#And wonders why she needs to replace her computer every so often

[theexodvs]

Mom: How do I avoid viruses and hackers?

Me: Try to seek out FOSS when you need to download a new program, use Firefox and/or Brave when browsing, use a VPN, disable pop-ups…

Mom: I know! Pathological avoidance of the EXE extension!

[thehomeofplatonicfics]

Who is in control?

Betazoid!reader x Deanna Troi (platonic!)

Warning: Discussion of mental health and eating disorders contained within.

A/N: I just really love fics where Deanna gets to actually do her job. This is a topic very close to my heart <3

A betazoid never ate alone. Not if they could help it. You had a whole ship of thousands of people to choose as your meal companions… yet you still sat alone, hidden in your quarters, a measly bowl of soup before you. You tried to justify breaking tradition; were you really alone if you could hear everyone’s thoughts? You still rang a miniature gong during your meals, so it didn’t matter, right?

Anger bubbled up within you, your spoon thrown across the room and clattering against the door. Why were you doing this? You thought to yourself as you compulsively grabbed the bowl, it soon meeting the same fate as the spoon.

Such a strong emotion would not go unnoticed for long. The ship’s counsellor, Deanna Troi, was relaxing in Ten Forward when she felt your anger, followed by disgust and fear. She didn’t need the computer to locate you, the emotion was deep enough to immediately track you down.

Immediately she rushed through the doors, heading straight for a turbolift to get to your quarters. Deanna slightly shook her head to herself in disappointment. She’d noticed you had begun to withdraw in recent weeks and she hadn’t seen you in Ten Forward at all in several days. Perhaps she should have acted sooner. She should have realised that it wasn’t just a bad couple of days at work. As counsellor, she had the right to request access to your replicator records and see what (if anything) you’d been requesting from the computer.

She sighed as she stepped through into the turbolift. “Deck seven.” She called out, before falling back into thought. Deanna didn’t want to have to request the records, she hoped you’d either confide in her or that your discussion would soon disprove her suspicions entirely.

Stepping out onto deck seven, Deanna felt the intensity of your emotion grow stronger as she approached your quarters. The anger was gone though, she noted, replaced by a real sadness. The fear was still there, stronger than before. Deanna raised an eyebrow, her theory seeming more and more possible. But oh, how she hoped she was wrong.

You sat on the floor of your quarters, tears rolling down your face as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Soon you became aware of Deanna outside your quarters. She was simultaneously the last and the first person you wanted to see in that moment. “Go away.” Before she even had the chance to ring the bell you’d telepathically called out to her, warning her against coming any closer.

Deanna sighed again, her hand resting against the door as she bowed her head in frustration. “Let me come in, Y/N. Please.” The counsellor begged, her concern radiating into your mind. It almost broke your heart. She shouldn’t be concerned about you, you weren’t worth it. “I don’t need any help. Go. Away.” You curled up into a little ball, crying harder. Deanna could hear it through the door. “I can’t do that, I know that’s not true.”

Anyone passing by would have perhaps thought Deanna was going crazy, just standing outside your door and shaking her head every so often in silence. “Please,” Deanna tried again, “don’t make this any harder than it needs to be.” She felt your sudden spike of anger that faded as quickly as it arrived. “I’m… I’m not.” You faltered, slowly standing up. Perhaps you realised this confrontation was inevitable, and it would happen with or without your cooperation. At least this way it was still somewhat in your control.

Deanna removed her hand from the door and stepped back, a kind smile already prepped on her face as she anticipated the door opening. She tried her best to school her expression as the door opened to reveal you, looking a pathetic sight. “Come in, counsellor.” You gestured dejectedly, wondering how you we’re going to get out of this situation. Just how much did Deanna know?

As Deanna stepped inside, you realised she’d see the soup splattered all over the floor. The four deities had abandoned you, clearly, you were doomed. To her credit, Deanna merely observed the soup with a sad little nod and then turned her attention back to you as the doors closed. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?” Deanna asked aloud, breaking the silence for the first time.

“Because I threw some soup on the floor.” You replied, avoiding her gaze. Deanna frowned, knowing you’d put up a fight. “No, Y/N. Why don’t you tell me what’s been going on? I’ve noticed that you’ve isolated yourself the past couple of weeks. I haven’t seen you in Ten Forward for a meal in days.” She took a deep breath, processing all that she was sensing from you. “Why, Y/N?”

Wow, you thought, going straight for the jugular. You stood frozen to the spot, your mind battling out all your options. You couldn’t lie, Deanna would know. You couldn’t say nothing because Deanna would still know your thoughts, your feelings… just as you knew hers. But telling the truth, you couldn’t do that either. It would ruin everything.

“What would ruin everything?” Deanna asked, having heard your entire internal monologue. There was no escape. You broke down, raising your hands to your face, your shoulders shaking. “The research project… I feel mistreated by my colleagues. Like I’m just a pathetic little assistant to them to do all the tasks they don’t want to do. I’m not in control of my own research proposal. Not in control of my own career.” You told her telepathically, not trusting your voice to say the words aloud.

“I wanted to be in charge of something in my life, to feel like everything wasn’t spiralling out of control. And this… this I can control. This became my project.” You sobbed at this point, your body jerking in half at the force of the emotion. “You know, seeing how long I could go without any food.” Deanna’s heart broke at your confession, and she guided you to the sofa where you fell into her shoulder as you cried. She wrapped her arms around you, wishing she’d acted sooner.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” The counsellor asked, rubbing your arm soothingly as possible. “I was so embarrassed.” You removed your face from her shoulder, trying to take deep breaths in and out. “I thought that I could… that I could stop anytime I wanted to. But, I couldn’t. I wanted to but I couldn’t stop!” The tears landed in your lap and you looked down at them, not wanting to look at Deanna’s expression. You didn’t need to, you could tell she was horrified.

“Y/N, look at me.” You shook your head, not ready to face the reality of what was happening. “Look at me.” Deanna commanded again, making you flit your eyes up to meet hers for just a moment. It was enough for the counsellor to confirm what she had to do in that moment. “Are you in control?” She asked, already knowing the answer. You knew she knew it too, so you didn’t bother to hide the truth. “No.” You whispered, bowing your head as you gripped either side of it. It felt like it was about to explode.

There were a few moments of silence, the tension cutting through you deeper than a blade ever could. “Lieutenant Y/N L/N, as chief counsellor, I am relieving you of duty as per order 39, section alpha 8, effective immediately.”

You gasped, your eyes as wide as saucers. Everything you’d worked so hard for… gone. Just like that. “No. No! Please!” You begged Deanna, standing up abruptly. The counsellor already knew what you were about to do. “Security, deck 7 section 8.” She tapped her combadge, watching with sadness as you ran out of your room and into the corridor.

Deanna followed, watching the team materialise in the corridor as you ran past a crewman. “Stun them only!” She ordered, pointing at your retreating form. It didn’t take long for a phaser fire to hit you squarely in the back, and you collapsed onto the floor. “Troi to Sickbay, medical emergency. Deck 7, section 8.” She smiled to herself in relief as she heard Beverly’s voice acknowledging. Dr. Crusher was probably the best person to collaborate with to ensure you returned to duty in good health.

Beverly shortly arrived with her team, placing you onto the stretcher and getting you to sickbay. Deanna, in the meantime, walked beside them and explained the situation. “You’re not surprised. Why?” Deanna asked, as they placed you onto a biobed.

“I’ve noticed they’ve been awfully avoidant of me… and the rest of the medical team. Unusual behaviour considering our departments work so closely together. I’ve been thinking of visiting them myself but I just didn’t have the time.” Beverly shook her head as she ran a tricorder over you. “But I didn’t think it’d come to this.” The Doctor fastened your safety restraints, then beckoned Deanna to follow her. “They’ll be out for a few hours. We should discuss a treatment plan now. The sooner we can get them back on duty, the better.”

[tessatales]

The Ressurection of Love: Chapter Four (Spencer Reid x Original Female Character)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Original Female Character

Themes: Mention of therapy! Mention of trauma but not much Warnings: Alcohol is consumed. Apart from that no other warnings

A/N: Hey, so this chapters a longer one, but my creative juices are finally flowing properly so that a good thing really. please leave a comment if you enjoy and remember i do post this fic on AO3 too if you prefer that format! it's all under the same name on there! Enjoy! Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 5 - - - - - - - - - 9:50am Dr Daniel Whiting: Video call in ten minutes.

The text was always the same and never a minute late. These factors made Spencer often wondered if it was an automatic text.

9:52am Reid:Okay

Texting a quick reply, Spencer got out of bed, swapping out his baggy T-shirt and sweatpants for his usual work pants, shirt and cardigan. He was just about to throw on his tie when he remembered he was off duty and quickly discarded it.

The coffee maker had just finished it loud rumbling when the beeping started on Spencer's laptop. Reaching for it he placed the wretched device on his kitchen counter and pressed enter, accepting the call.

"One of these days you'll answer the call with a happier expression Dr Reid." Dr Whiting said, his face appearing on the screen.

Dr Whiting was around 60, with thick black rimmed glasses and pure white hair combed into a neat almost Grease Lightning style. Although he gave off a very strict aura; Spencer had learned in his 4 year of him being his therapist that the old man did enjoy a joke.

Spencer has thought several times over the years that if they weren't therapist and patient, theys of made good friends.

"I'm sorry, Dr Whiting. I just don't like this stupid computer" Spencer replied, remembering the day he was given the devil contraption.

"I'm aware. This is how we start every session Spencer. But we can tackle your supposed technophobia another day. How are you?" Dr whiting continued, a small smile sitting on his wrinkled lips.

"I'm alright." Spencer replied automatically then cursed under his breath as Dr Whiting wrote something down.

"Strike one to me Dr Reid" Whiting continued, looking expectantly through the screen.

"I am okay. Its been 2 months since my last serious panic attack and i am 4 years and 237 days still sober." Spencer corrected, scolding himself for forgetting how he's meant to answer as he poured himself a coffee.

When Spencer has first started therapy, he'd been in a mess. Struggling with the craving to relapse along with the crushing grief over the loss of his girlfriend Maeve, Aaron had put him on leave with strict instructions to go to Dr Whiting. After a few weeks of therapy, Whiting had implemented this routine. During their sessions, he'd ask Spencer how he was. Spencer was then to reply with how long he had been sober and how long since his last mental health dip as a way to remind him how far he'd come. For the most part it worked, even if he tended to forget the routine.

"Good to hear. Now, anything to report?"

Spencer nodded, placing his mug down and reaching for his notebook.

"I have a new teammate, her names Alyssa" Spencer said, reading the first part of the note he'd left for himself. Dr Whiting knew Spencer didn't need the notebook to remember, but he'd insisted writing things down were good for his mental wellbeing as well as his memory.

"I see, and why do you think you need to bring this up today?" Whiting asked, scribbling something down.

"Two reasons actually. Reason one is she is also my new neighbour. So I wanted to run past you the home/work life dynamic that may affect. The second thing is actually something she said" Spencer replied, shutting the book in his hand and replacing it with his coffee.

"What was it she said?" Whiting asked matter of factly, cocking his head to one side as he listened intently.

"Well she asked me if we could meet up outside of work today if her plans fell through. I agreed but it made me realised that this is the first time I've been invited out by a team member that's not on my therapy plan"

"I see. So Emily is still your designated 'buddy'?" Dr Whiting asked, referring to the buddy system they'd put in place to help Spencer leave his apartment during his grief management.

"Yeah she is, and Derek is still my Sobriety sponsor" Spencer added, watching as his therapist seemed to ponder that information.

"And how does that make you feel Spencer? The fact they're still rather tangled in your recovery?" Dr Whiting asked finally, putting down his pen and clasping his hands together.

"I'm fine with them being there for me. Really I am. It's just when Alyssa asked me to go out with her today it made me realise that that was the first time someone who isn't part of my recovery has asked."

"And how did that realisation make you feel?"

"Like they were only asking me because they have too. As if its a chore they need to complete. Penelope and JJ will ask me to come for a drink after work, sure, but I've never had them text me on our days off asking to do anything." Spencer admitted, feeling the words slice at him. Dr Whiting picked up his pen again.

"Thank you for you honesty Spencer, because of this new development, I'll be informing your team leader that I'll be cancelling your buddy system. Derek will still be your Sponsor as that's nothing to do with me. But I can tell from these feeling that the buddy tactic has served its purpose and if carried on may actually begin to work against you." Dr Whiting said, writing rapidly as he spoke.

"May I ask how you got to that conclusion?" Spencer wondered aloud, watching the laptop screen as his therapist finished writing.

"Putting it plainly you think they're only spending time with you outside of work because I've told them too. Therefore taking away the command will help you recognise that they are spending time with you because they want to. Not because of any orders." Whiting continued, looking so directly into the camera Spencer could almost feel the eye contact.

"Do you think that will help?" Spencer asked, tightening the grip on his coffee mug.

"if we've caught these intrusive thoughts early enough, yes it should."

"And what about Alyssa?" Spencer asked, bringing the conversation back to the first topic. Dr Whiting steepled his fingers in front of his face as he thought.

"You've began to have intrusive thoughts about your friends and teammates and their motives behind spending time with you outside of work. Therefore Miss Alyssa may be your saving grace here Spencer. As she has no idea of your past, you'll be able to build a tauma free friendship with her that cannot be tainted by your thoughts" Dr Whiting said with an air of authority only therapists seem to possess.

Spencer took a moment to process this, allowing himself to take in all the variables before speaking.

"I understand. I can't assumes she's hanging out with me out of pity if she doesn't think I need to be pitied" Spencer said, watching as his therapist nodded enthusiastically on the screen.

"Exactly. Anyway, I see you're clock watching so I shall let you go. I shall text you with our next scheduled call time. And I'll be expecting a run down of you time out with Alyssa." Dr Whiting concluded, shaking his finger at the camera again as if to say 'Or else!" before abruptly ending the call.

Spencer had just placed the laptop back in its place on the table when her heard the doorbell go, the gothic ringing sounding through his apartment.

"One second!" Spencer shouted, throwing the remains of his now half drunk coffee before grabbing his keys and coat and racing towards the door.

[doyouremem8erme]

Hiii so about Marcy whump and Marcy angst, I was just wondering, since the giant fucking sword went straight through her whole chest, it surely must have destroyed her spine, ribcage, heart, possibly her lungs and completely shattered her sternum, right? Maybe her stomach too. Not to mention the burns that must have spread all over the area... I'm particularly interested on the damage to her nervous system, because the emphasis on Chest Injury tends to forget the Back Injury as well. It wouldn't surprise me if she had back pain for life after that.

oh yeah back after true colors it was pretty popular to make marcy be totally paralyzed after that bc that went STRAIGHT through her spine. once s3 came out those became less common because it just wasnt compliant anymore.

i think the tank managed to heal a lot more of the damage than human medical tech couldve but. ok yknow the weird armor darcy wears? this is gonna sound super scifi-y but its inspired by technology that actually exists that my mom (who used to work in brain-computer interfacing) told me about! basically if the issue is that the nerves connecting her lower body to her brain were severed and the actual tissues are fine...why not just bypass them? nerve signals are basically just electrical signals so if you can read the signals your brain is trying to send down to your legs but they just cant get there, you can just bypass it and apply electrical stimulation to the right muscles! if the suit shes in when she gets possessed had that built in, it would help her walk even with a severed spinal chord. theres also a scene in tbote (and probably other places too) when you can hear robotic noises as darcy moves so i like to think the armor may have had a built in robotic exoskeleton for support as well.

ok with all that nerdiness out of the way...i dont actually often include all that stuff in fics that arent as focused on darcy or on marcy immediately after being freed. since i think the tank would be able to heal her entirely with enough time (and also headcanon that her healing was cut short by olivia and yunan) i vary it throughout my fics but generally think that even after fully healing shed probably at least need a cane. which is partially projection but also because like come on. her organs practically got vaporized

on the note of the rest of the injuries i researched that EXTENSIVELY back in the day (like. i read every single wikipedia page on different heart and lung surgeries in its entirety) and while in most of my fics i just kinda let the tank do the healing/regrowing for her, in some of them she ends up with artificial replacements or even amphibian transplants (presumably they have the tech to let them be totally rejection-free). i havent actually gone back into these headcanons since all in canonized that amphibian tech can replicate organs artificially but its entirely possible she got some of those!

[gibsongirled]

the scientist. | the fall.

description: as a scientist, you were told by your professors and peers that anything could happen anytime. you just didn't expect it to happen while you were trying to find a cure.

warnings: mentions of blood, guns, death (not reader), apocalypse au.

Your parents once said that you were destined for something great. Of course, they were right in a way.

You’ve always had a sense of perseverance- that and your innate fear of failing. Your parents and their friends have said that you were wise beyond your years and they were right. I mean, adults were always right, right? But you also had a nagging feeling of being inferior to other people. You didn’t know how that started; maybe it was when your teacher in elementary said that you spelled a word wrong on your homework - of course, they spelled it right - and it just spiraled down from there.

You spun around in your chair, tapping your fingers on your knees. It was a slow day in the lab- some people were out, some high school students were signing up to be interns, and you could hear multiple voices - some frantic and some calm - as they walked past your door and down the hall. You stopped spinning, seeing that the lab adjacent to yours had people in hazmat suits wheeling a body bag in there and then left it on the autopsy table. That was the only glimpse you got before the doors shut in your face and then you let out a sigh, being bored again.

Your lab partner, Hannah, was late again for the third time that week and you tried to keep the lab running as smoothly as you could. That included being on hold with the IT department for several hours because the computers were down and you had to digitize some files that were on your desk since yesterday. And the centrifuge needed to be replaced due to a malfunction, but you’ll bring it up with Hannah if she even ends up coming in tonight. You wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t though, some weird flu thing was going around and most of the staff that worked in the labs were out sick- except for you apparently.

That weird flu thing was the reason you were stuck in the lab anyway. A strain of a new upgraded version of the hemorrhagic fever was going around Little Rock and a few cases were documented. You were half sure that the person in the body bag in the lab adjacent was a victim of the virus.

You were back to tweaking the formula since the first clinical trial on a group didn’t have the outcome that you and Hannah expected. Hannah barged in late, pushing through the door with the palm of her hand as she rummaged through her bag for something. It was routine at this point and you gave her a nod for a greeting, and carefully shook a test tube full of clear liquid.

You didn’t like the lab all too much. It felt clean and sterile in a way that made you feel like the very existence of yourself would taint the room. Hannah didn’t seem to share the same idea as you, but the two of you were different in every way, so it was not a surprise. You both sat in silence across the room from each other and worked on your respective tasks, the only sounds in the room was the clinking of test tubes and clacky sounds from the keyboard as Hannah typed away on the janky computer that looked like it was from the 90s. You often wondered if the higher ups even planned to replace some of the equipment- that thought sometimes stray away from you and end up into the ball of thoughts that make you wonder why you were even working here.

They say the equation for humor is tragedy plus time. You don’t know who said that, but they were either right or terribly wrong.

Loud red lights blared above you, bathing you in its bright light. There was a joke about this; an epidemiologist and a virologist walked into a bar, of course the joke’s been wiped clean. You didn’t tell it correctly anyway. You were not that good at making jokes, but that didn’t stop you from keeping them in your notes app.

Hannah had left the room to grab a tissue sample from the person in the body bag in the other lab and you didn’t think much of it. Everything was going well until you heard a loud scream and the alarm followed after, causing you to run and lock the door like the drills had instructed. You hoped that Hannah was alright and that this was just another unscheduled drill that they sprung upon the staff. You watched through the small window on the door, seeing men in hazmat suits running down the hall. Jeez, they really went all out for the drill this time. Well that was your thought until you saw blood flow across the floor tiles and your eyes widened. You backed away from the door, your eyes catching Hannah in the other lab as she looked around in a panic.

You froze in place, feeling like the floor suddenly turned into quicksand and making it hard for you to move as the man - who was originally zipped up in the body bag - that was on the autopsy table behind Hannah suddenly sat up. He looked pale and his face looked disfigured, blood seeped down his eyes and noise as his mouth was in a fixed position. You tried to scream, tried to warn her that she needed to get out of there right now, but your warnings fell on deaf ears as the alarm was louder and she was far away from you. Hannah saw you, catching the fear in your wide eyes and hearing the heavy, raspy breathing behind you.

You watched as she turned slowly, being face to face with something that not even the best Hollywood SFX artists could recreate. You could see that she didn’t even get the chance to scream before the man - he wasn’t even a man now, just some creature inhabiting the body of a man - tore her neck off, spraying blood against the window on the door.

A scream lodged itself in your throat and you felt your hands clam up. You had to leave. You couldn’t stay here forever. This wasn’t even in your paygrade and maybe it was in the NDA you signed, but what kind of NDAs have zombie outbreaks listed? Maybe you should have read inbetween the lines a little bit more before you signed your life away to be a victim to a creature that’s probably mindless.

You watched as men in hazmat suits kicked down the door that Hannah was in, shooting the man… creature? You don’t know, still trying to wrap your mind around it, and trying not to pass out or puke, or both. Shit happens in Little Rock, right?

You have to get out of here.

