insults don’t get under his skin like they used to.

Which isn’t to say they aren’t annoying.

What he hates the most is the variety of people who insult him: they all have different reactions, different sore spots, and getting them to go away isn’t a one-size-fits-all situation. Reid has dealt with enough bullies to understand that ‘ignore them and they’ll go away’ is useless, if not downright dangerous advice, but there is a whole spectrum of solutions which may or may not work. Get it wrong, and they just grow more persistent.

Spencer isn’t naïve. He is young and he looks young but he isn’t stupid. He hadn’t graduated with the expectation that because he was older, had qualifications to back him up, the world would collectively mature in kind. After all, he’d gained his relative immunity to insults because it hurt less to let them taunt him than it had to confront them and end up shoved in a locker or tied up on the football field.

He had hoped things might be different. Not expected. Not assumed.

Just hoped.

Of course they aren’t.

He pays them no mind and continues to explain the significance of the golf balls their unsub keeps leaving behind. If they didn’t want him to talk, they shouldn’t have asked for his opinion.

This seems like a fairly straightforward case and with any luck, they’ll only have to tolerate the local police department for a couple of days more.

He may have jinxed it.

(Once when they had come to take his Mom to inpatient, Spencer had overheard someone at the front desk talking lowly to someone else, and her words had stuck with him: see, that’s what you get for saying it’s quiet today!

That was always the gist of what was said on TV hospital dramas too. Police chaos isn’t all that different from hospital chaos, he thinks. There’s always too much of it and it’s unpredictable in its unpredictability.)

The curveball this time is their unsub is not a lone male but a male-female duo – he carries out the kills but under her direction. Classic submissive-dominant dynamic. The thing with pairs is they crack. Bend under the pressure until they break and lives are lost in the collateral damage.

Case in point: Marcy Edgeworth, aged twenty-four, Caucasian female, death by blunt force trauma. She is the first female victim and the first to have been left to lie where she’d died. That isn’t a good sign. No indication of sexual assault pre- or post-mortem but there is an incomplete ring of bite marks just beneath her right collarbone, exposed due to her torn shirt.

“What, never seen a naked girl before?” Jamison – Maciewicz’s colleague – mutters. Just low enough for Spencer to hear as he is trying to get on with his job, unlike a certain pair of officers.

“Woman,” he corrects, for her age, “and yes, I have.”

He hopes the lightness in his tone offsets the brusqueness. Spencer shifts his crouching into kneeling and leans forwards to examine her hair. It’s an artificial red – her roots and her eyebrows are blonde – and their previous victims have all had brown hair.

“Only counts if it’s outside a morgue,” Maciewicz chimes in.

He ignores them but their gaze burns the back of his head, and their presence has his guard raised. They stand behind him and their shadows stretch out over the grass either side of him. They’re going for a reaction, Spencer assumes.

Biting is an interesting thing without an accompanying sexual assault. If nothing else it gives them a good estimation of their male unsub’s teeth. The impression he’s getting from the scene is one of interruption, an impulse kill whose victim he had to leave too soon. It is a public park and it was an early-morning dog walker who found her – likely a jogger or someone on a night shift.

Jamison clears his throat once, twice, then taps him on the shoulder. Spencer rears away from his touch. People never ask, they just do.

“Yes?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing,” Jamison says. “I – we – we were wondering why you do that… thing.”

“What thing?” Spencer asks.

Jamison gestures. “You know, the – you know.”

Is that some sort of punchline he’s missing? Spencer glances over at Maciewicz and finds a mild amusement. Nothing to indicate he should be laughing, nor should he know what they do mean.

Maybe he’s missing the cue. He’s better at it these days, but not perfect.

“No, I don’t.”

With a furtive glance at the precinct’s captain, deep in conversation with one of the forensic technicians, Jamison sighs. “The thing with your hands, the—” He shakes his hands in an exaggerated manner.

Spencer’s hands still. He hadn’t thought it was very noticeable and more to the point, Jamison is definitely overexaggerating it like kids in middle school used to do. Only back then they had his unusual gait and meltdowns to mock too. “I don’t do that,” he says firmly.

(He’d answer it if it was a genuine question. Respectful. He loves people who ask out of genuine good intent. They are few and far between.)

Maciewicz snickers.

“Yeah, you do,” Jamison says. “I want to know why, that’s all.”

“Makes you look like a retard,” Maciewicz adds.

…and there it is.

He goes cold from head to toe. It never fails to make him feel as if someone has just dumped a bucket of water right over him, washing away his enthusiasm and excitement and everything else he values. Leaves the bare bones, the weirdness, each of the hundred ways he never quite fits in.

Spencer hates the word.

Because they don’t care about his IQ or eidetic memory or reading skill when they say that, and they don’t care after he tells them.

Nobody calls him that because they think he is. They say it to hurt him.

He wishes it wouldn’t.

Despite how often he’s heard it, he never has a response. His mind goes blank and all he can pull from it is the roots – re,from Latin: back, and tardus, from Latin: slow – as if they give a damn about etymology. As if that’s a normal person’s response. Today is no exception so it’s a blessing when Morgan wanders over.

“You got anything, pretty boy?” he asks. Maciewicz and Jamison snort. If Morgan hears it, he pays it no mind. “They found a guy’s baseball cap over there. No hair but it looks like it’s our man’s.”

And once again, his mind goes blank. Makes you look like a retard. He’d been thinking about – the bite mark, yes, what does that indicate? Spencer catches his hands moving and shoves them in his pockets before they can. “He was interrupted,” he says. “It explains why the bite isn’t complete and why he didn’t notice he’d left his hat.”

Morgan nods. “The person who found the body didn’t recall seeing anyone else around, so you think he’d just left before they got there?”

“Probably,” Spencer says. “I think the woman might be blonde. If they got into a fight, he’d be stressed, he’d be thinking about her. Maybe she reminded him of her.”

“Could be the hair, could be something else,” Morgan says. “He won’t have talked to her, not if he hit her from behind.”

“What if they did? She could have walked away—”

“Maybe,” Morgan says. “But if her hair was dyed, he wouldn’t see that unless they were up close, right? He’d initially go for her because she’s got red hair, not blonde. And if they did talk, Prentiss says no woman’s gonna just turn her back on a strange man. Especially in the middle of the night with no-one around.”

It’s a valid point, and it isn’t condescending. Nonetheless it hurts. Spencer studies the ground for a long moment and tries to forget (retard) Maciewicz and Jamison. “The unsub isn’t going to be someone he’s sexually attracted to,” he says. “He didn’t assault her, and if the victim reminds him of the other unsub, he’d probably have tried to even if someone interrupted him before he really could.”

A burst of laughter from Maciewicz and Jamison. His cheeks go hot with embarrassment—they must be talking about him, what else is there to laugh about? Morgan follows his gaze. “There a problem?” he asks.

Maciewicz holds up his hands in mock surrender. “No, no. Just… the hell is that about, ‘pretty boy’?”

Morgan shrugs. Spencer isn’t sure if it’s as casual as it looks.

“Well, makes sense,” Jamison says. “Course he’s gonna freak out over a naked girl if he doesn’t swing that way.”

…oh, great.

Spencer doesn’t mind exactly what they say as much as the implication—that they know, that they’re entitled to know his sexuality. How they say it as if gay is equivalent to bad. Once again, how utterly high school it all is. And he knows Morgan isn’t going to appreciate it either, probably more insulted on his behalf than Spencer himself.

“And you care, because...?” Morgan says, looking back and forth between them.

“I don’t,” Jamison says.

“He’s…” Maciewicz stammers, “…you know.”

“Smarter than you?” Morgan suggests. “Better at his job than you? A better person than you?”

“You don’t have to stick up for him,” Jamison says. “Must get annoying to deal with a re—”

“It’s fine,” Spencer interrupts. It isn’t. It really isn’t but it isn’t worth the conversation. How tiring it gets to deal with it, how much easier it is to walk away. These officers aren’t going to change their worldview on disabilities all of a sudden. “Morgan.”

Morgan takes in his posture, the unnatural stillness as he forces himself not to fidget, though the look in his eyes doesn’t fade. “The only people I don’t want to ‘deal with’ are both of you.”

The men share a look – not so much chastened as disappointed their fun was interrupted – but they do back off.

“They already seem to think I’m incapable,” Spencer says irritably. “I said it was fine, I didn’t need you to say anything.”

He crouches down to examine the bite again.

“It didn’t matter,” Spencer says. His hands itch and despite needing to, he can’t bring himself to move. Makes you look like a retard.

“Does if it bothers you,” Morgan insists. “And it did, don’t look at me like that.”

He sighs. They’re not even there any more, the two cops out on patrol and them revisiting the penultimate crime scene. “I’m used to it.”

“And?” Morgan says. “Just because you are doesn’t mean you have to put up with it—”

“It was five minutes at most,” Spencer points out. “Everyone else was fine.”

“Yeah, and they were dicks.”

He shrugs.

“What else did they say?”

Spencer rolls the fabric of his sweater between his fingers and feigns ignorance. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what else did they say when I wasn’t there, ‘cause they said something.”

“Makes you look like a retard.”

He doesn’t mean to say it – wasn’t sure what he had planned to say, but it certainly wasn’t that – but he says it nonetheless, his tone mimicking the disdain and irritation. And now Morgan definitely isn’t going to believe him if he says he’s fine and it’s going to make the situation worse to explain that he mostly is, he just hasn’t heard it for a while, he’s used to it.

Stupid echolalia.

“Like I said,” Morgan says, “they were dicks.”

Spencer doesn’t point out being rude doesn’t automatically mean lying. “I’ve heard worse.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t give them the right to say stuff like that.”

He rocks back on the balls of his feet. His hands aren’t co-operating but the swaying motion is a good substitute. “I’m okay.”

“You know,” Morgan says casually, “whenever you lie, you stand exactly the same way.”

Spencer looks up. The expression on Morgan’s face falls somewhere between sadness and sympathy but, he thinks, not pity. It’s a nice change.

“Kid, the only thing you’re gonna get from pretending you’re OK is worse,” Morgan says. “It’s not worth it. Not for anyone but especially not morons like that.”

“It’s not worth it,” Spencer repeats. The words catch in his thoughts and he murmurs it again and again and Morgan isn’t even slightly annoyed at him.

(It isn’t worth it—he knows this—but maybe it is. Just a tiny bit. Just for the part where he has friends who tell him things like this, who don’t mind when he’s awkward. Who don’t mind him.

Friends who say nothing about it but when they get back to the station, the pair are getting chewed out by a pissed off captain.)

A/N: I had trouble getting this to flow as well as my other ones, there's something about it I just can't figure out. Regardless, I hope you enjoy it.

[ferret-not-microwave]

Les Amis Modern AU: What They Wish Others Believed About Them (Part 4)

[I kind of wrote this in response to some general trends in characterising the Amis. There are some stereotypes which I'm not quite comfortable with.]

[So much delay. Sorry.]

Joly:

• Really, really wishes that people don't laugh at him for his anxiety issues. He is truly terrified of getting infected with some disease or the other, and even more terrified of spreading it to Joly and Chetta. It doesn't help that he is one of the most sincere students of the lot, and spends a lot of time reading medical journals, which feed into his panic. He feels safe wearing masks, using rubbing alcohol (or wearing gloves), and having a bag full of basic first aid supplies, and gets embarrassed if anyone judges him for it. Also, he doesn't like it if "concerned" people ask him whether he had a past history of debilitating disease or something, he doesn't want to discuss it at all, okay? -_-

• When Joly fusses about illness in the Musain, it is him letting his guard down. He has to actively rein in his anxiety to function in the hospital, and gets super exhausted from hiding it. His tells in the hospital are are wide eyes behind his protective goggles and a compulsive toying with the wristband of his gloves. He's one of the most courageous individuals ever because of what he faces on a regular basis. He hopes that he might get some reassurance from the Amis to stop his spiralling thoughts, and he mostly gets it.

• Joly definitely has a wild side, and is more than his anxious, serious self. If there's one who can one-up Courf's cheesy pick-up lines, it is Joly. With a eyebrow quirk that leaves everyone giggly and blushing. If there's one who can set a Karaoke stage on fire (not literally, that would be R), it's Joly. If there's one who can down shots to match Bahorel, it's Joly. The one who is the most eager to go skinny dipping? Joly. The one who is, oddly, the most eager to break a pinata? Joly. Joly is more than a "quiet science nerd who checks his tongue in the mirror all the time".

• Joly and Ferre INSIST that they do not talk about random medical trivia all the time. Honestly, their shared interests involve Jane Austen and massive amounts of gossip with tea, along with Doctor Who, Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett. MASSIVE AMOUNTS OF TEA, IN EVERY SENSE OF THE WORD.

• There are days he wants to tackle people like an angry Pikachu. But real life is tough, and not everyone has the privilege of confronting people. But he really, really can do without people casting aspersions on his poly relationship with Bossuet and 'Chetta ALL THE TIME. He has been confronted as an "opportunist" in Pride walks, faced with people's pitying look to Bossuet or 'Chetta as though he is stringing them both along or "sharing" 'Chetta with Bossuet, cheered on and slapped on the back by straight cismen for "knowing how to have fun", and once directly asked if he's the one who will marry 'Chetta. He goes into panic often, and for the longest time thought himself a really awful person.

• Beware a Joly in a farmer's market. Not because of haggling, but because some people ALWAYS assume that he's amazing at math while he actually fumbles at the cash counter. Similarly, he hates it if people crack shady jokes about him being a Marie Kondo around him (just because he likes neatness AND MARIE KONDO THANK YOU VERY MUCH). And no, he doesn't like rice all the time.

• Please give back the Tupperwares. Unlike popular opinion, Joly won't chase you down for his Tupperware like some do, and isn't particularly possessive about them. That doesn't mean that he can replace misplaced Tupperwares for all eternity, please. ;_; (Same goes for the beeswax food wraps and dino bandages, c'mon peeps don't help yourself to them indiscriminately ;_;).

• Apart from his baggy sweatshirt and dinosaur pajamas aesthetic, he also has a dress shirt and pleated pants collection that would probably leave Jay Gatsby jealous AF.

Bossuet:

• Is really self-conscious about his receding hairline. He had taken to shaving his head to make it look cool, because he's really uncomfortable with weird jokes about his age and baldness. Shaving heads is pretty high-maintenance at times, and he's slowly opening up to let the hair grow back on the sides of the head for the heck of it. He used to have a large collection of hats too, which he still uses occasionally, but now it is just a fashion accessory, not a way to hide. He likes scarves as well.

• He used to flinch and swallow his discomfort when people would touch his scalp without permission, now he firmly brushes off their hands with a light scowl.

• Similarly, he hates it when people actively try to compare him to Joly. He hates being considered less successful, a "third wheel" to Joly and 'Chetta and someone who can be taken less seriously. This doesn't mean he is jealous or angry with Joly at all though.

• He feels really, really angry when Joly sometimes breaks down in front of him and 'Chetta when confronted with comments on their relationship. He can and will stonewall anyone who hurts either of them.

• Bossuet understands Joly's anxiety because he faces anxiety as well. He often gets nightmares of his "bad luck" turning batshit Final-Destination-esque and resulting in horrible accidents to Joly, 'Chetta amd the rest of the Amis. He knows the "bad luck" jokes are good humouring, but it wears him down a lot in exam/interview/work meeting weeks and leaves him third and fourth guessing himself. He had also entered a bout of depression because the "bad luck" jokes had convinced himself that he can't progress in life because what's the use. It took a lot of work and, oddly, a super niche article from the Amis blog detailing research on how some societies actively ostracize people for being "unlucky" and how it is linked to major societal oppression, to help him.

• Bossuet loves having a heart of gold. Sometimes some people tell him not to be so nice ("what if that person has cheated you off money with a sob story?"). He refuses, because he cherishes being nice and knows his limits. He sometimes worries if he's being stupid, like when the great "attendance-by-proxy" disaster happens. But Marius' broad and grateful smile, "hi, how are you doing?" texts every morning, and monthly batch of AMAZING chocolate cookies makes it worth it.

• Bossuet's accidents do lead to some happy accidents. He stumbled on a whole new recipe of gooey brownies by accident. An amazing combination of dark chocolate and red chilli peppers (maybe not so weird in retrospect)? By accident. He fell upon Courfe's sandcastle once, but it resulted in a rare hermit crab crawling out. Courfe gave a treat at the new brunch place he was saving up for, because apparently that hermit crab had made Ferre all starry-eyed and happier than he had been in weeks. And as for the rest pf the accidents? Nothing that duct tape , 'Chetta, Joly and occasionally Feuilly can't help with. In all, his accidents are always smallish, and never monumental.

• Bossuet can put 'Chetta and Ferre to shame with his eyebrow raising (at least occasionally? Hehe?). He does that a lot when people ask him if he has put water on fire or has fallen into wells. "Like bruh? I don't go anywhere close to wells, I love sidewalks and what's with everyone asking me about the kitchen being on fire?" He also does that a lot to piners (R, Ep, Courfe, 'Parnasse).

• Bossuet is one of Enj's closest friends in Law School (apart from Courfe), because Law classes and shared optional papers. Duh. They often have long discussions which are super pleasant, fluffy, yet sensible because of his really sensitive optimism. Bossuet's unorthodox insights make their way into Enj's notes for ABC meetings, and he credits him always. Similarly Enj bails him out with attendance issues. Bossuet often calmly advices him about R. Since Joly has a similar relationship with Ferre, Bossuet and Joly sometimes help Enj and Ferre sort out lingering grievances between them, or plain hear them out. Enj and Bossuet have Froyo days.

Musichetta:

• Loves, loves, LOVES books. Has no idea why people think nerds come in a kind of stereotype only ("I don't look like you", she complains to Joly and Ferre one day, "but I can defeat you two in a Jane Austen quiz WTF!" They agree emphatically, and Ferre adds "and maybe Jehan too. Maybe".). She is a massive sucker for Comic-Cons and hates men who try to prove otherwise. -_- She loves libraries as much as she loves bars.

• Has no idea why people think she's super bitchy or about to eat them up. Many people plain run when she so much as looks at them while doing a shift as a barista in the Musain. Or ask for "the nicer barista" (Cosette?). When she breathes a sigh of relief when someone treats her nice, she also braces herself for self-righteous "saviours". "Are you sure you are doing okay with those men?" "They are using you!". If she poured milk all over a client's trousers because of such a comment not-so-accidentally, no one needs to know. ;)

• Sometimes, she feels drained out. Having to support both her partners anxiety can leave her down too. They are amazing people, who love her a lot, and know that she needs her recharge time. Often Bossuet takes over in caring for Joly and vice-versa. 'Chetta has a small arrangement with Courfe on those days. If he has free time, the two of them go for an amazing, super relaxing spa session. Bahorel is back-up spa partner. The two of them know not to ask questions, but let her unwind her thoughts and air them out.

• 'Chetta joined Les Amis L'ABC much later. One of her pet peeves were when Joly or Bossuet would go to protests which could easily turn violent because of right wing trolls and the police swarming the city. Specifically, when they went without more than a word or two to her. She would get worried sick, particularly if they couldn't pick up the phone within half an hour of the protest ending, and would cry alone because she didn't want to come off as needy and one of those people who do not support their cause.

• She finally broke down before them after Bossuet had a small concussion. They were really shamefaced at having not thought about her feelings, and their apologies ran for hours. While Joly promised to regularly give her updates, Bossuet asked her to join the ABC if she is comfortable with it. It took time for her to accept that she was being in the group because of the cause and not because she wanted to helicopter-mom Joly and Bossuet, but when the next protest happened, she realised that she was in a place she always wanted to be in.

• The Amis thought that she was a member anyway. She would holler at

• 'Chetta hates it when people think that it's Joly or Bossuet who end up lavishing gifts on her all the time. True, they do, but she does it too. She's a sucker for thoughtful gift giving, and she spoils the Amis A LOT OF TIMES. She can scour the Earth for ideal gifts for her boys, and she often takes care of a stray bill or two, as much as she humanely can. She doesn't play a one-upping battle of gifts though, she just loves a lot.

• She is really self conscious about her small hands and tiny feet. Which seem to her too small in comparison with the rest of her body. Sometimes she used to wear really fluffy mittens in winter to hide how small her hands her. Not so much now. :)

•She confided to Jehan that she didn't like people romanticizing her small hands and feet because she thought they were putting unrealistic standards of the "frail beauty" on her when she was anything but. She said this after she heard R chortle about how Joly had introduced her as having tiny hands and feet. The discussion ended in her gaping and then crying out of laughter because (according to Jehan) apparently Joly was really drunk when he first talked to the Amis about her, and had also said something like "she has fortune-teller eyes, yannow! Ask Bossuet! And her dimples! Marius, you booby, you pool noodle, I know how you feel like when you met Cosette!"

Apparently Bahorel had replied with "you need new pants" and then started laughing like no tomorrow. Bossuet, not so drunk (because he was late to the party), had taken the sensible route and shown the Amis the picture the three of them took after their first date.

• Seriously, she knows zilch about tarot cards or natal charts.

[loudsuitlover]

Doctor Harry

A/N: I feel like I forgot how to write but I guess the best way to overcome that is trying to write again. I’m still trying to write Lawyer Harry and Ohana but I’m struggling I don’t know why. Also this on first person POV. Thought I’d try something different too. Anyway, sorry for this annoying intro I don’t even know who I’m writing this for haha if after all this ranting you still decided to read, thank you and happy reading! xxx

INDIE’S POV

This skirt fitted me better last spring. I look at my profile on the mirror and focus on my belly and my lips frown at the muffin top I got during the winter. I really need to get back with the abs routine Sergio had made for me. I guess it would help if I didn’t hate abs with a passion. I’d be so fit if I didn’t hate abs and then it would be over for all of them skinny bitches. 

“Indie?” Jason barely whispers my name outside the door. 

“Coming.” 

I open the door fast as soon as I get my white coat on, getting my braid out of it as I walk with Jason towards the doctors’ offices. I have yet to meet my mentor, doctor Hill, since yesterday he didn’t work. That’s something I’ll never understand. If he’s not working then how can he have a medical student assigned for hospital practice? That’s beyond me. Thank God for young doctors who still remember what it was like to be an ignored Med student and help you out and take care of you. God bless them. 

“You look cute today.” Jason points out but I know he means it more like a suspicion than a compliment so I just roll my eyes and check I have my notepad on the pocket of my coat. “Hoping to see Mario again, are we?” 

I chuckle. 

“You know some of us don’t want to jump the bones of every nice guy we meet.” I tease him.

“You’re telling me. You haven’t been with anyone in fourteen months.”

“You’re counting?” I can feel my face contorting in desbelief. “That’s sick.” 

“I mean I don’t know if it’s been fourteen or fifteen or what but more than a year.” 

I look into his brown eyes and hold his stare for long enough so that he undertands I do not necessarily want to discuss this here and now where any professor could walk past us any minute and he rolls his eyes so I know he’ll drop it. 

“Anyway, our paths part here.” He announces right before he knocks on an office’s door and moves his mouth so that it looks like the voice of his mentor is his own. 

I chuckle again as I make my way to office 32, where I read doctor Hill should be today in the doctor’s planning. A patient stops me on the way there and asks me where the digestive doctors hall is and I give him the directions with the smile that comes naturally to my face. I’ve been told that a lot, that I’m always smiling, even my grandad used to call me toothy when I was little for how much he would see my teeth when I smiled. 

I’ve been studying medicine for four years and I’ve been dressing up as a doctor for hospital practice for two but it’s still exciting when some patient actually mistakes me with a real doctor because well, it’s so clear to me that I’m not, but it’s encouraging to see that people think I could be. 

The office door is opened and I hear two male voices casually chatting on the inside. I don’t want to eavesdrop, especially because the probability of getting caught is rather high so I knock on the opened door and wait for them to give me permission to enter. They just stop talking so I take another step and stand on their sight. Mario, the nice young doctor that helped me yesterday, is looking at me with raised eyebrows. It’s almost hard to recognize him without the surgery gown so I reckon it might be the same for him but then he smiles and I give him a smile back. 

“Hi, Mario.” 

“Hi. Looking for doctor Hill?” 

I nod at his question and he nods back as if telling me I’m on the right place but before he can speak the other doctor interrupts him. 

“Here it is, Mario. D’you want me to print it fo you?”

Mario moves to the side so I can see the man who owns that voice and I know I must look stunned because I am. Doctors don’t usually look like that and I have never been this lucky. Usually our mentors are doctors over 50 and when they’re male they’re usually fat or bald, sometimes both, but he looks like a movie star or like a singer or someone from Olympus and I try to save the way he looks on my mind as if I already know no one is ever going to look like him ever. 

I don’t know how long I’ve been standing here for or if any of them has said anything to me but by the way his green eyes stare into mine, amused, I feel like it’s been too long. How did he even manage to be a mentor? I don’t think he’s even a full doctor yet, he looks to young for that. 

“You’re so unlucky, Harry. You got the most annoying student, always asking questions...” Mario jokes. 

I chuckle, finding it funny that he would remember how I apologized the day before for making so many questions. He was really nice yesterday and he’s being very nice now saving me from my embarrassingly staring at Harry. He then stands up from his chair on the other side of the desk.

“Hi, I’m Harry. Nice to meet you.” 

And much to my surprise, not that I’m complaining though, he approaches me and places one hand on my elbow, leaning in and pressing his cheek against mine in the way I would greet a friend. But he’s not a friend. No doctor has ever greeted me like that. And he just introduced himself as Harry, didn’t he? Does that mean he wants me to call him Harry? No doctor Hill anymore? 

“I’m Indigo.” I tell him.

“Indigo.” He smiles and I think I’ve forgotten how to speak. “That’s such a beautiful name.” 

“Thank you.” I look at my feet because I’m gonna fangirl if he keeps smiling at me. “My mum’s a painter and a hippy.” 

He laughs and I feel my breath getting caught on my throat. I think I’m having a tachicardia. I feel stupid. It’s not like I’ve never seen a handsome man before. But I’ve certainly never been this close to one and I’ve never had his attention. 

“Well, I’m on my way to the operating room.” Mario announces. “See you, mate.” 

He gives Harry a warning look before he goes but Harry chuckles and shakes his head, dismissing his friend’s look and my nerves only grow stronger on my belly. 

“Well, Indigo, sit here next to me.” He grabs the chair next to his and brings it  closer to his until they’re touching and then he looks at me so I take a seat. “We usually check the list of the patients who are coming and read their clinical record before the visits begin, to be a little ahead, you know.” He smiles again. 

If he keeps smiling at me like that I might faint at some point today. He then turns towards the laptop and starts telling me about the patients, even though sometimes it feels like he’s more thinking out loud than talking to me. I should really listen, especially in case he feels like asking me questions during the day because I really do not want to look like an idiot but I could stare at him all I want now and he wouldn’t notice and I can’t let this chance go so if I have to look like an idiot I will. 

I let my eyes travel freely across his features. His hair is brown and is a little too long for a male who normally works on a surgery room. It’s not like it’s inappropriate or anything and it looks incredible on him and something tells me he knows that but it’s not usual that someone from his status wears their hair that long and that tousled. He asks something out loud but I know he’s not waiting for an answer because as soon as he asks it he searchs on the browser- and it’s not like I could have answered anyway. My mind is busy and the moment my eyes drop to his arm, flexed, elbow resting on the table, I could gulp just imagining those arms holding me against this very same desk and- what the fuck am I doing? 

I know he can’t hear what I think but I still have to remind myself that and I pray to God he does not turn around because I’m pretty sure I’m blushing. He’s wearing the hospital uniform, with the baby blue button up and the baby blue pants, but I entertain my mind trying to picture his naked torso. This is so wrong for the love of God, he’s my professor. I really need to chill. I feel like a dog in season. But this is just extraordinary, I am not usually around men this hot, and what’s the harm in daydreaming anyway? 

The moment my eyes move back up they stare into his amused ones and I feel my cheeks heating up so I get afraid I’m blushing. 

“You were awfully quiet.” He states, a somewhat smug grin on his face but I am not judging, I made it pretty easy for him to make fun of me. “Did you understand?”

“Mostly.” 

“Mostly, huh?” He smirks. “If there’s something I say that you don’t understand you just stop me, alright? Now, can you read an electrocardiogram?” 

“I should be able to.” 

He chuckles and places it one in front of me. I am getting embarrassingly exciting that he finds me funny but I have to bite back a smile of my own at his friendly attitude. 

“Go on then.” 

“Okay, first thing we need to look for P on II and V1.” I speak very slow so that I have time to think while I do so and judging by the way he’s smirking, he’s noticing. “And we see that we have indeed P waves, which is good, no auricular fibrilation then. And then we look for QRS and we check the frequency by counting and multiplying” I do the calculations on my mind “and it’s 75 hearbeats per minute, a little high but nothing to worry about, people tend to get nervous when we do electrocardiograms on them. And we check the dimensions of the waves, the height, the width... And I don’t know this looks pretty normal to me.” 

I dare to look at him and he’s smirking but it doesn’t look cocky to me, it’s more like a proud smile so I smile back, happy with myself. 

“Very good.” He smiles. “Just a little, tiny detail but you obviously don’t need to know that so don’t worry.” He stands up from his chair and stands right behind me and places his left hand on the desk in front of me so I can his chest hovering over me. His finger points a random P wave. “If you look closely at the P wave, does it look normal to you?” 

I swallow, quite frankly I don’t know if the P wave looks normal or not. I guess it doesn’t because otherwise he wouldn’t be asking that but why does he smell so good? And why is his arm hovering over my chest? This could be the moment I faint. 

“I know it’s not because that’s why you’re asking but I don’t see it.” 

He laughs again and even though it’s silly, I can’t help but wonder if he laughs this much with everyone. 

“It’s a little higher than normal, but it’s very subtle, it’s okay if you don’t see it yet and anyway it’s not that important.” He laughs again. “But it might indicate a right atrium hypertrophy. That’s for an A+ in cardiology.” He smiles before taking his seat back and opening a new record. 

“What year are you in?” He’s not looking at me while he asks that. 

“Fourth.” 

He nods his head but keeps quiet after that and I’m not sure why he even asked that but for some reason- it might be because his scent still lingers on my nostrils or because he just hovered over me or because he indirectly asked my age- I feel a strange tension over my shoulders so I ask him something I genuinely don’t know anyway about the patient’s record and he even grabs a paper to draw some shit and for some reason that’s turning me on. The way he speaks, so slow but without hesitation, he’s got a very calming voice, and how many things he knows and how smart he seems to be... I’ve always had a thing for intelligent guys and the fact that he’s also so close and smells so good is only adding to that. 

“Hi there.” 

A very tall man with a white hospital uniform walks in and gives us both a look before he takes a seat on the counter next to the stretcher. He must be the nurse. 

“So” He says, giving us his back as he types something on his laptop “who are you?” He turns to look at me. 

I find it a little rude, but I don’t know this man at all. He might just be one of those people who come out strong so I give him a smile. 

“I’m a fourth year med student. I have practice here today.” I explain. 

“I know that, I’m your mentor, doctor Hill, but what’s your name?” 

“Oh, sorry.” My tongue melts. “I mean Indigo, not sorry. My name’s not sorry.” 

I hear Harry laughing out loud behind me and doctor Hill smiles as well. I totally looked like an idiot but at least they seemed to have found it endearing. 

“Well, my name’s not sorry either.” Doctor Hill said. “You can call me Peter, Indigo.” 

“Okay, Peter.” 

“I see you’ve already met my resident doctor, doctor Styles.” 

I nod my head. 

“Cool, so now that we all know each other... Harry, who’s the first one?” 

Like that we start visiting the patients and for the first time since I started my hospital practice, I actually have fun during one of them. Both Peter and Harry are quite funny, even though they do tease me a lot, but they also allow me to do a lot of things like weighting the patients, checking their blood pleasures and Harry even lets me do a clinical interview, under his watch obviously, but it was still exciting. The lady I did the interview to was so nice and I could feel Harry’s attentive stare with a proud, amused smile the entire time, even the lady smiled every time she looked at him. 

After about three hours of visits, Peter stands up from his chair next to mine and stretches his back. 

“So Harry, I think I’m gonna go to the surgery rooms to give a hand.” He states and my heart drops to my belly at the anticipation that he’s gonna make me go with him and my day with Harry is over. “What do you want to do, Indigo?” I hold my breath at the surprise. “Do you wanna come with me or stay here with Harry? Well, that’s if Harry doesn’t mind but I think he doesn’t.” He smirks. 

“No, of course not. It’s actually nice to have a nurse around.” He smiles. 

“I think I’m gonna stay then if that’s okay.” 

Peter nods and smiles. 

“Do you prefer visits over surgery room or you just prefer doctor Styles over me?” 

I see Harry shaking his head from the corner of my eye and look down at my hands. 

HARRY’S POV

“Sorry” I call Indigo with the nickname she gave herself and she raises her eyebrows “would you please call the next patient? Mrs Hope.” 

“Good name.” 

I cannot not smile. She stands up from her chair and I entertain my eyes with the laptop screen just to pretend I’m not watching her all the time. I think I’ve managed to rebuild my reputation from how much of a fool of myself I made when I introduced myself to her but it just took me off guard. I wasn’t expecing to have a student around at all, much less that the student was going to look like her. 

I’m also done with feeling guilty for thinking about her  that way, even though now I’m starting to feel guilty for not feeling guilty, but I can’t control my mind and I don’t think anyone who’s seen her could judge me. Plus, she can’t know what I’m thinking. Even Mario flirted with her this morning...

But no, I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable or to take advantage of my position at all. She came here to learn and I really need to stop looking at her thighs. She closes the door after Mr Copper and I feel the hair at the back of my neck bristle when I see the way he looks at her. 

“Good morning, doctor.” He greets me. “You’re very lucky you have such a beautiful assistant.” 

Sorry smiles but her shoulders have tensed and even though I’ve only known her for a few hours, I can tell when someone’s uncomfortable and I know she is. I don’t blame her either. I reckon I’d be uncomfortable too. 

“She’s also very smart too. That’s why she’s here actually.” 

I don’t want to be rude with my patient but for some reason I felt like I had to protect her. I catch her trying not to smile looking at her thighs and I try not to smile too. We do Mr Copper’s visit and she starts scribbling on her notepad and I have to help myself from peeking at the questions she’s going to make. I wonder if what she’s written down if that she has noticed Mr Copper jugular. 

When Mr Copper walks out, I turn to look at her and smile. Again. 

“Thank you.” She says. 

“What for?” I frown. 

“You know, for what you said.” Her eyes stare into mine and I try to figure out what is it about this girl that’s making me nervous. “Most guys don’t even understand why some compliments make us feel uncomfortable.” 

I smile at her. I hope she knows she really is beautiful and I mean I can understand Mr Copper and had he said that any other way or had he not looked at her like he did right before, I wouldn’t have said anything and I’m sure she wouldn’t have felt uncomfortable but it was just inappropriate. 

“It’s true though.” 

I’m already a sucker for her smile. Thank God I am not going to see her again. 

“Do you have any questions for me?” 

“Mmm...” She bites her bottom lip. 

I’ve noticed she does that when she’s not sure of something. I like it. She has very beautiful lips too, so full and pink and moisturized. Look back into her eyes, Harry. 

“I’ve seen you scribbling like crazy.” I encourage her. 

I want her to ask me whatever it is that’s going through her mind. 

“No, well, I was describing his jugular.” 

I feel my dick as soon as she said that. So she noticed. She’s fucking smart and that’s a turn on. 

“So that I would remember what I saw, you know?” 

I nod. 

“Do I have to give you a mark or just sign your assistance?” 

“Just sign.” She shakes her head. 

“Shit. Well, you got an A anyway.” 

She grins excitedly and I want to ask her how old she is again but I turn around and open the next record. This is the last one left and it’s the first time since I started working I don’t want to finish visiting, but when we are done she’ll go and I’ll never see her again. 

I swear I’m trying not to feel attracted to her. I know it’s wrong but if I’m not going to see her again, I mean if she’s just going to leave now and I’ll never have to supervise her practice again, I could ask for her phone number, right? I mean I’m not a professor like Danny. It’s not technically prohibited. But she would feel pressured. I can’t do that. 

“Actually, Harry” her voice cracks a little and I want to look at her but I know she’s nervous so I don’t “I do have a question. Can I ask you something?” 

“Anything, Sorry.” 

“It... It has nothing to do with the practice, though.” 

“It doesn’t?” Now this is interesting. 

I finally turn my body towards her so that I’m facing her and encourage her to ask me. If she asks for my number I’ll give it to her, but I don’t think she will. 

“Mmm... Can I ask how old are you?” 

I don’t want to tell her and that’s when I notice all my attempts at trying not to be attracted to her have failed. Her skin is so soft and she smells so good, like sweet vanilla, I bet she tastes sweet too. Fuck, I’m doing it again and I’m looking at her breasts. Fuck me. 

“I’m 27.” 

She smiles and I don’t know what that means. I want to ask her but we need to call the last patient. 

“Miss Asvenson.” I smile. 

She nods and stands up from her chair but before she opens the door I ask her. 

“And you?” 

We look into each other’s eyes and I think we both know why we’re asking. She smiles. 

“21.” 

I nod. She’s legal everywhere in the world. 

[mrsdobrik]

My Name Jeff

Hey everyone! I know you were all expecting chapter 8 and it’s coming today but first I wanted to share this idea I had. If you like it I will probably make it into a series or at least write another part. Hope you enjoy it and I can’t wait to hear what you all think about it!  The night was alive as the place bustled with drunk college students swarmed around them. The lens focused on them as craziness ensued. Chants of “Chug!” and “Shots!” resounded over the loud music. The smell of smoke and booze filled the air and stuck to their clothes. 

“If you make this beer pong shot everyone here wins a thousand dollars” He yelled, commanding the chaotic scene. 

Their drum-shattering cheers exploded around him. The shot was made and landed followed by shrieks and tears of joy as excitement spread across the room.

 The red Vans climbed down the chair where he was standing. They were the only pop of colour amongst the sea of black that was his wardrobe. He smiled and was hugged by uncountable bodies. 

As the first wave of excitement washed away and the madness died down he walked towards the door. Fresh air was in order. The sky was clear, the moon stood full and bright amongst umpteen twinkling lights. 

“That’s crazy” He smiled looking at the door. And to be fair, it was. It was crazy that that was his job. Going to parties, hanging with his friends, doing insane stunts and giving away money were all part of his job description and he loved every last second of it. 

“Yes, it is. Apparently there is some big Youtuber in there, David something. It’s like a cult, honestly. I saw the cars they came in and it blows my mind how those people can make so much money by just partying. It’s sickening.” A femenine  voice said. 

He looked for the source of the voice and found it sitting by the door in a pair of light wash mom jeans and a white long sleeved t-shirt. Her hair was up in a messy bun tied with a pencil and a pair of glasses framed her eyes. Her back laid against the brick building and her legs were extended in front of her, a book opened on her lap. 

“I reckon you are not a fan.” David spoke amused at her hatred. It was obvious she didn’t recognize him, not that her eyes had even left the page she was reading. 

“No, I’m not. I guess I’m just bitter that some of us actually have to work to make a living.” She didn’t raise her eyes for a split second. 

David had encountered many people like her in his years of doing Youtube, most of them hid behind a screen name of course. Maybe that was why he wasn’t ready to end that conversation. He enjoyed people watching and that was the perfect opportunity. 

“What are you reading?” 

“Hmm… It’s just about… how the First World War changed the entire paradigma of the art scene inspiring visual artists to design new perspectives that provided a take on reality through a dream-like vision.” 

“It seems like a light read. Perfect for a party.” He chuckled, taking a seat next to her. 

For the first time she looked up at him. She had piercing dark eyes, David felt like her gaze could stare right into the deepest corner of his soul. She smiled and said “Art History”

“That’s a weird name.” He joked, earning a little chuckle.

“Right, Y/n. Sorry. And you are? Wait let me guess…” She examined him for a moment. “Hmmm… camera in hand, people watcher, you found the fact that I’m reading at a party interesting instead of disturbing… Sociology?”

“Nice.” He smiled.

“And your name is?”

“My name?” He panicked.

“Yeah, it’s an arbitrary combination of letters that your parents decided would be the way people would call you for the rest of your days. You do have one,right?” She giggled.

Just then his screen lit up with a text from “Jeff… My name Jeff. Sorry… is… my name is Jeff.” 

Well done Dave.

She giggled again. 

“It’s nice to meet you Jeff.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” He said, shaking her hand. “So, Y/n, art history, what brings you, a girl who is reading about the impact of the First World War on the paradigmas of art, to a party tonight? And don’t tell me you came to see the Youtubers because I wouldn’t believe you” 

She chuckled looking down and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I swear I’m not always such a loser. My friend wanted to come because she heard this David guy would be here. I was brought here because, and I quote, I “don’t know how to have fun” and “need to chill before I wake up one day bald from yanking my own hair out during the night because of all the stress I put myself under” ‘cause apparently that’s a thing.”

“Oh wow…” His eyes opened wide and he laughed. 

“How about you? Why are you here? I mean, if you are here to see the Youtubers you are pretty much blowing your shot by staying here talking to me.” 

If only you knew.

“No, I just came here with some friends.”

“You seem pretty sober… and who brings a big camera to a party anymore? Isn’t that what phones are for?” she seemed suspicious. 

“Ummm…” he started panicking again. 

“Are you a photographer?” 

“Yeah” his voice broke. “I mean yes, I’m a photographer”.

“Oh, that is so cool. What do you shoot?”

“I mostly like taking pictures of my friends” Was he lying?

Just as he finished his sentence the door opened and out came a bunch of college students. He quickly lowered his head hiding behind his black cap. Once they were gone he noticed she was staring at him with confused eyes. 

“I…” Saved by the bell, his phone started ringing. “ I need to take this, hold on”. He stood up and walked away so she wouldn’t be able to listen.

“Where are you, man?” Ilya said from the other side of the line. 

“I’m outside.”

“I’m coming to find you. The party died down, we are all going to Saddle Ranch.”

“No! Wait don’t come here!” He panicked in a low voice, turning for a split second to see if Y/n was looking in his direction. 

“What the fuck was that?” 

“I’m talking to a girl. She doesn’t know who I am and she hates Youtubers so I told her my name was Jeff. If you all come out she might recognize someone or people from the party could follow and fuck this up.”

“Dude, what the fuck. You can’t lie to some girl about who you are. Just tell her.”

“She’s not going to want to talk to me if I tell her now”

“Why would you even want to talk to her if she hates you?”

“She is... interesting”

“Bro let’s go. You only like her because you know she doesn’t like you, you just want the challenge.” 

“So what?” 

“So ditch the girl and come with us, bro”

“No, dude. I’m staying”

“I’m coming to find you.” Ilya said before cutting the line. 

Fuck.

He made his way back to where Y/n was sitting, her whole focus had turned back to her book.

“Hey, sorry about that. My friend wanted to let me know he’s leaving” He said sitting back down. 

“That’s fine,” She said looking up. 

The door opened again and Ilya came out. He looked at the pair sitting and a wide grin extended over his face. 

“Hey Jeff, and hello…?” He smiled. 

“She is Art History” David said, earning a chuckle from the girl.

“I’m Y/n” She said looking up at his friend. 

“Ilya.” The boy said before going “Jeff, can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sorry” David said getting up and walking with Ilya so she wouldn’t listen. 

“Okay, I get it, she is hot. But if she hates Youtubers enough to tell you during your fifteen minute convo at a party then you have no chance, dude. I mean what are you going to do? Make her fall in love with you so she can see how prejudiced she was?”

“...yeah” David said after thinking about it for a second. 

“Dude, quit fucking around. There is no way in hell that a girl who hates youtubers, studies art history and goes to a party with a fucking book would ever fall for you…”

“Why not? I bet you I can make her fall in love with me…” David said getting offended by Ilya’s statement. 

“I bet you can’t.” Ilya said. 

“Okay, how much?” David was getting railed up. 

“Bro, this is stupid.” 

“How much Il?”

“10 grand” Ilya laughed. 

“Fine, make it twenty.” David said, feeling insulted by how little his friend believed in him.

“Dave, why? You could have any girl you want, why get fixated on the one who wants nothing to do with you? That’s just dumb.” Ilya tried to dissuade him. 

“Are you going to take the bet or no?” David pushed. 

“Fine. If you can make her fall for you in two weeks I’ll give you twenty grand.”

“Bro, what the fuck? You need to give me at least two months, people don’t just fall in love over night.”

“No way bro. Three weeks.”

“A month.” 

“Fine” Ilya shook David’s hand. And David turned to where Y/n was sitting, nose buried in her book. 

How the hell am I going to get that girl to fall for me in a month?

[imavshi]

i..

lots of swearing below the cut

kisaki and his little bitch ass light kinnie mind need to shut the fuck up. why cant he realize that he cant get the perfect toman. takemitchi has worked so hard for all of this and kisak keeps messing it up. kisaki tetta deserves nothing. if i were in the manga i'd stab him, i wouldnt care for the consequences. izana too. izana needs to wipe that stupid smile off his face before i rip his stupid hair off. kisaki tetta stans dni. i hope tenjiku gets ripped to pieces i hope everyone in it goes to jail i fuckign hate tenjiku fuck tenjiku all my homies fucking hate tenjiku motherfuckers looking like some bald ass uwu youre not yourself until you've had a snickers fuck them i say back i say fuck them they can suck my dick takemitchi is the best mc ive seen in a long time and kisaki can suck his ass fucker i bet kisaki is a dora kinnie motherfucking wheres the bridge its right behidn you asshole kisaki can go to hell he can burn for all i care because of him mikey drkane and everyone are so broken he fucking hurt emma i hate it here i hate kisaki i hate izana i hate tenjiku im going to rip them to fucking oieces godammit i will cry

[turningtummyrubs]

Hey! Are you still taking requests? I’d love to request something detailing the aftermath of someone overeating if that is ok? I just adore your detailed descriptions of the full, aching tummy, the way you describe it is just divine! Just the emphasis on the swollen tummy with all the gurgles ahhh 😍Loving the blog! Brilliant content 🥰

oh my gosh thank you so much! people like you are why i keep writing! i hope this is what you were looking for :))

cw: burping, minor nausea (not the actual process, though)

———

Carter drives home from work angry and exhausted, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel. He doesn’t usually find himself getting so heated considering his workplace is generally quite boring, but today is an exception. 