[aminiatureworld]

Injury II

Characters: Kaeya, Ningguang, Xiao, Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 5,650

Warnings: Various injuries, blood, burns, minor villain death

Premise: Sometimes the pain of others can hurt even more than one’s own. In which the reader is injured.

Author’s Note: Okay so after the mind numbing fear of my computer almost dying and now maybe emitting a weird smell I’m five seconds away from pure panic. But the show much go on! Even if my word document keeps blacking out.

This is my first time writing for Ningguang! I hope I do my girl justice, she’s voiced by my fav VA, she’s a total powerhouse, I love her so much. 

I tried to make all of the injuries personal to each character in some way. Funny enough Zhongli’s was the hardest to figure out. I eventually settled upon the act of you being injured causing Zhongli’s personal angst, rather than the cause of the injury. I hope it came out well!

Kaeya

Kaeya didn’t often let himself fall into fear. Not since he’d been young did he feel that he could indulge in such a sentiment. True to his vision he’d frozen that part of himself, and now when panic seized him he could feel nothing but stone cold determination, and the need to continue forward without hesitation. Fear was hardly alien to him, he could conjure up the emotion all too well, but it had been dulled and replaced by cynicism and coldness. And occasionally guilt.

Looking back on it Kaeya wasn’t even sure why the two of you had strayed so close to Dragonspine, so close snowflakes were congregating in your hair.

You’d called him a winter fairy in jest at the time, wondering if he wasn’t truly the ruler of that mountain of frost. He’d laughed then, before threatening to take you away to his fairy court. “That would be quite an easy task.” You’d replied. “You’ve already captured my heart after all.”

The two of you were strolling on the rocks that lined the river which separated Dragonspine from the greater Monstadt area. Although adventurers usually roamed the area in the daytime it was now evening, and the lack of people certainly made up for the cold in Kaeya’s mind. He could only be his true self around you after all. Otherwise it was the charming and slick Cavalry Captain, a man who always knew what to say and never harbored any doubts in his mind. Not that he wasn’t still charming around you, he loved seeing you blush from his effusive praise, loved the way you buried your head in his shoulder if the flirting and the teasing ramped up enough. But there was a sincerity to his words that one couldn’t find normally in Kaeya, and he loved to show you bits and pieces of his soul, relieved to finally have someone to talk to.

“Watch your step.” You warned, grabbing onto Kaeya’s hand as he slid a little ways along a rock.

“Thank you darling, although I daresay I’m more worried about you. After all who’s the snow fairy here and who’s the wind sprite, liable to blow away at any moment?”

“So cheesy.” You mumbled, shaking your head, though Kaeya could’ve sworn your cheeks were slightly redder than they were a few moments ago. Laughing he wrapped his arm around your waist. You snuggled into his fur lined coat. “Cold.” You murmured, though you made no move to disconnect yourself. Kaeya smiled and brought his other hand around you in a soft embrace.

“Sorry my dearest, but you’re in love with an icicle.”

“Only terms of magic.” You shot back. “Otherwise you’re a nice warm fire. And don’t you forget that.”

The two of you headed a little ways down, closer to the river. A small group of frost flowers had made it to this side of the banks, and you were adamant on picking some. “They’re so beautiful!” You explained to Kaeya. “And incredibly strong, I can’t believe they managed to grow in that permafrost. They’re simply lovely.”

“Just be careful.” Kaeya commented, standing a little ways back. He didn’t like getting near the river, a river so cold it was always at nearly freezing at the bottom. Cold water and a vision of Cryo didn’t mix well.

“I’ll be fine.” You hopped to your feet, a bouquet of pale blue in your hand. You were smiling from your victory, face full of light and happiness.

It was an expression that changed swiftly as you lost your balance and plummeted into the freezing waters.

Immediately Kaeya leapt down from the rocks he was standing on, kneeling near where you were standing a moment ago. The river wasn’t very fast, bogged down by its width and how far it was away from the waterfalls in the warmer parts of Monstadt. Still it cut off very quickly, having barely the semblance of a beach before opening into a deep chasm, and anyone who fell in it would quickly fall into cold shock. Already your limbs had started seizing, and you were hyperventilating hard. Your arms felt like dead weight, and every second that passed your head dipped lower into the freezing water.

Kaeya gingerly put his hand out to make a platform of ice for him to stand on. Whatever happened he couldn’t fall in as well, it would mean the death of you two. Fear had reared its ugly head again and Kaeya twisted those feelings into action. No matter what he had to act fast and sure. Hesitation was fatal.

Plunging his hand into the water, sucking in a deep breath as the ice that still coated his palms and fingers made contact with the freezing river Kaeya hauled you up onto the icy platform. Taking off his coat he wrapped you up. Removing your gloves so the frozen water wouldn’t be in contact with your already freezing skin Kaeya cursed as he ran towards Springvale, the nearest place he could think of. He’d lugged you onto his back, and could feel the freezing water through his shirt. As he ran he kept up a stream of slightly shaky conversation, rattling off what little he knew of hypothermia.

“It’ll be alright darling, I promise it’ll be alright. You’re just going through shock right now, okay? You’ll be alright, I promise. Just stay awake a little while longer. I know you must be tired from all that excitement, but just stay awake a little longer, just a little longer and then you’ll be nice and warm, just stay awake right now okay?” His voice became more and more desperate as his fear started to tumble out of his grasp, but he kept moving. He wouldn’t lose control of himself now, not until you were safe.

Finally he arrived at Springvale and you’d been rushed to the village doctor. Kaeya was told to go and wait somewhere else, and preferably change out of his freezing cold shirt, but you’d grabbed his hand as he turned to leave and after that he refused to budge, instead borrowing a shirt from the village. He’d reimburse the people who let you two borrow their clothes later.

The entire process was a terrifying one, as you were slowly brought back to warmth. Kaeya took the opportunity to learn as much as he could, noting that you shouldn’t massage limbs back to warmth for fear of heart attack and – much to his chagrin he later joked when the situation was far enough in the past – alcohol was too much of a depressant on your system and could lead to death. All throughout he kept talking to you, even though there were times you didn’t seem to hear, times when he thought his heart would split in two.

Still it was evident you were going to survive and when you’d finally finished being warmed up Kaeya thought he could cry in relief, if only he’d been numbed from such an act for so many years. You’d run into some sort of rock in the water, and the long gash down the side of your leg was later determined by the doctor to reveal torn muscle. It’d take about a month and a half for you to recover. Kaeya thought he should’ve felt worse about it, but in the moment he felt nothing but relief, utter relief in the knowledge you were going to be fine. Utter relief that came with having almost lost you.

Kaeya had carried you back to Monstadt, much to your consternation. All the ways back you mumbled about how his penchant for drama seemed to have increased tenfold. Kaeya simply shook his head, not bothering to ask how you would’ve gotten back otherwise with your leg in the shape it was. Still it was a relief to both of you to see the city walls. Even more of a relief when you finally arrived home, safe and sound.

“I’m so glad you were there.” You confessed as Kaeya sat you down on the couch, propping up your leg and pulling a chair up next to you. “I don’t know what I would’ve done had I fallen and you weren’t there.”

“You probably wouldn’t have been there in the first place.” Kaeya remarked, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. You brought your hand up to his cheek and he leaned into it slightly, grateful for the contact between you two. It’d been hours but the panic that he’d felt still tugged at his consciousness, as if any moment you might slip away again and leave him panicked and alone.

“Were you afraid?” You asked.

“Of course I was afraid.” Kaeya’s reply came swift and sure. “I was terrified, terrified in a way that I haven’t been in years.” Kaeya’s eyes clouded over, as if reaching deep into his memories. He brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles and then your palm. “I thought that you might die, and in that moment I was ready to curse the world all over again.”

“But I didn’t die.” You said solemnly.

“No, you didn’t.”

“And that’s because of you. Because you reacted quickly, because you had the magic with which to do so, and most of all because you never hesitated. And because of that I’m alive and well now. Injuries aside I’ll be fine. I promise.”

Kaeya knew you were right. You were alive. You weren’t going to go where he couldn’t follow. The fear coiling in his stomach began to subside. He’d been so afraid, yes, and in that fear he’d managed to find the strength and determination to save you. But now you were safe and he no longer needed to rely on that strength; he could give into his relief. Realizing this, realizing how frightened he’d been and how that was now part of a past he could move forward from, could truly forget, Kaeya could only marvel at his relief. Only then did the tears begin to fall.

 Ningguang

If there was one thing Ningguang wasn’t expecting out of today it was your leg collapsing and her winding up in the waiting room of the Liyue hospital, mind replaying the last week or so, wondering where she might’ve realized something was wrong.

It seemed like the kind of thing Keqing would make a joke about. Here Ningguang was, the Tianquan of the Liyue Qixing, the most powerful woman in the trade capital of Liyue; here she was, her world completely gone awry, completely shattered by your injury.

A stress fracture, the doctor had said. It was the kind of injury that developed slowly and came about after weeks instead of in moments. The initial strain was usually something mundane, a sprain, a bruise, maybe you’d walked on your foot for too long. But after sometimes weeks of ignoring pain and swelling your body couldn’t take it any longer. Ten weeks, that’s how long you would be laid up. And Ningguang couldn’t help but feel every one of those ten weeks was her fault.

She should’ve noticed it. That train of thought continued all throughout the process of you being treated at, and eventually discharged from, the hospital. You weren’t just one of the people she worked with daily, weren’t just her closest colleague. You were the person that Ningguang loved more than anything in this world. How could she possibly not have noticed the signs?

Ningguang found herself obsessively trying to connect the warning signs that must’ve been there. She knew that your foot had been aching for some time, but though she’d been vaguely concerned she’d said nothing other than a simple “be careful”. She’d never thought to check after you later, sure that it was nothing. Now she felt nothing but shame, both that of a personal and of a greater kind. How could she manage looking after all of Liyue if she couldn’t even look after you?

You noticed Ningguang’s silence as you two made your way out of the hospital and towards the apartment you shared. Although Ningguang was perhaps seen as a reticent individual you’d found her surprisingly open, always ready to discuss things that were of interest either to you or to her. She wasn’t the kind of person to walk along in silence; not when she was around those that she cared for, not unless she was thinking about something important, not unless…

Finally you two arrived home. You collapsed on the couch, tired and ready to either read or nap. Ningguang was preparing some tea and a various array of fruit, not that there was much food in the lavish apartment you two shared. Considering the workload between the both of you it was perhaps unsurprising that there was nothing much to eat. That would have to change, Ningguang noted; she’d make sure that you were recovering in the most comfortable way possible. It was the least she could do.

“Are you feeling well?” Ningguang asked, placing the food and tea on the table in your room. You nodded.

“I feel fine, although I’m not looking forward to the walk to the Qixing headquarters. I have to admit dear this might be the only time I’m a bit glad that I don’t have to make my way to the Jade Chamber every day.” Ningguang smiled at that, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She sat silently, sipping her tea slowly. Your expression clouded over. “Hey, can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Oh it’s nothing my love.” Ningguang spoke up quickly, leaning over and kissing you on the cheek. “I’m just sorry to see you like this.”

“Well you can’t blame yourself. You know that, right?”

Ningguang found she couldn’t bring herself to lie to you. Your gaze, though soft, seemed to pierce right through all her excuses and all her bluffing. She sighed softly. Maybe it would be better to be upfront about it, clear and concise, how one should always be. At least then she could apologize properly.

“In truth I do blame myself. I can’t believe I was so neglectful of your health, so blind to your pain.” She shook her head, staring at the hand that was holding yours. A disconnected part of her thought of how well the two fit together, fingers intertwined softly, your palm warm and comforting.

“If you were blind to this then so was I.” You spoke softly but firmly, refusing to sugar coat your words. Ningguang admired you for it, even if she didn’t believe you, something painfully clear in the expression on her face. “You cannot blame yourself.” You continued, “I won’t let you. I don’t want you beating yourself up for something that neither of us predicted. If you feel the need to blame yourself for this you must also blame me; I was the one walking on the injury without paying enough attention.”

“But – ” Ningguang paused, realizing the truth behind your words, slouching slightly she sat in deep thought. “I… I realize there’s not a lot of logic behind my thinking.”

“Well feelings are hardly logical.” You pointed out, squeezing her hand. “And because they’re illogical they don’t go away quickly. But I at least want you to try and combat your guilt with what I’ve told you. Because just like you hate seeing me in this cast I hate seeing you in pain.”

Ningguang nodded, heart filled with a deep sense of love and tenderness. Leaning over to give you a kiss she smiled softly. You did too. For a moment you two basked in each other’s presence and happiness, before you smile turned mischievous.

“Although… I won’t object to a little pampering.” Ningguang chuckled, shaking her head. But her smile was real this time, and you wouldn’t ask for anything more.

“You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I know I am.” You replied. “And you’re lucky I adore you.”

“I am.” Ningguang’s reply was just as sure, was full of quiet but strong emotion. She was lucky. And she would never take you or your love for granted. No matter what.

 Xiao

By the time he’d met you Xiao had long come to the conclusion that he’d never find it in him to like humans.

Humans were dirty, they were untrustworthy and full of darkness, they broke things without thinking about it, mangled their own people, their own families and friends and countrymen. Humans slaughtered one another without thinking of how it might stain them, and when they weren’t killing they were stealing and lying and ruining the land around them. How could he, a being designed solely to destroy the darkness in the world, ever find in himself the will or the ability to look past all that?

When he’d met you and had fallen in love in earnest this view had still changed ultimately very little. But even if you’d admitted that what he said was mostly true, you’d found that you still wanted him to learn to care at least a little bit about humanity. I mean you were ultimately one of them at your core. It didn’t feel right to prop yourself up as the one great exception, not when there were other people who were certainly like you in mind and in morality. Xiao silently disagreed with this analysis; to him there never was and never would be someone like you, in all of Teyvat. Still, he felt compelled to try, though  more for your sake than for his, and as the weeks had gone on he’d begun to look at humanity not with any sort of respect or hope but with a sort of begrudging curiosity, and an admittance that maybe, just maybe, there was a bit of that light you saw in it.

What a fool he’d been.

Although Xiao was aware of the growing threat of treasure hoarders across Liyue – so widespread that they’d even managed to eat away at the tranquil lands surrounding Jueyen Karst – he’d never considered them a serious threat. So when the two of you accidentally ran into a group of them while exploring some of the older Liyue ruins Xiao didn’t bother to do much more than wrap an arm around your waist, sure that even the most idiotic of treasure hoarders wouldn’t be so foolish as to pick a fight with either an adeptus or their beloved. You seemed unfazed at any rate, explaining that the two of you were simply passing by and had no desire to pick a fight; if they’d be so kind the two of you would be on your way.

Perhaps the treasure hoarders were well aware of the fact that you could report them to the Liyue Qixing. Perhaps they were simply in a bad mood. Either way your words apparently did nothing. Xiao was becoming tenser and tenser, feeling as if something catastrophic was about to happen. That moment came to pass when one of the treasure hoarders pulled out a knife and threw it, lodging itself with deadly accuracy into your torso.

At that point Xiao felt himself overcome with a supernatural sort of calm, a calm which raced to cover up the anguish and rage that was coursing through him, threatening to burn him from the inside out. He only paused to make sure you didn’t hit the ground hard, before summoning his spear. Ignoring the cries of the treasure hoarders he made quick work of disposing of them, for what was a measly human, a piece of trash, when compared to that which had slayed countless demons? A small part of him cried out against the act, pointing out the fact that every time he wielded his polearm to kill it might bring him closer to the precipice, the fact that you were hurt mattered more than revenge, the fact that he was going to regret killing in front of you. He ignored it. At that moment there was nothing in his mind, it was as empty and staid as a clear pool of water. The only ripple in it was the way you’d jolted back in surprised, and the way you’d let out a cry before crumpling.

Xiao didn’t look back to see the havoc he’d wreaked. Instead he ran to your side. Peeling off his gloves, worried that they might bring infection, he pressed his bare hands to your wound, desperately trying to staunch the blood that was spilling out, ignoring the shocks that jolted through his hands, the result of the dagger somehow being infused with electro. The feeling of blood, your blood, beneath his fingers was nauseating, and for a moment Xiao felt his head filling with static as the pure panic that he’d felt began to overcome the initial rush of adrenaline. Snapping out of it when you let out a groan of pain Xiao looked into your eyes. They were clouded, and for a moment the adeptus was afraid you might be on the verge of passing out – had you really lost so much blood? Holding you tightly, one hand never leaving your wound, Xiao summoned a burst of air. His thoughts were still too chaotic to be processed, there was only one thing connecting them all. Let them live. If there’s any justice in this world, please let them live.

Verr Goldet had grasped the situation as soon as she saw Xiao appear on the balcony, face contorted in fear. Taking you to her room, she’d instructed Xiao to get one of the doctors from Liyue while she and the resident apothecary took care of you. Xiao did the task without thinking, and once he’d arrived with the doctor he refused to leave your side. Xiao knew death better than most adepti, certainly more than most humans. It was cold and unfeeling, and had a nasty habit of leaping onto people when they least expected it. It didn’t matter to him that all three, Goldet, the apothecary, and the doctor, said that you would be fine; Xiao was going to be there the entire time.

Eventually you managed to rouse yourself from the pain induced stupor, and when you did you saw Xiao first, eyes wide with fear and relief, tears threatening to spill down his face.

In the end you’d been lucky. Although the dagger had ruptured your spleen Xiao had acted quickly enough to avert catastrophe. You were going to survive, though it’d be 12 weeks most likely until you were completely recovered. The moment of crisis having passed the two of you were finally given a moment alone.

“Are you alright?” Xiao immediately asked. You didn’t make a move to answer, instead cupping Xiao’s cheek before moving to take his hand. At that moment how Xiao remembered. Oh; the blood. Quickly moving away he ran to the nearest basin of water, scrubbing furiously. As the water turned red a faint smell of iron filled the air; it was the most disgusting thing Xiao had ever smelt, and he scrubbed even harder. You waited silently as he finished cleaning his hands and disposing of the water. Finally he came back to sit next to you, still hesitating a moment before placing his palm in yours.

“I… I don’t understand how you could ever like humans.” That was the first thing Xiao could think of. “They betrayed you. Without even blinking. That man, all those men and women, they would’ve ended your life without even thinking about it. They would’ve killed you and lived without ever having such a thing weigh on their conscience. Humans never think about the weight of their sins. They just keep committing atrocities.”

“And what about you, Xiao. Will their deaths weigh on you?”

“As much as all the others.” Xiao wished he could be matter of fact about it, but he found that trait of his had somehow disappeared. Instead an emotion washed over him, so unfamiliar and unexplainable it seemed to choke him. “Perhaps more.” He managed to get out, before beginning to cry in earnest.

You would’ve died. If he hadn’t been there you would’ve died. For you he gladly shouldered the weight of human life, would do so again and again if only to ensure your safety. And yet it was such a heavy weight, and no matter how many Xiao killed it wouldn’t heal you.

“I’m sorry.” He choked out. You shook your head.

“Xiao I always knew that you weren’t going to be able to see humans as I see them immediately. And I know that you have a relationship with death and killing that most humans, most beings, will never have. I’m not going to blame you, nor will I turn on you. I cannot pretend that what happened didn’t make me angry. In retrospect it made me incredibly angry. It’s also true that – had you not been there – I would’ve raised my own weapon in self-defense. But now I’m going to ask you for one thing, and one thing only.”

“What?”

“Help me recover. Help me recover and let me help you recover. If there’s one thing I don’t want to happen now it’s for you to turn away from me and from everyone else, to let yourself be consumed. I want you to have somewhere you can let your feelings exist, and I want somewhere I can feel happy and comfortable as myself. You make me feel that way, so even if it’s selfish I don’t want you to turn away. And I don’t want you to grieve for me. Injured as I may be I’m not dead.” There was a pause as you let yourself catch your breath, having gotten more and more excited as you went on. “I realize that’s more than one thing.” You concluded, a bit sheepish.

Xiao said nothing for a while before leaning towards you. “May I?” He whispered. You nodded and Xiao pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn’t one of fire or passion. It was different, defined within the parameters of fear and relief, there seemed to be a sort of desperation in it, yet it was surprisingly sedate. Pulling away Xiao buried his face in your neck, careful to make sure he wasn’t touching where you’d been stabbed.

“I will. I promise.” He whispered. You nodded, smiling softly. But Xiao couldn’t bring himself to smile, not just yet.

Xiao couldn’t understand humans. They were dirty and cruel and lived without fear of consequences. Their actions haunted him and he found them easier to hate than to understand. But for you he’d try, because to him there was one thing strong than all, strong than fear, stronger than mistrust, stronger than hatred.

And that was the love he held for you.

 Zhongli

If there was one thing Zhongli hadn’t been prepared for when it came to falling in love with humans it was their combination of fragility and utter ignorance to said fragility.

One of Zhongli’s favorite things to do was to simply sit and listen to you talk about your life. Humans fascinated Zhongli, it was one of the reasons he’d ultimately given up his place as Rex Lapis; inside him lived a desire to interact with humanity in a more intimate way, to know what made people behave as they did and to perhaps grow closer to them in the process.

But despite all that he still wasn’t ready for the utter fear he felt when listening to the stories of you getting hurt. You’d laughed off scrapes and bruises and fractures. The time you’d accidentally ripped off your nail was a painful yet funny anecdote, and the fact that you’d fractured your kneecap as a child was something you now looked back on with an odd sense of nostalgia.