Aspen wasn’t there, for one, which is always a downer. He’s always telling Carter to focus on work because “Your analytics document is due in an hour” or some other stupid thing like that but it’s nice to have him there.

Second, he hadn’t had time to eat breakfast or lunch so his stomach’s been growling and gnawing at him all day.

And third, corporate came by to do a check-in. It’s a well-known fact that everyone hates corporate but this time was the absolute worst. They stopped by everyone’s individual cubicle and office and just stood there breathing over their shoulder. Like, personal space, am I right? Carter usually doesn’t mind too much, but today it was this balding dude wearing this obnoxiously red turtleneck and he had the audacity to tell Carter that the way he typed was wrong. Not what he was typing, but the way he was typing it. Carter, of course, smiled politely and nodded but inside he was seething.

He resists the urge to slam the door when he arrives at his apartment and heads straight for the kitchen. He groans thinking of how upset his stomach’s going to feel after he eats considering he hasn’t put anything in it in almost 24 hours but knows it’ll only feel worse the longer he waits.

He just went grocery shopping yesterday so his fridge and cupboards are stocked full with food. He makes spaghetti, boiling a big pot of water and cooking the noodles before straining everything and adding this Filipino tomato sauce Aspen swears by.

Carter fixes himself a small bowl and turns on the TV to watch Brooklyn 99 while he eats. He hardly notices by the time he finishes his first serving of spaghetti, blinking at the empty bowl when his fork resurfaces without anything on it. He puts an appraising hand on his belly and is surprised to find that it feels fine, though it’s still hungry. He gets up and gets some more spaghetti from the pot.

Before he knows it, that one’s finished, too, and he’s absentmindedly grabbing more and more and more until he realizes with a sickening lurch that he’s eaten it all. He hadn’t realized it while he was eating, but now that he’s paying attention his stomach feels groaningly tight against his jeans and something is definitely going to be hurting very soon. Oh no.

He sets the bowl down in the sink, feeling slightly woozy as the extent of his fullness hits him, before sinking down into the couch, turning to lie on his side. He turns off the TV as it’s started to intensify the discomfort he’s feeling and begins to rub broad circles over his somewhat swollen belly. 

It’s begun to twinge and cramp, churning with too much food, and his hand stills as something seizes and sends a jolt of pain through his body. He rubs frantically at the tense area, palm sliding back and forth in a desperate attempt to loosen up the cramping muscles, before easing up with a groan as the tight pressure makes his tummy gurgle and whine with unease. He squirms slightly, muffling a curse into his arm, until the tension lets up.

Carter palpates once with firm pressure at the formerly afflicted area and a low, rumbling belch provides some momentary relief.

He tries to get comfortable, lying flat on his back and massaging small circles at the top of the bloated swell, but soon realizes that that just isn’t possible with his pants being as tight as they are. Carter sighs and gingerly eases himself up, holding his stomach with a careful palm as it churns and burbles with unrest.

He forces himself to walk to his bedroom and changes into a pair of loose sweatpants. The soft material feels infinitely better against the hard curve of his belly and he sighs with a small amount of relief as he lies down on his bed.

Carter’s overfull stomach has started to gurgle noisily now, the loudest ones burbling tensely in his lower belly. He smooths his palm heavily down the center of his stomach and winces as that pushes some of the food down. His intestines squeeze and squelch as they begin to digest the cramping contents of his belly and he inhales sharply at the uncomfortable feeling and rests both his hands atop the softer area, hoping the weight will help calm some of the noisy upset.

He really wishes he’d paid more attention to how much he was eating, especially on an empty stomach, so he wouldn’t’ve ended up with such a stomach ache.

Carter’s also filled with that deeply uncomfortable feeling of being stuffed further than your stomach’s capacity, where his skin is all hot and sensitive and there’s something like nausea pooling in his chest.

That nauseous feeling increases tenfold as his palm palpates roughly into a distressed, gurgly area on his lower left side. Something squelches beneath the pressure of his hand and sickly, hot air wells up his throat. A small, queasy burp works its way up and he moans quietly at the discomfort, rubbing over and over again at that aching area.

His swollen belly has begun to bloat further as the food digests and fills it with queasy gas, and he massages lightly at the cramping tightness, trailing his fingertips in circles over the sides of his distended belly as it rolls and gurgles with a pulsing ache.

Carter carefully probes all over his sick belly to identify the areas cramping with pockets of gas and kneads at them firmly until they let up to momentarily relieving belches. His swollen tummy sinks a little with every release of hot air, painfully tender to the touch.

As the gas begins to dissipate but the cramps start to worsen, Carter moans and shifts onto his side, curling up slightly. He wraps an arm around his tummy and massages at the hard lump of fullness struggling to digest in his guts. Nauseating stomach bile burbles tight against his pressing hand and he smooths his palm continuously over the rumbling gurgles.

As time wears on, the feeling of overwhelming fullness starts to fade, but his belly’s still tenderly bloated and aching and he still feels generally horrible, so he texts Aspen and asks him to come over.

Aspen arrives in five minutes, expression softening in sympathy at how miserable Carter looks curled up on the bed. He sits down beside him and gently smooths his hair back.

“Not feeling too good?” he murmurs.

Carter shakes his head, a pathetic whimpering noise leaving his mouth against his will. “Stomach hurts...”

“I’m sorry, Cat,” Aspen says, gently smoothing his palm up and down Carter’s back until he uncurls. Aspen slips his hand beneath Carter’s shirt and tenderly rubs at the bloated mess of Carter’s belly.

Carter groans and presses into his touch, provided with the relief he’d so desperately been craving.

“How was work?” Aspen asks, continuing his gentle massage. His palm rocks over a liquidy gurgle and firmly works away a sharp cramp in a broad sweeping motion.

“Don’t even get me started,” Carter grumbles, annoyance building again at the memory.

Aspen laughs softly. “Uh oh. What happened?”

Carter goes on to tell the story, voice amping up with passion before slowly trailing off as Aspen’s hand dips into a particularly comforting spot. Carter groans and presses Aspen’s palm in over the area, sighing contentedly when Aspen continues to rub there. The heavy weight of his hand feels achingly nice on his belly.

Aspen continues soothing the nausea and cramps plaguing Carter’s stomach until his voice fades off, heavy with sleep.

———

As you can see, ending fics isn’t my forte haha

[kookscrescent]

Midnight Rendezvous (m) │ jhs

➤ pairing│Hoseok x female reader ➤ summary│Because of a rule that was implemented at Hoseok’s apartment, he has to sneak you in without his roommates finding out. But perhaps you were a little too loud... ➤ rating│NC-17, mature, 18+ ➤ genre│smut, fluff, boyfriend au ➤ warnings│unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cremepie, multiple orgasms (female), swearing, dirty talk?, Hobi is slightly dominant but also not really?, Yoongi kinda hates you and is a little grumpy ➤ word count│6k│semi edited ➤ release date│December 22nd 2019 ➤ disclaimer│This is all fiction! Nothing mentioned/written are facts and/or real! So please just keep that in mind when reading and enjoy! Thank you ♡

⇥ Masterlist

Your feet are doing their best, taking double the steps that you normally would, to try and keep up with Hoseok, that is currently dragging you down the thankfully empty corridor. His grip on your hand is tight and if he were to let go and stop you would without a doubt faceplant right into his back or fall flat on your ass.

“Are you really going to sneak me inside?” You ask in disbelief.

Hoseok turns briefly, his eyes catching yours and a cheeky smile finding his lips before he turns to look where he’s going once again.

“I am. The guys don’t know about you yet.”

When you first started dating Hoseok two months ago, you weren’t aware that he lived in an apartment with six other guys. It wasn’t until you started to question him about why he would always insist on going to your place that he told you.

The thought of seven guys living in an apartment together is funny to you. Like, how would that even work? And how freaking big was his apartment?

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Is that why he hasn’t introduced you to his friends yet? Because he’s embarrassed to be with you?

He stops to look at you. “What? No,” he shakes his head, bringing your hand to his lips to kiss it lightly. “I would never be embarrassed of you. We just have a strict “no girls in the apartment” rule.” He rolls his eyes as he tells you this.

You frown, “A what?”

“I know. It’s stupid, and honestly I don’t even remember why we made that rule in the first place.”

“But isn’t that rule meant for one night stand type of things?” you ask him. “I mean we’re dating, so aren’t I excluded from that said rule?”

Hoseok’s lips form a straight line, his browns furrowing as he ponders over what you just said. “I don’t know,” he finally tells you. “But just for now, to be on the safe side, I’ll sneak you in.”

He continues walking till he stops at the door to his apartment.

22 C.

Next to the door there’s a little gold plaque with names written on it. You spot Hoseoks name immediately at the bottom of the plaque, and you try focusing on reading the other names as Hoseok tries to unlock the door without making too much noise.

Min Yoongi

Kim Taehyung

Kim Seokjin

Kim Namjoon

Jeon Jungkook

Park Jimin

Jung Hoseok

You are too busy reading the names, that you don’t even sense Hoseok opening the door and cracking it open just a few centimeters to peak his head inside to see if anyone is still up. Through the small crack you can see the faintly illuminated living room, and you can hear a television running in the background.

Your stomach drops. Why is anyone up at this hour watching television? It’s way past midnight.

He opens the door further, careful not to make any noise as you both sneak inside. Your head is telling you to not breath too much, but your lungs are telling you otherwise.

Hoseok leaves you in the entrée for a second to look around the corner into the living room. He comes back looking much more relaxed than when he went.

“Come on,” he whispers and takes a hold of your hand.

When he sees your hesitation to follow him, he explains, “It’s just Yoongi. He’s fallen asleep on the couch watching some fishing thing.”

Hand in his, he leads you past the living room that opens up to the kitchen and down a long hallway. In your hurry, you briefly catch a glimpse of a dark haired male lying sprawled on the couch while the television provides white noise for the sleeping body.

The open space is actually quite spacious, with a set of large floor to ceiling windows that are providing one hell of a view of Seoul. And it opens up to a large kitchen as well. It makes you wonder what the rest of the apartment looks like and how much exactly they pay to live in a place like this.

Much cost a fortune.

But you don’t get to register more of the place, because Hoseok has you in what you hope is his bedroom with the door closed and locked behind you within seconds almost.

He turns on the overhead lights and you have to blink a few times to adjust to the now brightly lit room.

You’ve spent so many days and nights at your small apartment, that you’ve many times wondered what his place and his room looked like, and you have to admit that it’s nothing like you imagined it in your mind.

It’s much more spacious and… clean? Not that you thought he was a dirty person, but it’s much more organized and put together. Everything has its place, a home where it belongs.

“I’m impressed,” you comment as you turn to his bed that looks freshly made with new sheets and all.

Hoseok grins, wrapping his arms around you shoulder from the back, hugging you close. “What? You thought I was some kind of slob?” he whispers in your ear.

“A slob? No. But it’s much more organized that what I imagined.”

Turning in his arms, you bring yours around his neck and you have to crane your neck back to look him in the eyes – him being almost a head taller than you.

“I like things to look nice.” He shrugs and pecks your lips.

“I like it.”

“Good.” Another peck and then he sets you free to roam around his room.

Taking full advantage of the opportunity, you move about his room. Starting by the desk that sits in front of the large window. There’s nothing much to see there, only his computer and a few books and some notepads with some scribbles on it.

So you move on, the full length mirror on the wall catching your eye. Or not the mirror, but the various of pictures around it – framing it.

You notice the same faces in many of the pictures. You point to a picture of Hoseok with six other guys. It’s a group shot of all seven of them – sitting together on one couch and posing for the camera.

“Are they the infamous roommates?”

“Indeed they are.” He smiles coming to stand behind you. “We were at a housewarming party and someone took that of us.”

Hoseok continues and points to the guy sitting all the way to the left, “That’s Jungkook. He’s the youngest of the seven of us. And that’s me,” he says next, “and I – of course – need no introduction,” he wiggles his eyebrows dropping a kiss to your neck. Playfully you hit his arm.

“That’s Taehyung,” he goes on. “the second youngest. Then we have Jimin. He’s colored his hair every color of the rainbow by now. He likes to experiment.”

“What color is it now?”

“Brown. His hairdresser told him to stop dying his hair for a while or else he would go bald.” He smirks, the image of a bald Jimin seeming funny to him.

“And that’s Namjoon. You and him actually have something in common.” He continues.

“What?” You ask curiously.

“You’re both really good at English.”

“Oh. Is he the only one that speaks English?”

“No no, combining the rest of us we know a great deal of words.”

You laugh at his sarcasm, but quickly quiet down when you remember where you are.

Hoseok points to the guy next to Namjoon. “That’s Jin, he’s the oldest amongst us, but by the way he acts sometimes you wouldn’t think it. And lastly, that’s Yoongi. Along with Jin he cooks most of our meals for us.”

Lightly you run your finger down the edge of the picture, your eyes zoning in on Hoseoks bright smile. The picture clearly shows how great of a bond they have with each other, all laughing and smiling.

“They are all very good looking.”

“Ya!”

“What?” you ask innocently, a light shrug rolling from your shoulders.

“I’m the only one you’re allowed to think is good looking.” He pouts, his bottom lip protruding.  

Turning, you minimize the distance between you, throwing your arms around his neck and softly giving his lips a chaste kiss. “You are all very handsome, but you are the one that I’m attracted to. You are the one that makes my heart flutter with a simple look.”

He seems pleased to hear you say this. “I make your heart flutter huh?”

“You do.”

“Good.”

No further words are exchanged between you. Instead your lips lock together – starting out as an innocent sweet peck, but you both want more. Separating you lips you let his tongue explore your mouth, his hands are resting on your hips where he gently squeezes.

Tingles shoot up and down your spine, a soft moan echoing between you.

Hoseok walks backwards while blindly aiming for his bed. You have no choice but to follow him not wanting to separate.

He falls back and you land on top of him with a small thud. It takes your breath away and you have to pull back to catch your breath.

It’s a good opportunity to look at the man lying beneath you. His gentle lust filled eyes looking back at your curiously as you silently watch him.

God! He really is handsome!

He recently colored his hair a lighter – almost golden – brown and you still find that you have to get used to it, but it looks incredible on him. It makes his eyes stand out and his skin glow.

Running a single finger down the side of his face, over his jawline and across his chin, you can feel the light stubble there, indicating that he hasn’t shaved yet today. You don’t mind it. Not when it’s this short. It’s an added sensation when you kiss – the way it lightly tickles you.

“What?” Hoseok whispers in question to your fallen silence.

“Nothing,” you say. “I just like looking at you, that’s all.”

“I knew you were just using me for my good looks.” He jokes as his arms circle around your waist.

“Don’t forget your body,” you add with a hint of smile.

You absolutely love the way you can joke around with Hoseok. His sense of humor and positive mood is one of the major things that attracted you to him in the first place. He is so bright and bubbly that even if you happen to be in a bad mood one day, his laugh is enough to cheer you up instantly.

“Ah yes, my body,” he muses. “It is a work of art isn’t it?”

You nod your agreement, the smile on your face so big that it’s almost hurting your cheeks. You kiss him, wanting to feel his soft lips pressed against yours. You lavish them with kisses until a small laugh bubbles past Hoseoks lips. You finally settle on a proper kiss, your lips pressing together and your eyes fluttering shut.

You stay like that for a while. With you laying on top of Hoseok, his arms round your waist and your lips moving together in a slow dance.

But the fire inside of you quickly takes charge, your fingers itching to touch him and your entire body tingling in anticipation of what you know he is capable of making you feel.

Wiggling on top of him, you move your legs on either side of his hips, your core coming in contact with his rapidly growing hard on beneath his jeans.

“Hoseok,” you whine against his lips and roll your hips over his.

He groans in response, his fingers digging into your hips as you continue to move them over his crotch. The tension in the room is becoming electrifying, the air filling with you small gasps of pleasure and Hoseoks low moans.

Hoseok slides his hands under the material of your shirt, and despite the warmth of his fingers, goosebumps erupt across your entire back and arms. He slides them up your back in a caressing manner and stops when he reaches the clasp of your bra. Sliding a single finger under the band, he toys with it, making you think that he’s going to unclasp it, but he doesn’t. He leaves it be. Instead he slides both his hands back down to the hem of your shirt where he effortlessly drags it up your body. Your lips part for the time it takes to get the shirt over your head.

When its off, his fingers dance back up your back and this time when they reach the clasp, he unhooks it. Sitting up straight, you slide the straps down your arms till the bra is completely off. You toss it to the floor not caring where it lands.

A low groan erupts from the back of Hoseoks throat when your bare breasts comes into view. Since day one, he has had an obsession with your breasts. The way they fit so perfectly in his hands, the way your nipples become erect at his simple touch. He could combust on the spot.

He follows your seated position, sitting up on the bed with one arm hooked around your waist to keep you close to him, while the other one is busy feeling up your breast. You throw your head back, a gasped whimper rushing into the air when he wraps his lips around your nipple.

Your nipples have always been sensitive, and Hoseok finds great pleasure in using that fact to his advantage. He sucks gently at first, his tongue circling the nub after each suck to soothe the slight sting. He nuzzles his face in the valley between your breasts, his tongue licking from there and all the way up to your neck. Immediately he sucks your skin, eagerly drawing moan after moan from you.

He loves hearing you fall apart from just his touch, it unravels him. His mind going crazy and his body seeking yours.

Clawing at his shirt, you desperately try to get it off him. You need to feel his skin against yours. Hoseok helps you, parting from the spot of your neck to toss it to the floor.

“Fuck, I want you,” he groans, looking you dead in the eyes. The fire behind them is intense, his normally brown eyes turning almost black.

You begin moving on top of him again, “Then take me.” You purr, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

It doesn’t take more than that small sentence to make Hoseok stand from the bed, with you still in his arms. He tosses you on the bed with a devious smirk. With both of his hands now free, he strips out of his jeans and shoes, his black boxers the only thing remaining.

Hungrily, you eye the growing bulge beneath the dark fabric, your entire body tingling with the anticipation of all the pleasure you know is to come in a few short moments.

Kicking off your own shoes, you furiously work your fingers over the button of your jeans, fingers slipping a few times before you finally pop it open. From the end of the bed you hear Hoseok laugh at your struggle to take them off, but he eventually either grows impatient from the waiting or he feels sorry to see you struggle, because he reaches out to help get the jeans off your legs, taking your panties with them in the process.

You lay completely naked on the bed in front of him. Your legs slightly parted and your hands gently cupping your breasts. Hoseok’s eyes rake over your body, from head to toe. Momentarily he stops at the space between your legs – probably his favorite place to be if anyone were to ask him.

With a ragged breath you motion your finger at him, luring him in. Before he climbs on top of you, he rids himself of his boxers. His smooth velvety skin of his hard erection softly bobbing just under his bellybutton. Despite the fact that you have seen his cock so many times, you are always amazed by it every time.

Hoseok lazily places kisses from your ankle, all the way up your calf and the inside of your thigh, his lips teasing your folds, but he swiftly continues upwards placing kisses across your abdomen and between your breasts. Finally, he connects with your lips. His tongue immediately sneaking into your mouth and exploring every nook and cranny. You let him take the lead. Sinking into the mattress and letting your hands explore his chest and back.

With every kiss your desire for Hoseok grows bigger! Your feel like you are on fire, your entire body tingling and your feel desperate to have him.

You manage to maneuver yourself up on your elbows and for a moment you can feel Hoseoks confusion against your lips, until you, with a little help from him, manage to switch your positions.

With you now on top, Hoseok lets you take the lead. He settles his hands on your hips, his thumbs gently stroking across your skin there.

Going in for another kiss, you hum against his lips as you slowly grind against him. His cock nestling between your folds and your arousal making it a lot easier to move. Continuing, you grind on top of him, pre-cum drooling onto his stomach.

Hoseok moves his hands to your ass, kneading each cheek and helping you push your hips over him. He growls, the sound coming from the depts of his throat. “You’re so fucking wet.”

“You make me this wet.”

Another low growl flows through the air and makes you shudder. Sitting up straight, you rest the palms of your hands on his lower abdomen, the movement of your hips never seizing.

You can’t wait any longer! It has been too long since you have last had him to yourself like this. Raising yourself slightly, you reach to grasp his cock. Giving it a few slow tugs and enjoying the way the pre-cum leaks from the swollen tip, before you guide him to your dripping entrance.

Leisurely, you sink down. Your inner walls sucking his cock in inch by delicious inch. The wind is almost knocked out of you once he is completely nestled inside of you. Your fingers claw at the skin on his stomach as you gradually begin to move. Hips rocking back and forth before you gain momentum and really begin riding him.

From you hips, Hoseoks hands travel up your body till they reach your sensitive breasts. There he wastes no time in cupping each of them in his large palms, his thumbs stroking over you erect nipples.

“Fuck…” you gasp. The burning in your thighs are slowly creeping in on your, but you don’t let it stop you, it only spurs you on and you start bouncing on him, his cock glistening with your arousal each time you retreat.

Hoseok notices, “Shit! You have n-“

You are both silenced as voices erupt from the hallway, right outside of Hoseoks room. With a rapidly beating heart you halt on top of him. You don’t even dare breath as the voices continue. After a short minute, Hoseok seems to grow impatient and he takes it upon himself to keep going.

In one abrupt motion he brings your upper body flushed to his chest and raises his leg. Grabbing your ass in both hands, he pounds in and out of you, not caring in the slightest that someone is right outside of the door.

Afraid that you will be heard, you choose to bite down on his shoulder as your hands wildly rip at the sheets beneath you.

Hoseok keeps bouncing you on his cock and at some point, you don’t even hear the voices anymore. You don’t even know if they have left or if you are so wrapped up in the scorching pleasure running through your body that you have just tuned it out completely.

But at this point you don’t even care!

“Hoseok – of fuuuck – I’m gonna cum!” You warn him out of breath.

“Cum!” He whispers hoarsely. “Cum on my cock!”

Rippling waves of pleasure shoot through your body and straight to heat and within seconds you cum. You are gripping his shoulders for dear life as you try your best to not make too much noise. But it is almost impossible when Hoseok doesn’t let up, he keeps pumping in and out of you, drawing the last bits of your orgasm out.

You feel dizzy and like you are having an out of body experience, and you don’t even register that Hoseok rolls you around so that he is now on top.

He still hasn’t finished yet, but he’s close. The way your walls so deliriously contract around him is almost enough to set him off. But he’s not finished with you yet.

Hoseok pick right back up from where he left off. His cock thrusting into you but at a much more leisure pace. You welcome the weight of his body on top of yours, your chests sticking together from the light layer of sweat.

Connecting your lips, you run your fingers through his light locks, a soft gasp of air cursing past your plump lips, as you ravel in the feelings of your post orgasm bliss and the fire you can feel beginning to burn once again inside of you.

It really doesn’t take much for you to cum since you have been with Hoseok. You have never had any trouble in previous relationships, but you have never been this sensitive before – only with Hoseok.

“You like the way I fuck you, huh?” he mumbles, the words vibrating against your lips.

You nod, fingers scratching down his back to the small dimples above his ass, “Yes, so good!”

He slows down, withdrawing from your heat till only the head of his cock is buried inside of you, and slowly pushing back in. You look down to where you are connected, the sight of him slowly working himself in and out of you causing you to clench down around him hard, making it hard for him to push back in.

“Shit!” He curses below his breath. “You’re so tight baby!”

You can do nothing to answer him at this point. Your mind and body too far gone to come up with any kind of answer or sentence that would make sense.

He buries his face your neck, his whole-body tightening, and he begins speeding up. He is now slamming his hips against yours and instinctively you let your legs drop open, creating more space for him to move and also changing the way he hits inside you.

“Hoseok,” you moan his name when the fire furiously spreads and you close your eyes tightly waiting for the explosion.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum! Gonna cum, gon-“ he doesn’t get to finish his sentence, his words being cut off when he uncontrollably cums inside of you, setting off your second orgasm of the night.

He is breathing harshly against the side of your neck, both of your bodies trying to calm down after that ride. With your hands, you gently caress his back. The tips of your fingers tickling his skin causing a low and satisfied hum to come from him.

You are beginning to feel oversensitive with him still buried inside of you, your walls continuously clamming down around him and it’s too much. You wiggle under him, a silent plea for him to pull out.

Thankfully, he gets it and he sits up and slowly pulls out of you. Instantly, you can feel his hot seeds leaking out of you and your cheeks redden. But it doesn’t seem to faze Hoseok in the slightest. The opposite in fact! Hoseok finds it extremely hot to watch his own orgasm leaking out of you. It makes him want to jump right back on you for another round! But he resists the urge to do so – knowing that you would probably pass out.

Instead he settles on, “That’s so fucking hot!” and switches from looking at your reaction to the happenings between your legs.

You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment and groan. “Doooon’t…” you whine.

He can’t help but laugh at how cute you are, being embarrassed by this small matter when only seconds ago he was inside of you doing much dirtier things.

“You’re so cute!”

“Yeah, well I’m not going to be cute when your cum leaks onto your sheets and you’re going to make me change them.” You half jokingly tell him.

“Shit, right!”

Hoseok springs to his ensuite bathroom and comes back seconds later with a hot washcloth. Gently, he wipes between your legs, wiping away the remainder of him.

He pulls a face looking at the sheet. “Some still got on the sheet.”

Sitting up, you wrap yourself in the crumpled up duvet next to you. “I’m not going to change the sheets.” You tell him matter-of-factly. “Your cum, your task.”

He throws the washcloth through the open door of the bathroom and reach for his boxers on the floor. “Your cum is on there too!” He protests pulling them over his hips.

“Yeah well, that is your doing to. You’re the one that made me that wet.”

“Oh so now that’s a bad thing.” He crawls on the bed till he can reach your lips and he pecks them, before he crawls back off.

“Off you get then,” he starts tugging on the corner of the sheet, and your get off the bed so he can strip it off the rest of the way, because there is no way that you are sleeping on sheets with dried cum on them tonight!

With Hoseok working on ridding the bed, you manage to take a look at the state of his bedroom. It is messy! What the hell had you been doing?!

Both of your clothes are scattered across the wooden floor, your bra hanging off the side of his desk chair. One of his pillows has also manage to find its way to the floor, decorated with one of Hoseoks socks strewn across it.

You laugh at the sight… what a mess.

“What’s so funny?” Hoseok asks with the cum filled sheet in hand.

You wrinkle your nose, “Nothing, your room is just a mess now.”

“Yeah…” he murmurs. “Could you please…” he makes a weird gesture around the room with one arm, indicating the mess, “tidy? Just a little bit babe? While I go throw this in the was and get a new sheet.”

“Of course,” you say. “Do you have to go out to get the sheet?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll be right back,” he tells you and the he carefully unlocks and opens his bedroom door, and just as carefully closes it behind him.

Now alone in his room, you reach for the t-shirt he had been wearing earlier on in the day. His smell ingulfing you and hugging your body. You also put on your panties for good measure.

You start with your clothes. Collecting it all from the floor and neatly folding it despite the fact the fact that it is has to go straight in the hamper, and place is on his desk chair.

You don’t bother with putting the pillow or duvet back on the bed yet, because the sheet still has to go on first, and since there is pretty much nothing left to “clean” up, you take a seat on the end of the bed and wait for Hoseok to return.

2 minutes pass.

5 minutes pass.

8 minutes.

10 minutes.

13 minutes.

When he’s been away for a whole of 15 minutes, you begin to wonder where the hell he has gone to. Maybe he’s gotten lost or fallen asleep somewhere?

Should you go out there and look for him?

What if someone sees you? What would even happen if someone were to see you? It’s not like they can throw you out… can they? No! Surely not. Hoseok would never allow that!

You take the chance. Softly cracking the door open just enough to take a peek into the hallway. It’s dark and all the doors are closed, but the light in the front room you passed through is still on. Opening the door further, you step out and freeze momentarily.

Still, you can hear no sounds other than the television that is apparently still running in the living room. Is that guy… Yoongi? Still sleeping on the couch? It’s well past midnight, surely, he has gone to his bed by now.

You tiptoe your way down the dark hallway, slowly passing by each closed door as if it might burst open at any moment and reveal an angry roommate.

The closer you get to the light, you start to hear hushed voices coming from the room with the television. You stop to listen. Huh, is that Hoseoks voice? You swear that you can hear his voice coming from the room, but you can’t make out what he or anyone else are saying.

You sneak closer to the corner, your head peeking around hit to see Hoseok, still in his boxers and a newly folded sheet in one hand, standing in front of six other guys sitting on the couch looking like it isn’t almost 3 o’clock in the morning.

“But we made the rule for a reason.” You hear the one sitting closest to you say. You think you recognize him as Yoongi, from the picture and the guy that was sleeping on the couch when you walked in earlier in the evening.

Is Hoseok getting grilled by his roommates right now? Because he brought you here? That leaves an unpleasant feeling in the pit of your stomach and you take that as you cue to enter the room.

“But some rules are me-“

The guys speaking stops when he sees you enter the room behind Hoseok. All six pairs of eyes turn in your direction, in turn making Hoseok look as well. He sighs when he sees you walking up to him.

“What are you doing out here?” He asks you, his eyes eyeing your naked legs.

You had completely forgotten that you were only wearing his t shirt. Thank god you put on your panties! “You didn’t come back and I started to worry that you had gotten lost.” You shyly mumble under his roommates heated stares.

“You worried I had gotten lost?” He smiles. “In my own apartment?”

“It’s a big apartment,” you manage to joke.

You can still feel their stars on you, and you cuddle closer to Hoseoks side for a sense of security, his arm immediately bringing you closer.

“I’m guessing that this is ____,” one of the guys say and stands. He is taller than Hoseok and his hair a pale blond color. He gives you a bright smile and extends his hand towards you. “I’m Namjoon,” he introduces himself.

Shaking his hand, you return his smile. “____,” you say even though he clearly already knows your name.

“We were just talking about you,” Namjoon then proceeds to tell you.

“I heard,” you weakly reply. You want to run away and hide in Hoseoks room, but you settle on nuzzling further into his side.

“Listen guys,” Hoseok begins, drawing all of their attention towards him. “I don’t give a fuck about the rule, okay. We made that rule a year ago when Yoongi kept complaining that Jungkook and Taehyung were bringing random girls back every weekend and keeping him up all night.”

So that is why they instated the “No girls in the apartment” rule.

“But ____ isn’t just a random hookup, we’ve been dating for over five months now and it’s safe to say that she is here to stay.”

No one says anything for a moment until another unnamed boy speaks up, you think you recognize him as Seokjin if you remember correctly from the picture on the mirror. “Okay then, let’s put it to a vote.” He says scooting forward on the couch. “I’m Jin by the way,” he quickly adds with a wink before going on with the voting. “All of those in favor of getting rid of the stupid “no girls in the apartment” rule, raise your hand.”

They all raise their hands except Yoongi, who keeps both of his hands firmly crossed over his chest and sour expression on his face. He is clearly not pleased with the outcome of this evening!

“Well that’s final then!” one of them says, jumping up from the couch. He approaches you with a huge boxy smile and an outstretched hand. “I’m Taehyung, but you can call me Tae.”

“Hey,” you smile back not really know what else to do at this point.

They guy, Jimin, that has colored his hair all the colors of the rainbow, leaves his spot on the couch, dragging another guy with him, now only leaving Yoongi to be seated.

“It’s really nice to meet you,” Jimin says. “Hobi has been less of a pain in the ass lately and I guess we now know why.” He winks and you blush slightly.

Hoseok smacks the side of his arm, “Ya! You the one that’s a pain in the ass!”

Jimin ignores him though, still focusing on you. “Oh! How rude of me not to introduce myself! I’m Jimin.”

“I know,” you accidentally let it slip over your lips and Jimin give you a weird look. You quickly explain, “The guy that’s colored his hair all the colors of the rainbow,” you tell him. “Hoseok has a picture in his room and… and he told me that and I-I remembered…”

“Oh…”

Hoseok cuts in, “Stop interrogating her and go to sleep!” He tells Jimin.

“No one’s interrogating her, we’re just curious,” the other guys cuts into the conversation. “I’m Jungkook.” He smiles.

“Hey…” all of these names and new faces is making your head spin, and not in a particularly good way.

Jungkook points to Yoongi on the couch, “And that’s Yoongi. But don’t mind is sour mood. He’s just annoyed he didn’t get his way! You’re more than welcomed here!”

At this you smile, “Thank you.”

You feel your body starting to relax a bit upon hearing this. You really thought that they weren’t going to accept you or like you, and you would never come in between Hoseok and his life long friends. That would break your heart.

Namjoon claps his hands making every one turn to him, “Alright! Let’s just wrap up this conversation and call it a night. We can get to know ____ more in the morning.”

Everyone agrees with Namjoon and everyone leaves the living room to go to their bedroom.

“That went better than I had expected,” Hoseok comments and plants a kiss on the top of your head.

You give him a tender smile, squeezing his side. A few steps behind you notice Jimin following you down the darkened hallway.

“How did they know I was here?” You dare ask Hoseok in what was meant as a whisper before entering the room.

Jimin hears you say this just as he is passing by to get to his room. “The walls are probably not as thick as you think they are.” He turns and blasts you a full on smirk and a wink before turning on his heel and walks to his room.

“Oh my god!” You groan in embarrassment.

Hoseok laughs as you faceplant into the still unmade bed. “It’s not that bad.” He assures you.

“Really?” You hopefully question.

Closing the door, he drops the new sheet on the floor next to the bed and sits beside you. “Well not for me, you were the loud one.”

“Ugh!” You groan yet again as you want to die in embarrassment!

Thank you for reading! I’ve wanted to do a Hoseok one shot for a while now and I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for so long just waiting to be finished! And now i finally finished it!!! I really hope you liked it! If you did please like and reblog :) 

All Rights Reserved © 2020 Kookscrescent

[obsidianfr3sk]

Rise of the Renegades (Chapter 4)

Summary:  Heroes come from the most unexpected places. Heroes sometimes feel a little too different, a little too scared, a little too alone. But heroes also know when enough is enough, and that before saving the world, they need to save themselves. And they cannot do it alone.

They were going to be the hope of the world. They were going to call themselves the Renegades. Even if they didn’t know it yet.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26246812/chapters/64945570

Wow, Obsi, you’re not posting at 11PM? No, I’m posting during online classes. That’s how much I love y’all. 

Reblogs and likes? Love them! 

Tag list: (Tell me if you want in or out!) @nodrianbcyes @healing-winston-pratt @lethughandsimonkiss @aceslytherinwinchester @plain-jane-mclain @jacihayle @cindersnightmare​

Don’t be a hero

The sky could be falling, the seas could be rising,

the whole world would end, and you’d still be there smiling.

You laugh in the face of the dangers you see.

Oh, thank goodness you’re out here with me!

Hugh

“So the first step to our redemption is to stop stealing.”

Simon rolled his eyes. “Sure, that's easy. Next time our families need food, water, or medicines, we will walk to the supermarket, take out our credit cards and—”

“Okay, I get it,” Hugh interrupted, “we don't have any money.”

“Not a single penny. All the money my dad makes goes to the medicine fund,” Simon explained. “Do you remember when Sophie had a stomach infection during the summer? That's where all the money he had raised for two months went.”

The truth was that Hugh was not very aware of how much medicines actually cost. He rarely got sick and his aunt...

When he told the owner of the store he didn't know what his aunt had, he wasn't lying. Just six months ago, she had gone to the last remaining hospital in all of Gatlon City that had not yet been taken over by the Anarchs or some gang. She left in the morning and returned hours later, with a box of cigarettes she finished that same night.

Yes, she was sick. No, there was nothing to worry about. She would be fine. And she never bought cigarettes again after that. (Good. It was a terrible habit.)

“What medicines—”

“Oh, I don't need medicine,” she replied. “It’s only a matter of time. And I'm serious. If I see that you spend money on medicine for me, I will punish you.”

It would be the first time his aunt punished him. He didn't want to smear his record with it, so he decided to believe her.

Everything would be fine.

“We will have to find a way,” he replied. “But we can't steal anymore.”

They continued walking down the sidewalk. Classes were over. The autumn wind ruffled their hair and flushed their cheeks. It was a sunny and kind of hot day, but it didn't bother him at all. After all, he had always preferred warm climates.

“We could drop out of school,” Simon suggested, “and get a job.”

“Drop out?”

“It's not like someone is going to stop us,” he replied with a shrug. “Would your aunt mind you drop out of school? I think my dad would be happy to have someone else bring money to the house.”

Hugh tightened the straps on his backpack. Simon had told him walking like that made him look like one of the dwarves from Snowhite. “I had never considered dropping out of school,” he replied. “I don't know what she would say.”

“Think about it.” Simon carried his backpack on one shoulder and walked with his back hunched and his eyes down. “I know you hate school as much as I do. It's not like we learn anything anyway. Also, if we stop stealing and start earning an honest living, we would stop contributing to the crime and anarchist culture that destroyed the city in the first place.”

Hugh stopped walking.

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked.

“That— that makes a lot of sense, actually,” he agreed.

When did you get so smart?

Simon smiled at him and tapped his temple. “And I didn't learn that in school.”

They stopped a few steps from the door of Joe's Basket. He felt a wave of remorse wash over him. That man had been so kind to him. He had given him a chocolate bar, talked to him, sent greetings to his aunt...

And they had been cruel. Nothing but cruel.

He reached into his pants pocket and felt the money he kept there.

An honest purchase might not solve all the trouble they had caused, but it could be a good start.

Simon opened the door for him. The owner of the store recognized him immediately and greeted him. Hugh smiled at him and headed toward the shelves. He and Simon stared at the articles for a while. He was glad to know that he had been able to restock since their last visit.

On one hand, he wanted to spend those five dollars and seventy cents on a couple of cans of real food. But on the other, those fruity bubble gums looked great. Hugh hadn't bought gum in a long time after Mr. Westwood told him they cause cavities.

“If you drop off school, what job would you get?” Simon asked.

“What job would you get ?”

“I do not know, that's why I ask you. We’re brainstorming.”

He laughed underneath. “I think… I could sell chromium stuff, right? Like cutlery. I could start my own chromium cutlery business!”

Simon looked at him skeptically. “Sure. The market for cutlery is in full swing during this time of the year.”

The two of them fixed their gaze on two chocolate bars that were left at the bottom of a small cardboard box at the same time. They immediately knew where they would spend their money. Stars, they could even buy that fruity bubble gum. The hell with cavities.

Being good felt… good.

Simon reached out for the chocolates when three men entered the store, one by one, leaving a strong smell of tobacco and glue behind them. They wore brown leather jackets and had their right ear covered with earrings.

Roaches.

As the Roaches approached the counter, Hugh and Simon ran to hide behind other shelves.

“We have to go,” Simon whispered in the lowest tone he could manage.

Hugh looked at the counter. The shortest of all had to be of the same height as him. He was missing a lot of teeth and his fingers were yellow. His face, haggard and wrinkled, made him look more like a rat than a human. He leaned confidently on the counter, conversing with the owner as if he were an old friend. But the owner did not look at all pleased with their presence.

“Simon, we have to help him.”

Simon turned translucent. “Help him?”

One of the Roaches turned in his direction. Hugh managed to duck just in time so they wouldn't see him.

“They are armed,” Simon stressed. “I saw their guns when they entered.”

Hugh almost laughed out loud as he removed his glasses and handed them to Simon.

Guns were the least of his problems.

He could create a weapon with his powers. A metal bar thick enough to hit the bigger guy on the head. He would hit him so hard that he would end up completely knocked out. Then the bald man would have the same fate. By that time, the shortest would have drawn his gun and shot him straight in the chest. But what would be his surprise when he realized that the bullets did not hurt him.

It would be so heroic.

“Guns, sure,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. “Do you think some guns can stop me?”

Simon pursed his lips.

Then he remembered that he had not come alone. That his friend was there. That the guns could hurt him.

If something went wrong, even the smallest thing, he would lose Simon.

“It's a stupid plan,” Simon whispered. “Don't be the hero.”

Simon gave him the glasses back.

Hugh put his glasses on. “I will not be a hero. Turn invisible.”

The hallway was clear. If they walked silently to the door and ran as fast as their legs would allow them, the Roaches would have no chance to catch them even if they wanted to. And with Simon being invisible, they wouldn't even notice him and couldn't hurt him in any way.

That one was not a stupid plan.

Simon followed him. They were getting closer and closer to the exit. The Roaches had no idea what was happening. Hugh reached out to open the door...

But a girl with dark skin and curly hair did it before he could.

For a second, the two of them looked into each other's eyes, and Hugh felt like he had already seen her at another time. He was so focused on trying to remember why her face looked so familiar that he barely noticed that Simon pushed her away and ran.

Before he could follow him, a voice talked.

“Lady, come in. And you, kid... You stay.”

The girl entered. And Hugh stayed.

Georgia

The only time Georgia had come face to face with a villain had been when Mr. Rae broke into her home the day after Tamaya escaped. She and her mother were quietly having a cup of black tea and sour toast for breakfast when he threw down the damn front door like the maniac he was, ran into the dining room and started yelling at Georgia to tell him right now where Tamaya was. Georgia instinctively flew up to the dining room ceiling.

Her mother managed to throw Mr. Rae out of the house by threatening him with a knife.

After Mr. Rae left, her mother asked, “Do you know where Tamaya is?”

Georgia shook her head. She wasn’t lying. And her mother knew.

“Do you have something to do with her running away from home?”

Georgia nodded.

Surprisingly, her mother didn't scold her. They finished their breakfast as if nothing had happened. Before leaving for work, she told her not to leave the house and to finish the calculus lessons she had left on her desk. Georgia managed to get so distracted doing math problems that she hardly thought about Mr. Rae.

When her mother returned, she made her promise never to get in the way of an evil person again. Georgia didn't want to promise that.

“But Mom, Mr. Rae is a villain!” she exclaimed.

“Of course he is, Georgia,” the woman agreed. “But you are not a hero. You can't save everyone.”

Like I couldn't save my dad, right?

Georgia promised. Mr. Rae never looked for her again. That had happened over a year ago, and so far she had managed not to get in the way of any villain, and she was very proud of it.

Yet, she had been so mired in her happiness that she hadn't thought about what to do if a villain got in her way.

So Georgia did nothing. She just obeyed.

She and the boy took a few steps away from the entrance.

What a lousy day she had chosen to look for a job.

The big Roach extended his hand. Georgia hugged her curriculum tightly. What did he want from her?

The leader realized her confusion. “Give him your money,” he explained.

“Now,” the bald man seconded.

Georgia reached into her pants pockets and handed him her last fifty dollars. Her mother would be furious. But she'd be more furious if Georgia risked her life for a measly fifty dollars.

“What I wonder is,” said the bald man, “how is it that a girl with perfume as expensive as yours ended up in this part of town?”

“I—“

“Are you lost, darling?”

“Enough, Hound,” the leader ordered with a laugh. He toyed with a couple of coins. “Don't flirt with the hand that feeds you.”

Hound stopped.

The taller one then turned to the blond boy who was next to Georgia. He held out his hand. “Money. Now.”

The boy didn't move a muscle.

“Are you deft?” exclaimed the leader. "Now!”

“No.”

Leader raised his eyebrows. “Are you saying no to me?”

Georgia turned to see him. She was asking herself the same question.

Did you say no to him?

“No,” he repeated. “I refuse to listen to a villain like you.”

So he noticed it too. He also noticed they were villains.

But why did he think he was a hero?

Hound and Big Roach walked towards the boy, but Leader stopped them with a wave of his hand. “A villain?” he scoffed “What makes you think I'm a villain?”

“Well, certainly, robbing stores is not a very heroic thing to do,” the boy emphasized. “And you didn’t even say please when you—“

Leader put the gun to his forehead. The owner opened his mouth to speak out, but Hound gave him such a look that it silenced him before he said anything. Georgia dropped her curriculum.

That kid was going to get himself killed right in front of her. Georgia knew she had to do something, but she didn’t understand why her body refused to listen to her heart.

Just like that night.

“What do you think now?” the leader asked her, with a hideous smile.

“Will you say "please”, Mr. Roach?”

Leader stuck the gun to his forehead. “What the fuck, no, I won’t!”

And then, the kid—

The kid freaking smiled at him. “Then shoot.”

Leader froze. He lowered his gun, puzzled at the boy's reaction.

Was that it? Was that how you defeated a villain?

By smiling at them?

Incredible.

But before Georgia could process what happened, Leader placed the cannon on her forehead. She stifled a sob that threatened to come out of her mouth.

The boy's smile disappeared immediately.

“Oh, excuse me, Captain, could you repeat your last order?” Leader asked with mockery. “Did you order me to—“ he put his finger on the trigger “—shoot?”

If only Georgia could grab the man by the wrists and snatch the gun from him in one move. Take that stupid Roach by surprise, point his own gun at him, and give him a little taste of his own medicine. He would never expect it from a pretty, defenseless girl like Georgia.

But she did not move. Again.

The boy took the money out of his pockets. Several coins and two dollar bills. The big man snatched it from him with an almost piteous expression.

Seriously?

“Were you about to risk your life for five dollars?” Hound asked as Leader tucked his weapon into his belt. “How pathetic.”