Zhongli didn’t understand why these stories frightened him on such a visceral level. Such injuries were nothing to gods and adepti. Although the idea of a broken bone was certainly an irritation there was nothing more in it, and the kind of injuries that could easily kill humans would to Zhongli be the kind of thing that would be unpleasant for its novelty, not for its potential fatality.

He didn’t bring up these thoughts to you, feeling as if they’d somehow place an undue burden on you, or perhaps he was afraid you’d stop telling him about yourself. Still it lurked at the back of his mind, the fear of what might happen to you.

The fears that Zhongli harbored were proven in the most mundane, and thus most poignant, way. The two of you had been preparing a meal when suddenly you’d stumbled on an uneven part of the floor. Reaching your hands out to steady yourself your arm had landed flat on the hot stove, the stove which had been heating up for the past fifteen or so minutes. The scream that you let out sent a shock through Zhongli which shook him to his core. It rang through his ears incessantly, a terrifying reminder of how breakable humans were.

You’d immediately yanked your arm off from the stove but the sight that met both his and your eyes was a ghastly one. The skin on your arm was charred various colors, white blisters mixed with black flaky skin, all outlined in a terrible circle of red. You were shaking, and you face had turned a frightful ashen color. Springing into action Zhongli wracked his brain for all he could remember about burns. If the burn is serious enough go to the hospital. Never try to treat intense burns yourself as the burning has gone deeper than the initial layer of skin, raise your burn above your heart. Go to the hospital. Slinging your arm around his shoulder so that it was raised, whisper soft words of reassurance as you let out a shriek of pain, Zhongli half walked half carried you to the hospital, all while the same thought was running through his head.

How fragile humans are.

The doctors had insisted you stay overnight. Apparently the burn was bad enough to require surgery. Zhongli’s stomach had dropped as he was told that, but he managed to nod in response. Walking back home Zhongli felt all in a daze. He barely made it in the door before he collapsed, fear having seeped the energy out of him. The world pressed down on him, heavier than it’d ever been before. At least you’d be okay, he reminded himself. If he had anything to cling to at least he had that.

Zhongli was the first visitor to arrive at the hospital, having given Hu Tao the run of the funeral home as he spent as much time as possible with you. You were well enough, although a bit bogged down from the painkillers you’d been given. You’d once offhandedly commented that although magic infused medicine tended to be safer for the patient – more successful and less addictive – it was also more powerful; now Zhongli could see you weren’t kidding.

Your burn was wrapped up carefully, the doctors had managed to take the charred skin of, you’d explain, but now the burn had to be treated with the utmost care until the surgery later in the afternoon, infection was no joke.

“Well this’ll certainly be an interesting anecdote.” You let out half a laugh. “Not that I’m happy this happened, but at least this will shut up the next person who complains about how cardio was the most painful thing they’ve experienced.”

“I don’t know how you can be so cavalier about it.” Zhongli replied, tone soft and introspective. “It seems to terrifying to me, how easily humans are hurt.”

“Hey, I’ll be fine.” You assured him, voice soft but firm. “I understand how to adepti and archons and gods this might be terrifying. I’d be the first to admit we can’t really keep up with you in terms of pure healing and resistance to injury. But we’ve continued on this far haven’t we?” You smiled softly. “I promise I’m not about to die from something like a kitchen accident.”

“But what if next time it’s not your arm?” Zhongli replied. “What if it’s your neck or your chest? What if you cut yourself too deeply, what if your cut becomes infected. There are so many things I haven’t thought about until now, so many things that could hurt you. It frightens me terribly.”

“I’m very grateful that you’re worrying for me like this. But Zhongli?” You waited for his eyes to meet yours, smiling once more when he faced you. “You cannot be consumed by your anxiety. Believe me humans worry about these kinds of things. What if I tripped and fell and broke my neck, what if I scratched myself and developed and infection, what if I choked on an apple? These fears live with us, sometimes constantly, but we cannot let them consume us. As much as I’m flattered and glad you care for my wellbeing so much, I also don’t want you consumed by it, nor do I want to be treated like glass.”

“I cannot understand how you’re so resilient.” Zhongli replied after a short pause. You shrugged.

“We are because we must be.”

Zhongli knew in his heart that these fears he harbored weren’t going to go away. He knew that they were going to become more and more apparent through the month of your initial recovery, and through the longer period too as scar tissue formed and subsided.

Humans were indeed fragile. But if there was one thing stronger than said fragility it was their even greater determination to supersede it. Humans may be fragile in body, but they were stronger in spirit even than the gods.

That was something Zhongli wasn’t going to forget. Not for a very long time.

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

I love bully shiggy, but i love shiggy angst more, so could you write some bully shiggy angst where reader goes to live somewere else or just...dies or something? I need the bully to suffer of a broken heart hehehehe thank you!

your wish is my command. TW: death, violence, slight mentions of past noncon and past dubcon, angst, drugs

Most, if not all throughout his life, Shigaraki has always gotten what he wanted. Rich parents helped. His absurd talent for computer science helped, and when his parents were being especially annoying and threatening to cut him off-well thank god his crypto is going to the moon.

No, he couldn't say he was happy. But he wasn't sad either. Objectively, he knew he had a good life. Happiness is foreign to him, but thrills aren't. Mindless enjoyment isn't. He smokes skinny Korean cigarettes, snorts cocaine off glass tables, places acid tabs under his tongue, and fucks girls when he's high, sober, coming up, or coming down.

You were happy though. You were the kind of girl to be very grateful to live, the kind of girl who walked through life like the sun was shining on her, the kind of girl he hated and wanted to crush under his thumb.

No, that's a lie. He's never hated you. He could never hate his favorite toy no matter how many times she misbehaves.

So when you fucking died, of course, he didn’t believe it. Not at first. Not fucking possible. Not until he saw your fucking body, all twisted into grotesque angles because you were trying to save a stupid kid who was on the road when he shouldn’t have been. Fuck, out of everyone, at least you deserved a peaceful death.

And it’s so like you to throw yourself into oncoming traffic, trying to save other people. Always other people. The complete and utter opposite of him. He wasn’t even aware he had a heart, the metaphorical one that felt emotions because his real beating heart was a jumbled-up mess of pounding and vessels.

But all that adrenaline is gone now and there’s a hole where his heart is. A you-shaped absence imprinted on his body and mind. He was already so so numb but the flashes of feelings, the memories hurt. He smells your perfume in the scent of wildflowers and it drives him insane.

His drug habit had gotten exponentially worse. Days and nights blurred into frenzied chaos. How could he sleep when your voice on discord wasn’t the last thing he could hear before shutting his eyes? The cocaine has probably burned off the inside of his nose, and acid flashbacks wouldn’t be so bad if the patterns didn’t spell out your name.

How dare you leave him alone? How dare you? You were supposed to die whenever he dies. Your existence was meant to be alongside his.

His last straw is when he finally shows up to school and everyone looks at him with eyes of sympathy. It doesn't click until a reassuring hand is over his shoulder, “It’s okay, Shigaraki. We know you were good friends.”

He can’t stop laughing. Laughing and laughing until his jaw is going to unhinge itself. Everyone looks uncomfortable, perplexed by the sudden onslaught of never-ending laughter. A know-it-all voice chirps in the background, “...normal traumatic response.”

He excuses himself to the bathroom much to the relief of his classmates because they were not used to a manic Shigaraki, the boy who was usually cold and aloof. He grips the porcelain sink, laughing. He wonders why there are water drops falling into the basin. He wonders why he’s crying. And once the first few drops fall, the dam breaks. He’s sobbing.

How brain dead does everyone have to be to think you guys were friends. Yeah, Shigaraki was a great friend to you as he forced you to jerk him off. He was a great friend when he threatened revenge porn if you didn’t break up with your doofus boyfriend. And he definitely was a great friend, when he stumbled into your house high as balls, fully knowing you’d be alone that night and fucked you until you bled on your sheets. Victory tasted like your virginity on his dick that seemed like it would never soften.

Was everyone that blind to what you were going through? How much he hurt you? He wondered what you’d say if you here right now. You’d probably laugh too, wouldn’t you? Laughed until you cried and couldn’t stop crying.

Dabi and Hawks tried. They did. But they weren’t friends who sat around talking about their respective traumas despite being well too aware of how fucked up each other’s home lives were. But Shigaraki’s grief was different. Dabi tried to put himself in his blue-haired friend’s shoes. If Natsuo or Fuyumi died, he probably wouldn’t take it so well either. Still, he couldn’t fathom why Shigaraki would be so sad over some pussy, however tight it may be. Hawks especially could not understand, girls being replaceable him too like model cars—infinitely less valuable of course. The golden-haired boy had no frame of reference, but he did crash his Audi R8 which was his favorite car. Maybe that’s what Shigaraki is feeling, the loss of something very precious. (Maybe Hawks wasn’t too far off. Shigaraki did treat you like a possession.)

He visits your grave often, every day if he can. It’s beautiful, encased in obsidian and marble, gold lettering announcing the tragedy of your short life. He never learned what your favorite flowers were so he returns with a different bouquet each time. Today’s were pink carnations.

Much to his surprise, there was a figure already standing there. Your father, he recognizes. “You come at a time when no one else does so it’s hard to get a hold of you.” That was on purpose of course. He didn’t want to complain to you with an audience.

“I’m sorry I don’t know who you are but the way you come here every day with flowers, spending hours at a time you must have loved my daughter very much.”

His throat closes. He doesn’t know what to say.

Shigaraki cries more when he goes home, an avalanche of memories saturating his brain. Memories of your smile, your sarcastic quips, how he could never shut you up when you were talking about your favorite manga.

There’s a revolver in his desk. He could do it. Shoot his own brains out. Be where you are. His hands are shaking. Is he this much of a coward? You don’t care right, you wanted him to die right? For all the shit he did to you? You told him you had nightmares, that when you closed your eyes, all you could see was him.

But you were a bleeding heart. You’d never wish that upon anyone. Shigaraki looks out the window, wondering that if he could do it all over again, whether he’d be kinder to you.

No, he wouldn’t be.

[rapsgoddess]

Washing Machine Heart Part 1. (Erik Killmonger x OC)

This is unedited so please have mercy on me in the notes 😭

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a thing to him. Next to being a mercenary, Erik was a player. He came and went as he pleased, spent his nights with more than one woman, and didn’t feel a single shred of regret whenever his girls would pour out their hearts to him. 

Nahla knew she didn’t mean a single thing to him, yet she still somehow fell in love. 

It was a painful realization. One that she came to during one of Erik’s many long term absences. It was another sleepless night for her and she was sitting in bed with her laptop open to her right and her keyboard directly in front of her. For the past week, the same melody had been on loop inside her head. A broken tune that conveyed so much sorrow that it nearly brought her to tears whenever she hummed it. Each day after she got home from work, she would add onto the melody bit by bit, putting in different instruments and sounds to create a beautiful symphony. 

When it came time to write lyrics for the song, all she could envision was a tune about unrequited love. The same unrequited love that she had been feeling for a while. 

It wasn’t until she put a name to that feeling when she finally realized how she truly felt about Erik. 

She decided to try and keep things suppressed for a while, hoping that her childish feelings of romance would disappear after a few days. 

They didn’t. 

When Erik returned a few weeks later, she didn’t, know how to act. The man made it known that he was not committed to anybody, and Nahla was no exception. On the rare occasion Nahla would catch a glimpse of him on social media, she would see him surrounded by women who looked as if they could be models. Women who were leagues ahead of her. The photos never failed to resurrect her insecurities. They made her question why Erik even bothered to give her the time of day. Yet those insecurities melted away whenever he came to visit her. 

Flash forward to the present, and Nahla found herself laying next to Erik’s naked frame in her bed. The faint sound of her washing machine echoed throughout the house, giving a sort of rhythmic banging as her shoes tussled around inside. The night was still fairly young, having only been a few minutes past seven, but all of the plans that Nahla had for that evening were discarded the moment Erik showed up on her doorstep. 

It didn’t take much for his words to lull her into bed and for his lips on hers to enrapture her. His low, smooth voice was like music to her ears, and her moans being music to his. Each praise that left his lips was like a toxic lullaby. Nahla knew that he had repeated the same words to dozens of women in the past, yet in the moment, they made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. 

“You feel so good around me baby…”

“You don’t know how much I missed this pussy.”

“Say my name so everybody know who’s fuckin’ you right.” 

Thinking back to his words sent shivers down her spine. She was wide awake, restless and too excited to fall asleep. It was rare for Erik to stay after having sex, let alone fall asleep before her, but her inner turmoil prevented her from falling asleep. 

She turned back to look over at Erik, taking in every aspect of his being as if it were the last time she would see him again. No matter how many times she laid eyes on him, she would never be able to find the words to describe how beautiful he was. He had a smile that could light up a room and warm eyes that made her heart flutter each time she looked into them. It often left her wondering why exactly he even entertained the thought of her when he was way out of her league. 

A heavy sigh left Nahla’s lips and she threw the covers off the lower half of her body. She looked back at Erik one last time while putting on her robe, making sure that he stayed asleep. Slowly and quietly, she crept out of the room and down the hall to her makeshift studio, closing the door behind her and turning on the lights. She used her studio as an escape from both the real world and her own mind, and right then she needed an escape from both. Turning on her equipment and opening up her laptop, she opened up the file that held her latest project. The one that helped her come to her realization in the first place. She made sure the speakers were low as to not wake Erik up and pressed play, listening to her voice blend with the gentle melody. 

She had only written a few lines so far and could feel the next verse just on the tip of her tongue, but lyricism had never really been her strong suit. Muttering random words under her breath, she opened up the notes section on GarageBand and began writing down whatever sounded nice, replacing and adding words where she deemed fit. 

“Might as well give it a go,” she sighed, getting up from her chair and walking over to the small corner where her mic and the rest of her recording equipment was set up. She pressed record on an empty track and began singing the second verse, her voice coming out soft and almost broken in contrast to her usual strong, belty tone. She was tired, both physically and emotionally, but she couldn’t walk back to that room. Not with him still laying asleep in her bed as if the two of them were a couple. 

After a few more takes, she had finally gotten her voice warmed up enough to where it didn’t sound completely like shit and she walked over to her work station to edit the track on top the music. 

With her mind now completely engulfed in her music, she didn’t noticed the sound of her toilet flushing or her bathroom sink running down the hall. She didn’t notice the sound of footsteps leading to her studio and her door opening slightly. 

It wasn’t until the feeling of a hand snaking its way around her neck drew her from her work as she jumped in her seat while clutching her chest in panic.

“Whatchu scared for? It’s just me,” Erik muttered, his voice still laced with drowsiness. “What are you doing up? Any other day you’d be knocked out.” His fingers gently squeezed at her neck and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the top of her head. It was weirdly intimate of him.

“I couldn’t sleep so I decided to work on something.” Nahla spun her seat around to face him. He had on a pair of low hanging shorts. She recognized them as being one of the pairs she bought for him whenever he decided to stay over. She mentally scoffed at the thought; buying clothes for a man who she wasn’t even in a relationship with. 

“You’re not leaving?” She asked. It had just dawned on her that, miraculously, Erik was still there. 

“Nah. I haven’t seen you in a while so I figured I’d stay for a little bit.” 

The sentiment made her heart flutter but she quickly grounded herself back to reality. She couldn’t afford to get her hopes up. 

“So, what are you working on?” He asked, his arms folded across his chest as he looked past her and at the open editing software on her computer. 

“Oh. Well I had a melody that was stuck in my head for a while so I put it down and write lyrics. I lowkey wanna find a mini orchestra to record it though.” 

“Well can I hear it?” He suggested. 

Nahla’s eyes widened and her heart skipped a beat. Despite knowing each other for the better part of two years now, this was the most he had ever expressed genuine interest in her music. 

“U-Uhh, I’m not sure… I get really sensitive about my stuff. Plus it’s not what you’d expect it to be,” she said, swirling her chair back around to face her work station as she hesitantly placed her hand on the mouse  and moved the cursor over the “play” button. After taking a deep breath, she played the song and closed her eyes as she waited for it to be over. Throughout the entirety of what little she had to play, Erik was silent, giving no response, comment, or critiques. When it was over, she reluctantly turned around to face him. 

“So? What do you think?”

“Yeah, I can definitely hear an orchestra going behind that. Maybe start off with piano first, then bring in strings or some shit during the hook,” he suggested, walking over to the other chair in the corner of her studio and sitting down. 

“Okay. Thanks.”

For about an hour or two, the two of them stayed up in her studio talking about random things while sharing a blunt together. They eventually migrated back to the bedroom and made their way beneath the covers together, Nahla’s body molding perfectly into Erik’s as they cuddled. 

“Nah, I’m deadass. I thought I had locked his cage, but he always finds a way to get out,” Nahla giggled, referring to her pet chameleon who always managed to get out of his cage. “I remember a few day ago I had just woken up and went into the kitchen to get some juice and I see him inside the sink just sitting there. Then he have the nerve to look up at me like ‘what are you doing here?’ No sir, what are you doing here.” 

Erik laughed softly while shaking his head. “Nah, I don’t think I could handle an animal just freely roaming my shit like that.”

“You get used to it after a while. I was low-key thinking about getting a snake too, but I gotta figure out where to put the tank.”

“Oh hell nah. If you get a snake, I’m not coming by anymore.”

“What?! You used to be a whole Navy Seal and you’re scared of snakes, E?” She asked, a bit surprised that he even shared that information with her. 

“Girl, I don’t know how you can even stand them things,” he mumbled, “slithering around and shit. What if it gets out when you’re sleep and starts choking you?”

“Then we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” she giggled, earning an eye roll from Erik. 

Though it didn’t seem possible, she pressed herself against Erik even harder, somehow managing to get even closer to him. Resting her head in the crook of his neck, she had a perfect view of the many scars and keloids that littered his body. She could tell some of them are new. Whether or not they were accidental or self inflicted, she didn’t want to know. 

It was times like these where Nahla wished that her outlandish fantasies of romance weren’t fantasies at all. Having never been in a real relationship before, she constantly longed to be loved by someone in a romantic sense. Though she knew that Erik probably never thought of her as more than a fuck buddy, it was nice to feel his warmth underneath her. Even if it was an illusion, it was nice to imagine him as her lover while he was holding her close. 

“What’s on your mind?” He pried, letting out a deep sigh before closing his eyes and relaxing his muscles. 

“Where do you go when you disappear?” She partially lied. Even though that wasn’t what truly was on her mind, it was still a question that lingered over her head for a while. 

“That, I can’t tell you ma. At least not right now.” 

She wasn’t satisfied with how curt his reply was. Sitting up, she supported her head with her hand, her elbow buried into the pillow beside his head as she peered down at him. 

“You can tell me,” she pried. A childish grin spread across her face. “If it’s something illegal I promise I won’t tell.”

Erik peaked one up up at her, a smile of his own taking over his featured. He pushed his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. “Mm… Maybe I could tell you a little bit. I don’t even know where to begin though without you thinkin’ I’m crazy.”

“I won’t think you’re crazy.”

“You say that now.” There was a pregnant pause, and then, in the most serious tone ever, he said, “I’m apart of African royalty.”

“So there’s this country in Africa called Wakanda. At first glance, it seems like a small lil third world country, but in reality, they’re the most advanced civilization on the planet. They got this metal called Vibranium that allows them to all sorts of things, but they keep it hidden from the rest of the world.”

“How? And if they kept it hidden from the world, then how do you know about it?”

“They have a dome that surrounds the entire country. It’s practically impenetrable. And the only reason I know is because my father was the prince. He was sent here on an undercover mission in America but quickly saw how shitty thing were here, so he wanted to change it. “

“Wait, your father is the prince of an African country?” Nahla couldn’t believe her ears. Despite being secretive and mysterious, she knew that Erik wasn’t one to lie. After all, what could he possibly gain from lying about something as far fetched as this?  

“Was. He was killed before he could enact any change; by his own brother no less.”

She could hear a pain and vulnerability in his voice that she’d never heard before. Now she definitely knew that he wasn’t lying. 

Erik’s face had turned to the side in a fruitless attempt to hide the tears that welled up in his eyes. He’d never brought up his family or much of his life before he met her in a conversation, and now she could see why. 

Hesitantly, Nahla reached up to wipe away the tears that left his eyes. “So you plan on going back and getting revenge?” She pondered. It would make sense why he’d want to stay under the radar,  having no social media accounts, no permanent phone number, and constantly disappearing for months at a time. If he wanted to infiltrate an entire hidden country, then he’d have to be the closest thing to a ghost a person could be. 

“It’s on the list,” he replied, sitting up in bed while resting back against the headboard. “But, my main goal is to change the world. Wakanda has technology and weapons that people can’t even begin fathom. If our people were able to get their hands on that kind of fire power, we wouldn’t have to worry about the White man oppressing us any longer.” 

The sadness that was once present in his eyes had long disappeared, instead being replaced with a burning passion. It filled her with joy to see him get passionate about something, but it also put her on edge. Nahla knew what his plan implied, and she didn’t put it past him to sacrifice countless lives in order to see his vision come to life.