The boy lowered his head and turned to see her. If Georgia could speak, she would have thanked him.

“The backpack,” ordered Big Roach. “We also want the backpack.”

“But—“

“Give me the backpack. Now.”

He gave him the backpack. Big Roach opened it and raised his eyebrows. Hound rolled his eyes and scattered all of its contents to the ground. The textbooks opened at random pages, one of the notebooks ended up under a shelve, and the metal pencil case made a ruckus as it smashed against the store tile.

However, what caught her attention was the comic.

Georgia flinched when she saw his back cover.

A man was wearing a blue mask and a tight uniform and had Ace Anarchy's helmet pierced by a silver spear.

Hound handed the backpack to the owner, saying something about putting all the money he had there. Leader squatted down and took the comic as if it were a vile gossip magazine.

“Do not touch it.”

Leader made a military salute. “As you order, Captain,” and opened the comic.

Georgia didn't understand why the boy was so upset. His pupils had dilated and his hands were shaking as much as hers. Each page that Leader turned, the boy flinched as if it was an unwanted touch.

He hadn't acted like that when they had literally pointed a gun at him, but now he did? Now he freaked out?

Then she thought it would make her nervous too if they touched her books. Especially the ones she hid under her bed.

She wanted to say that she understood him.

But she couldn't speak.

Then, Leader stopped at a particular page. “Hey, guys, check this out,” he laughed. “It turns out that our captain is also an artist. Look what he did,” and pulled out a drawing of a battle between the same superhero and Ace Anarchy.

Georgia didn't have to be a detective to know right away that the boy had drawn it.

Hound joined in the taunt, but Big Roach was only as serious as she was. Leader tore off the back cover of the comic and threw it to the ground along with the rest of the notebooks. Suddenly, he took Georgia by the arm and put the two pictures on her face.

“What are the similarities between these two pictures?” he asked with his cigar breath. Georgia had the drawings so close that she couldn't distinguish them. “Did the Phantom Feline eat your tongue, lady? What are the similarities?”

“They're both a drawing of the same characters...” she muttered.

Leader pushed her. The owner passed the backpack to Hound, and he and Big Roach headed for the exit. “I thought you'd be smarter, lady,” Leader said, shaking his head. “I'll tell you what the similarities are. They're both going to end up with someone dead.”

He stopped right in front of the boy, put the drawing on his face, and tore it in two. “Just not today, Captain.”

The tension didn't go away when they left, but Georgia felt that at least she could breathe peacefully now. She collapsed into a plastic chair that was awkwardly perched next to a broken soda machine and hid her face in her hands.

She was safe. The villains were gone.

She was safe.

But at what cost?

At the cost of being a coward.

“Are you okay, kids?” asked the owner. “Good heavens, I’m sorry you had to witness that.”

Georgia raised her face. He was an old man, with gray hair and parched skin. His wrinkles became more noticeable with his concern. "I'm fine,” Georgia said. “Don’t worry.”

“And you, son?”

The boy adjusted his glasses. “I’m fine too.”

With mechanical movements, he bent down and quickly gathered his things. He took Georgia’s curriculum and shyly handed it to her. Georgia noticed how his expression changed when he took the comic in his hands, battered and with folded and wrinkled pages. The boy tried to flatten it out as best he could and tucked it between his heavy Algebra and Geometry books.

“Where is your friend?” asked the owner.

“He came out before they saw him,” he replied.

The owner frowned. “I didn't see him come out—“ Immediately, the owner seemed to understand. But instead of getting mad, he just shrugged. “Oh, all right... Well, I'm glad everything is fine. I am so sorry, if I knew they were coming, I would have closed the store. Anyway, I think you should go with your friend, right?”

“Yes,” the boy stammered. “I have to go with him.”

“Don't you want to take—“

“Oh no, really.”

“For the inconvenience.”

“It’s okay.” He pressed the books to his chest. “I have to go with my friend. He must be very worried. Goodbye, sir.” He looked at Georgia for a second. “And bye... ma'am.”

Ma’am?

The owner shook his head when he left. These kids, really. “What do you have there, miss?”

Miss was a better term.

Georgia handed it to him. The owner smiled. “A curriculum. You have beautiful handwriting, miss, I assure you.” Her mother would be very happy to hear that. “But at the moment I don't have any vacant positions. Sorry.”

Georgia took her curriculum back and smiled at the man.

Why did she feel like she hadn't smiled in years?

Was she so affected by what just happened?

“However, I doubt that you are going to decline my offer to take anything from the store,” he continued, smiling as if she had been practicing it all her life. “How about a chocolate bar? I've heard that chocolate always helps us forget our sorrows for a moment.”

He was right. “A candy bar sounds great,” she replied.

The owner walked over to the shelves. “I’m glad to know Phantom Feline did not actually eat your tongue.”

Georgia laughed. Her eyes saw the red notebook that was below the shelf. She bent down to get it out of there. On the cover, it had “Hugh E.” written in permanent marker.

She opened the notebook. On the back of the cover, there were a lot of unfinished doodles and random to-do lists. In the corner, someone had written in purple pen, “If you find this lost notebook, return to 4491 Atha Drive. Be careful, the owner is a bit of an idiot. Proceed with caution.”

And the owner (probably this Hugh E.) had added with a blue gel pen, “Not true. My aunt says I'm very charming. Please give me back my notebook.”

His handwriting was way too pretty for a boy.

Georgia tucked the notebook into her cloth bag. When she returned her gaze to the ground, the gray eyes of Ace Anarchy's drawing met hers. It was when she realized that Hugh E. had not taken his drawing with him.

Georgia decided to return him his notebook and drawing as soon as she could.

After all, he said "please".

[cubeswhump]

Her Old Home: A Visitor

Here we see Sweetie when she lived with her first owner. Sorry if you were looking forward to some Michelle nastiness. Pretty fucking angsty (see warnings) but uh. Sweetie makes a friend.

This was supposed to be posted hours ago but I think my iron is low so I slept all day and then my pig (yes you read that right, no I do not live on a farm) threw a tantrum that would put any two-year-old to shame and I had to make him happy and then I had to do exposure therapy. Now watch Sweetie make her pig happy.

Also I misspelled bruschetta so many different ways in my first draft.

Thank you @moose-teeth for the Guard Dog concept.

Tagging @more-miserables @haro-whumps @albino-whumpee @eatyourdamnpears @broken-horn @whumpsblog (If anyone wants to be added to the taglist, just say and I'll write you down for next time! Same goes for wanting to be removed.)

Warning for institutionalized slavery, dehumanization, ableist language (brief), implied dub/noncon, unwanted pregnancy, pregnancy in general, physical and emotional abuse, self-harm, self-deprecation, thoughts of abuse toward a minor, creepy caretaking (kinda?), suppression of stimming (very brief).

The pet stared with wide eyes as her owner took the good clothes out of the closet. Excitement bubbled inside her and the previously forgotten emition nearly knocked her off her feet.

"Mister Trey," she said quietly, daring to speak up. "Are we going out?"

He sneered at her. "Of course not. Are you retarded? Wretches like you stay in the house."

"Yes, Mister Trey. I'm very sorry." What a fool she was to have such absurd hopes, but the curiosity piped up within her brain, begging for answers.

"You don't need to know my reasons; all you need to do is what you're told. Now get fucking dressed," the man growled.

As he stalked out of the room, smoothing his greying hair, the pet dropped her sheer nightgown.

The nice clothes seldom came out of the closet, so how did they smell like Mister Trey's ashtray? She wrinkled her nose. The red skirt slid down her hips and she had to fasten its button with an elastic band. The shirt was so tight around her stomach too, and she couldn't even hide how she'd fastened her skirt.

She couldn't help shuffling into the bathroom to see the mess she was in the mirror. Her reflection's face contorted hideously and gripped its bulging stomach. The pink shirt was taut against the growth and showed a slip of pale skin below her navel as she fought to pull it down. She looked uglier than ever.

A little girl with her father's beautiful blue eyes and thick hair so unlike her mother's in the way it doesn't escape her pigtails prances around in a fabulous blue dress. Mister Trey spends so much money showering their daughter with gifts of clothes and toys but he doesn't complain. The kitchen smells of savory spices when she runs in and tugs on the wild-haired woman's conservative dress.

"Mama, Mama!" the girl exclaims in her squeaky voice. "Come play!"

The woman looks down and smiles. Her neck is bare. Bad thought, you're a pet. Her collar is stylish and comfortable. She holds a spoon to the child's lips. "Blow on it, baby, and tell me how it tastes."

The little girl blows so hard some broth splashes out, but her mother only laughs. She takes a noisy slurp and beams. "Mmm!"

"Good?" the woman asks, and the little girl nods emphatically. "Okay, I'll leave the soup simmering while we play."

The woman allows the little girl to take her hand and pull her right along into a different scene.

"Mama, Mama!" the child yells, and the woman scrubbing smokey baseboards in a translucent nightie fights the urge to cover her ears.

"Not now! Mama's busy," she says harshly. Her hands are red and raw but she scrubs and scrubs, nightgown wet after the day's cleaning and chafing her skin.

"Mama, I wanna play!" the child whines. Though its mother makes sure to keep it clean and fed, it's dressed in rags and covered in bruises.

The woman suddenly spins around and grips the child by its fragile shoulders. She forces herself to look into its eyes and gates the way she sees its father in them. Shut up, you love your owner. "Look, baby, I know you're bored but you'll have to just deal with it. We both know what your father will do if the house isn't clean when he gets home."

The woman releases the child's shoulders and turns her back. She doesn't want to see the tears pooling in its eyes.

The woman pet, younger now, stroking a black cat in the garden. A faint smile plays on her lips as she is warmed by the sun.

An infant's shrill cry pierces through her peace. The stupid brat always ruins her peace, what little time she has to herself. It was all she could do to not yank it out of its crib and shake it until it's quiet.

The pet whined a little, face crumpling in the mirror. She was awful, wretched, terrible. She seized her hairbrush and started beating her stomach with it. "I hate you! I don't want you! I don't want you!"

"Shut the fuck up!" Mister Trey screamed downstairs. "What's taking so long? Hurry up!"

The pet huffed and puffed, stomach and chest heaving so much her shirt threatened to burst. The slender fingers gripping her her hairbrush were white against the black handle. She slammed the brush down on the counter and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes in an effort to keep the tears in.

"Bitch! Hurry up!" Mister Trey boomed.

The pet placed a hand on her stomach. It stung from each blow but now she stroked the growth as tenderly as a newborn kitten. "I don't really hate you, baby... This world isn't right for you. And I'm a pet, not a mother."

"I don't want kids, Mama. I don't want a husband either. No one can tie me down!"

Confusion replaced misery. Where did those words come from? Had she uttered them? Who was Mama?

Stupid. Of course she had a mother at one point. As a pet, though, she has long since given away her right to have parents. She was a simple pet that was meant to serve. Her only family was her owner, and she loved him so, so much.

Her owner, who was waiting impatiently. Her blood turned icy. She tried to run from the bathroom but a sharp, white-hot pain knocked her to the ground. She cried out, convulsing as the pain radiated from her neck throughout her body.

Feet thundering up the stairs. All she could see were the tiles (did she already need to mop again?) and Mister Trey's shoes. With the click of a button, the pain stopped and she was able to be pleased that she had polished his shoes so well that her agonized face was reflected on one toe.

Still twitching, her hand moved to wipe away the drool that had trickled down her chin. A big hand grabbed hank of light brown hair and yanked her up. Her legs scrabbled achieve balance as her scalp screamed.

"When I say to hurry up, you fucking hurry up!" he roared, face twisted and nearly purple with rage. "What are you playing at, Bitch?"

"'M shurry..." Had her tongue grown thicker? Ugh, she sounded horrible. This wouldn't do.

"Come downstairs now!" He let go of her hair without warning and she dropped, chin hitting the floor so hard that for a moment she worried her teeth might break. Her tongue ran over the backs. Safe.

He stomped out of the room as she pushed herself up. He said to hurry but he'd be even angrier of she came downstairs with her hair sticking up and tangled. She raked the brush through it and sighed at the amount of hair that came back between the bristles when she pulled it away.

She ran down the stairs so fast she almost fell, stumbling on the last step. Mister Trey caught her by her arm, finger going wag-wag in her face like she was a naughty puppy.

"Clumsy girl! You be careful with my heir," he barked.

"I'm very sorry, Mister Trey," the pet said hastily, moving to kneel before he stopped her.

"I'm expecting company. Get started on negroni and something to eat."

She hurried off to the kitchen. She didn't know how much time she had to prepare so she had to come up with something that could be made quickly but wouldn't stale or turn to mush if this visitor took a while to arrive.

She had just drizzles the last of the balsamic vinegar when the doorbell rang. She picked up the tray and hurried to greet the visitor, but not so fast that the drinks would slosh.

There wasn't one visitor, but two. The shock collar around the stocky, taller one's neck quickly told the pet why Mister Troyer only mentioned one visitor; the second wasn't even a person.

"Right on time. Oh, look wgat she has for us!" Mister Trey's teeth gleamed in his perfect smile.

"Isn't she a Romantic?" asked the other owner.

He was less handsome than both his pet and Mister Trey, heavyset and balding with a pinched face, but he seemed... genuine. No, horrible pet, your owner is the most genuine man alive!

"She is," Mister Trey said. "Isn't she lovely?"

"Your romantic cooks and serves you on a platter?" asked the other owner, eyebrows raised.

Mister Trey took away the tray and wrapped an arm around his pet, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "She's perfect. Now, show some respect for Mister Brighten. Position five."

Both pets dropped to their knees, palms down and foreheads pressing to the floor. Mister Brighten sighed. "Come on, Ajax. You don't have to do that. Get up."

His pet, Ajax, was upright in an instant, right by his owner's side. His expression was hard as stone. "Yes Sir, sorry Sir."

"Tell your girl she can get up, Kyle," demanded Mister Brighten. The girl was shocked to hear someone bossing her owner around.

"Get up," Mister Trey barked, and she did so. As Mister Brighten tirned his attention to regard the female pet, he frowned, squinting at her stomach as it stuck out over the waist of her skirt. This early on, he couldn't tell if she just carried extra wait in her midsection, or if Mister Trey actually...

"You should buy your pet clothes that fit," Mister Brighten scoffed, and heat rushed to the pet's face.

No, don't blush! Embarrassment insults the owner! But it was hard not to feel embarrassed as she regarded herself in her socks and ill-fitting clothes, with her hair that refused to cooperate, and then looked at the others. Mister Trey in his smart suit and shiny patent shoes, hair nice and gelled. Mister Brighten with his suit as well. Even Ajax looked nice, fantastic curly hair in a neat ponytail and a button-down tucked into his slacks.

But Mister Brighten softened as he looked at the girl. "What's your name, honey?"

She opened her mouth. "Bi-"

Mister Trey cut in. "That doesn't matter. This is Ajax?" He reached toward his slick black hair, hand retracting when the boy snarled. "My God! Discipline your pet, Will."

Mister Brighten's ever-present frown deepened. "He's a Guard Dog. He's meant to be wary of people other than his owner."

"I'm a friend of your owner, Ajax. You treat me with respect, you hear me? Now, let's not let this food go to waste."

"I hope you made enough for Ajax," Mister Brighten murmured, sitting across from Mister Trey. The other owner snorted.

"Does he need it in a dog bowl?" he joked.

"You know he's still human, right?" Mister Brighten asked dryly. "How about the pets take their plates and leave us owners to talk business?"

Ajax gave a nod. The girl looked ro her owner for approval, and he waved dismissively. She took four pieces of bruschetta to split between two small plates, and did an awkward curtsey.

"Enjoy your bruschetta and negronis, sirs," she said, though it felt very belated. She turned to Ajax, murmuring, "Shall I show you the garden?"

Ajax looked to his owner. His owner nodded. "Go ahead, Ajax. She's safe."

Ajax nodded and followed the other pet. She led him to the back garden and he patiently listened while she showed him all her plants" "This here, my tomato plant, is my favorite. I grew the tomatoes on our bruschetta myself. I used to have an eggplant bush but Mister Trey said he doesn't like eggplants and it's an eyesore so I had to dig it up, which was a great idea from him. I don't know what this cactus is, but I really, really like it. And this..."

Once she had introduced every plant, the pets lapsed into silence. Ajax took a tentative sniff of his bruschetta before taking a bite. He really was like a dog, but at least he chewed with his mouth closed.

The girl didn't think she had ever interacted with a Guard Dog. She hadn't interacted with many pets at all; Romantics were dirty sluts and the orher trainees rightfully kept their distance.

"What does your owner call you?" Ajax asked at one point, surprising her. "He wouldn't let you say."

"I don't think he wants people to know," she replied.

Silence again. Then he spoke up. "May I ask a question? It might be rude."

She frowned a bit. She, a pet, was being asked for her approval? And who was this other pet to speak so casually?

"All right," she agreed.

"Are you pregnant?"

The girl pulled on a lock of her hair, moving it toward her face. She stopped herself from putting it in her mouth. Bad, Bitch! No chewing. She nodded.

"Pets aren't supposed to get pregnant," Ajax pointed out.

"Mister Trey wants an heir," she informed him.

"What does that even mean?"

"It means..." She paused, frowning again. "I don't actually know, but it's very important to Mister Trey, and I want him to be happy."

"As you should. I strive to keep Will- Mister Brighten happy."

"I'm happy if Mister Trey is happy," the girl went on. "So, so happy. And very grateful for all he's done for me."

Ajax nodded. He swallowed the last bite of his bruschetta while the other pet's sat untouched.

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 13

Merry Chrismukkah or whatever you celebrate, or just happy Saturday if that’s what floats your boat. Shawn is still dumb. Perhaps dumber. But these are my babies and they deserve the best. Just keep that in mind okay? K bye.

*Shawn’s point of view*

The New Year was a wonderful way for very rich people to throw very elaborate parties to tell people how rich they were. In his early twenties, he’s been roped in by the booze and the women and the occasional party drug or two. Something about twenty-four made him crave the serenity of naps, staying in, and home cooked meals. It could have been the maturity of growing up, sure, but he wasn’t exactly that naive. All he had to do was wake up wrapped around her to know that the only thrill he was going to get was by being with her. Y/n was the least industry, industry person he’d ever met. So, when she told him she had no plans to attend not one even one of the many she’d been invited to, he wasn’t disappointed in the slightest. He was happy to stay in. Or so he thought.

They were going to see a movie at this theatre in Manhattan that always showed the upcoming independent films of the year before they ever made it to the indie film festival. He really liked indie films, so y/n bought them tickets for a matinee showing. While y/n was in the shower getting ready his phone began to buzz and he was left without a choice but to answer it for one specific reason. It was his father. Or the Devil. Semantics.

“Yes, dad?” He sighed.

“Your mother is flying in for our annual New Years Eve party. I need you to get her here on time, and make sure she takes the uppers and not the downers this time.”

“Dad, Mom hasn’t been on pills since 2014. Remember the whole rehab thing?” He huffed. “And I’m absolutely not coming to that thing this year.”

“You absolutely the fuck are. The entire senior management team will be here, and I won’t have you make me look bad because you insist on being a child. You’re coming and you’re bringing your mother.”

His hands turned to fists  and he pulled the phone away from his mouth just long enough to curse his father back to hell for once.

“I already have plans, dad!”

“Cancel them! The party starts at nine, I expect you and your mother here by ten at the latest. Put on a suit for Christ’s sake too, none of that skinny jean bullshit.”

His dad hangs up without another world and he collapsed back onto the bed to question how he had managed to be conceived by one of the worst people ever. Really, what were the chances?

“Baby do you wanna do chinese for dinner after the movies?” y/n called from the bathroom.

And that’s when he began to cry.

“Boy, what in the hell is the matter with you now?”

He uncovered his arm from his face to see her standing at the entryway to the bathroom wrapped in a towel and looking as soft as cocoa butter. He really wanted to cry.

“You know the crime shows where the kids kill the parents and you’re like, holy shit that’s fucked up? Well I’m starting to sympathize with ‘em.”

“Sorry, that’s a little too close to white nonsense for me. Why, what happened?”

She stepped over to where he was on the bed and he sat up to fall a little pathetically into her arms. She smelled like flowers and that whole cocoa butter business he was thinking of earlier. Jesus, life was so unfair.

“My dad is making me pick up my mother and go to this stupid fucking new year’s eve party so he can pretend that they haven’t not lived together since before I graduated high school. No options. I’m going.” He reported glumly.

Her fingers were cool from having dried after the shower and she ran them soothingly through his scalp. He nestled himself more firmly against her and tried not to purr too loudly.

“Hmm, well that sucks. I guess there go our plans huh?”

He peered up at her, chin resting against her chest.

“Absolutely not. We’re gonna go see our movie and then we’ll...just go drink my dad’s booze and maybe find a janitor’s closet to fool around in.” He shrugged.

She snorted. “How romantic. I told you I’m not taking my underwear off in a janitor’s closet ever again, Shawn.”

“Who said you had to? I can get creative, baby.” He grinned.

“Of course you can. I think you’re forgetting the part where your dad doesn’t know we’re together.”

“Oh hell, who cares y/n. I’m not going without you. Why would I spend new year’s without my girlfriend?”

“Because...Manny is Satan and would try to ruin my career?”

“Hey, he wouldn’t. Y/n, I swear he wouldn’t do that to you.”

She smiled down at him sadly and scratched at his scalp again.

“I don’t really think you could make that promise, sweetheart. It’s okay. I’m not mad about it. I understand.”

“But I don’t! I want to spend the day with you, not at some dumb party! I had a whole plan about us making love in my bed with the curtains open while the fireworks went on, dammit. I hate him!”

Her chest began to shake and he realized that she was indeed laughing at him. There’s no love in this world.

“This isn’t funny.” He whined.

“It’s a little funny.”

No. Love.

***

“Hmm you look good enough to eat.” She murmured from behind him.

Her arms came to wrap around his waist and she reached up on the tips of her toes to rest her chin on his shoulder as he adjusted his suit. He could not have been less excited.

“Good enough to eat, not good enough to keep me home, aye?”

She rolled her eyes. “You are about as dramatic as they come you know that? I’m trying to keep the peace. Now you just make sure nobody touches what’s mine and you bring your ass home right after that ball drops.”

He turned in her grasp, pulling her more tightly against him. She was in nothing but his sweatshirt and a pair of underwear that surely would make him drool if he stared long enough. He loved her.

“What was it again that’s yours? I just wanna make sure I have all my bases covered when I inevitably get hit on.” He smirked.

She reached quickly for his jaw and tugged him forward so she could kiss him with dominance and love. Why in the entire hell was he going to this party?

“All of it.” She whispered eyes lifting up and down to drink him in. “You call me if you need a reminder.”

He nodded dumbly, lips parted and ready to drool.

“Yea. Okay.”

Leaving her is nearly impossible, especially knowing that he won’t have an ounce of fun the rest of the night. His mum is half way to sloppy drunk by the time he arrives to pick her up and the party's at stifling capacity by the time they arrive. But as long as his dad is happy that’s apparently all that matters. It’s all that ever matters.

“Look you just stand against this wall and I’ll go get you something with bubbles in it.”

His mum only giggled and leaned harder against the wall.

“Okay!”

He goes to the bar and gets her some cranberry juice mixed with soda water. She was drunk enough that it wouldn’t matter, and he was hopeful that by the end of the night she might sober enough for him to get her back to her hotel without incident. By the time he returns from the bar, he sees his dad wrapping his arm possessively around his mother. He starts talking to some old guy in a hat that isn’t doing enough to cover his balding head, and it’s about as sickening as can be. The worst part is that his mum completely plays into it. Her head rests on his shoulder. Her fingers play with his hair. They play the happy couple so well, it almost has him fooled. Almost.

There used to be a day when he would have tried to defend her honor, a day when he thought he was strong enough to fight his dad. He’d gotten knocked on his ass enough times to know that was simply not the case. And that’s how he ended up hiding in a corner with a double scotch texting his girlfriend while everyone around him looked like complete and total jackasses.

Shawn: I miss you. This is dumb. My dad is literally the worst.

y/n: You are so cute when you complain like a sixteen year old.

Shawn: I am delicate, y/n. You cannot be mean to me in my current state.

y/n: You poor, poor thing. What can I do to make it better?

Shawn: Rescue me?

y/n: We’ll see. Go place nice with the fragile men who never lived up their father’s visions for them.

Shawn: I think I’d rather die.

The party really is dead. It’s all the people who kiss his dad’s ass on a daily basis. Most of them were in their fifties or older. It wasn’t even the artists themselves, just the people who made money off of them. If he didn’t know any better he’d say it was his dad’s way of fundraising for investors. And he definitely knew better.

He’s sitting at the bar counting down the minutes until he gets to go home. It’s maybe thirty minutes until the ball drops, and everyone around him is hammered to pieces. He hasn’t seen his dad since he got there, and his mum was probably being dragged around by that asshole as nothing more than a trophy piece. God he wanted to go home. And then the elevator doors opened.

She’s wearing the dress that he bought her after he accidently ripped the other one. It’s black and sleek with a thigh slit that has his lips parting even now. Her hair is tied sleekly up in a bun and the second she steps into the room the entire atmosphere shifts. She’s gorgeous. Every inch of her. They lock eyes from across the room and he just knows that he’s beaming, couldn’t stop it even if he wanted. She’s here for him and no one else, and that means the world to him. She means the world to him.

He orders her her go-to drink and goes to find his girlfriend only to find that she’s already been stopped. It’s one of the guys from his dad’s team. He’s on the younger side, maybe in his early thirties, probably drives an eco friendly car or something. He’s dumb is the point. Dumb. And ugly. And stupid. And talking to his girlfriend.

“You look beautiful tonight. I didn’t expect to see you here. You and Manny don’t really get along.”

She giggled. Why was she giggling?

“That’s certainly one way to put it. But a good old-fashioned rivalry never hurt anyone, did it? Especially not when I win.” She grinned.

“You know…I find that kind of confidence in a woman to be incredibly sexy.”

Her eyes widened and he leaned in to place a hand on her waist. He made sure to step between them before it got that far.

“Vodka cran right?” He interjected pulling her not so subtly against him.

She rolled her eyes but smiled up at him.

“Yes, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Who are you chatting with?”

“Shawn it’s Mike. We--We work together?”

He placed his hand on her lower back barely sparing him a glance as he led her away.

“Oh yea. Enjoy the party Mike!”

“You are not subtle in the slightest you know that?” She laughed.

“Yea, whatever. Only person who get’s to call my baby sexy is me, dammit.”

“I find your possessiveness to be both sexist and oddly stimulating. I will combat my feminist guide and get back to you.”

He snorted. “While you’re at it can you ask the feminist guide what it has to say about your whole, ‘it’s all mine’, shtick?”

“Hmm...you may have a point.”

He leads her onto the dance floor. Dancing is innocent. It can mean anything, and isn’t inherently tied to being in a relationship, so it acts as a safe space for the two of them. The party was too large for him to place eyes on his dad, so he had to just believe that they could occupy space together and be okay. No kissing. No waist touching. Certainly no ass touching. He really had to just hold onto his drink and soak her in. The good news is that soaking her in is better than not having her there at all. So he holds tight to the idea that he could have her there with him.

“You came here for me.” He murmured in her ear. “Why?”

She shrugs her shoulders and shimmies her hips to the beat of a Khalid song, ironically.

“You asked me to.”

“I know but...what about my dad?”

“Your dad is...always going to exist. No matter how long we’re together. If I let him stop me from enjoying New Year’s with you than I’m giving him power over our relationship. He doesn’t get to have that. Only we have that.”

It’s another one of those moments where if he looked back on his life, he could have identified it as a shift in their dynamic. This was y/n pulling down the final brick in the wall. She had chosen him fully and irrevocably in such a way that she was willing to go all in. His dad no longer matter mattered. Nothing really seemed to matter. Because they loved each other, and as long as they loved each other everything else would work out at some point. He had always been hers, but now he got to be her’s in broad daylight. Well, kind of.

They find a corner to shove themselves into away from the crowd. She crosses her legs and shows off more thigh than anyone has the right too, which reminds him that he hasn’t kissed her in hours. And so he sneaks a kiss on her cheek and hides his face in her neck, because he just wants to go home. He really wants to go home.

“I can’t touch you here.” He mumbled. “This is basically my own version of hell.”

She sighed. “Yea, I know. Usually your horniness is excessive, but this party is drier than Milania Trump’s pussy. Sheesh.”

He laughs because she’s funny and it makes him feel lighter, happier. He still doesn’t know how she does it.

“My dad is somewhere showing my mum off like she’s a thing and not a person. To him everything is a commodity, something for him to own and do with what he pleases.” He mumbled reaching for her hand. “I just want you to know that you could never be that for me. I would never, ever treat you like that.”

She smiled softly at him.

“I know. You’ve never treated me with anything but kindness, Shawn. You’re not your dad.”

He nodded. “See I know that, and yet still it feels good to be reminded sometimes.”

“You just let me know whenever you need reminding then.”

“Mkay. I will.”

“Shawn.”

The two of them looked up as his father ascended with his mother hanging onto him, eyes barely open. Y/n moved as far away from him as physically possible. He had to hide his face to pretend it didn’t hurt. It did hurt.

“What now?” He grumbled.

“Your mother is incompacitated. Take her home. Now.”

He stands up immediately, y/n remaining seated in her chair. She played coy incredibly well, bringing her drink to her lips and settling back deeper into her chair.

“Y/n,” Manny dipped his head. “So glad you could make it to our little suarey. Are you enjoying yourself?”

She smiled. “You know I was. I think I enjoyed myself so much that I’m gonna have to take a very long nap to deal with all the excitement.”

He catches the thinly veiled anger on his father’s face at Y/n taking the piss out of him as he reaches for his mum. She was in worse condition than he left her in, her eyes barely remaining open.

“Jesus, dad what did you do to her?” He hissed.

“She’s a grown ass woman fully capable of making her own decisions. Now get her out of here before she embarasses me further.”

“I do really enjoy the playful family banter. It’s sweet.” Y/n interjected. “And not incredibly cliche at all.”

He looked at her with pleading eyes to not make his father any angrier than he already was. If the look on his face was anything to go off though, his father wasn’t ever going to be happy when y/n was present. Manny sent y/n a scathing look before grumbling off to be with the rest of the crowd. His mum on the other hand was practically snoring on his shoulder. He hated the holidays.

“Looks like I’m gonna miss the ball drop. I gotta get her home.” He sighed.

“It’s okay. We can ring in the new year when you get back, okay?”

“Promise?”

She smiled up at him. “Promise.”

“K. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Neither of them noticed Manny watching them from the bar. Nor had they noticed the way he had watched them the entire night. In fact as Shawn was pulling his mother towards the elevator, Manny was calling for the party planner for the event that night.

“Can you look up a name on the guest list for me?” He asked.

“Of course, sir.”

“y/f/n y/l/n. She on there?”

The party planner flicked through the list twice before shaking her head at Manny.

“No sir, I never sent any invitation to a y/f/n y/l/n.”

Manny looked back over at the couch where y/n and Shawn had been sitting. She was already gone.

“Yea, that’s what I thought.”

***

*y/n’s point of view*

The fact that Shawn becomes a regular at Lenny’s Tavern is only a testament to his love for music. He went every Friday it seemed, to the point where he turned out to be a celebrity of the pub. It was his place of joy. You never saw him smile harder then when he was up there with a guitar in his hands. It was a blend of covers and originals, and when he’s up there getting the entire crowd to scream sing “Hit Me Baby One More Time”, you know that there’s something special there. He knows how to command a room, at first with his presence, but now with his talent. Something that could take years to teach an artist, Shawn was sitting there with it by the boatload. And so every night is a little bittersweet, because you know Manny and you know if he has his way Shawn will never get anything more. But, the smile on his face every time he asks you to go is enough to have you taking the forty minute drive out the city on Fridays.

He jumps down from the stage to ravenous applause. The smile and the light in his eye is exceptional. You watch him get stopped by a few women, an increasing occurrence at Lenny’s Tavern, who asked to take a selfie with him. The smile that he puts on for them is more calculated, more mass sex appeal. Honestly, he was a music exec’s wet dream. And not because he’s good at it, but because he does it with this sort of authentic happiness that no amount of money can buy. He’s just got it.

“Did you like it babe? I tried the falsetto on the ‘suit and tie’ cover just like you said.” He beamed at you.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed his nose.

“You sounded amazing. Just like you always do. My baby’s kind of a star.” You grinned.

“Yea, only because of you. Can you imagine my life if you’d been my manager instead of my dick of a dad?”

“You’d be wildly sucessful for sure...But I don’t fuck my clients so…”

He frowned. “Then let’s just stick with this reality, aye?”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go get me a drink.”

He trailed you to the bar, his hands playfully on your ass and hips. His unwillingness to quit touching you was much appreciated in just about every instance of your lives together. Why go through life not being touched by your significant other? It just didn’t make sense.

“Hey Shawn!” Ronnie, the owner of the bar, called.

“Hey Ronnie, man, what’d you think of the set?”

“It was amazing! You’re always amazing, you pretty bastard, and you know it.”

You peered up at your boyfriend as you took a sip of your drink. His cheekbones were more sculpted than yours and perfectly flushed. His curls were like the swirl of an ice cream cone off pinterest. The fucker really was pretty. Rude.

“Hey, it’s just an honor to get up there man.”

“Really? Cause see I had one of my buddies from Atlantic come see your set and he asked me to give you his card, but if it’s all about the honor then…”

“What?!” Shawn and you screeched in unison.

Ronnie stared at the two of you with a big grin on his face.

“Yea! Same way I got our little Niall to where he’s at. When the sets are good, they come to check out the talent man. And you’re better than good. Here.”

Shawn took the card and stared down at it. You could see the fear, but also the light in his eyes. It was about as tragic as can be.

“No man, I--I can’t take this.” He mumbled handing the card back to Ronnie.

Ronnie refused it.

“Keep it. You deserve it man!” He exclaimed before walking away.

Shawn turned to you with wide eyes and a terrified look on his face that had you reaching to wrap his giant frame up in your arms.

“It’s okay. Hey, don’t stress yourself out. Just don’t call the number.”

“But my dad does so much work with Atlantic. Like five of his artists are co-signed through them. What if he finds out somehow?”

You shook your head. “He won’t cause you’re not going to call...unless that’s what you want.”

“Huh?”

You ran your hands up his arms and over his shoulders trying to quell some of the tension.

“Look I’m just saying that, yea you signed with your dad when you were fifteen but that contract expired the moment you became an adult. That’s probably why he asked you to work for the company the moment you turned eighteen, so that he could retain this hold he has over you.”

He frowned at you. “But...but my music.”

“I know baby. You made a lot of music that means a lot to you, and I want nothing more than for you to have ownice of it. All I’m saying is that if you can’t get the music back, that doesn’t mean you can never create again. It doesn’t even mean you can’t make music for a living. Any label would kill to sign you. I know because I’d be right there fighting with ‘em.”

He released this big breath, face twitching with anxiety. You could tell it was getting to him, that the moment was becoming too much. You didn’t really know how to ease him into it anymore than you already had.

“I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. I wanna go home.”  He mumbled, face red.

“Okay, I can be okay with that. Let’s go home.”

“Can we go to your place?” He asked head dipping down closer to yours.

You smiled. “Of course.”

***

*Shawn’s point of view*

Everything makes sense when they’re making love. It’s something about the way she tastes, or maybe is the vibrations of her moans against his mouth when he kisses her throat. His head is never more clear than when she’s in his arms. He loves her. God does he love her. He wants her to have everything, all of him, infinitely. So that’s what she gets.

“Fuck! Oh my god!” She sobbed.

“You gonna cum for me?” He asks reaching to stroke her clit with his thumb.

She nodded recklessly her stomach tensing, thighs trembling.

“Please. Shawn, I need it so bad.”

He flips her onto her back, hand wrapping around the top of her head for leverage as he lays into her. Her body shakes for him and she claws at his back so hard there will be welts later. But it’s her pleasure. It’s the only thing in the world that matters to him when they’re in this space together. So he keeps moving, keeps moaning, keeps holding on for every second that he can if it means she’ll stare at him like he just blew her mind. He always wants to blow her mind. And she bursts for him like an overripe fruit in the summer heat, and he makes sure that he’s right there to slurp it up for her.

“I love you.” He groaned into her ear. “I love you so much.”

The doorbell ringing is literally the last thing in the world that he wants to hear. She’s still panting against his neck and he’s just supposed to get out of bed?

“Let it ring.” She mumbled lips tracing his nipple.

“Oh. My. God, woman.”

She giggled and the result was something so cute and soft on her face that he could feel his exhausted body peak in interest. The line between whether to dominate and whether to cuddle  deeply into the sheets got more blurred by the second with her.

The doorbell rings again.

“Jesus Christ.” He muttered.

“Fuck...look just go answer it. I have to get ready for work soon anyway.”

He immediately began to pout.

“But baby...I didn’t finish my moves.” He whined.

She snorted. “You finished just fine for me, dear. Go get the door.”

He does what she asks. But not without whining the entire time dammit. She puts on his Jimi Hendrix t-shirt and walks off to his kitchen without underwear or a bra. Whoever was at the door probably deserved to die. He didn’t make the rules.

“This better be good!”

He yanked open the door to see his dad standing there with two starbucks cups in his hands and the grin of Satan.

“Dad.” He mumbled. “What--what the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s time to talk to son.” He smiled making his way past him to get into his apartment.

Oh for fuck’s sake.

“Look now really isn’t the time!”

“On the contrary, I don’t think there could be a better time. Ah! Good morning y/n!”

Sure enough there she stood in the middle of the room where the living room met the kitchen with a pan in her hand and the fear of god in her eyes.

“Y/n my...dad is here.” He stated glumly.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’d managed to catch on, Shawn.”

“As much as I do enjoy watching the two of you prance around with no pants on, I think it’s time to get dressed. Shawn and I have some things to discuss. Take your time. I’ll wait.”

The room is dead silent. Y/n is looking at him like she’s contemplating hitting his dad over the head with the pan. Honestly, it’s not the worst visual he could come up with. Instead they walk side by side back to his bedroom. His hands are shaking and he tugs anxiously at his hair as he watches her get dressed. It’s impossible for him to wrap his head around this moment. Ten minutes ago they were making love, and now his dad knows about them. Just like that.

She tugs her shoes on and reaches for her keys and his heart spasms painfully in his chest. He’s got no choice but to reach for her.

“Hey,” He whispered hands still shaking as he gripped her waist. “I--I don’t know what’s going on right now. I’m freaking out y/n.”

She nodded. “Me too. It’s gonna be okay though. Just come to my place when it’s over. Whatever it is, we can work through it, y’know? That’s what we do.”

“I love you. More than anything. You know that right?”

She smiled at him sadly and ran her fingers through his hair to scratch at his scalp. It was the most calming gesture he could think of.

“I know. And I love you too. It’ll be okay. I wish I could be here with you in this, I do. But we’ll figure it out. I promise.”

He nodded solemnly letting his shoulders drop as she released him.

“Yea, okay.”

The last image he gets of her is when she walks through his front door without looking back. Her head was high, shoulders back, a lot like the first night he met her. Only now he knew better. Now he knew it was a part of her no doubt, but a constructed one too. With the presence of his dad, she suddenly needed to be a version of herself that no one could touch. Not even him. And so the last good image he gets of her is a version of her that’s not his, not hers. It exists outside of everything that they’ve become together in the months of their love. It’s a protective shell put up to hide. That’s the last image he gets.

***

*y/n’s point of view*

He doesn’t come over. And he doesn’t call. At first you thought maybe something happened. Maybe Manny shipped him off to Novasokia or some shit. But a woman left to sit in her apartment for hours can only come up with so much. By the time it was dark out, you got the feeling that he wasn’t coming over. All your text messages and calls had gone unanswered. You worried sick, and sad as all hell. You skipped work to wait around for him, and then couldn’t bring yourself to do anything but lie there all day. So when he doesn’t show up it’s a day wasted. And when you wake up the next morning to nothing? Not a facetime, an emoji, not even a fuck off? Your heart just sort of breaks.

“Hi, uh. I don’t really know what’s going on. And I don’t know what he could have said to you to make you not come over but...I’m scared, Shawn. I--I miss you. And I just want to know that you’re okay. Please call me. Bye.”

You showed up to work an absolute nervous wreck. It had taken you all morning to convince yourself not to go over to Shawns’ apartment. If he really didn't want to see you, then you probably owed that to him. The rational part of you was trying to come up with a solution. So, you convinced yourself that Shawn must’ve gotten into a really terrible fight with his dad and he had gone off somewhere to play music and blow off steam. It wasn’t the craziest scenario. In the time that you’d known him, Shawn had definitely fled the world to hide in a room somewhere with his guitar. This was just the first time, he’d shut you out too.

You walked onto the floor of your office and Tiana was waiting there with a hot tea for you and a very sad, anxious look on her face. It just so happened that you didn’t have the emotional capacity to deal with anyone else at the moment.

“Hey Ti,” You mumbled. “I just need the day okay? I’m gonna go work on some stuff, but I really don’t want to be bothered.”

“I know sis but… you’ve got a visitor.”

Your eyes widened and quickly moved to get to your office.

“Is it Shawn? Did he say anything to you?”

“Y/n it’s not Shawn!” She called after you. “It’s Manny.”

You froze where you stood peering at your office door with confusion.

“What?”

“He was already here when I got here. He said that he had something to tell you, and that you’d be interested in hearing from him.” She explained. “But, I can kick him out if you want. I--I didn’t know!”

You swallowed and turned back to your friend.

“No uh, it’s okay. I’ll just...I’ll go in there.”

There’s a moment where you stood outside your office and took a huge breath. The truth of the matter was Manny had scared you for years. In the midst of your come up in the industry there were plenty of men who didn’t like you. Didn’t like your ideas, didn’t like your success, didn’t like your unwillingness to bow down to them. That you’d grown used to. But Manny seemed to feel all of those things at a level that no one else did. And while plenty of men would be happy to see your down fall not too many of them would actively participate in making it happen. You had known from the day you met him that Manny was the guy who would.

Falling for Shawn hadn’t gotten rid of the fear, but what it had done was shift your priorities. Whatever was on the other side of that door needed to happen, because you needed Shawn in your life. You loved him too much to be without him, and he loved you too much too. You knew that. You had to believe those two facts or none of it mattered. So you schooled your face into the mask that you’d created long before that day, and you walked into your office to meet it head on. Because there were no other options.

“Manny, I wasn’t sure if you knew where our office was located.” You smiled upon entering the room. “I always figured it was too urban of a space for you, not enough upper east side, ya know.”

He sat on the edge of your desk a lot like Shawn had the first time he’d been there. If there was anything to be said about the resemblance of the too, it was that Shawn did look a lot like his father.

“Well you’re right about that, y/n. I don’t exactly slum it unless I have too. I figured today was a good enough occasion.”

And subtle racist remarks all before ten am. This ought to be a treat.

“What do you want, Manny?”

You sat down at your desk and of course he immediately stood up so that he could tower over you. Men. So incredibly predictable.

“It’s over y/n.”

You rolled your eyes at the dramatics.

“And do tell, what exactly is over Manny?”

“Whatever hold you had on my son. It’s done with.”

“Ahhh. That’s what this is about. You’re upset that he started thinking for himself, and that his hands were no longer glued to your ass. I’m sorry but that has nothing to do with me. He’s a grown man; he thinks for himself.”

Manny stuffed his hands in his pockets and began to walk around the room. In retrospect Shawn was just about as dramatic as his father, just less evil.

“I should’ve known when it first started that you’d dig your claws into him. His rush to get me to introduce you two. The sudden trips to Rome on my jet, of course. The push back at work. His disappearing all the time.” He sighed. “I just thought angry pussy was better pussy or something.”

Your anger gets the best of you and a break appears in the mask.

“Excuse me?”

“Well you two really just weren’t subtle at all now were you? Which was fine at first. I’m sure you’re perfectly fine in the sack y/n, but it’s not like he’d ever marry you into the family. But then you started putting your nose where it didn’t fucking belong. That stint at the pub where we found Niall. Did you really think I wasn’t going to hear about that?”

You were absolutely rattled inside, varying on disgust and rage alongside a kind of fear you hadn’t experienced in years. But you couldn’t let it show. You’d rather die than let it show.

“He’s talented. He’s the best I’ve seen in years and I’ve got three of this years top artists under my belt. To block that? To keep him hidden because of your own inadequacies? That’s pathetic and you know it.”

Manny chuckled. “Your generation is so incredibly naive. That’s business, honey. Shawn can do more for me outside of the spotlight than he can inside it. It’s as simple as that.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. You old wrinkly white men and your archaic understanding of the world. That’s not business, that’s greed. That relentless, self-indulging, disgusting greed you sad, sad little man.”

The smile on Manny’s face dropped as well as the temperature in the room. You were without a doubt one of the only people in his life to challenge him. He didn’t like it at all.

“And what about what he wants? Doesn’t that matter at all?” You asked. “Doesn’t anything but your own self-interest matter to you at all?”

“Not even in the slightest. But it’s okay now. I’ve shifted my narrative in part because of you. So I thank you for that.”

“Jesus Christ you know you sound like a villain straight out of a Spy Kids movie, like at all times? Will you just get to the fucking point?”

“I’m gonna give Shawn his masters back.”

You paused. “What?”

“Yep. All two hundred songs. There his. He can do with them what he pleases. He’ll resign a contract with me of course, and I’ll give him the career he always wanted. He’ll realize that he’s nothing without me. And everyone lives happily ever after.”

“I’m just supposed to believe that a plan you cooked up when he was fifteen years old is over now? Just like that? What’s the catch here?”

Manny snapped his fingers and moved closer to you.