Staying silent, she simply nodded, too afraid that she’d say the wrong thing if she opened her mouth. Tearing her gaze away from the man, she began contemplating on everything she had been thinking about prior to his arrival. Her feelings for him were still unwavering, but now she was starting to ponder on whether or not being with him was a wise decision. It didn’t take being a genius to know that Erik’s path was a set one. He was a determined, goal-driven man, and when his mind was made up, there was no convincing him to go back on his decision. 

If she followed him down that path, she wouldn’t be able to turn back. 

“Do I scare you?” 

Nahla looked back up only to be met with obsidian eyes boring straight into her deep brown ones. His question threw her for a loop, no doubt, considering how Erik was never one to be considerate of other people’s feelings. 

“H-Huh? What do you mean?” She knew exactly what he meant. 

“That look in your eyes… You’re scared of something. What is it?” He demanded in an eerily calm manner. 

Attempting to spare his feelings would be a futile decision; Erik read people like his favorite novel. Yet, for some reason, Nahla had no control over the words that left her mouth. 

She almost never did when she was around him. 

“Nothing. I just get a bit spooked in the dark,” she chuckled. 

Erik simply blinked at her, a look of uncertainty and doubt dancing around in his eye before he shrugged it off and laid back down in the bed, facing her completely. 

“You should get some rest. Goodnight,” he said softly, his eyes never leaving her. 

Upon hearing his words, Nahla felt an immense tiredness wash over her as if he casted a sleeping spell over her. She glanced over at the clock and noticed how it was nearly 4 AM. She had only three hours before she needed to get up and get ready for work. 

She was tired, but fear kept plaguing her mind. A fear that he wouldn’t be there when she woke up. Or, even worse, a fear that she had dreamt the entire night. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll be here when you wake up,” he whispered. 

Nahla wanted to believe him, so she did, closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep. 

[babybluebex]

no pressure at all! but if you'd want to write more stan!reader x tom I'd really love that

i literally FLEW to my computer to write this i love the concept of stan!reader so much ((also i tried second person writing here??? i actually like it a lot more than first whoops))

little one [tom holland x reader]

➽ pairing: tom holland x stan!fem!reader (y/n) ➽summary: when you find out you’re pregnant, you worry about how tom and your brother will react. ➽ word count: 1.6k ➽ warnings: angst, pregnancy, a lot of exposition that doesn’t matter tbh  ➽a/n: enjoy!! masterlist & taglist in my bio

Sebastian stood at the door to your room, just looking. It seemed like a lifetime ago that you had moved in with him, when you were just the smallest thing. Pink skirt and pigtails, toting your dolly with you. He had been young when you were born, but still an adult; he was in college, living in the dorms when his mother had called him and told him the good news. He remembered the day you were born: he had been sitting in a lecture when his little flip phone started buzzing in his pocket. It was his stepdad, your father, telling him that his sister was coming. He left the lecture early and made it to the hospital just in time to be the first person to hold you. He was instantly devoted. 

You moved in with him when you were six. His mom had told him that she needed to move back to Romania and that she planned to bring you, and panic had filled his chest. “No, no,” he said. “Sh-She just started school! She doesn’t speak the language, she’s making all kinds of friends here! Mom, you can’t relocate her, you just can’t.” 

“What else can we do?” your mother asked. “Are you going to watch her?”

A month later, Sebastian was your legal guardian. He came to school plays and parent-teacher conferences, he cleaned up your skinned knees, and he read you stories every night. The two of you had gotten into a habit of falling asleep next to each other, and it got to the point where the bed felt too empty without you. Too cold, too lonely.

When you were twelve, you and Sebastian moved into a new apartment. It was bigger and better suited for two people, and you got a big-girl room. You started sleeping in your own bed, but you had no idea the effect it had on your brother. He couldn’t sleep without you next to him, digging your heels into his back and taking up all the blankets. So, he picked his happy ass up out of bed and, making sure to bring his own blanket, came to linger in your doorway. “I… I can’t sleep without you,” he mumbled. 

“You’re a grown man, Seb,” you said; he was always amazed at the little lady you had become, a smart girl with a biting sarcasm, even when you were little. 

“Yeah, and every night for the past six years, I’ve had your feet in my back,” Sebastian said. He settled into your bed next to, and added, “Now, move over, munch, or I’ll drag you back to mine.” 

Sebastian leaned his head against the doorframe, looking at the room. The walls had once been pink but were now an off-white, more becoming of a young woman, and the band posters were replaced with art prints and collages of you with your friends. Sure, he knew everybody grew up eventually, and he liked you as an adult, but sometimes he missed the little girl who was missing her two front teeth. 

The door to the apartment slammed closed, and Sebastian unwillingly pulled himself from his daydream. “Hey, munch!” he called. “How was Tom?”

Back on Valentine's Day, when you told him about you and Tom, he was instantly thrilled. Even though he outwardly seemed like he didn’t like Tom, he knew that Tom would treat you like the princess you were. And, for the past few months, he had been. Flowers were sent to the apartment on a near-weekly basis, handwritten letters came in the mail regularly, and Sebastian often heard little giggling coming from your room when Tom would call you. He had seen you smitten over guys before, but Tom Holland was a different breed. 

After a date with Tom, you were guaranteed to be talking up a storm, but you were quiet. “Munch?” Sebastian called. “Y/N?”

There was a sniffle from the living room, and a meek, “Seb?” 

Sebastian’s heart fell, and he hurried to see you on the couch, the comfy tufted leather that Mackie had so highly praised. You were crying, your knees drawn up to your chest. “No, no, no,” Sebastian cooed and hugged you tightly. “What happened, darling, is everything okay? Did Tom say something? Did you guys… Did you guys break up?” 

You shook your head and opened your mouth, as if to speak, but a sob left instead. Your chest was so heavy, and you knew that admitting this to Sebastian-- to anyone-- would make it too real but the secret was killing you. You had known that you were pregnant for nearly a month now, but you didn’t want to tell anyone. You knew that your brother would say that you’re too young and that Tom would say that he had a career to think about. And, on a small level, you knew that was true. You couldn’t ask Tom to dismantle his life plans for you and a baby. 

“Talk to me, darling,” Sebastian whispered. “What’s wrong?” 

You sniffled and leaned into your brother’s warmth, and your tears became new. Sebastian would flip shit, you knew it. “I--” You started. “Please don’t be mad at me, please, I can’t take it right now--” 

“Hey, hey,” Sebastian said quickly. “I could never be mad at you. Please, talk to me. You’re breaking my heart here, Y/N.” 

You settled your cheek into Sebastian’s chest, and the emotions ran hot in your face and chest and belly. “Seb,” you whispered. “I… I’m pregnant.” 

A million different emotions ran through his brain at once. Elation, anger, confusion, and so much more. “You…” he started. “You’re--”

“I’m so scared, Seb,” you whispered. “W-What if Tommy wants to break up with me?” Your breaths came in quick, sharp gasps, and Sebastian held you tightly to try to ease the anxiety. He was prone to anxiety attacks like this too, and you had learned how to settle him down, but he hardly ever had to do it to you. You were so grounded, so level-headed and serious. This was the most emotionally unhinged that he had seen you in years. 

The sounds of your crying died away, and you found your ears full of deep whispers. You had learned bits and pieces of Romanian growing up-- enough to pull out as a party trick-- but could never fluently speak it like your mom and your brother could, but you recognized the sound of it. Sebastian was whispering Romanian to you in a lilting voice, and it took you a moment to place it. A song; a lullaby. Sebastian was singing you a lullaby. The sound of it eased your nerves enough to dry up your tears, and you sniffled a bit as you sat up, shedding your big brother’s protective embrace. 

“Look,” Sebastian began. “I know I act like a dick to Tom a lot, but… I really like him. I wouldn’t have let him stick around if I didn’t. I trust him to do the right thing here.” 

“B-But what if he doesn’t?” You whimpered. “Wh-What if he does leave?”

“If he leaves, it’s his own fucking loss,” Sebastian told you. “That baby doesn’t need anybody but you and me, right? I’ve got you, darling. I’ve always had you.”  

You nodded because, once again, your older brother was the wiser of you. You knew that everything he said was true, even if your whole body hadn’t quite absorbed it yet. Tom would be a great dad; and if he wasn’t, you had Sebastian. “Can you stay with me?” You asked, grabbing your brother’s hand. “I-I’m gonna call him.” 

“Sure thing, munch,” Sebastian said, and he settled his arm around your shoulders. His little sister, the same little girl that cried at Bambi and Bucky falling off the train, was going to be a mom. Where did the time go?, he wondered. 

The phone rang out quickly, and Tom answered it swiftly. “Hey,” he said. “I just dropped you off, is everything alright?” 

You took a deep breath. Your heart was beating so quickly that you could hear it in your ears, and you mumbled, “Yeah, yeah, I just… I have something to tell you.” 

“Oh,” Tom said. “Sure. What’s going on?” 

Sebastian’s gaze was fixed on you, and he gave you a prompting nod. “Tommy, I…” You started. It was real. This was real now. “I’m pregnant.” 

There was silence on the other end of the line, long and potent enough for anger to start to flare in Sebastian’s stomach. “Are you serious?” Tom whispered finally. His voice was static-y over the phone, and you couldn’t place his emotions at all. 

“I’m so sorry, Tom--”

“Sorry for what?” And then there was a laugh. “Are you really pregnant? Please don’t be kidding with me, you don’t know how happy this makes me!”

Sebastian gave a sigh of relief, and he wiped one of your tears away with his thumb. “I really am,” you told him. “You’re not mad?”

“Why the fuck would I be mad?” Tom laughed. “I’m gonna be a dad! I’m gonna be a dad, Y/N! Thank you, thank you! I love you so much, baby, you have no idea. Does Sebastian know yet?”

“Yeah,” you said. “He’s the first one I told.” 

“Oh, no,” Tom whispered. 

“Yeah, oh no,” Sebastian said. “Dating my sister’s one thing, Holland, but knocking her up is different. What, you’ve got an aversion to condoms or something? I’m gonna kill you.” 

“Hey, Sebastian,” Tom chuckled lightly. “Look, it was an accident--”

“Oh, ‘cause that makes it better?” Sebastian scoffed. “Jesus Christ, you’re lucky you’re not here right now--”

“Shut up, both of you,” you sighed. “Tommy, you swear you’re not mad?” 

“Why would I be mad?” Tom repeated. “I’m so thankful. Thank you, my love, thank you.”

[mckennamayfairgoode]

I Take Flight but You Hold Me

Wilhemina Venable x Reader

Word Count: 7k

Summary: You hate her. You hate the way she makes you feel, you hate the way you can’t get her out of your mind, you hate the way she makes you burn. You hate her, but you think maybe you could love her too.

Warnings: Brief mentions of past toxic relationships. Slight NSFW. Angst? Yes. Yearning? Haha, no of course not….. 👀 Also, yes. 

A/N: I’m supposed to be working on a fluffy Ally piece, but I love this song so much and all it does is make me think of Mina. So this happened instead. 🤷‍♀️ Writing her and trying to capture that snarkiness with the underlying insecurity was very difficult. But I think it came out okay.

Song: To Be Loved by Askjell (ft. AURORA)

You’d seen Wilhemina Venable before: walking through the hallways of Kineros Robotics, her cane tapping rhythmically against the ground in a way that insured others kept a wide berth; sitting outside on a picnic table during her lunch hour, always at the same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always; once, even, as you stepped out of the elevator to the parking garage at the end of the day. 

She’d stood ramrod straight next to her car, one hand gripping the head of her cane and the other fidgeting with her keys. Something inside you had tugged insistently and you had slowed to a stop, your gaze drawn to the fingerless gloves she wore. They were made of a dark purple leather that covered her slender hands all the way to the first knuckle. Her nails were short and unpainted and for some reason, you couldn’t stop staring.

Someone cleared their throat, breaking your trance and causing you to jerk back as if suddenly woken from a daydream. You looked up and met dark eyes. They were deep and brown and furious. She wore a scowl on her face, one you recognized easily as you’d seen it often enough when you passed her in the corridor. “Don’t you have somewhere to be instead of staring at me with that idiotic look on your face?” she snapped and you realized, in all your time working there, you had never heard her speak. 

Your face growing uncomfortably warm, you had muttered a vague apology under your breath as you darted past her and into the direction of your car. Her voice had been nice. Low and husky with a slight rasp that gave you goosebumps. You tried not to think about how you could feel her eyes on your back.

You went home that night and lay in your bed and tried to ignore the heat coiled low in your belly. But your thoughts ran rampant in your mind, pulling and twisting into versions of her you had yet to see. You wondered, if when she touched you, whether she would take those gloves off or keep them on so that all you could feel were her fingertips. You wondered if she would speak to you, low and husky and warm. You wondered if her bite would sting.

The thought burned you from the inside out.

--

The next week, your boss retired and you were granted a promotion. You were excited at first. A better job meant better pay, but now, as you stand in front of Wilhemina Venable’s desk, you think maybe it’s not all that worth it after all. 

“I don’t have time to sit here and indulge in your little exercise. Unlike some people in this establishment, I have actual work to do,” she says, tapping at her computer and not bothering to spare you a glance. Like you are less interesting than a fly she has to swat away. The notion churns in your gut, twisting your insides unpleasantly. You resist the urge to shift on your feet, knowing that she will catch the motion in the corner of her eye and latch onto it like a dog with a bone. She is an apex predator always looking for weaknesses she can exploit. You refuse to show her any.

“This ‘little exercise’ comes down from Jeff and Mutt. Spending time with you isn’t exactly on my list of priorities,” you snap and you blink and you wonder where it came from.

Her motions cease, fingertips hovering over her keyboard. You try to ignore the way your gaze lingers on her hands. “Is that so?” She looks up then, suddenly meeting your eyes. You want to look away, to move, but you feel frozen in place. They are so brown. Her words are sharp when she speaks. “Do you not recall the gaping fish impression you showed me in the parking garage last week?” 

“I wasn’t gaping,” you retort, neck warming. You hope she can’t see. The flick of her eyes to your ears tells you she can. 

Venable gives you a blank look. “Of course not. Because that would imply that the space between your ears is filled with more than just hot air.” The words get under your skin. They rake across the sensitivity of your nerves and coil around your very being and sink into your bones and you hate it. A part of you thinks you could hate her.

Your spine feels like it might snap as you stand up straight, tension lining the squared edge of your shoulders. “Ms. Venable, we really need to discuss these layoffs,” you say, hoping that professionalism will get through to her so you can go on about your day pretending that she doesn’t set your soul on fire.

She arches a single dark brow, pursing her lips. “What layoffs?”

“I’ve been looking at the account ledgers. We’re overstaffed.”

Venable tilts her head, studying your face. “And what is someone with the brain capacity of a park squirrel doing looking at our accounts?”

Your jaw flexes as you grit your teeth. “That’s my job.”

“Since when?”

“Since three days ago when the head of finance retired.”

“Oh really? And they chose you to replace him?” She clicks her tongue, lips pursing once more. They’re a plum color. You silently reprimand yourself for noticing. “I can’t imagine why. It’s clear you have no capacity for intelligence, no work ethic, and not enough brain cells to do it yourself.”

Heat washes through you like an ocean’s surf. “You’re HR,” you retort.

Her fist clenches around the top end of her cane, those damned leather gloves creaking beneath the force of it. “And you’re finance. As far as I’m concerned, if it weren’t for your department, we wouldn’t be in this mess to begin with.” She locks eyes with you for one long moment that makes your breath catch. You force yourself to remain still and curse the fight or flight instinct inside you that’s telling you to run, that she is a danger, that if you look directly at her, you will be turned to stone. “Figure it out,” she demands, voice clipped. Then she drops her eyes and returns her gaze to the screen of her computer.

You resist the overwhelming urge to shove everything off her desk and demand her attention, her time, her respect. Your body burns with anger and humiliation and the need to know what her gloves would feel like against your bare skin, but you smother it down and squash it beneath your foot like a lit cigarette into the pavement of a sidewalk. You turn and walk away and listen as the same rhythmic tapping from before resumes as if you had never been there at all.

You feel her eyes on you as you leave, but when you turn to look, all you can see is the top of her head. It was just your imagination, you tell yourself. The piece of you that spent a better part of a year being aware of any and all movement tells you that isn’t true. This isn’t the first time you’ve been in the sights of a predator.

However, it is the first time you find yourself hoping that you are.

--

Later that night, you still sit hunched over your desk, finalizing the changes you made to the account ledgers. You don’t know what time it is. All you know is that the sun had gone down long ago, that your back will probably hurt in the morning, that you’re exhausted and your brain is running on fumes, but also that you need to finish. Just a little more time, and you can save these people and their jobs. Maybe a part of you wants to show Venable that you can do it too. She doesn’t believe you can. So you will.

You hear her coming before you see her. The building is completely void of life except for the janitor who came by to greet you a few minutes or an hour ago, you’re not sure. The steady tapping of her cane against the pristine flooring echoes in the empty space around you. You look at your computer, save your progress, and wait.

She appears in your doorway like a ghost draped in lavender. Her pale skin and bright red hair stand out from the shadows like the highlights in an oil painting. You will yourself to look away, but find that you can’t. She raises her eyebrows at the sight of you. “You’re still here.” It’s not a question.

You bristle at the tone of her voice and sit up in your chair. You want to cross your arms, but don't; you don’t want her to think you’re being defensive. She will only see it as an act of war and you are too tired to battle with her tonight. Maybe tomorrow you will adorn your sword and shield and finish what you started, but tonight... Tonight, you just want to look at the stars in her eyes. “I had some things to finish up,” you say once you finally find your voice.

Venable hums, her eyes raking over your form in a way that is not comforting at all. Her path raises goosebumps along your skin. You tell yourself not to blush, and bite back a curse when you do. You search her form for a reason to break the tense silence between you when you notice the folder she holds between her fingers. “What is that?” You nod to the item in question. 

She glances down at it as if she forgot she was holding it in the first place before extending it out for you to take. “It’s a list of low level employees.”

You rifle through the papers and recognize several of the names. People you know, people who work under you, people who trust you. There’s the janitor who always checks on you when you work late and the security guard at the front desk who greets you every morning by name and the young woman who used to work in the cubicle next to yours before you were promoted. Her name is Maria and she has a daughter. You know because there’s a picture on her desk of a little girl with a gap-toothed smile. Your stomach churns unpleasantly. “So those you deem expendable.” You can’t help the bitter tone to your voice. 

Venable catches on if the slight raise of her eyebrow is anything to go by. “They’re replaceable,” she says simply. 

You shake your head and with a flick of your wrist, toss the file back onto your desk. It slides to a stop back in front of her. “I don’t need it.”

She blinks once, twice. “What?” She watches as you stand and begin to gather your belongings. “What do you mean you ‘don’t need it’? Unless you simply tossed them from the window, someone still needs to be fired. Don’t tell me you’re that incompetent,” she scoffs.

You grab your bag by the strap and throw it over your shoulder. “I figured it out,” you respond, voice bitter and words sharp like knives. You refuse to be prey, to roll over until your belly is exposed and your weaknesses are aired out for the whole world to see. Not again. Especially not for her.

Just as you’re about to march out the door, she grabs your arm. You freeze in place. You think you both do. The tips of her bare fingers brush the inside of your wrist and you wonder why your skin burns when her hands are so cold. You can’t think, you can’t breathe, you can only stand there and wonder if she can feel the rhythm of your heartbeat beneath her fingertips. Does it speak to her? Does she understand? Does she want to?

You lock eyes. One long, impenetrable moment passes between you and you hate that you can’t tell what she’s thinking, you hate that she has your heart in her grip, you hate her, you hate her, you hate her. She blinks and the sharp glint in her gaze returns. You snatch your wrist back before she can say something that poisons your soul. You flee your office like it’s on fire. But it’s not your office that’s on fire. It’s you.

--

When you’re alone, you think about her. You chastise yourself, force the thoughts away, but eventually, like the tide rolling in, they always, always come back. It is infuriating. You don’t really know this woman, and the things you do know are nothing good. She is selfish and entitled, cruel and hateful, and worst of all, she makes you burn without ever having touched you a single time.

The sound of the bell jingling above the door yanks you abruptly from your thoughts and you resist the urge to sigh out loud as you realize, once again, where your mind has gone. You tighten your grip on your book, forcing yourself to concentrate on the words but only managing to repeat them several times as they don’t sink in like they should. You’re vaguely aware of a familiar thumping sound growing steadily closer and it’s not until it stops at your side that you realize what it is. Or rather, who it is. You look up to see dark brown eyes already staring down at you.

“You’re in my chair,” she says before you can even work up the courage to speak.

You blink. “Excuse me?” For a moment, you’re reminded of the picnic table she sits at during her lunch hour. The same table, the same space, facing the sidewalk, always, always.

“I know it’s hard for you to comprehend the English language, but if you could summon all of your brain cells to at least try, I’m sure society would thank you.” Venable looks at you disdainfully, her eyes flicking to the open collar of your shirt and then down to the book clasped in your hands. “Lord knows I won’t,” she mutters. 