“Oh that’s right. My apologies. The catch is that he has to break up with you.”

At this your stomach and your heart and everything in between just dropped.

“What?”

“You heard me. Shawn can have everything that he’s ever wanted, every song he’s ever written, just as long as you’re not in the picture.” He smiled. “I know my son, y/n. And he will pick correctly and you will be but an unpleasant memory.”

It just ripped you to shreds. It was the culmination of everything that you knew about Shawn, and everything that you loved about him, being exactly the thing to take him from you. And it hurt. You were left utterly defenseless as if he’d ripped your carefully crafted mask right from your face. Your eyes watered, your throated tightened. This was it. This was the end. Manny had banked on your willingness to know Shawn, which meant he knew that you loved him. And perhaps that’s the part that hurts the most. That someone could take the goodness of your heart and use it against you in such a malicious way.

“Why...why would you do this?” You asked.

And he shrugged at you.

“I like to win y/n. And I always win. This time will be no different. And I’ll make sure of it.”

He left the room just as the tears spilled over your cheeks. Because in order for Manny to win, someone would have to lose. He had made sure that only one person would come out of this scathed. You lost.

***

Seeing him on the other side of your door makes the gaping hole where your heart used to be throb. His curls are wilder than ever. There are bags beneath his eyes that are unlike anything you’d ever seen. He looked exhausted and sad and really beautiful even then. When he sees you he pulls up a smile that is so pathetic it hurts. But, it’s honest. It’s him giving all of himself to you, even when there’s damn near nothing left. To look at him now was to be in pain. And so you had to remind yourself that preservation was a Black woman’s armor. It was all you had left.

He smiled sadly as you leaned against your door not inviting him inside.

“Hi.” He whispered waving in his favorite clappy hand like motion that usually made you smile.

Not today.

“Hi.”

“I can explain. And I am so, so sorry that I disappeared but--”

“There’s no need.” You interrupted.

He shook his head. “No, y/n, I swear to you that I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just needed time. I needed to clear my head and my fucking dad he--”

“I know. Shawn I know.” You mumbled. “He came to my office.”

Shawn’s eyes widened.

“He did what? What did he say to you?”

He reached for you and you stepped further behind the door causing Shawn to pause and stare at you. His face began to shift just as the puzzle pieces slid into place. As your lip trembled he raised his hands up in the air in a motion of defenselessness, as if he was waiting for you to spook and disappear at any moment. If only he knew.

“Y/n what’s going on?” He whispered, eyes wide open and scared. “Why won’t you let me touch you? W--Why can’t we go inside?”

You closed your eyes and breathed but it was pointless. The tears came in abundance now. His hand touched your cheek and you wished that it didn’t soothe you. Wouldn’t this all be easier if he didn’t soothe you so well.

“It’s over, Shawn.”

“What?” He mumbled, completely frozen into place. “What?”

You swallowed.

“It has to end. You and me, we’re done.”

“What are you talking about right now? Are you kidding me?” He sputtered. “I--love you. I love you with everything that I am, how could you say that to me?”  

You shake your head to try and dispel some of the sadness with the hopes that you could even get through this whole. The problem was you already felt yourself splintering, and the more room you gave him to fight, the more damaged the both of you would be.

“I’m sorry, but that doesn’t matter right now.”

You can tell by the look on his face that you’re crushing him. This fact only ruins you further, only make the pain sizzle deep in your gut. You’ve got nothing left to give. You’ve gotta give it all to him so that he can go on and be okay.  It’s for the best. It has to be.

“It does matter?! I love you! And you love me. And it doesn’t matter? Why are you doing this?!”

“Because  it...it’s the only way to give you everything you’ve always wanted. And I love you enough to give you that. Goodbye Shawn.”

“Y/n, wait can’t we please just--”

You close the door in his face. Everything is blurry around the edges. You sink down to the floor and cover your ears as if it might cover the sounds of him pounding on your door. The two of you cry and sob for the other. You knows there’s no fixing this. It’s done.

***

Tag List

@simpledomain @liliane106 @thecurlsofgod @xeuphorically-moonstruck @euphoric05 @daijanicole @bruhh-whateven@learning-howto-be-myselfx3@decewill@goldiean@bitchacho25 @bruhh-whateven@justbeingoceana@loveylangdon@iloveshawnieboi@september-lace@valedictorian65 @dimestorebieber22 @MixerMani @lifeoftheparty74@sinplisticshawn @kamahriii@disaster-rose@justbeingoceana@thecurlsofgod 

Arrangement Taglist:

@moonlightmendes22  @cottoncandyshawn @iloveshawnieboi@shawnsblue

@claredolphinbear24@peterbrokenparker@blackharry@shawnwyr @speakingofmari@moniehp@softmendesss@ydolansss @MixerMani @kitykatnumber@chonmnds@cottoncandyshawn @shawnase

[minijenn]

Random Keys/UF Crossover Ideas

Because I’m torn between both of my projects right now and I hate myself, here’s something that’ll only really appeal to the very niche audience of people who read both Universe Falls and Keys to the Kingdom. Basically its a list of somewhat spoilery (for Keys more than UF) headcanons of what it might be like if the Gravity Falls world scheduled to be in Keys was a Universe Falls world instead (in the sense that it still takes place in Gravity Falls physically but like... its set in the universe of Universe Falls (oy I’m explaining too much lemme just start rambling off the random ideas that have been popping into my head over the last several days of this hypothetical crossover of my two stupid fanfics):

For reference’s sake, on the UF end of things, this would take place somewhere around the middle of arc10ish, pretty close to Weirdmageddon as the GF world in Keys is gonna take place pretty close to Weirdmageddon too. 

For Keys, the trip to this world would still take place in the same spot the GF world does, so semi close to the end of the story, as one of the last Disney worlds of the fic (guess it wouldn’t really be a “Disney” world here but ehhhhhh) 

Guess I better give some context about what’s going on in each fic around that time; UF’s is easier to do so we’ll start with that; basically without spoiling a certain upcoming arc ender too much, during arc 10, everyone’s sorta frazzled what between all of the interdimensional travel, worries about Bill coming back and causing chaos, worries about the Diamonds possibly getting involved in stuff, shaken by the recent revelation that Rose allegedly shattered Pink Diamond and so on (basically there’s a lot going on in the leadup to UF’s ending hahaha) 

Context for Keys (again without getting too spoilery (gotta tread even more careful here) is that by this point in the story Sora is basically in nonstop Panic Mode about the whole norting thing thanks to a certain encounter with one Bald Old Fuckhead during the Aladdin world immediately before this; so Sora’s on the run from basically his entire support system cause he’s all worried about unintentionally hurting his friends (and he also just doesn’t want Riku or Kairi in particular to see what’s happening to him cause Disaster Bi). 

Cont. Context for Keys cause that last bullet point was Long: Despite all this fuckin Angst, Sora’s still out searching for the Keys on his own in the hopes of securing the final few for the guardians of light before he can be fully norted and forced into handing them over to the Organization instead 

Not to mention those freak relatively dark/light powers of his are alll outta whack cause he A. Doesn’t know how to control them At All and B. Is Emotionally Distraught so that’s only making things worse

And the entire gang is more or less out searching the worlds tryin’ to find Sora (he yeeted his Gummi Phone off a fuckin cliff or something just so nobody could get in touch with him smh what a waste of a perfectly good cell phone); among the teams that are out doing so include the one we’re gonna focus on here, Ven and Roxas  

Back to the UF end of things, I wanna talk about where each of the Mystery Kids are at this point; Steven is sorta all over the place with, again, the revelation that his mom could have been a murderer; Dipper is hella nervous about the idea of Bill getting his hands on the Rift (even moreso after RMD cause PTSD is Somethin Else kids), Mabel is in that mindset of not wanting the summer to end so they can all stay together, and Connie is basically (as usual) the only one with any brain cells as she’s trying to hold the gang together

(lowkey spoilers for the Keys GF chapters start here) So Sora arrives in Gravity Falls, suffering from all the angsts and anxieties and whatnot and just Not Having a Very Good Time Emotionally/Mentally as he starts lookin around for the Key in the woods or whatever

But lo and behold everyone’s favorite Evil Corn Chip just so happens to be spyin’ on him, and before too long Bill makes his appearance and acts all friendly to Sora, claiming that he can basically undo the whole norting thing (which he knows all about because of course he would, this is Bill Fucking Cipher we’re talking about here)

Sora’s skeptical but at the same time he’s sort of willing to do whatever he can at this point to keep his heart from being taken over by Mr. Bald Old Fuckhead and all Bill is asking for in return is for him to nab some sparkly snow globe that he claims already belongs to him but was stolen by some local family who Bill makes out to be pretty bad so hey, why not at least give it a shot? (dumb, the kid is dumb this is something we’ve established many times over by this point)

So Sora sets out to look for both the rift and the Key (while also being harangued by Xemnas who’s the Org. baddie of the GF world but errrrr i don’t have a ton of ideas about what he’s gonna do yet so we’ll just skip over that for now and focus on somethin else)

Something else being the fact that Sora happens upon a bunch of kids being attacked by a group of Nobodies, so he swoops in to save them even though the kids already look like they’re holding their own pretty well against them (two of them are out here swinging swords around, one���s really handy with that grappling hook while another one has some sort of magical shield? Its weird??? But cool imo) 

So they all team up to take the Nobodies out and following that, Sora meets and mostly hits it off with the Mystery Kids

Mabel is super hype (she kinda instantly crushes on Sora as soon as she sees him even though he’s too fuckin old for her); Steven and Sora radiate the same sort of Sweet But Sad energy so of course they’re best friends immediately 

Connie’s a lil bewildered by Sora (who the hell goes around swinging a giant key like its a sword, that’s just not practical???) but Dipper’s distrustful radar is instantly raised for a a number of reasons, but the biggest red flag he notices about Sora by far is that his eyes are yellow (btw by this point his eyes will more or less be completely yellow and his hair almost entirely white; he usually wears his hood up to try and hide that, but it got blown off during the forementioned fight) 

So the kids were out and about in the woods for mystery hunting reasons, mostly cause they were trying to cool their heads from all of the stress they’re under mentioned earlier (and cause hey, the summer’s ending soon and they gotta spend all the time they can together at this point) 

However, they quickly change gears when they learn about Sora’s quest to find some magical Key and they all eagerly decide they wanna help with that cause it sounds hella rad; Dipper would likely be the only dissenter to this plan, but he’d be lowkey about it, kinda deciding to keep a suspicious eye on Sora all the while (he doesn’t really act like he’s being possessed by Bill, but ya can never be too sure nowadays...) 

So they all set out in search of the Key (Sora decides not to tell them about Bill or the rift just yet, but even so right off the bat he’s basically decided “yes I’m adopting all four of these kids as my new little brothers and sisters and no one can stop me”)

So cut to the other end of things and we have Ven and Roxas who have basically only just met each other face to face for the first time (they’re both basically constantly doin that spiderman look alike meme); they’ve been more or less teamed up to look for Sora together tho, and they both got a massive guilt complex about the whole thing cause they used to be able to directly protect him inside his heart but now they can’t since they’re out of it so they’re determined to find him and make sure he’s OK

They also show up in Gravity Falls, arriving much closer to the Mystery Shack and the Gem Temple than Sora did; since its the closest thing nearby, the boys decide to venture over to the Mystery Shack to look first 

After some brief, confused yet fun conversation with Soos and Wendy, they bump into Stan and that initial meeting goes something like: 

Stan: Who the hell are you two supposed to be? You twins or something?

Roxas: No??? What the fuck is a twin??

Ventus, realizing that Roxas has like 0 real world experience or regard for world order at that moment right fucking there: (oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck) Ummmm YES WE ARE WE’RE TOTALLY TWINS AHAHA AREN’T WE BROTHER?

Roxas, immensely confused: What the hell is a brother??

And then Ford shows up and Roxas looks between him and Stan is just like “ooooh ok now I get what a twin is” and Ven is just like “oh my god I think Roxas managed to catch some of Sora’s stupidity after all asdkjalsdkalsd” 

Anyway after all this awkward confusion is over, Roxas and Ven bring up that they’re there looking for someone, and while neither Stan nor Ford are that invested, they do offhandedly mention maybe the Crystal Gems can help

Ironically enough, the Gems happen to burst into the shack right then and there, taking refuge from the surge of strange creatures swarming outside (Nobodies & Heartless); the Gems are rather overwhelmed by them since their weapons don’t work that great on them so they’ve come to seek Ford’s help (since he’s got all those weapons and lasers and shit he keeps stockpiled) 

In this Ven and Roxas end up meeting the Gems and both of them are just like :O (Ven’s lowkey like, “Aqua would get along great with these ladies, they’re total badasses just like her!”) and the Gems just kinda pass the boyos off like “yeah whatever there’s a fuckton of monsters outside meanwhile where are our kids?”

Stan and Ford are like *shrug* cause neither of them are very good at being Responsible when it comes to keeping an eye on these danger-prone kids and the Gems are just like *facepalm* “Morons” so they set out to find the kids and Ven and Roxas are like “well they know their way around here so why not go with them to see if we can find Sora too!” and so they all head out on a lil adventure

Then a whole bunch of stuff happens on both sides of the plot that I haven’t bothered to figure out; bunch of cute character interactions and whatever; insert possible second encounter with Xemnas in here somewhere where he basically shows up just to intimidate Sora but Sora’s like “no way jose, you touch any of these precious kiddos and you’ll Die” 

Somewhere in here, under... some circumstances, Sora and the MK make it back to the shack but like... everyone’s gone? (cause they all went out to look for them, didn’t even leave a note, fuckin rude) 

They search the house for anybody and then, on complete fuckin accident, Sora finds his way down into the basement (the portal room to be exact) and what else does he find down there but that thing Bill asked him to get (the rift)! 

Though he’s a little confused about why its there (Bill did say some awful family “stole” the rift from him, but none of the MK are awful, they a bunch of Good Kids); Sora still pockets it like a desperate dummy dumb anyway and doesn’t say a word about it to the kids because he thinks they might be too innocent and young to know anything about it anyway (he’s wrong of course because much like him these kids are Traumatized with a capital T but we’ll just ignore that for now)

Still on the search for that Key, Sora and the kids head out only to run right into Stan, Ford, and the Gems on the way out; course, Ven and Roxas are still with them and they see Sora and they’re like :D while Sora’s just like “aw fuck” and runs away from his problems like always

So he rushes off into the woods and who else would show up but that Motherfuckin Evil Corn Chip again who’s like “yo kid ya got the stuff” and Sora’s just like “brb having a panic attack rn” but then he ends up obliviously handing the rift over anyway cause again he’s incredibly desperate for any way out of his current horrible situation

Of course because I’m a sap for Drama, he happens to do so just as all four of the MK show up, having followed him into the woods and ohohohoh boy oh boy let’s just say them seeing Sora just up and giving the rift over to Bill would be a Moment (well, at least for Steven and Dipper cause they actually know what the fuckin rift is unlike Mabel and Connie who still wouldn’t at that point) 

So basically Bill is a little shit and takes the rift, but he can’t actually fuckin do anything with it cause he’s a physical object and he’s still intangible (or somethin like that idk I just don’t want Weirdmageddon to happen cause it would make things too complicated) so he’s like “fuck gotta find some stupid sap to possess so I can smash this dumb thing” and he nearly targets Sora (cause the kid was already stupid enough to help him in the first place so why not?) until Steven ends up being the one to fend him off using his shield 

Bill shrugs it off and makes off with the rift anyway (its like... hovering or something? idk I’m running out of steam) and everyone panics of course, especially Sora cause he’s just like “well shit I certainly Fucked Up didn’t i?” and the MK are both a mix of “YOU THINK?” (from Dipper and Connie mostly) and “imo not your fault Bill’s tricked just about all of us he’s an asshole” (from Steven and Mabel)

Amidst this a bunch of lil things also happen; the Stans and the Gems show up (along with Ven and Roxas), basically everyone is immensely confused (aka those who have no idea what the fucking rift is) and alarmed (those who do know what the rift is) that Bill has what he needs to more or less fuck the entire world over 

So everyone just decides to put everything aside and team up all together to track Bill down and get the rift back before he can break it (there’s a lot of heartwarming trust moments in here, mostly cause trust is like... the cornerstone theme of the GF chapters in Keys for obvious reasons) 

They eventually do find him and *insert big epic battle scene here* where everyone teams up to basically beat Bill to death or whatever (don’t ask me how they be doin that if he’s intangible, again I.... I’m tired and this post is long enough as it is) 

Yadda yadda yadda they beat him, get the rift back and effectively prevent Weirdmageddon from happening to begin with (which just does SO much wonderful fuckery for UF’s timeline moving forward but whatever, this ain’t about that) 

Oh and during that Climactic Battle Scene somewhere there’s some bit about Sora learning to better trust others/himself that leads to him getting the world’s Key? I-I I dunno its a work in progress...

Anyway after this there’s a lot of good character interactions all around, reconciliations between the UF characters and the Keys characters, particularly between Sora and the MK (again he’s adopted these kiddos and don’t you forget it)

So with the Key in hand, Sora starts to leave and Roxas and Ven almost convince him to go back with them until *insert Big Keys Spoiler here that results in the Organization getting their hands on that Key Sora just got and also results in Sora running away again cause... reasons*

And that’s the end of the chapters or whatever idk 

There’s probably more ideas I had in mind for this but I literally can’t do anymore my brain is dying 

I might possibly write this for reals someday i dunno I’m stuck in two personal hells here so I might as well combine ‘em

Yes I’m aware this post leans more heavily on Keys than UF but its set in the world of UF so fuck off 

Feel free to add on with any thoughts you might have about the idea

I’m tired

Amen 

[elderkale]

I wish you would write fic where canon diverges during or after the Utgard arc and the armored and colossal Titan reveal goes down differently. (there is SO MUCH canon divergence potential there? I and have only found ONE fic for it (aside from basic Ymir stay' fix-its)

You’re right and you should say it.

Got a bit off-track and ended up with 1K of sad Ymir. . . You choose the ending (I personally prefer the gays live but)

AO3

She couldn’t stay.

She knew she couldn’t stay.

But god (and wasn’t that a laugh), she wished she could.

The inside of the Titan was hot, and wet, and suffocating like nothing she’d ever felt before. The fleshy prison she was buried in scorched her skin through the rough fabric of her clothes, pulsing and throbbing like something alive with every beat of its shrivelled sandy heart. Like being buried in concrete, except the concrete was boiling and red and tugging her deeper and deeper like something desperate to devour.

Quicksand, then.

Shouting. All she could hear was shouting. Jean, Mikasa, Sasha, the bald one, Kris—Historia. Like horns blaring in the tiniest room of a baby’s dollhouse, words that rang and echoed and overlapped each other and set her teeth on edge. She clenched her fists and her claws dug deeper into Reiner’s shoulder.

Her cheeks burnt like it was being pierced with a hundred white-hot needles, and every movement, every breath, every shift so small Shadis wouldn’t have been able to pick it up the thing made pressed them in further, clawing past the boundaries of flesh and digging deeper, deeper into her. The skin around her eyes was a mess of charred black flakes and raw pink meat, and her eyes watered with the steam that came from more than just the healing. The salt was good for the burns, at least.

She wondered if Eren felt this way.

She wondered if the others did, too.

Historia was still clinging to her hair—clinging to her, her, not the others—and she held onto that like a lifeline, like it was the fraying rope that was the only thing between her and a death drop into a bottomless chasm that opened up to oblivion (because it was more than that, it was so much more).

Historia.

God, Historia.

It was a pretty name, Historia. Fit for a princess.

It suited her.

Bertolt was screaming. She said screaming. Crying, more like. Not sobbing, not quite. Just crying.

He was always crying. Always sweating, always shaking, bottom lip always wobbling like he was a kid who’d just found his goldfish floating belly-up in its bowl.

She listened. She didn’t want to, but she did.

That’s the problem with being at the top, see. There’s never anything to miss.

She listened and—

She remembered.

She remembered empty bellies and scraped knees and little feet caked with dirt and shit. She remembered broken glass and splintered wood and stones that bit like bug, or tiny bullets. She remembered wild dogs that might as well have been men, and men that might as well have been wild dogs. She remembered rumours, and whispers, and watching limp, broken bodies leaving trails of red in the streets that took weeks to wash away. She remembered children holding guns like they were dolls, and wearing armour like they were pretty dresses, and showing off the pointed star like it was a shiny new bracelet. Explosions that rocked the streets from miles away, and screaming that they had all pretended not to hear under the crackling of the flames. Pain, and fear, and burning yellow lightning seventy years ago, seven years ago, a night ago, five minutes ago.

Empty eyes and ragged blond hair like piss-stained straw.

Okay, then.

She let go.

She heard Historia (and maybe a few others, and maybe herself) scream, and felt a weight vanish off her shoulders. She didn’t bother to check whether she’d survived, didn’t check whether the Scouts had come after her (the Scouts, not the others—she wasn’t stupid enough to think she was one of them anymore. Not that she’d ever been, in the first place).

If the giant haggish rat she was stuck in was good for one thing, it was jumping.

The plating on Reiner’s nape split beneath her claws and the creature roared, throwing its head back. The Scouts scattered like little green flies as she clambered over him, biting here, scratching there, tearing out chunks of flesh and armour like moldy toenails when she got the chance.

It was what she was made for, after all.

There was a lot she could have done. She was spoiled for choice, really. She could have turned tail and ran, gone back. She could have kept going until the Armoured Titan was a steaming pile of ash and Reiner Braun was a red spot in the grass. She could have crawled out of her Titan’s nape and put her fists on her hips and laughed like they’d just shared a great joke. She could have stayed still and been crushed under a massive, plated foot. The possibilities were endless.

She didn’t do any of that.

Two screaming little things hung from Reiner’s chest, bouncing up and down as he flailed his arm, grabbing at her, like the world’s dumbest nipple clamps. One in blue, and one in green and still without fingers.

The angry one with the stupid hair went flying over her shoulder. She’d just hope Mikasa would catch him.

The tall one went in her mouth, and she went as fast as she could.

She could hear him roaring behind her, screaming after her in a language only he could speak, but everyone understood. Her tongue was wet with blood and the roof of her mouth was hot with steam, and the skinny one was thrashing around like a speared fish, an analogy helped all the more by the needle-like fangs speared through his shoulder, chest, and legs.

She felt the earth rumbling behind her. He was coming after him. Just like she knew (alright, guessed) he would.

The things worth corporal punishment for, eh?

She was faster, but she was also smaller, and his was stronger by far. He’d catch her, either eventually or soon. All depended on the man bleeding out in her mouth, she supposed.

It hadn’t been the dumbest plan in the world. She bet her right leg (again) the Survey Corps had tried worse. It was probably on the list for contenders of the worst executed, though.

Ha. Executed.

Maybe she’d fail. Maybe she’d already failed. Who knew. Maybe they were busy scraping the Titan-hating dunderhead off the ground and, somewhere, there was a kid being born who wasn’t going to live past puberty. Maybe Reiner would take the time to tear her apart limb by limb, then turn around and pick up right where he’d left off.