You bristle at her tone, at her words, at her everything. “This is a public space, Wilhemina.” She blinks owlishly at your use of her first name and taps her cane against the ground, just once, before settling both of her hands on top of it. It is a warning you ignore. “You don’t own this chair or this table or this cafe. I’m sure you can find another seat.” With that said, you turn back to your book, intending to ignore her further.

It works… until you hear the scraping of a chair against the floor and you glance up just in time to see her easing into the space across from you. She pulls a book out of her bag and sets it on the table, but does not open it. She looks at you instead, her eyes cold and calculating as she tries to size you up. You could imagine the gears in her head turning but you decide you don’t want to see inside her mind. If you did, you don’t think you’d make it out alive. “I don’t recall asking you to take a seat,” you comment pointedly. Your body hums at her close proximity and it drives you mad.

“I don’t recall asking for permission,” she snaps back. You huff, but concede her point and avert your gaze, anything to keep yourself from looking into her eyes. “I’ve never seen you here before,” she says. 

“That’s because I’ve never been here before,” you retort under your breath, looking at the words on the page but not reading them. 

“Then why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you here? In my chair?”

You sigh and close your book. “How exactly is it your chair?”

“It’s my table.” Her response is spoken with the conviction of someone who thinks they are always right. Your nostrils flare in annoyance. Venable’s eyes are intense and endless as she studies you like you are a science marvel she can’t figure out and it makes you uncomfortable, like you’re nothing more than an experiment under a microscope. She tilts her head, the motion causing her bright red ponytail to fall over one shoulder. 

Your eyes travel the length of it and you’re suddenly gripped with the urge to free it from it’s restraint. You want to see it draped over her bare shoulders or formed into a halo around her head. You want to know what it would look like in the morning, in the earliest rays of sunlight, if it would hurt your eyes to see. You swallow the ball in your throat. “What?”

She rolls her eyes. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

You raise your eyebrows and fold your hands around your coffee cup, allowing the warmth to seep into your skin, your bones, eager to feel anything other than the burn inside you. “I just moved down the street from here,” you answer absentmindedly, watching as a man pulls out a chair for the woman in his company. She smiles up at him, warm and real. She’s in love with him, you think. You can see it in her eyes.

“Why?”

You sigh. "Why do you care?” 

She laughs and it startles you so much that you turn to watch it leave her lips. It lights up her face but it is not right. It is cold and harsh and cruel. You wonder if this is what the gods hear before they are smote and sentenced to a mortal life on Earth. “Care?” She laughs again, and shakes her head as if the thought alone is one she wishes to physically knock from her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. I merely wish to know if this will be a common occurrence.”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest and you hate, hate, hate how she can get under your skin. You will not give her the satisfaction of watching you break. You shrug indifferently. “Considering this is the closest coffee place to my apartment, probably.” She looks peeved and you preen a bit like a proud peacock for finally making her feel something other than indifference. You stand up to leave.

“Wait,” she stops you. She doesn’t move; she doesn’t have to when your body ceases all movement as soon as she speaks. That fact alone fills you with dread. You watch in amazement as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat. She flicks her ponytail back over her shoulder and lifts her chin. “You don’t have to leave.”

For the second time in less than an hour, you feel yourself become speechless. “What?”

She rolls her eyes, runs the tip of her index finger absentmindedly along the spine of her worn, hardback novel. “Stay,” she says. She sniffs then, as if allergic to kindness. “If you’d like.”

You meet her eyes, briefly, intensely, too long and not long enough. It feels like a trap. Your brain throws mental hazard signs all around for you to see, bright flashing lights and neon letters that read ‘DANGER, DANGER! DEAD END; TURN AROUND BEFORE IT’S TOO LATE.’ You don’t. “Okay,” you find yourself saying. You sit back down in your seat, pull your book closer to your chest and resume where you left off. Your eyes dart back to her figure and you watch from across the table as Venable does the same. 

Silence settles between you like a blanket. It is warm and comforting and still, you burn.

--

The next week, Venable comes into the coffee shop on her usual day at her usual time, and just as she expected, she finds her chair empty. What she didn’t expect to find was you, sitting on the other side. 

No words are spoken. She takes her seat, you stay in yours. You drink your coffee, you read, you people watch, you take comfort in another person’s presence. You don’t know why, but you feel safe.

You hate it. Truly, you do. It doesn’t make any sense. How can you be safe in the presence of the one who belittles you? Who makes you feel small? Who has only shown you cruelty and whose words are always laced with razor blades? 

And then you realize, this makes perfect sense. For the woman you used to love hid her cruelty behind pretty words and even prettier lies. She had torn you down and disguised the knife in your heart as a beautiful red rose. She had put your hand around the hilt and convinced you that it was you who had done the hurting, the breaking, the stabbing. She had said, with conviction and earnestness in her words, that you were the cause of everything that was wrong with you and her and the both of you together. You had believed her.

Venable is not like that. She does not lie. She does not hide. If you want to find her, all you have to do is look- and she is a painting. It’s pretty at first glance, but the longer you look, the more you see. The beautiful and the ugly, the deepest darkness and the hidden light, all the things she tries to hide and fails to be rid of. You see her.

Sometimes, you wonder if she can see you too.

--

The days bleed into weeks and you wonder if you will ever be free of this hold she has on you. It’s like the seed she’s buried in your head has finally taken root and no matter how hard you try to fight it, you can’t get her out. That’s days, weeks, it feels like years, that you spend thinking about Venable, burning and scorching until you’re sure all that’s left inside is ash. You hate it. You think you might hate her. No, you don’t, a part of you whispers, but you ignore it like you always do.

You butt heads at work. Often and with force, but she will never fire you, because despite her best efforts to prove otherwise, you are competent and you get things done. She thinks you are a menace; you think she is a mad goddess high on a pedestal of her own making. You want to knock her off. You refuse to be another sheep cowering at her feet. When you pass her in the corridors, when you see her on her lunch hour (the same table, the same space), even during the late evenings when you catch her in the parking garage, you don’t cower. You don’t flinch. You look her in the eyes and dare her to smite you.

Every Saturday at 7:50 in the morning, you go to the coffee shop down the street from your apartment. You sit at the table in the back right corner with a coffee and a book and you wait. At 8 o’clock on the hour, Venable will join you. She will sit in the chair facing the room, pull out her novel, and read while you do the same. 

The thoughts that plague your mind don’t stop until you are in her presence. When she sits down, your mind goes quiet. Finally, finally. So you sit and you read and sometimes, only sometimes, do you wish you could reach across the table and stroke her hand.

You rarely speak. When you do, it’s a discussion about literature, about the authors you find redundant and the works you think are derivative. Sometimes, she will comment on something that has happened at work. It is always sarcastic, a jab at some hapless employee or something inane like she is just trying to fill the silence, like she wants to talk to you.

You know this can’t be true. Venable likes no one, takes pleasure from no one’s company, but sometimes you think maybe she doesn’t mind yours.

--

You and Venable eventually settle into a new rhythm, one that ebbs and flows with the days and the flux of your emotions but it is one that is constant and real. Most of your arguments have progressed from barely concealed insults to clever banter and a back-and-forth repertoire that make smiles come unwittingly to your mouth. She smiles sometimes too when she thinks you aren’t looking. A little lift at the corner of her mouth, barely there, but noticeable all the same.  Only because she never smiles and it looks so out of place there on the curve of her lips. If you blink, it will disappear, but you see it. You always do. You think it is beautiful; you also think you are losing your mind, being so attracted to a person you dislike. But you don’t hate her, a little voice in the back of your head reminds you.

You can live with that though. The attraction, the thoughts running on a never ending cycle in your mind, the burn. And you do, for many weeks that turn into months that turn into long hours working together in overtime, that turn into you sometimes joining her on her picnic table during lunch, the same table, the same space, always, always. It isn’t lost on you that she’s let you intrude on her safe spaces, not once, but twice. You don’t know what it means so you don’t think about it. You don’t want to give water to a plant you aren’t sure you want to grow. And you are fine with that. You live with it.

Until one day, you fuck up.

--

It’s one of those Saturday mornings in which you speak. These mornings are not so rare anymore, but when they happen, you cherish them, turn them into memories in your mind. You don’t even know why, but you bottle them up like four leaf clovers and put them in your pocket for safe keeping. The sun is out, shining through the window over Venable’s shoulder. It sets her hair aflame. It hurts your eyes to see, but you can’t look away.

You don’t even remember what you’d said and doesn’t that just eat you up inside? That a woman you can’t stand has the ability to completely turn your brain to mush? You’d said something and it had just come bubbling out of her: a laugh. A real one, warm and low and husky. The sound of it makes it seem like she laughs all the time, like those laugh lines around her beautiful mouth are genuine. You have never seen her look happy before. You wonder if you make her happy. You wonder if you could, if she would let you.

As you look at her, as you watch the smile on her face grow, as her hand comes up to settle on her collarbone like the motion will keep her heart from leaping out of her chest, you feel your own heart drop unpleasantly into your stomach. And you freeze.

Oh.

Oh, no.

You don’t know when it happened. When the Venable who made you feel small became the Venable who laughs at your jokes and smiles where you can see her. When the Venable who tore you down became the Venable who presses her hand into the small of your back when she passes by you at the office. When the Venable you detested and who detested you became the Wilhemina who makes you feel safe.

You don’t know, you don’t know, you don’t know.

She is the deep blue underbelly of the ocean and she is pulling you under. You don’t want to drown. You want to burn and burn and burn. But she looks at you and douses your fire. She is the chain around your ankle, the anchor weighing you down, pulling and pulling and you wonder at what point you stopped fighting and let yourself sink.

Stomach churning, you lurch from your seat and make for the door.

No, no, no. 

You don’t notice her following you until you’ve made it down the sidewalk and feel her hand clasp around your wrist. Just like old times. Her fingers are gentle and soothing and this time, they trace the veins under your skin, timid and softly and barely there but you can feel her. You want to weep. You wonder if she’d been wanting to do that, if she had wanted to do that last time. Can she feel how your heart beats for her?

You watch her fingers for a moment, too scared to look in her eyes, fearful of what might be there. What if she wants you too? What if she doesn’t?

“Wilhemina-” you start, and that single word has her dropping your wrist as if it were on fire. Maybe it is. Maybe you are.

Her eyes darken and she turns without saying a word. Your heart in your throat, you watch her back as she walks away, determination in every step she takes. The picture is enough to hurt you more than the idea of falling in love with her scares you. 

You’ve been hurt before. Mistreated, gas lighted, bruised, and broken. But you are not broken anymore. You remade yourself. You became a new you that you rebuilt from the ground up, piece by piece, until you were a wall of solid brick. You are not soft, you are not naive or gullible or innocent, not any longer. You know the damage she could do, the danger she poses to your heart and your soul and your brand new walls. How did she knock them down without you realizing? The only conclusion that you come to is that she was supposed to. 

You realize, suddenly, with an ache in your heart, that the walls weren’t meant to protect you. They were not even made of bricks. They were the walls of a home and inside was your heart and painted on the front door was a sign. A sign addressed to Wilhemina Venable that simply read: Come on in.

You’d taken too long. She’s almost at the end of the block now. Your heart thunders in your chest as you break into a jog, rushing to catch up with her. “Mina!” The nickname tumbles from your lips before you can stop it.

Wilhemina jerks to a halt, shoulders angry and bunched up around her ears, reminiscent of a disgruntled cat. She locks her fingers around the head of her cane. It seems like she might turn around, like she might let you in. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. For a moment, you think she might. Her head turns to the side, just barely, just enough for you to admire the way the sun glints off the sharpness of her cheekbones. But you blink and she’s walking away from you still.

You dodge pedestrians and cyclists and dogs on leashes and in your mind, you beg and plead for her to stop, to turn around, to do anything but walk away from you. You would rather her yell at you and belittle you and call you names. You would rather feel her thorns against your skin, or feel the ire build up in your bones until you know nothing but anger, anything, anything, but this intense helplessness. You can’t do anything but run.

By the time you catch up with her, she is ascending the steps to a townhouse. You reach the mailbox, watching as she pulls her keys from her pocket and fiddles with them like she doesn’t actually want to use them, but feels like she must.  “Please don’t run away,” you plead, your voice quiet from exhaustion, from pain, from the feeling of your love for her overwhelming you completely as it fills your body and inflates your soul. You wonder how you hadn’t felt it before. 

Wilhemina stops and you could sob with relief when she finally, finally looks at you. Her eyes are so very dark, but they are not stone. They are weary, cautious and guarded, but not impenetrable. “Excuse me?”

“You heard what I said,” you retort, and it’s just like old times. The sparring games that never really ceased. It’s time to pick up your sword and shield and fight for the love of your life. “Please, Mina.”

Her jaw flexes and you can see her knuckles whiten from where her fingers grip the head of her cane. “I’m not running from anything. I am simply going home.”

“Really?” You move down the sidewalk, closer to her and further away from the real world. You want to live inside her bubble if she will let you. As she has before. As she will again. If you cannot quit her, she cannot quit you. Please, please, please. “Because I think you love me and that scares the hell out of you. Well, guess what, it scares the hell out of me too.” It hurts to say, and a part of you is afraid that voicing it out loud may make it disappear, but your heart still yearns and your chest still burns. The realization that it’s real, that it’s not all in your head, has you ascending her front porch steps. You need to be closer. You need to look in her eyes and feel the weight of the world lift from your shoulders. You need to see the stars.

“Funny, I recall you fleeing the coffee shop like I had a disease. Clearly, you don’t want to be seen with-'' You kiss her, smother the words against her lips and press her back into the townhouse door, holding her firmly but gently against you. If love is a person, you can feel her right now beneath your hands. Warm and soft and whole.

She hesitates, only for a second, before you hear the clatter of keys and her cane falling to the steps. Her hands reach up, bare of her gloves, and wrap around the collar of your shirt, simultaneously pulling you in and pressing against you. She bites your lip, harsh and unforgiving, and it stings but it hurts so good. You whimper when she soothes it with her tongue. “Foolish girl,” she hisses against your mouth.

“Am I?” You ask breathlessly, running your fingers up her spine. She’s trembling, but she leans into your touch all the same. “I think you like that about me,” you murmur against her lips.

You look into her eyes. They are still guarded, still cautious and they search your face like she is waiting for the punchline. You realize, with a great overwhelming sadness, that she is expecting you to laugh at her, to betray her and say it’s all a joke. She is afraid of you. You reach up with your other hand to sooth the furrow between her brows. You follow the elegant line of her nose, trace the small groove above her top lip, brush your fingertips along the curves of her mouth. “I won’t hurt you,” you whisper. Like it is a secret, and maybe it is, but it’s a secret just for her.

You watch in wonder as Venable disappears, as chocolate brown eyes turn glossy and vulnerable, as her lips tremble, and Wilhemina appears before you. Your gazes lock, and if two souls can speak to one another, you know that yours are speaking right now. They’ve been waiting for each other all this time.

You take one of her hands in yours and press it against your chest, to the erratic beating heart beneath your shirt. She may be the ocean, surrounding you, pulling you under, and holding you down, but you realize that you were the anchor all along. You will not falter, you will not move. She is a force to be reckoned with and you- you are the stone that will not break. “Feel that?” you ask. She nods, bites her lip, searches your eyes for the answers to questions you don’t yet know. You don’t need to know the questions. You vow to find the answers anyway. “That’s yours,” you say. “That’s for you. No one else. Not now, not ever, not even before. It’s always been yours.”

“That’s very poetic,” she murmurs huskily, trying to sound sarcastic, but her voice wavers and loses the sharpness to her tone. Her eyes are wet. You realize yours are too.

“I’ve seen what you read,” you respond. You feel her hand curl into a fist above your heart. “You like my poetry.”

She snorts, leans up, brushes her nose down the length of yours. You kiss her once, just to feel her beneath your lips. “Possibly,” she admits under her breath when you pull away. You smile, kiss her again and again and again. She leans into you like she wants to crawl inside of you and become one person, one soul, one being. You think you already are.

Her tongue slides into your mouth, hot and insistent, overwhelming your senses and causing your brain to stutter. The burn that settled in your being when you saw her that moment in the parking garage flares like a fire that’s been coaxed to life with kerosene. You’re familiar with this burn, with the nature of it. It has been a piece of you for months now. The very first moment you met her, she crawled into your heart and built a fire inside you. As she sucks your tongue into her mouth and bites at the tip and her nails scratch down the length of your neck, you realize that this fire was never meant to go out. It was meant to be a bonfire that could rival the stars.

You don’t know when you picked up her keys and her cane, or when she unlocked the door to her townhouse, or when you followed her up the stairs. You don’t know when you lost your clothes or she lost hers or when you traced her spine with kisses. You don’t know how you got here, with her underneath you, her long red hair splayed across her pillow like a halo around her head, but you are here. And you are in love. 

You watch her throat bob when she swallows. She’s staring at the ceiling as if it holds the answers to the universe. Her eyes are not guarded, or weary, but cautious. Look at me, please look at me, please, please, please. And she does. Your heart somersaults in your chest. She is right. You are a fool. 

The cautious look is gone, replaced with a determination that is both strange and familiar. She cups your face in her hands and tugs you down until your faces are so close, you can feel her lips brush yours with every breath she takes. “I might hurt you,” she admits, voice trembling as she looks into your eyes and you wonder if you look as scared as she does. “But I will try. What I hurt, I will soothe.” Her thumb traces the spot she bit not moments ago.

“I know,” you whisper, before you lean down and press your lips together once more. You gently bring your body down to rest on top of her so that all you can feel is your naked skin against hers. It is warm and soft and unbearable and you know you are crying but they are happy tears. As your kiss deepens, and her tongue comes home to meet yours, you feel a saltiness fall into your mouth and you realize that she is crying too. You kiss her and worship her and love her, love her, love her.

You fall like an anchor into her ocean where you will sit unmovable, impenetrable, always and forever. Her waves can lash at you, the tides can rise and fall, but you will not break. For her, you will be everything.

You breathe her in and feel her body move beneath your bare skin. You trace her spine with your fingertips, press kisses to her collarbone, hold her in the palm of your hands like she is the whole entire world. And to you, she is. You show her the night sky when she closes her eyes, and you teach her to reach up and take the stars for herself. You tell her you love her and you make promises you know you will keep. She doesn’t have to say it back. You can see it in her eyes, feel it in the way she kisses you, in the tender way she traces your face and looks at you like you are the sun. You wonder if she can feel your heartbeat against her chest.

You make love and you burn and burn and burn until you are a supernova ready to come crashing down into her ocean.

[haikyuu-scenarios-drabbles]

Shower Friends (Miya Atsumu x F!reader)

The dorm you live in has co-ed bathrooms. Why that’s remotely a good idea is beyond you; and recently, your precious shower time is being interrupted by a certain blonde haired setter for the volleyball team. When he lies to his teammates that he has a girlfriend, somehow you get roped into his scheme.

genre(s): college!au, fake dating, angst, fluff, mutual pining, enemies to lovers (kinda), eventual smut (maybe)  words: 4.1k warnings: mentions of alcohol

a/n: im certified atsumu simp now 

taglist: @apollochjld @kurosarium @vicassa @carbs-need-more-love @underratedmage @idek-at-thispoint @wtfeverbrandi @food8me @yikes-buddy @ntimacy @nyxiie

| Chapter One |

Chapter Two

When you turn the corner to head towards the gym, Atsumu is already waiting for you. Determined to make this as convincing as possible, he slings an arm around your shoulders and you do a fantastic job of pressing yourself against his side, wrapping your own arm around his middle. You ignore the thought that he is comfortingly warm and very solid next you, reminding yourself you’re doing this for peaceful showers.

The two of you approach the gym and as if they were waiting for you, the entire team is standing at the entrance. A few of their brows raise, clearly surprised Atsumu wasn’t lying. Though some of them look suspicious, eyeing the two of you up and you prepare yourself for questions.

When you get within earshot, one of them shouts, “Wow Miya, we really thought you were lying!”

“Yeah! Why’ve you been hiding this beauty from us, huh?”

Before he can speak, for some reason you decide to take the blame, answering, “I was a little nervous to meet you all for a while.”

If Atsumu is surprised at all, he hides it, instead holding you a bit closer, his hand splaying across your opposite shoulder and gushing, “Cute, isn’t she?”

One of them who doesn’t seem convinced asks, “So how’d you meet?”

Now Atsumu takes the lead. “Funny story actually! We met in the bathroom! Her favorite shower stall is the one right next to mine, and we both like late night showers.”

You can’t help the frown that turns your lips downward. “He wouldn’t leave me alone,” you admit, making the members of the team smirk a little bit. “I swear, he’d wait around for me.”

“I did not!” He pouts, and it’s beginning to look like the more suspicious members are starting to believe you.

So, you go in for the kill. “Sure, you didn’t,” you smile, reaching up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek that you don’t give yourself time to think is okay or not. That seems to stun Atsumu, which is a feat in itself, but you don’t give anyone time to think anything of it as you give them a light wave goodbye and slip out of Atsumu’s arms. “It was nice meeting you all, but shouldn’t you get to practice? I’m sure I’ll be seeing you more often now!”

They give you parting waves, some of them just as stunned as Atsumu seems to be. On your way out, you risk a glance backwards and see them surround Atsumu, one of them pulling him into a headlock and ruffling his blonde locks while they all laugh and enter the gym. Atsumu grinning the widest of them all. You aren’t sure why, but you’re smiling too. Strangely glad to have helped him out.

His teammates encircle him, clapping him on the back and congratulating him, jokingly calling him a bastard for going and snagging a girl like that. He can’t help thinking the same. You shocked him with that kiss out of the blue, enough that he probably looked more lovestruck than shocked to his teammates. He’s impressed with your commitment to this charade.

Before he disappears into the gym, Atsumu takes one last look at you heading down the path. That went perfectly. And even though he knows he shouldn’t, he thinks about that small little kiss the entire practice.

The following days are absolute hell. You have to garner the courage to tell your roommate before word gets out because the rumor that Miya Atsumu finally has a girlfriend spreads like wildfire. She’s hurt at first, but like you suspect, she forgives you after you tell her how you and Atsumu met.

She seems to think the shower story is the most adorable thing she’s ever heard as her squeals of, “So cute!!” are loud enough you swear the entire floor must hear it.

Your daily routine changes, feeling like you have to peer around every corner in fear of the fan club waiting to ambush you. But after reluctantly disclosing that to Atsumu, you notice he makes a point to walk with you whenever he can. His arm wrapped around your shoulders and once when you actually do run in to the fan club, the glare he gives them is cold enough to ice over a lake and you’re pretty sure they won’t bother you even if Atsumu is absent.

Additionally, you and Atsumu start spending a lot more time together. You eat lunch with him almost every day, sometimes joined by a few members of the team, sometimes by your roommate, other times the two of you eat alone. And you’re beginning to find those are the days you like the most. The days when the two of you can just be without feeling the pressure to pretend.

“So does your brother still play volleyball?” You ask one day, curious why if they were such a powerhouse in high school why they didn’t continue that into college.

“I always liked volleyball just a little more than him.”

“He quit?”

Atsumu shrugs, shoving another mouthful of rice into his mouth. “He went to culinary school, always had a weird place in his heart for food.”

“And that was volleyball for you?”

He stares at you, unprepared for this barrage of questions. There was this strange familiarity growing between the two of you, and the more time he spends with you alone the more he feels like he knows you. It makes it easier to pretend for everyone else, but he’s starting to wonder if it’s making it harder for him to remember this is all pretend.

Before he can reply, you continue, “If you love volleyball so much, why aren’t you playing professionally then?”

His brows lift. “And how did yer pretty little ears hear about that?”

You roll your eyes, but definitely need to shove the feeling of embarrassment down to be able to admit, “My roommate told me.”

“Curious today, aren’tcha?”

You stiffen. “Well, I should probably know these things if we’re dating,” you mumble, returning to your food trying to hide your flustered expression.

Yet again, you surprise him with your commitment to this façade. The two of you could easily sit here in silence since it’s just the two of you, but since you’ve started eating lunch together both of you have started to get to know the other more. So, he just smiles at you and admits, “Yeah, I could, but I was kinda lookin’ forward to the whole college experience, ya know?” He rests his chin in his hand, wondering if he should continue. He hasn’t really told anyone his feelings about playing professionally, and how he feels that with every day he ignores the offers the less likely he’ll be able to make the transition the longer he waits. “I’m still thinkin’ about it. The offers are still there.”

You cock your head, and he refuses to look at you, feeling like you have a gift for seeing straight through him. “Is college that great?”

Now he laughs, and in an attempt to bring this conversation back to lighter waters he wraps an arm around you and smothers you against his chest teasing, “Yeah, otherwise I wouldn’ta met you!”

You roll your eyes and tell yourself that for the sake of the charade you let yourself sink into his embrace. When he releases you, you stick your tongue out at him. “I know you purposefully changed the subject, but I’ll let it slide. Consider yourself lucky.”

He puts his hands together in a fake prayer. “I’ll forever remember the kindness,” he says dramatically.

To which you scoff, “I highly doubt that.”

~

You study together when he’s available, but usually volleyball takes precedence over studying most nights. Sometimes he joins you in the library late at night, finding you in your favorite corner, plopping down beside you, blonde hair damp from the quick shower he took and distracting you from schoolwork with how practice went that day.

Already a few weeks in to your agreement, one night the two of you are in the library rather late, Atsumu’s practice ended late and he has a paper due in the morning that he’s desperate to finish. For the first hour, he’s chatty, unable to focus on what he needs to get done, despite constant reminders from you and promises that you’ll go get ice cream from the dining hall when he finishes.

The next hour, he seems to get in the zone, typing furiously away on his computer. Honestly, he isn’t sure if what he’s writing is even good but at this point, he doesn’t care, it just needs to get done.

But after his stint of concentration, you’re suddenly struck by the realization that he’s been silent beside you for a few minutes now. No sound of typing or conversation, and it goes on long enough that you become concerned. Looking over, you find him slumped over in his chair, head on his keyboard, fast asleep.

You fight the urge to laugh at him. Taking only a few selfish moments to marvel over his face, his usual smirking expression replaced by his eyes softly closed and his mouth slightly open. He sighs a deep breath before subconsciously stretching his arms out across the table and you get a nice view of his biceps flexing beneath his black shirt.

It’s then you become aware that you’ve been staring at him way too long and shake him awake.

His eyes flutter open, and upon seeing you, that once infuriating smirk he likes to wear rises to his lips. “Who woulda thought I’d be wakin’ up to a pretty girl lookin’ at me like that,” he drawls, knowing exactly how to fluster you.

You shake your head, laughing and packing up your things. “Come on big baby, it’s bedtime.”

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs, picking his head up and promptly stuffing his things away in his bag. You decide to ignore what his soft, sleepy voice is doing to your heart rate and instead focus on how he’s putting his things away. That backfires on you, as you start thinking about how long and deft his fingers are and you have to physically look away from him to stop your mind going in that direction.

The two of you leave the library, walking quietly back to your dorm building, you aren’t expecting his hand to slip into yours; those long fingers you were just trying to get out of your head intertwining with yours. You look up at him confusedly and without looking at you, he brushes it off, “Just in case.”

You press your lips into a firm line, replying, “Right.”

He won’t dare admit he did that subconsciously. He just reached out for your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, only realizing his mistake from the confused expression you gave him. He internalizes his sigh of relief that he can pass it off as keeping up your fake relationship and you seem none the wiser.

When you make it up to your floor, at the point in the hallway where you need to split ways, despite nobody being around that you need to fake for, you press a light kiss to his cheek and say, “Goodnight Atsumu.”

You’re gone before he can get a reply in.

~

You start coming to his games more often, dragging your roommate along (though she doesn’t mind one bit) and do your best to ignore just how good he looks playing volleyball. It doesn’t help that your roommate keeps commenting things like, “god you are so lucky,” and “just look at him!”

You are looking at him. And it pisses you off that she’s right. He’s annoyingly god-like, and you find yourself staring at his biceps and thighs a lot more than is necessary. Your heart fluttering traitorously whenever he grins when he makes a successful play. Even when he raises his fist to silence the crowd when he serves, which before you thought was utterly ridiculous—you now find yourself holding your breath as goosebumps spread across your skin.

He denies to himself just how much he loves seeing you in the stands. Unable to stop the feeling that swells in his chest with the way you look at him. With the fan club, he knows all they see is the surface. He’s cocky enough to know he’s good-looking (and if he didn’t think so, the fan club certainly feels otherwise). But with you—you look like you want to devour him. He doesn’t know if you are aware of it or not, but you watch him with predatory intent in a way he can’t explain that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

At some point, he has to admit it. He fucking loves it.

One particularly memorable game, he swears you never take your eyes off him. And he feels like he’s at the top of his game, like nothing can go wrong for him. He’s so full of adrenaline and excitement afterwards that when he finds you in the hallway, he sweeps you up into an enormous hug. Your laughter filling the air and god—he loves your laugh; he could listen to it forever.

You don’t even care how sweaty he is or really if anyone is watching. Your instinct is to wrap your arms around him and squeeze him back, your ego inflating from the glares you can feel boring into your back from the fan club. And it’s easy—far too easy to forget that all of this is fake.

Especially when he pulls away only to plant a kiss right on your mouth, his body too full of adrenaline to truly realize what he’s doing.

And instead of pushing him away, you selfishly pull him closer, fingers laced behind his neck and body slotting against him so perfectly he has to resist the urge to groan. He cradles your head, drawing out the kiss for as long as he can consider appropriate, every fiber of his being screaming at him to just confess to you.

Instead, he lets you go, both of you chalking it up to the adrenaline and the charade. Both secretly knowing it was more than that to both of you.

And you don’t speak of it again, continuing with your sham relationship like nothing has changed.

But a lot of things have changed. It’s been almost 2 months since this started, well past the time needed to convince his teammates this is real. Some part of him refuses to bring it up, unwilling to let you go and wanting to drag this on for as long as possible.  

Despite knowing that this will all have to come to an end eventually.

~

“You gotta be there!” He pouts, doing a wonderful job of obscuring your view of the notebook on the table in front of you. “There’s no way my girlfriend would miss it!”

You groan, head resting on the chair behind you. Atsumu has been trying to convince you for the better part of the hour to come to the party the volleyball team is throwing this weekend. No matter how many times you’ve expressed your disinterest, he’s relentless.

He wiggles his brows. “I’ll throw in an invitation for your roommate too,” he says, knowing full well your roommate will be a pain in your side if she finds out you got invited to this party and refrained from taking her with.

Now you sigh, annoyed that he knows you well enough to sweeten the deal like that. And it isn’t the party that is deterring you, it’s a certain blonde-haired volleyball setter that you’ve been getting far too close to lately that’s making you hesitate. Something about the atmosphere of a party and a little alcohol in both of your systems makes you uneasy. And not in a bad way.

“You promise not to ditch me?” You pout, faking the reason you don’t want to attend.

He crosses over his heart. “I swear it. And besides, I’d be crazy to let ya wander around by yerself.” He gives you a quick wink, then a kiss to your cheek and he’s off to practice, shouting over his shoulder that the party starts at nine.

Your roommate is over the moon at the invitation, insisting you can’t possibly show up right at nine. So, you and she show up fashionably late around ten. Within a few moments, Atsumu finds you and gathers you up into his arms, whispering in your ear, “You’re late, where ya been?”

You smirk. “Roommate insisted on being fashionably late.”

He just chuckles, low in his throat and directly beside your ear—a sound that makes your toes involuntarily curl in your shoes. God, if you’re already curling your toes at the sound of just his voice you’re in for a long night. After releasing you, he easily greets your roommate and takes the two of you to the kitchen where cans of various alcohols are waiting.

You swear your roommate is going to combust with joy, taking a can for herself then happily heading off towards the dance floor. You’re glad she’s pretty independent as you can already feel you’re going to be glued to Atsumu’s side the entire night. You eye the drinks, sigh, and take one for yourself. If this night’s going to be long, might as well enjoy it.

He just watches you, amused, and unable to stop himself from thinking about how good you fucking look tonight. He wanted you to be here not to keep up the act of your relationship but because he actually wants to spend time with you. Lately, it’s the highlight of most of his days, and sue him if he wants to have a little fun.

Setting an arm on your shoulder, he first parades you around the party, letting everyone see just who he’s ‘dating’ and feeling his ego boost from the looks of jealousy he garners from a few people. The teammates who have eaten lunch with you a few times are happy to see you, indulging you in a bit of chit chat and helping loosen you up.

You might’ve been embarrassed to be on Atsumu’s arm had it not felt so damn great to be met with looks of jealousy from guys and girls alike, and it was doing wonders for your self-confidence. Enough that you tap him on the arm and ask to be taken back to the kitchen for another drink. He graciously obliges you, and once both of you have another can in hand, he finds somewhere for you two to sit.

It doesn’t even occur to you how easy it is to curl up beside him, his arm around you on the back of the couch, hand resting on your opposite shoulder while the two of you observe the party in full swing.

“You guys really know how to throw a party,” you comment, nodding to the room that was completely cleared out to make room for a dance floor.

“What’s that?” He teases. “I thought you didn’t want to come!”

Poking him in the side and refusing to look up at him, you admit, “I changed my mind.”

You know you’ve dug yourself a nice little hole when he continues, “Are my ears deceiving me? Are you admitting you were wrong?”

“Spare me,” you beg, a grin on your lips nonetheless. It’s then you spot your roommate out on the dance floor, her eyes connecting with yours long enough that she starts beckoning you towards her. “Oh god,” you groan.

She doesn’t stop though, instead abandoning the dance floor and approaching you and Atsumu. “Excuse me sir, but I’m gunna have to steal her for a dance or two.”

Subconsciously you cling to Atsumu, jerking your eyes up to him as he smiles easily saying, “Of course.” Taking your arm, she pulls you up from the couch and out of Atsumu’s arms, dragging you towards the dance floor while you look back at him with a pleading expression. He only waves idly back at you, that infuriating smirk splaying across his lips.

Worming her way into the throng of bodies, she puts her hands on your hips forcing you to sway them along to the music, laughing and encouraging you to ‘let go!!’. Eventually, there’s no resisting the thumping music or the movement of bodies around you, and soon your laughter is mixing with hers as the two of you dance ridiculously with one another.

Atsumu watches from the couch, utterly entranced at your change in behavior. He’s unable to look at anyone else but you, like the rest of the party falls away and its just you on that dancefloor swaying your hips under the flashing lights. He hardly knows what to do with himself as you laugh alongside your roommate, unaware he’s watching you.

At some point, you remember the boy you came here for, and fight your way to the edge of the crowd to catch sight of him. He’s where you left him, sitting on a couch a room away, an ankle crossed over his knee, still drinking his beer and looking unbothered by your absence. You look at him a moment, sitting there in his fitted black tee and dark jeans, so casually good-looking it isn’t fair.

His dark eyes meet yours and there’s something in them that sends goosebumps prickling across your skin. You’re barely even tipsy but there must be something stirring your boldness, otherwise you would have never lifted a hand and beckoned him towards you.

He’s pinned to his seat for a moment when you motion him to join you on the dancefloor. He has an uncanny suspicion that something is going to happen out there, under the safety of the pulsing lights and hidden by the mass of bodies. But some part of him wants that, whispering that it’s all he wants. So, he rises, setting his can on a nearby table and strides out to meet you.

A fire lights in your stomach as he stops in front of you, and now that he’s here you are quite sure what to do with yourself. “You looked bored,” you lie.

“Well, my date ditched me,” he remarks. “But I like her, so I’ll let it slide.”

Your answering smile is enough to send him through the roof. And soon, you’re engulfed by the surging crowd, getting sucked into the middle of the floor, a sense of reality slipping out from beneath the two of you. His hands at your waist, your body pressed up against his, his forehead resting on yours—he’s desperate to close the gap between the two of you. Dying to kiss you, to feel your lips mold to his, fingers lacing in his hair—he wonders what kind of sounds he could elicit from you, sounds just for him, sounds that would get lost in the thumping beat.

His better sense tells him to resist. Knowing that even though you’ve kissed before, this one would be different. It’s just the two of you, free from the pressure of pretending, he wouldn’t be able to pass it off as an act. And even if he could, he isn’t sure he wants to.

All the while, you’re watching him, wondering if he’s going to take the leap. Part of you urging him to. Pathetically wanting him to smother you in his arms and the two of you can just ignore it all tomorrow. It’s seemingly what you do best.

He doesn’t though, allowing him to just enjoy this moment—your proximity, warm breath mingling with his, arms resting on his broad shoulders as the crowd undulates around you. To him, there’s nothing else around, just you and your body fitting perfectly to his, back curved to press closer to him—he’s pitifully so lost in the way you’re moving those hips making him move along with you.

He’s grateful that if you notice him struggling to keep his composure, you don’t say anything. But when he glances at your face, you’re blissfully unaware of his plight, eyes closed murmuring along to the music and relishing the moment in your own way. Your thoughts dominated by how warm he is, how solid he feels, how his hands are resting on your back.

And the two of you stay like that, until you’re broken from your reverie by one of his teammates whistling loudly at the two of you, eyebrows wiggling suggestively that Atsumu just huffs a breath out at.

“I think I need another drink,” you say, pulling away from him.

His arms feel empty now, the clamor of the party destroying the quiet and intimate bubble the two of you had created. But instead of doing anything about it, he just gives you a winning smile—one he feels is half-assed, replying, “Ditto.”

[rk1kheadcanons]

Markus and Connor are secret dating b/c Connor doesn't wanna be out to the world yet. The Jericrew (-Connor) go drinking and Markus gets *drunk* and starts rambling about his boyf after he rebuffs an advance made by a lady at the bar super sappily, but no matter how hard the others press him, they just get "oh, his eyes are the color of warm chocolate..." answers as to who this boyf is

You would never know Markus was drunk.

He didn’t stutter or slur when he spoke, he didn’t sway or trip over his feet. He didn’t giggle goofily or speak overly loud. He was perfectly composed, as much the charismatic android sober as he was when he was intoxicated.

What he did do, however, was go on long monologues like a Shakespearian stage actor.

Which would be fine, if Markus’ favorite subject to wax poetic about wasn’t his mysterious boyfriend, whom he’d sworn not to reveal the identity of until they were ready. Which would also be fine, if that mysterious boyfriend wasn’t Connor, who was often sitting right next to him (and slowly but surely bluescreening his way into that big Windows XP wallpaper in the sky) as he sang and lathered compliment after compliment, steadily giving away clues that were so blatant that it was a miracle that no one had figured them out yet.

Markus never remembered what he’d done the next day, and whenever Connor mercilessly played back his memories, his poor lover was as embarrassed as he was apologetic. Connor could hardly begrudge him (frankly he didn’t know what sane person on this planet could ever begrudge Markus, but that was just Connor’s correct opinion). What could they even do about it? Should he demand Markus consciously control himself? It wasn’t like Connor was any better at it. Give the RK800 too many AMB’s (Adios Motherboards) and he would be on top of the nearest table and scream-singing his every professionally repressed emotion, regardless if it was a karaoke bar or not. Hence why he never imbibed more than he could handle when they were around their friends. The last thing he wanted to do was sloppily propose to Markus after a long and terrible rendition of K-Ci and JoJo.

And Connor wouldn’t dream of telling Markus to measure the contents of his drink like Connor did. Not when his breaks were so rare, and getting him to relax and let loose was like pulling teeth.

It was just in the cards that their big revelation as a couple would be in a random bar at 3AM, with Markus saying something along the lines of “my boyfriend’s name starts with a C and rhymes with Donner”, and Connor had made peace with that.

“Scarlet woman!” Markus cried, at some random bar at 3AM, surrounded by their drunken comrades. Ah, would this be the night? Connor thought, on the correct side of buzzed as he watched on from the table right next to them, a heady mix of dread and amusement running through his computer soul. “Jezebel! How d a r e you solicit my happily taken hand!”

The waitress, who looked like she regretted serving their table, let alone attempting to get the number from the happily taken hand, raised her hands in surrender. “Sorry, sorry,” she said peaceably and with the calm air of someone who dealt with drunks as a job choice, “just trying to shoot my shot, ya know?”

Markus nodded at her magnanimously, because he was a kind and forgiving man even as a drunken buffoon. “Fret not. I pardon you of this most heinous slight, for if you knew the one to own my heart, you would understand that no other could compare.”

“Sure thing dude,” she said goodnaturedly, packing up and replacing drinks around their tables expertly, and parting with a “have a good night Romeo.”

“But who can no other compare to? WHOMST??” asked North, throwing her torso onto the table and looking up at Markus pleadingly.

“We’ve ruled out Jerry #451, Claudia, Baris from accounting, and Jerry #36,” Simon rattled off. He was looking down at a napkin that he had scribbled the names of all of their potential suspects. “I’ve got it. It’s Baris.”

North rolled her eyes. “We already said it wasn’t Baris.”

“Ohhh. Right, right.” Simon nodded his head and continued to not cross off the names of the people they had decided against, as he had been doing all night.

“How about you describe them a little?” Josh put in, reasonable, and therefore slightly less wasted than everyone else. “Hair color? Height? Eyes? Something?”

“Nay, I must not speak thusly!” Markus declared, back of his hand over his forehead and everything. “For if I were to tread down that forbidden road, I would surely not be able to stop myself from breaking our sacred oath of secrecy!”

“Oh my goOOOOOOOd I hate this fucking oaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaath,” North threw her head back and cried to heavens, which, considering her positon, was probably going to be hell on her neck come morning. “Come on! Break your oath! Be like Thor and wield oathbreaker goddamnit!”

“You might be thinking of Stormbreaker,” Connor added, the need to try and reason with alcoholics apparently embedded in his programming.

North narrowed her eyes at him, or rather his torso, since her chin was very resolutely still resting on the table. “If you think I’m thinking right now then you are drunker than I am.”

Connor lifted his barely touched glass to her in a toast because how dare she be lucid enough to clap back so quickly. A well deserved rebuttal fucking cheers.

“Glasses!” Josh exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Do they wear glasses? That should narrow down some people.”

“That’s right! That’ll tell us if they’re an android or not. Androids don’t wear glasses! Our eyes are like...fucking...better and shit!”

“Unless….” Simon narrowed his eyes, pausing dramatically. “....they do.”

North gasped. Josh put his hands on either side of face, muttering; “holy fucking shit he’s right.”