Maybe when she opened her eyes again, she’d be standing in that ashy desert, and she would kiss her under the light of a million lives.

Bertolt let out a scream like a wounded animal, and a shadow like a raging mountain fell over her.

She should risk life and limb more often, she thought. She didn’t remember the last time she’d managed to be this poetic.

[twdeadlysins]

Cherokee Rose: Part One

Season two, episode four (1/2)

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count:  4,793

Warnings: Slow burn, mention of minor character death, the usual walking dead violence, language, blood, and such with possible typos

Author’s Note: I don’t own anything from The Walking Dead, so all credit goes to their respective owners. This is a twd series rewrite with the reader inserted into the mix. I did and will continue to use dialogue from the actual show because I want it to be similar to what you’ve already watched, but obviously have the reader in it.

Sorry it’s been a while since I’ve uploaded another part for this series. Writer’s block, lack of motivation, and just life has been factors in why I haven’t. I’m trying to get back into the groove of things! <3

I hope you like this part!!! I feel like you guys will, but then again I have my doubts lmao ... okay bye LUL xoxo

If you want to be (un)tagged for this series rewrite, don’t hesitate to send me an ask, message me, or leave a comment and I’ll add/remove you. The same goes for any other fics! I’m in no way, shape, or form a writer. Any feedback is appreciated, but hate is a different story. Thank you and enjoy!

The gifs I use aren’t mine, so all credit goes to their respective owners.

MASTERLIST // TWD SERIES REWRITE

When you woke up the next morning, Hershel had wrapped fresh bandages around your forearms after checking your wounds to see how they were healing. He gave you more antibiotics and told you they, along with your hip were healing well before you went to go help Shane, Glenn, T-Dog, Maggie, and Beth with collecting rocks for Otis’ memorial. As you were placing the stones into the wheelbarrow, you heard a familiar motorcycle engine in the distance, making you and the others pause and look. You smiled seeing the motorcycle, the RV and another car approach the farm, your group was finally together again. 

T-Dog had gotten Rick and the others while the rest of you outside walked near the porch to meet up with everyone. You limped your way over, but ended up tripping along the way. Glenn had caught you and slung your arm around his neck while you cussed under your breath. You couldn’t believe you lost your footing, your hip felt kind of better, but it still was a pain in the ass to walk. “Thanks,” you mumbled, earning a nod in return. Daryl swung his leg off his bike, kicking the stand in place as Dale, Carol and Andrea walked up. “How is he?’ Dale asked with concern. 

“He’ll pull through, thanks to Hershel and his people,” Lori replied with an appreciative smile. “And Shane,” Rick added, causing you to peer over at him. “We’d have lost Carl if not for him.” 

“And Otis.” All eyes landed on you as you wandered yours right back at them, feeling Glenn squeeze your waist to comfort you. Otis is dead, but he still saved Carl… he brought you all here in the first place… if he didn’t do that, then Rick and Lori would’ve lost their child. You didn’t want anyone to forget that… that he sacrificed himself to save a life- Carl’s life… unless someone else made that choice for him, either way he died for someone you loved. Dale hugged Rick as Carol did the same to Lori, expressing how worried they were before Dale questioned how it happened it in the first place. 

“Hunting accident. That’s all, just a stupid accident.” Rick glanced over at you and Shane as he said it since you two were with him when it happened. Carol came up to you, causing Glenn to release his hold on you so you could hug her back. You were a little tense given the fact you that she despised you… at least to you it seemed she did for losing her child, so her even acknowledging you was weird. “How are you doin?” You sighed with a slight smile as she rubbed your arm, moving some hair out of your face. “I’ve been better.” Before she could reply, you saw Andrea approach from behind Carol, making her turn around to see what you were looking at. She peeked over at you with a closed-lip smile before stepping aside to go talk to T-Dog. It seemed that Carol was going to apologize since her eyes suddenly glossed over with regret, but you could be wrong… regardless that conversation was going to have to be at a later date. 

Andrea stuffed her hands in her pockets, glancing at the ground before finally making eye contact with you. “Look… I’m sorry about what I said-”

“Good, you should be,” you retorted before she could finish apologizing, making her face contort with a mixture of guilt and shock. “Because believe it or not we care about you, Andrea. I get wanting to go out your way, but next time… if there is a next time that you think about doing it again… think about the effect it would have on all of us.” You understood why she blamed you and Dale for ‘saving’ her back at the C.D.C, but that didn’t mean she was right by doing that. Neither one of you forced her hand like she said, you gave her a choice and if she would have still fought you on it, then you would’ve left her. 

The blonde solemnly nodded her head and walked away once it was clear that you weren’t going to continue the conversation. You felt rude for dismissing her like that, but you’d be lying if you said you weren’t still bothered by what she said back at the highway. From the moment you met her and she pulled her gun on you, you weren’t very fond of her and you still weren’t, but you still cared about her. You cared for everyone in the group, hell you even cared for the Greene family and you haven’t even been on their farm for that long, only a couple days.

Your orbs connected to the archer’s for a split second before he tore them away to follow Rick and the rest of them to the memorial service. You couldn’t tell what flooded his eyes, but you had mixed emotions about him staring at you. 

On one hand you felt shy and flustered because his attention could be captured by a million other things, but it was solely on you… then again that could be because he’s pissed at you… then you were ticked off. He infuriated you after the C.D.C, when he shouted at you for risking your life… like you were careless. Yes, going into a building that was going to blow up in mere minutes was a huge risk, but you knew what you were doing. Daryl then had the nerve to shout at you for chasing after Sophia especially when you had a concussion, but you could care less. Sophia was in danger and you weren’t about to stay put because of your injuries… her life mattered more than you being banged up. 

Everyone gathered around a pile of rocks that were bigger than your hand and each stacked one on top for Otis as Hershel gave a speech. Otis gave his life to save Carl’s and it didn’t matter to you that he had accidentally caused the whole mess in the first place. He was a hero and no one was going to take that away from him on your watch. 

While Hershel spoke, you carefully watched Shane’s behavior, you were still skeptical of the story he told about that night… it just didn’t sit right with you. His head was shaved off and your gut told you it was because of the tiny, but noticeable bald spot he had on his head… he was definitely leaving something out- hiding something. He was staring off into space, zoned out in his own little world, not paying attention in the slightest like he was reliving a memory. His mouth was agape and his brows were slightly creased, but you stopped studying him when Hershel asked him if he would speak for Otis. 

“I’m not good at it. I’m sorry,” he muttered, looking between the doctor and the ground with a sigh. 

“You were the last one with him. You shared his final moments, please, I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning.” You bit your lip as you fumbled with your belt buckle, staring at the ground while a grieving Patrica pleaded to Shane. 

According to Shane, they were down to their pistols with very little ammo. He was already limping and it was pretty bad with his ankle all swollen up. Otis had said, “We’ve got to save the boy” before handing his backpack to Shane and shoving him ahead. Otis instructed him to run, that he’d take the rear and cover him, but when Shane looked back- he trailed off, not finishing the story and limped to place a rock on top of the stack.

The ending was obvious and you scanned your eyes over everyone, gauging their reactions and Dale didn’t seem convinced and it was evident when the two of you looked at each other. You’d have to talk to him about his thoughts and you still didn’t forget what you interrupted in the woods between the two of them. Daryl didn’t seem to believe it either, so maybe you could try and talk to him about that too. 

“If not for Otis, I’d have never made it out alive and that goes for Carl too. It was Otis… he saved us both. If any death ever had meaning, it was his.” Patricia nodded her head, assured that her husband’s death was not in vain, but to you… he was trying too hard. Okay, that sounded like it didn’t make sense, maybe it didn’t, but to you it did. Shane, at least to you, was praising his death, glorifying even, like he was convincing not only everyone else, but himself that it was okay… that it wasn’t his fault. 

“If not for Otis… He saved us both… if any death ever had meaning it was his” 

Were you making all this shit up? Reading too much into things? Patricia did ask for Shane to assure her that Otis’ death had meaning, but something was up… right? You sure as hell didn’t know and you were afraid to find out if something other than what Shane said did happen. If Shane did get Otis killed, would that be so bad? In the end, it was to save Carl and if you were in his shoes… you would’ve done the same thing or hell, even taken yourself out. But to be fair, you had a more pressing matter to ahead to now that Carl was okay… finding Sophia. 

You and Rick had informed Hershel on the situation and told him today would be three days since she had gone missing. Three days. She’s been scared and alone for three days. Before you could start thinking deprecated thoughts, Maggie unraveled a county survey map on top of the hood of a car with Rick, Shane, Daryl, Hershel, Andrea and yourself surrounding it. The map was a blessing, it showed terrains and elevations, finally giving you guys a visual and be organized to set up grid searches. 

Hershel spoke up and told Rick that he wouldn’t be doing any of that today since he gave three units of blood. He wouldn’t last five minutes in this heat before passing out. The doctor then went on to Shane about his ankle, if he pushed it now, he’d be laid in bed for a month. 

“Guess it’s just me.” Daryl leaned forward to look at the map, but you hurriedly slammed your hand on the hood, blocking the paper from getting moved or studied. The hunter glared at you with questioning brows, wondering what the hell you were doing. 

“Nuh uh. I’m going with.”

“Like hell ya’re woman,” he huffed. “Ya still got a minor concussion, a busted hip and n’ infection in ya arms. Even saw ya trip earlier!” You rolled your eyes before snapping your head to Hershel when he agreed with him. You were in no condition to go out, you were worse than Shane and he had a fucked up ankle, so what made you think you could go out? 

You sighed and threw your ups arms dramatically. “I don’ know, I’m stubborn okay?” Everyone chuckled, saying that was a given which made you squint your eyes at them with crossed arms, grumbling while Daryl proceeded to look at the map. He was going to head back to the creek and work his way from there whereas Shane offered the idea for himself to drive up to the interstate to see if Sophia made her way back. So then it was set, tomorrow you’d all officially start searching for her together and you didn’t care what anybody said… you were going to too.

Shane had brought up a good point, everyone couldn’t walk around carrying knives out there, so you guys would have to train them to use guns. It was a great idea, you thought everyone should know how to operate a gun especially with surviving in this world. The people who were experienced with weaponry can’t be there to save the day for people who didn’t. If you wanted to survive this epidemic, then guns were your best friend. 

“Even though I could help out with the gun training, I think knowing basic knowledge in combat is essential too. So while you and Rick do gun training, I could do hand to hand combat along with some knife training if anyone’s interested?” 

Rick and Shane exchanged glances at each other which made you roll your eyes. “Yes, I know hip, concussion, cuts- whatever! I’ll take it easy, damn.” The two of them smiled and nodded their heads, saying it was a good idea, but Hershel brought up how he didn’t want anyone carrying guns on his property, stating that him and his family were doing just fine without turning into an armed camp. Before you could voice your opinion that disagreed with his request, Shane beat you to it. 

“All due respect, you get a crowd of those things wandering in here…“

“Look, we’re guests here,” Rick interrupted and you knew he was all for carrying guns, but he was trying to be respectful… like he said you all were guests. “This is your property and we will respect that.” Your best friend peered between you, Shane, and at Andrea since you all knew how much she wanted her gun since you have known her. Rick then withdrew his gun and placed it on the hood of the car to show Hershel and everyone else that he was serious and that you all would respect his wishes. 

Shane pressed his lips together and looked away as he set his pistol down as well, not wanting to obey almost as much as you did. You had your arms crossed, leaning on the hood of the car, staring at the guns, not wanting to give yours up. A clear of a throat made you peer your eyes up, not moving anything else in your body as you saw Rick direct his eyes to your gun and to the hood, waiting for you to comply. Everyone else was standing by for you, so you grunted and unholstered your P99 that was at your hip, slamming it on the car. 

“Y/N…” Your best friend prompted, causing you to toss your eyes to the back of your head, loudly exhaling through your nose as you took out the other one that was at your other hip. “Thank y…” Rick trailed off once you reached behind your waistband and set down another handgun. He nodded his head. “Okay-” Rick’s eyes widened as you winced, kneeling down to unhook not one, but two Glock 42 pistols from your ankles, placing it with the others. “... Is that it?” He cautiously inquired. 

“Oh my God!” you exclaimed with frustration picking up your hunting rifle that was leaning on the car beside you, sliding it to the collection. “Ya want my machete?! And my knives too?! ‘Cause if that’s the case we’ll be here all night!” Rick shook his head, thanking you to try and calm you down. You felt naked without your guns, you felt unbalanced… all the weight that you were used to was gone and you hated it. Yes, having that amount of guns might be a little excessive, but you never know. 

“I didn’t even know you had that many,” Andrea spoke with bewilderment as she gawked at the display of the various weapons.

“Weren’t supposed to… that’s the point,” you mumbled, slightly whining with crossed arms. Yeah, you still had your machete and knives, but knives don’t win a gunfight… or a humongous herd of walkers wanting to eat your face off. 

Rick continued to set up a plan, first things first: set camp, find Sophia. “I hate to be the one to ask, but somebody’s got to. What happens if we find her and she's a bit? I think we should all be clear on how we handle that,” Shane brought up, causing you to stop bouncing your leg at the thought of that outcome. Rick clenched his jaw before saying that Shane can do what has to be done, hating the idea of it as well. 

“And her mother? What do we you tell her?” Maggie genuinely asked, earning Andrea to respond that we’d tell her the truth. It’d be difficult, but Carol deserved to have some closure and to know what happened to her daughter… you just hoped it was a good outcome- that someone would find her alive. 

Shane picked up his weapon announcing that he would gather and secure all the others, making sure no one’s carrying until you were all at a practice range off site. He then put in a request of at least one rifleman on lookout which made your ears perk up and hurriedly look at Shane who was already looking at you as if to volunteer you, but then he brought up Dale having experience. Your shoulders slouched and you gave him a hardened look, letting him know you were pissed. 

Hershel didn’t seem to like that either as he thought about it, so Rick put in the extra effort to convince him that your people would feel a lot safer and less inclined to a carry gun. You scoffed in your head not feeling that way, but whatever to get the old man to agree right? Well Rick could mean that, that everyone would feel safe and not feel the need to carry, but not you and he gave you a look telling you he knew. Hershel ultimately nodded his head which was a relief, but damn you wanted at least one of your guns on you. 

You stood there while everyone departed except for Rick, Hershel, Maggie, and Andrea. The doctor’s daughter asked if you guys had anymore bandages, antibiotics or anything of that nature, but unfortunately what she saw was all you guys had. Maggie then mentioned going on a pharmacy run into town since they were running low, she’s done it before, so it shouldn’t be that big of a deal. 

Rick turned around to show Hershel and her daughter Glenn, who was helping Lori set up a tent. The cop had described him as the ‘go-to-town expert’ and for her to ask him to tag along, just to be cautious. Her father gestured his head to go over there, giving her permission to go before you went to rest on the steps of the house. 

You winced as you settled down, stretching your legs out before remembering you wouldn’t need your ankle holsters anymore. While you leaned down to remove them, you saw someone approach you in your peripheral. They sat beside you and took their hat off before asking what you were doing. “Well, Rick, these aren’t much of use to me anymore considering I don’t have a single weapon,” you replied with a bit of an attitude which you instantly regretted. You closed your eyes and exhaled before finally looking at your best friend as you piled the holsters in your lap. “Sorry, I don’t fully support the no weapon rule, but I do respect it and I’m not mad at you for following it. It’s just… I don’t know. I’m so used to carrying and I feel unprotected without them,” you confessed, fiddling with the holsters. 

Rick sighed and rubbed your shoulder to comfort you, showing you he understood by the gesture. “We got Dale.”

“Yeah, I know, but I’m used to protecting myself and others… not others protecting me.”

“Well, maybe ya should let them, Y/N.” Rick scooted closer, your sides squished together as he continued to soothe circles on your other shoulder. You rested your head on his shoulder, seeing a confused Glenn watch Maggie walk away. He must’ve learned about the horses and the thought of him riding one made your mouth quirk up, then an idea struck you.

“Daryl!” The outburst made you slightly jolt up which made Rick hurriedly apologize, but you dismissed it with a wave of your hand saying you had to do something anyways. As you went to push yourself up, the cop grabbed a hold of your hand to aid you while the hunter waited to hear what Rick had stopped him for. You said your thanks, catching Daryl’s eye, feeling a tad bit awkward before trudging off to your destination. 

You knew it’d be better for your hip to rest and not do anything, but that sounded more torturous than just dealing with it and walking. The walk over to the stables made you think about Daryl, how things were still tense between the two of you… you hated it. The two of you were stubborn, so there was no telling when this little feud would end. You could try and put your hardheadedness aside and talk to him, but the last time you did he ignored you. So why would this time be any different? 

“Maggie?” The brunette poked her head out and smiled in the middle of saddling a horse. You swallowed nervously, stuffing your hands in your back pockets as you got closer to where she was. 

“What can I do for ya?” 

“I- uh… I thought since- could you?-” What you wanted to ask wouldn’t come out as you stumbled over your words, mentally cursing yourself for being nervous and you didn’t know why. It wasn’t like it was a bad thing to ask, it was normal, so why were you stuttering so much? 

Maggie stopped what she was doing and worriedly came up to you, touching your arms in concern. “Everything alright, Y/N?” You nodded your head quickly, forcing yourself to swallow before yanking your hands out of your jeans to rub your face. 

“Yeah, I- uh- since you and Glenn are running to the pharmacy… I wanted to… I wanted to ask a favor,” you sheepishly asked, taking a piece of paper out of your front pocket. 

Maggie nodded. “Yeah, anything you need, Y/N. Is that it?” She questioned, pointing to the small note within your grasp. Your head slightly motioned a ‘yes’, handing her the list to which she opened, reading the contents. 

“I was diagnosed years ago, so don’t worry…” Maggie gave you a sympathetic smile before assuring you that’d she get you what was on the list. “Thanks, Maggie, I appreciate it.” 

“Okay, I know you shouldn’t with your injury n’ all, but it’s better than limping back. Would you want to ride the horse back with me?” Maggie inquired with a smile after you were done helping her get both of the horses ready, causing you to grin and your eyes to light up. She helped you up the horse, it was a little painful, but you ignored it. The pain was bearable and the excitement of riding a horse made you feel like a little kid on Christmas morning. Last time you rode a horse was with Rick… and that turned out… great, but this time you got to hold the reins. 

“Know how to ride?” 

“Oh, yeah!” You beamed, wanting to take off, but you couldn’t make the horse race off considering your hip besides you were just taking the horse up to the house… not a town over. “My uncle took me horse riding a lot. I even competed in a horse race,” you chuckled at the memory and even harder when you saw Maggie’s shocked, but impressed reaction. 

“Did you win?” The farmer’s daughter asked as you both slowly trekked toward the farm house, causing you to furrow your brows in confusion and her to giggle. “The race, did you win the horse race?”

“Oh!” The realization hit and you laughed. “Nah, I came in like third, but to me it wasn’t about winning. I just liked the adrenaline rush and the wind, the way it made me feel.” Maggie grinned and bobbed her head in understanding, letting a comfortable, gleeful silence loom between the two of you before you remembered something else to ask her. 

“And Maggie?” Her smile faltered once she heard that your tone was different, more worried and urgent. “Can we keep the things on that list I gave you a secret? I just don’t want everyone knowing or worrying about me.”

“Yeah, of course, Y/N.” Maggie held out her hand and your mouth twitched up at the comforting gesture. You grabbed her hand and squeezed, smiles spreading across your faces as you made it back near the house. 

Despite knowing her for only a couple days, you considered her to be a very good friend. She welcomed you- a stranger, helped you through your panic attack and continued to be generous and nice. Other people would’ve looked the other way, ignored you and not given you a time of day, but not her and to you it showed you could trust her. Trusting people was hard for you, talking to and befriending them, sure, you could do that. You were a people person after all, being one helped with being a good cop, but that didn’t mean you trusted every person you met. The list of people you trusted- that you could depend your life on could be counted on your fingers. 

“Y/N! What the hell!” Glenn scolded with his arms extended out while you rolled your eyes and carefully swung your leg off the horse. “Are you crazy? You’re injured and you’re riding a horse?”

“Will you stop yelling at me and help dimwit!” He rushed up to you and grabbed onto your waist and wrist, aiding you off the horse. You had gotten halfway, but you were scared you’d lose your footing or apply too much pressure to your foot, ultimately hurting your hip. “Glenn, I appreciate your concern, but I’m a big girl. Thanks for helping me.” 

“I know… just be careful, okay?” You smiled and patted his baseball cap. “Also… dimwit?” 

Before you could respond, Dale and T-Dog rushed over and said there was a problem with the well which raised a few concerned brows. Everyone, but Rick, Hershel, Daryl and Carol followed the two men to the well, wondering what the hell was the matter. The answer to your question was answered when you peeked into the well to see a very big and disgusting walker look up at you from below. You brought your fingers under your nose and grimaced. “Ew, what the fuck?” 

“How long do you think it’s been down there?” Glenn asked, resting his palms on his bent knees, staring at the walker with disgust. 

“Long enough to grow gills,” Andrea joked, but with a serious tone, making you smirk regardless. It’s probably been in there since the dead start to rise, it didn’t even look like it used to be a person like walkers usually did. Being in the water did a number on it. 

“We can’t leave it in there. God knows what’s doing to the water.” You peered at Lori with confusion not understanding what the point was. 

“We gotta get it out,” Shane agreed with his hands on his hips before T-Dog gave a simple solution, to put a bullet in its head. Maggie objected to the idea and so did Andrea, saying if it didn’t already contaminate the water, then blowing its brains out would do the job. 

“I’m pretty sure it just existing in the water is contaminating the water. Either way, I’m not drinking it,” you commented, your face contorting into repugnance at the thought of even taking a sip of the water after that has been in there.  

Shane chuckled at you and you looked at him, your facial features still showing distaste. “So it has to come out alive?” T-Dog asked, glaring coldly down at the creature with no emotion whatsoever and not wanting to have to get it out. 

“So to speak,” Shane joked, making you cover your mouth as you involuntarily giggled. You coughed to mask your humor, trying to be serious in the situation and it was especially hard when they tried baiting the walker with a canned ham. A canned ham doesn’t kick and scream, so it wasn’t going to budge unless you used live bait… great. 

“We need live bait,” Andrea said moments after you came to the same conclusion, immediately eyeing Glenn who gazed up realizing that she meant him. He sighed, knowing he had to be the one to do it since no one else would, but the tightening of a rope brought everyone’s attention to you. 

“Who’s ready to make a wish?”

_____________________________________

MASTERLIST // TWD SERIES REWRITE

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! If you’d like to added or removed from the tags don’t hesitate to send me an ask or message! <3

A/N: Omg sorry for the lack of Daryl AGAIN. I know he’s in there for a little bit throughout, but to be fair I’m going by the show ya know? Don’t worry though!! I’m almost done with the second part to this and I’m pretty sure we’ll get more of him!! 

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