Markus scoffed. “Their eyes do not hide behind paltry spectacles! His beautiful orbs, so soft and caring when his gaze lands upon my person, seeing into my very soul, are the warmest chocolate brown!”

‘Ah shit here we go,’ Connor thought, wishing not for the first time that he could just down his drink and join everyone else in blissful, idiotic cavorting. The soft, melodic piano and crooning words of All My Life playing over the speaker stayed his hand. Best not take any chances

“HE!” Simon burst out, tipping over in his chair. “He say he! Them is He!”

“Are we talkin’ Hershey’s or Dove?”

“Ghirardelli you fucking plebs!”

“Oi!” North banged her hand on the table so hard it left a handprint indented in the wood. It was one amongst many however, and not all of them left by their party. Such was the price for serving android drinks at a human bar - you either shelled out for sturdier furniture or the dents and chips became a charming aspect of your décor. “Don’t get spicy with us Sir Lancelot!”

“Apologies fair maiden,” Markus responded easily. He took her hand delicately and made a sweeping bow over it. “Alas, my passions got away from me.” He dropped her hand and whirled around, coat billowing with the movement and most assuredly by accident, placing both hands to his thirium pump. “Conjuring up the magnificent images that is the love of my life oft times sends my emotions into a tizzy! His hair; cloud like in my grasp as I run my fingers threw earthen chestnut tendrils - ”

‘Hhhhhhhhhhhhn so many adjectives Markus whyyyyyyyyyy,’ Connor wheezed internally. He didn’t bother trying to keep down his blush. Markus was nowhere near done laying on the compliments and he’d be subjecting himself to an endless loop of canceling the process. Besides, he could just blame it on the alcohol. Blame it on the a a a a a alcohol - wait no. What!? WHAT. Connor looked down at his drink and saw, to his mounting horror, that the glass was emptier than it had been a few minutes ago. Goddamn his automated rest mode cycle for transforming into fidgeting whenever he was nervous! He resolutely pushed the glass out of his immediate reach.

Nines, who was quietly sitting next to him, hunched over and taking notes on his own napkin, snapped his head up to attention when the glass brushed against his arm. His younger brother was looking from Connor to Markus, eyes narrowed suspiciously as Markus carried on. Connor didn’t like that look at all. It was always a risk inviting Nines to their little outings, the only thing Connor could bank on was Nines passing out - as his dear little bro was a notorious light weight - before his deductive skills could pierce through his drunken haze. Apparently Nines had chosen tonight of all nights, where Markus had never been more obvious about their relationship, to bloody pace himself.

If he could, Connor would be sweating bullets.

“ - a wit SO SHARP!!” Markus declared, foot now planted on his chair and shaking his fist to the ceiling as if it had insulted one of Carl’s paintings, “that neither an UNDEAD HOARD nor a POLITICIAN’S EGO could survive it’s precision strike!!”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, banger body, smarty pants, good at analyzing shit, likes animals” North listed off, holding a hand up and ticking a finger down. “Well that rules out all the Jerrys; they’re all redheads and they’re pretty aggressive about it - except for Jerry #86. Is your man-squeeze Jerry #86?”

“No no no last I heard Jerry #86 is dating Hatsume Miku’s bodyguard; Android Lucy Lawless.” said Simon.

“Tch. Lucky,” pouted North.

“Oh wow, she really kept that name huh?” Josh said, voice faint with wonder and disbelief. “That’s such a mouthful.”

“And who are you to question a Queen!?” snapped North.

“Huzzah and many blessings to the fortuitous couple!” Markus cheered, toasting a stein of frothy blue intoxication that looked as cartoonish as it did poisonous to the sky, knocking it back in several impressive gulps and slamming it back on the table. “BUT NEITHER OF THEM CAN COMPARE TO THE BEAUTY AND GRACE THAT IS MY LOVE!!” he boomed, louder and more British by the second. “WHO’S CURIOSITY AND INTELLECT A CHERISHED BOON TO I, BUT A WEAPON OF MASS DESTRUCTION TO HIS ENEMIES - !”

North slapped her hand on the table several times, the proverbial light bulb lighting up in her eyes - oh. No not proverbial. There was currently little lightbulb emojis pictured in her pupils. Yet another drunken download added to the bill. Connor was glad he’d drawn the long straw on ‘irresponsible buying duty’ tonight. No doubt there would be a lot of strange receipts to sort through in the morning. “Oh! I know I know! It’s Josh!”

So startled by this declaration/accusation, Josh jumped in his seat. “What!?”

“Brown hair, brown eyes, hot, obnoxious, smart - everything FITS!”

“...he didn’t say obnoxious,” Josh muttered, then physically shook sanity back into himself. “It can’t be me. I think I’d know if I was dating Markus!”

Simon leaned in closer towards Josh, arm on the table, determination in his mien. “But what if…” Without breaking eye contact with his friend, he smoothly cracked open his Thirium berry blast bahama mama banana punch wine cooler, and proceeded to pour it just two centimeters off from his glass, all over the table. “You don’t know.”

Josh was shook in the face of this evidence. North narrowed her eyes so hard that they were just closed at this point. “Highly suspicious.”

“No. Nooooo. No? No! Of course I’m not. Right Markus?”

Markus steepled his fingers together and cackled in a way that most people would find concerning, but Connor just found it adorable. He would saving that in his memory banks. “I’ll never tell~,” he sing songed.

“H i g h l y s u s p i c i o u s.”

“I know who it is,” Nines suddenly said, calm but with such confidence that he was easily heard amidst the ruckus. He had his elbows planted on the table, chin resting upon his entwined fingers. Steele grey eyes swept over the now quiet group, everyone waiting with baited breath.

“Grant us your wisdom ‘o soothsayer,” Markus whispered, eyes wide with anticipation and literally perched on the edge of his seat. Connor seriously measured the pros and cons of just throwing his portion of the tab on the table and yeeting himself out of the window.

“It’s Sixty.”

Immediately the room erupted into scoffs and hisses of disbelief. North gave him a thumbs down and cupped her hand to her mouth, letting a long, “Booooo!”

“Why are you booing me I’m right!”

“BoooOOooOOOOOoooooo!” Markus, Josh and Simon joined in.

Connor blinked, and suddenly felt all of his concerns about Nines’ being the lynch pin in solving this mystery evaporate. If Markus transformed into a C grade Shakespeare impersonator when drunk, and Connor subconsciously wanted to be recruited by America’s Got Talent, then Nines became a consummate dumbass.

“That’s it!” North exploded. “Ten dollars says it’s Jerry #92! I caught him in a wig once!” She stood up, her chair sliding back from the force, and slammed a note on the table.

Simon also stood up with equal intensity. “Twenty says it’s Josh!” He reached into his pocket and slammed its contents onto the table. When he removed his hand six lego pieces, a My Little Pony leg, and two actual diamonds were revealed. Connor hoped dearly that the bartender cut Simon off soon.

“It’s not me!” Josh said exasperated. He paused, then pointedly pulled out some money and threw it in the pot as well. “I put forty on Brenden.”

“Bull! Shit!” North declared. “Fitness guru Brenden!? No way!”

“He fits the criteria.”

“I doubt ‘How To Tell If An Android Has Welded on Parts from China vs Russia in their Selfies’ videos on his YouTube channel is the kind analysis Markus was talking about.”

“You don’t know that! He didn’t specify...”

As the two continued to argue, with Simon chiming in with some non sequitur, and Nines tutting about these ‘ignorant fools and their blindness to the evidence presented’, Connor looked over to Markus. He was quiet. He had his elbow perched precariously on the edge of the table, his cheek resting on his fist, a small hat (that was not there literally two minutes ago) was on his head, folded from one of the bar napkins.

And he was looking at Connor as if he hung the moon and stars.

‘How could the world not already know,’ Connor thought, soft and warm inside, happy merely to be in his line of sight, ‘When he looks at me like that?’

Connor picked up his glass and lifted it. “One hundred dollars on Sixty.”

Chaos erupted. Nines threw his arms up and hooted like he’d won the super bowl. Josh tried to explain to him how that was mathematically impossible. North shook her head and warned him that he would live on the streets with an answer like that. Simon pulled out a Yu-Gi-Oh! Card and said he would give him this Charizard if he agreed with him that Josh was Markus’ secret boyfriend. Connor withheld himself from trying to convince drunk people that this was not how betting worked.

Maybe Connor shouldn’t worry so much about their relationship being discovered after all. At this rate, no one would know about he and Markus being together until the wedding invites.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

aquarium ii | kth

pairing(s): taehyung x reader; ex-jungkook x reader

summary: Life after Jeon Jungkook was grey. You had to find your own color, grow your own rainbow. But what would surprise you the most is the appearance of white cosmos, seven of them clutched tightly in Kim Taehyung’s hand.

warnings: reader discretion is advised: a (half-hearted) suicide attempt; mentions of cheating in previous relationship; language; heavy angst; fluffiest fluff; non-idol!AU; kind garden-loving landlord!Taehyung x reader; ft. sadboi!Jungkook

–

part i

-

now playing – without me by halsey ft. JUICE WRLD

tell me, how's it feel sittin' up there? feelin’ so high, but too far away to hold me

You couldn’t remember that night very well, because you didn’t come up.

The worst part about being cheated on was not the actual cheating. It was the moment where you thought you had done something wrong, like somehow it was your fault it happened, like if you hadn’t done this or that, maybe things would have been different. Maybe if you hadn’t chosen that night to snoop into Jeon Jungkook’s phone, he would have had second thoughts, deleted it all, and loved you again. Maybe if you were a little kinder, a little more attentive, he wouldn’t have fallen out of love with you. Maybe... Maybe.

Maybe.

You knew that was just your brain trying to rationalize his irrationality. You had done wrong by invading his privacy by acting on sheer gut feeling. And you had run away, without confronting it, without giving him a chance, because you knew, you knew that if you gave him a chance, you would believe all his words, get dragged back into his sea, back into those dangerous waters.

All these thoughts coursed through you as the water closed in.

The milky bathwater was slowly replacing your depleting air, leaking into your lungs and you didn’t fight it, turning the darkness of the underside of your eyelids into light, because deep down you still loved him, no matter how stupid or foolish it was. Your heart still clung to his soft, I’m sorry, and you didn’t want to hear it anymore.

You didn’t want to know what loving Jeon Jungkook was like anymore. It was too painful.

you know i'm the one who put you up there name in the sky, does it ever get lonely?

You gave everything so he could be what he wanted to be, not knowing that you were the one slowly being eroded. No one could tell you. You were the one who had to find the signs. You were the one who found yourself trapped in glass walls, stuck in an aquarium, surrounded on all sides by Jeon Jungkook as he made a mockery of your feelings.

You screamed into the water and no one heard you.

The next memory you had was hazy, barely there.

You felt a tightness in your chest, harsh, solid pressure. A frustrated, agonized voice above you, desperately calling your name in deep baritone, desperately asking you to come back, praying in every language he knew for you to come back, come back, please, please, please.

“Please…”

In the whiteness, you wandered. Were you meant to be here? It was a loose fog. You looked around, seeing traces of memory like torn book pages, slipping through the haze. You reached out to touch them and they disappeared, only mirages.

And then you fell, dragged into dark blue, torn, battered, lungs burning as you struggled to stay afloat, coughing hard, your muscles screaming with asphyxiation, sudden oxygen flooding your brain. You whipped your head to the side, hacking up water, spilling it all over the green tiles of the bathroom floor, head pounding. Thoughts swimming, barely computing the shouting above you.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” one voice growled above your jerking body, so venomous that it made your blood run cold. “You absolute disaster of a man, thinking for one fucking second she would even consider taking you back. Look at her! She’d rather drown herself in my damn bathtub than hold a conversation with you!”

“What the fuck do you know?” The familiar voice, the voice that haunted you in your nightmares, the voice that fed you sweet poison. “She would do anything for me! She worships the fucking ground I walk on!”

You curled up into a ball, head pounding by the sudden explosion of light and sound. There was a towel over you, covering your wet naked body, and yet you shivered. You barely registered Kim Taehyung snarling, rising to his feet.

“You narcissistic bastard,” Taehyung spat out. “Get the fuck out of my house. Get the fuck out and don’t ever come near her again or I’ll break your fucking neck.”

“You can’t do anything to me. You’re a nobody,” Jeon Jungkook taunted. “Unlike you, I actually have money to sue you for assault.”

Apparently, Taehyung did not give a single shit, because he immediately roared and launched himself past you, the brown ball slamming into the black wall. You blinked, trying to register what was happening, but it was too much for you and your brain that was slowly trying to restore function due to lack of oxygen. They tumbled down the stairs and you laid your head against the floor, hearing the grunts and shouting, wondering why Taehyung had come back.

Wondering how he knew.

You closed your eyes.

In your dreams, you saw the soft sunlight glowing against Taehyung’s tan skin as he reached down to retrieve a dark green cucumber to show you. It was a bit wonky and hadn’t grown quite right, but you watched Taehyung tap it and smile to himself.

“Doesn’t matter what it looks like on the outside,” he said cheerfully. “I know it will still taste delicious because I gave it love.”

-

You tried to go back to work, but it was awful.

You loved your work. Perhaps it was boring to others, accounting all day, but it was mundane and peaceful, always knowing what you had to do. You never had to question the numbers. The numbers were what they were and that was that.

But now when you stared out into the grey urban jungle, it pained you.

What once was your safe haven turned into your cage, chaining you to clock in, clock out. You would go home to a motel nearby, crying into unfamiliar, starched sheets, pitying housekeepers preparing your meals, asking you what was wrong and you couldn’t tell them.

Because you didn’t know.

i'm sad inside, but i know it's for the best, right? you had to realize where you drew the line 

You didn’t check his social media. You didn’t check his Twitch, his Instagram, his Twitter. You got a new phone, only giving your new number to your work and your parents. With a start, you realized you hadn’t contacted your old high school friends in years. You had lost them all, committing social suicide for Jeon Jungkook. In fact, you had no social media presence, so there was no need to download those apps.

There was nothing on your old phone that you wanted. It sat in the storage unit, forgotten. You didn’t want to turn on your old phone to see the photos, the lock screen of his arms around you, smile on his face from two years ago.

A smile you didn’t even know was real or fake.

i still hate it when you’re not there

You tried to tell yourself you were fine, because moping over Jeon Jungkook was stupid. But you had invested so much. You had given him everything. It was hard to regrow. You were stuffed in this tiny motel room, staring out to the hazy, polluted city, yellow sunlight fighting to be seen.

You sat by the window, clutching your pink flats, remembering Taehyung’s last words to you before you left.

“I looked up the brand and bought you some new ones,” he had said sheepishly. “I felt bad that they got so ruined, all because I asked you to help me with the garden.” He gave you that big, boxy smile. “Just think of them as a parting gift for being such a great tenant.”

You inhaled a deep breath, placing the pale pink flats next to the exact same style but grass-stained, greyed-out, worn ones. You stared at them both.

And made a choice.

-

“I thought I would never see you again.”

You lifted your head. The scent of flowers, so familiar and comforting, wafted around you, a reassuring embrace. You were wearing a long-sleeved white dress, a brown ribbon around the collar. The pink flats, the ones the owner of the deep baritone voice had gifted you.

That was nearly six months ago now. You had since thrown away the other ones.

Kim Taehyung walked up to you. He was wearing brown overalls and a cream shirt, elbows smeared with dirt. His skin had lightened due to the passing winter, but it was spring now. The flower shop was very busy, but there were other employees, and Taehyung was fixated on you.

“I didn’t know you worked here,” Taehyung said quietly, his brown eyes shimmering. “I would have come here a lot more often if I knew.”

You bit you lip and bowed your head politely, smiling at him. Taehyung coughed and rubbed the back of his head, messing up his dark brown hair. It was longer and curlier now, desperately needing a trim.

“I… I came to get carnations. The shop I normally go to ran out.”

You nodded, leading him wordlessly to the red and pink carnations. There was still a good number left, but you had to pick through carefully to find the most beautiful ones for him. He watched you work, chewing on his lip. You held up the large bouquet to him.

“What do you think?” you asked softly.

He smiled at you. “Perfect.” He didn’t ask the price. “Could you make two corsages out of a few of them?”

“Of course. Right this way.”

You brought him to one of the counters, selecting a few blooms to make the corsages. You showed him the available ribbons and he picked a thin, sheer white one. He watched you work, quickly, but delicately, careful not to bruise the petals.

“You became an expert about flowers,” he remarked. “I’m still struggling.”

You smiled. “I’m still learning. It’s very different from what I used to do.” You twisted the ribbon into a perfect bow, using floral wire to secure it.

“You don’t talk to him anymore, do you?”

You shook your head. “Haven’t seen him since that day you threw him down your stairs.”

Taehyung laughed a little too loud, making the patrons stare at him. He coughed nervously, cramming the crumpled brown hat under his arm onto his head. You placed your hand over your lips, trying to hide your chuckle. Your fingertips smelled like phloem sap from the cut stems, sweet and grassy.

Taehyung gazed at you, surrounded by flowers, carnations laid out on the counter.

“Will you… let me take a picture of you?”

You blinked at him, lips parting.

Taehyung reached into his pocket, pulling out an old 35mm film camera. He looked sheepish as he held it up, hesitating.

“Sorry, I just… you look so beautiful, and I don’t want to forget that.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “I know it’s a weird habit. But I like to take pictures and I never took one of you.” He looked deep into your eyes.

“I really regret not taking a picture of you.”

Your fingers were still over your mouth. You nodded.

Taehyung held the camera up and snapped a photo.

-

“He waits for you to get off work every day. It’s been a week now.”

The manager was teasing you, nudging your arm as you tugged on your long camel coat. You smiled at her, an old woman with knowing eyes that had seen and enjoyed a lot of life. Taehyung waved across the street as you made eye contact with him.

“There aren’t men like him anymore, you know,” she said gently. “These kinds of things happened in my generation, but now young people send pictures of flowers instead of the real thing.”

When you thanked the manager and walked out to Taehyung, he held out a small bundle of tiny flowers to you. White cosmos. You stopped, surprised. Breathless as you looked up at him. He was illuminated by a streetlight and the dying sun, the golden hour matching his golden skin. Holding out the white cosmos, shivering in the spring breeze.

“They’re not that pretty,” he said guiltily, stepping up to you. “I’ve been trying to grow flowers for months now and these are the only ones that survived, ahahaha…”

He scratched his head, brushing his hair back.

“I always hoped that if I saw you again, I could show you that I was able to finally grow flowers.” Taehyung laughed, shrugging apologetically. “This is all I got.”

You reached out and took the small bundle from him. They were a bit curled and slightly wilted from being carried around but you smiled at them.

“No one has ever grown flowers for me,” you said quietly.

The tiny yellow centers of each flower were surrounded by white. You counted seven. Taehyung had given you seven flowers. Seven flowers he grew on his own, because he wanted to show you. You placed your fingers on your mouth, the scent of the floral shop returning to you with the action. Your chest felt tight and full, a feeling unlike any other.

“I wanted to grow at least eight,” Taehyung lamented. “Because that would be luckier, but…”

You shook your head quickly, looking up at him. Him and his beautiful brown eyes, a small patch of dirt underneath his cheek. He probably didn’t even know it was there.

“No.”

You removed your hand from your lips and smiled at him.

“Seven is perfect.”

You threw your hands around him and hugged him tightly.

-

When Jeon Jungkook saw you again, everything was different.

He was distracting himself from school. University was much harder than he thought, especially since he didn’t attend right after high school to pursue his streaming career.

For a long time, he had someone to take care of him, first his mom and then you. Someone to do everything so he could recklessly chase his dreams. But things were different now. He had to suddenly become an adult. It wasn’t because of you. You hadn’t told anyone what happened.

But everyone knew.

One girl had let it slip, and then another and another, and then screenshots were plastered everywhere, all over the internet for anyone to see, not knowing the context, tossing judgements left and right. His parents found out and then his friends, everyone disappointed in him, not surprised that you vanished without a trace. He had to vanish too, every sponsor cutting ties with him immediately, not asking if it was true or not. It was bad for business to be associated with something like that.

Jungkook really regretted it now, but there was nothing he could do to take it back.

That’s why he was sitting in this tiny, one room apartment, using what was leftover from his streaming money to get a degree, saving every penny to his education. At least he hadn’t been so reckless to overspend. You hadn’t let him, always reminding him to save for his future, using your own income to pay for the necessities.

Even now, you were helping him.

Every once in a while, Jungkook would type variations of your old Instagram username into the search bar, wondering if you had ever set it up again. He had asked you to delete it, since you had been getting constant DMs from guys asking you out, sending you unsolicited dick pics. You had agreed, even through you could have fought him or simply privated it.

You had deleted it, Jungkook knew now, because he asked you and you loved him.

It hurt to know that you loved him so dearly and he was too busy feeding his own ego to see it.

When Jungkook saw you again, you were surrounded by flowers.

Your profile picture was a close up shot of your beautiful face, golden sun against your skin, a white cosmos tucked behind your ear. He knew it was you. He could tell by the shape of your lips, the contours of your eyes, even through your eyes were closed. Wearing a white dress, the ruffles fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook was breathless, seeing you again. He scrolled through your pictures. They were mostly of flowers, with captions of how to grow them. Were you a florist now? Some of them were of you in different dresses, surrounded by blue sky and green summer. The smile on your face was so dazzling that he wondered who gave you that smile.

His heart wrenched uncomfortably in his chest.

Or maybe it wasn’t a someone.

There was a time when that smile was his. There was a time when he could make you smile like that, your lips saying his name breathlessly – “Jungkook, Jungkook, look at this!” – showing him something silly or giving him his favorite banana milk with special edition packaging, saying how cute it was, just like him.

He blinked and a droplet fell onto his phone.

Right on your smiling face, hand holding a large straw hat, your pink dress fluttering in the wind.

Jungkook wiped it away, swiping at his tears with the sleeve of his black sweatshirt, wondering why had he taken that smile for granted, why he had drifted away from the safe coast, why he had thought, even for a second, that the days and nights you spent cleaning after him meant that you were keeping yourself busy and away from him, not seeing it for what it was, not seeing that it was your love for him and his own sloppiness that left him here now, staring at your summer as his summer was torn from him by textbooks and lectures.

He shuddered, still looking at the pictures, not wanting to miss a moment, even if they weren’t his moments anymore.

One of your pictures was a bundle of seven white cosmos, a little wilted and sad-looking.

Jungkook read the caption.

It doesn’t matter if you don’t think you’re beautiful. Because there is someone out there who thinks you are. They use every resource they know to give you love, even if it’s clumsy at first. Even if you don’t think you need it or want it.

The tears were really coming now, streaming down his cheeks as Jungkook asked himself why, why did he give this up?

They celebrate you and your love instead of simply tolerating it.

-

You sat on the edge of the cliff, legs dangling over the side.

Your pink flats were right beside you, and your arms were resting on the wooden fence. The ocean breeze was strong here, salty and cold. But you didn’t feel the cold, because Kim Taehyung had wrapped a thick wool blanket around you two. It was already night, but by the seaside it was still chilly, even in the summer, due to the sea breeze.

He peeled the foil back on a roasted sweet yam, taking off some of the skin so you could bite into it. You tried to take it from him but he shook his head, frowning at you. You laughed and took a bite, scalding your mouth from how hot it was. But it still tasted good.

“I asked my parents if I could have it.”

You looked up at him, trying to blow the steaming air from your mouth in attempt to cool off.

“The cottage?”

Taehyung nodded, taking a bite and wincing. “You’ll never guess what they said.”

You smiled. “What did they say?”

He scowled. “Then pay rent!” He waved a hand to the seaside house behind you two. “They own it! Why do I have to pay rent? I’m their son!”

You giggled, hiding your mouth behind you hand. Taehyung angrily bit into the sweet yam again and choked, forgetting how hot it was. Your giggles turned into full-blown laughter, falling back onto the grass, wool softening your fall. Taehyung narrowed his eyes at you, shaking the yam furiously. The white moonlight glinted off the silver foil. He puffed his cheeks and sighed as your laughter faded out.

You looked up at the stars, realizing how clear the sky was here.

It was nothing like the city.

Even in darkness, the white stars shone against the black, bright and clear. You wouldn’t have seen them if you weren’t here, on your back and looking up at them.

“Anyway, they only said it was a hundred won, so I guess that’s fine,” Taehyung grumbled. “Really made me worried there for a second, sheesh.”

You turned your head to look up at him. “You going to live here?”

Taehyung shook his head.

“No, you are.”

You blinked, taken aback. He rewrapped the yam, determining it was too hot to eat right now. He gazed down at you, smiling a little.

“It’s better than that one room you have in that house. Safer too.”

You chewed on your lip. “But I can’t pay the amount I paid when I rented it…”

Taehyung poked you with the yam. “Weren’t you listening? The rent is a hundred won. No, two hundred for you, since I have to make some profit.”

He laid down next to you, eye to eye now, smile getting bigger.

“Although I hear there’s this annoying gardener that comes around every day caring for the plants.”

You were smiling now too, drawn by his cheeky, boxy grin.

“Really? I think he’s pretty cute. I think that’s how he gets away with it.”

His brown eyes locked with yours.

“Will you let me care for you too?”

The sound of the sea, crashing into the rockface, constructing a new memory for you.

“I know you’ll be much harder than a plant,” Taehyung murmured quietly. “Sorry, that’s a dumb thing to say, I meant–”

You pressed your lips against his, cold air chilling your cheeks, warmth spreading throughout your soul.

When you pulled away, breathless, Taehyung was staring at you, eyes wide. Those three words came to you, words that you thought you were never going to say again, words you had for someone else, but you knew this was the right one, the perfect flower.

The one who struggled to grow seven flowers.

White cosmos.

Just for you.

“I love you, Kim Taehyung.”

-

The next summer.

Seven flowers. White cosmos, bright, glowing, perfectly shaped. Surrounding your left hand. The ring finger held a princess-cut diamond surrounded by six tiny small ones like petals.

The caption.

He grew them perfectly this time.

Jeon Jungkook sighed heavily, placing his phone back in his pocket. The noise around him was loud, clattering and chattering, now a familiar atmosphere. The black bucket hat was low over his eyes, shrouding them. He pulled his face mask higher, hiding his features, not wanting to be recognized. Internet shame was enough; he didn’t need public shame as well. He already had to switch universities because of it.

Jungkook placed his hand back onto the subway rail, shouldering his backpack, staring out the train window at the black tunnel.

--

masterpost

[breynekai-tfc]

Number One Fan

Summary:   Danny is injured during a ghost fight one night. Dash finds him, takes him home, and nurses him back to health. 

Length:  7081 words

Part 2

Basically some meandering interactions between Dash and Phantom, with hints toward a one-sided attraction on Dash’s part.  This is a two-shot; the second half will be up tomorrow.  

Read on FF.net, AO3, or keep reading below. 

He sucked up the puddle of arachnid into a Fenton Thermos. Holes littered the lawn around him where its feet had sunk into the spring soil, muddy and loose from three days’ worth of constant drizzle. ‘British weather’, his mom would have called it. Even now a light mist - heavier than fog but not substantial enough to be called rain - floated through the air. It had already coated Danny’s hair, face, and suit in a thin layer of condensation. The water ran over his face like sweat.

He was exhausted. If he had needed to breathe, he would have been panting. If he’d had a pulse, it would have been racing. Instead, his core ached dully, complaining of the expenditure of energy. His aura was not as bright as it should have been on this dark, misty, overcast night. Normally he would have been a beacon; right now he probably blended into his surroundings, giving off no more light than a will-o-the-wisp in a murky swamp.

And still, it wasn’t over.

After defeating a ghost and containing it in a Thermos, any ectoplasmic waste or byproducts it left behind should disintegrate and vanish. The Thermos completely sealed ectoenergy, thereby cutting off the core from any parts remaining in the world. But the Amity Park Public Library was still covered in a purple, pulsing tent of ghostly webbing.

Geez, he hoped there wasn’t another one.

Danny eyed the building. He wasn’t sure how long it had been sequestered like this. Presumably not much longer than it had taken for his ghost sense to explode out of his cold core, jolting him awake, and for him to race in the direction it pointed him. Five minutes later, he had discovered the library and the Godzilla-scale spider crouching on top of it.

He had no idea what time it was. He hadn’t checked the clock before flying off into the night.

It had been about eleven when he wrapped up his patrol earlier - a patrol which, ironically, had been entirely quiet. Goes to show what happens when you skimp on security duties because of bad weather, some mild discomfort from having to fly through a neverending curtain of damp. He wondered if he had stayed out a little longer if he could have intercepted the spider before it nested. Ghosts often tended to get a lot stronger when they were allowed to accomplish their objectives, drawing energy from the sheer satisfaction of fulfilling an obsession. Who knew how long it had been working before its sudden power boost triggered Danny’s ghost sense?

Danny squinted through the drizzle at the cloud cover, barely making out the position of the moon. Maybe three o’clock or after? He wasn’t sure how long it had taken him to beat the hairy, eight-legged behemoth. The fight had been tedious and drained his strength, but in all likelihood was shorter than it had felt.

He wasn’t sure he had actually defeated it.

His core twinging, he forced himself back into the air and drifted across the ruined lawn, across the parking lot, and to the side of the building. A feeling of unease filled him as he drew closer, the product of psychological wards woven into the strands of spider silk to scare away predators. Ignoring the way his core clenched and his skin crawled, Danny grit his teeth, turned intangible, and phased through the protective layer of webbing.

Inside, the dread atmosphere was even more overwhelming, hanging in the air like a miasma. Webbing draped over every surface and hung from the ceiling in loops and clumps, glowing a sickly shade of violet. It provided the only light in the building, and Danny’s own silver aura barely reflected back to him.

After nearly three years of being dead and fighting ghosts on a daily basis, Danny was rarely unnerved by the things he saw. But this was spooky, even to him. He shrugged and shook out his shoulders and arms, chalking up his feelings of trepidation to basic survival instincts, which were good things. He was tired, and his body knew it, and it was just sending signals to his brain to be careful. This was not actually all that frightening. Nope. Not frightening at all.

Danny floated further into the building, senses on high alert. The webbing stretched on and on, but nowhere did Danny see a creature who could have spun it. This was surely the work of the larger arachnid he had fought outside… right?

Danny reached the central help desk. It was a small unit of furniture - a U-shaped table, return bin, filing cabinets, and several computers with the library catalog system, all sitting in the middle of a wide and open space of carpet at the hub of the fiction and reference shelves. As Danny drifted towards it, he was so focused on looking and listening for an enemy on all sides that he floated straight into a web. Unlike the thick, goopy strands coating the rest of the building, this was a delicately woven oval suspended between the floor and ceiling. The kind of webs spiders built for catching prey.

He yelped and flung himself backwards, but the web followed him, snared him, snapped back into place with Danny still firmly attached to it. The webbing clung to his face, filling his eyes with violet light, inciting panic. He pulled at his arms, frantic to wipe the strands from his face, get them off of his body, but nothing was moving, he couldn’t budge, he was stuck, like a fly, and what did spiders do to flies…?

The realization of his own stupidity struck him like a slap in the face, and a split second later, he was intangible and shooting backwards, arms pinwheeling as he forced himself to a mid-air stop - before he blindly landed himself in a similar trap, or before he decided to phase through the roof of the building, call it a night, let another ghost hunter deal with this.

He wasn’t allowed to do that.

The leaden weights of responsibility wrapped around his body, draining the blind panic and replacing it with lucid determination. If Valerie or his parents were hurt because of some mess he failed to resolve, if one of them died, he would never be able to forgive himself, would never be able to claim the mantle of hero for the rest of his half-life. That reality was much more frightening than anything a ghost could throw at him.

As he centered himself, Danny noticed that the web he had just extracted himself from was vibrating, humming tautly, shivering from floor to ceiling. His eyes followed the anchoring strands of the web upwards. He groaned, and everything suddenly made sense.

On the ceiling, stretching from one wall to another and looking like a scene out of Femalien, were eggs, a hundred of them, violent purple and struck through by glowing green fissures like ichor. The spider he had faced outside of the library must have been their mother, and her objective had been finding a safe place to nest and lay her eggs. Having accomplished that, she was at her most ferocious when a certain human-ghost hybrid had shown up to threaten her children.

Danny had vaguely known that ghosts could reproduce - how else could he explain Box Lunch? But if this was seeing the miracle of ghost life in action, it was nothing he ever wished to see again.

The trembles from the web rippled through the eggs on the high ceiling of the library. First in the middle, expanding outwards in waves, the eggs began to wobble, began to crack with sharp snaps of verdant light. As he watched the first legs begin to poke through purple membranes, Danny realized why the oval-shaped web had been created. It would trap prey, and in thrashing for escape, whatever unfortunate creature (or person) was snared in the web would be ringing a dinner bell, telling the babies that it was time to wake up and have some breakfast.

The first of the brood had breached their cells and were dropping onto the floor. Deep black in color, struck through by ectoplasmic green striations, they were the size of large dogs, and they were fast. As soon as their myriad eyes found Danny, they began to leap at him.

Crying out, Danny flung up an ectoplasmic energy shield. The newborn spiders slammed into it, causing the shield to flare and for Danny’s core to tighten painfully. The shield broke within seconds, and the rush of arachnids slammed into him, knocking him to the floor.

Danny saw legs, flashes of black eyes with verdance burning deep within, and then pain like acid burst against his right shoulder, his stomach, his left leg. He screamed, feeling the bright acidic energy flowing into him, burning him from the inside as it bloomed across and underneath his skin. Distantly, he felt something soft drifting over him, light as snowfall but as firm as steel cables. It crossed his bleary vision, sickly purple.

The weights on his chest, his arms, his legs, were abruptly flung off of him. He was left staring at the ceiling, where spiders continued to crack their eggs and fall to the ground, but he could hear their hissing voices, impacts, sounds of tearing, squeals of pain, splashes of ectoplasm on carpet. The spider brood was fighting. Apparently there wasn’t enough of him to go around.

Danny could not move. His thoughts were blasted with hot green pain, eating through his limbs and leaving cold numbness in its wake. He knew he had been bitten, repeatedly. This was poison. His enemies were fighting for the chance to devour him. And he could not move.

The deadly, acidic pain trickled down from his shoulder and up from his stomach and danced around his core, which stubbornly burned it away. If not his body, at least his essence was refusing to go down without a fight.

The realization that he was going to die, really die, eaten alive and entirely helpless to do anything about it, galvanized him. He grunted, a strangled sound from deep in his chest. Then Danny pushed at his core. He had no confidence that he would be able to move his limbs to do a damned thing, but if his core was fighting, he would use it as his best asset. He concentrated on it with a singular intensity, blocking out the squall of the hungry spiders, blocking out his pain, willing his core to expand, explode if it needed to.

A different but familiar type of cold rushed through him. A split-second later, a blizzard burst from his awakened cold core, howling through the room and freezing everything in its path. It hit the walls and ceiling and windows, shrieking, and died away. In its wake - silence, like a winter’s night under a blanket of snow.

Icy energy crackled over his skin, momentarily halting the spread of the venom. Danny wanted nothing more than to close his eyes, succumb to the cold numbness of poison and frost. But the spiders weren’t gone, and the next prey they sought would be outside of the library with no weapons to defend themselves. This was a horde that could kill a town. Danny had to protect them.

With a Herculean effort, Danny sat up. The webbing laced over his body crackled and splintered to pieces. The room around him had been transformed into a glimpse of a modern-day Ice Age. Thick, supernaturally blue ice coated the library’s every surface, the spiders and their webs only barely visible in its bright but murky depths. Danny concentrated on moving his right hand, but it was entirely numb and dead to him. He switched to his left, fumbling for the Thermos that hung on his right side. He pulled the strap across his chest until the Thermos was sitting in his lap, wedged between his thighs for support. He unscrewed the lid, lifted it with one hand, braced it against his chest, and hit the button.

Blue light swirled from the softly whirring device, but with no target in its path, it simply dissipated into the air. Frowning, Danny channeled some of his own depleted power into the Thermos to influence its behavior. The light began to do what he wanted. It condensed above the checkout desk in a bright orb. Like a black hole, it began to absorb the ectoplasmic energy around it. Ice, webbing, spiders, everything ghostly in the room began cracking apart and flying into the focal point of the power, which in turn compacted and channeled the energy into the containment device. Danny felt it tugging on even him, but because of the nature of the energy fueling it, he was not swept up in the maelstrom of deconstruction.

No more than a minute later, the room was cleared. Danny snapped the lid back on the Thermos, and everything went dark. Without the ice or webbing, there was little to illuminate the library. After a few seconds, as his eyes adjusted, the room clarified under the soft orange glow of the street lamps outside.

Danny’s core felt like stretched taffy, or a threadbare cloth. It felt like if he were to exert any more pressure on it, it would snap or implode in on itself. Danny was surprised he hadn’t reverted to his human form yet.

He glanced down at himself. He couldn’t see the bite on his shoulder, but he could see the ones on his abdomen and his left leg. Four punctures, holes left in his jumpsuit, roughly the size of nickels. They oozed something green, which Danny might have mistaken for his own ectoplasm if not for the fetid feeling the ooze gave off. Danny wasn’t sure what the poison would do to him, if it was meant to paralyze him or kill him or turn his insides into goo. Already it was fighting his cold core to continue its inextricable path through his body.

A certainty settled over Danny, based on no evidence but his own gut feelings: if he returned to human form, with this poison coursing through him, it would be the end of him.

Sick with dread, Danny fell forward, planting his left arm against the floor, dragging his right leg underneath him, pushing to standing. He nearly toppled over again. His left leg from the knee down was numb, and it barely supported his weight. Danny only managed to walk by rocking onto it and back to his right leg before his knee had the chance to buckle. He did not dare fly.

Danny reached the door and opened it by hand. The webbing that had covered the building earlier was gone, destroyed with the capture of the spider brood. Dazed, Danny hobbled into the parking lot and across the lawn.

He had to get home to Fentonworks. His parents would have something in their lab that could get him through this, preserve his ghost half long enough for it to fight off the poison. Maybe, if he gave himself an injection of purified ectoplasm it would bolster the energy in his core, or maybe he could just toss himself into the Ghost Zone and absorb the atmospheric ectoenergy there.

He had to get home.

He had to walk there.

How many miles was it?

Danny stumbled down the sidewalk in a haze of existential terror and pain. The poison had begun to sludge through him again, climbing his thigh, spreading across his back, filling his chest. He began to feel light-headed, and the edges of his vision were filling with shadows. His feet jerked him forward numbly, but he had no perception of actually moving.

His left knee buckled, and Danny fell to the ground. He tried to catch himself with his hands, but they didn’t respond to the commands from his brain. His chin throbbed dully where it hit concrete.

Danny lay with his chest against the ground, arms limp at his sides, face turned toward the grass. Moisture pooled in his eyes and trickled out of the corners. If he’d had the energy for it, he might have been sobbing. But his upper body was numb, and so was most of the rest of him. Cotton wrapped around his head.

He was dimly aware of sounds: the crunch of tires over asphalt, the slamming of a car door, a shout. His body was turned over, presumably by a person. Danny’s vision was too full of shadows to see who it was.

After that, there was nothing.

---------

Dash had woken to the sound of his PhanClub Ghost Spotters app shouting, “I am the Box Ghost! Beware!”

Blearily, he grabbed his phone off the bedside table and swiped to unlock it. His eyes scanned the notification, picking out key words: public library, giant spider, literally it’s as big as a house, level 5 apparition or higher. It was 2:36 a.m.

Dash groaned, letting the hand holding his phone drop onto the mattress next to his pillow. He was too tired to deal with a fucking ghost spider halfway across town. He had school tomorrow, and besides that, it was a fucking ghost spider. He had no plans of being eaten.

He was nearly back to sleep when his phone nagged him again. “I am the Box Ghost! Beware!” Against his better judgement, Dash brought the screen back up.

2:41 - Phantom is engaging the spider. #IRememberEmber58

And like that, he was wide awake, sitting up in bed and staring at the notification.

It was a long shot. It would take him about fifteen minutes to get to the library, not including the time it took for him to get dressed, sneak downstairs to his car, and actually hit the road. There was a chance Phantom would be long gone by the time he got there.

But…

He was already moving, pulling on sweats and a hoodie, cramming his feet into sneakers that already had the laces tied.

But a level 5 apparition was tough, and a spider the size of a house was a new enemy. It might put up a real fight. If Dash got there in time, he would not only be able to catch a glimpse of his hero in action, but he would also be able to get some new material for his scrapbook. Grabbing his Fenton Camera (the only camera on the market with film and lenses specifically designed to capture ectoplasmic radiation), Dash crept out of his room.

His parents were heavy sleepers. Besides, he was seventeen, and the probability of him getting in trouble for going out at night was extremely low, even if he was caught. As long as he was on track for his scholarship, his parents hardly cared what he did. But Dash was still careful to move quietly through the house. Encountering his folks would waste precious time.

Shortly, he was out the front door, crossing the driveway to the curb, and climbing into his black convertible - top up, because of the absolute crap weather lately. He turned the key in the ignition, put it into gear, and sped out into the silent streets of Amity Park.

In the two and a half years since the PhanClub had been founded, many members had joined, and many of them had since become inactive. Everyone in town - except the Fentons and a few other diehards - had accepted that Phantom was a bona fide hero. No one had abandoned him in that sense. But after two and a half years of seeing Phantom kick ghost butt around town, the ghostly hero had lost his novelty for a lot of people, who then moved onto other things. There were very few members left who, like Dash, were willing to hop out of bed in the middle of the night to drive to ghost fights and take pictures. Most members had either muted their nighttime notifications or gotten rid of the Ghost Spotters app entirely.

Dash considered himself Phantom’s number one fan. He wore the badge with pride and contested it with anyone who tried to claim it (though very few bothered anymore). Sure, there were others on the Ghost Spotters app, like IRememberEmber58, who posted every ghostly encounter they came across, but these guys were “ghostakus” - they were in it for the ghosts, all ghosts, any ghosts. Some Ghost Spotters even supported the local bad guys. Ghosts like Ember, Technus, even the freaking Box Ghost had fans, and many Ghost Spotters would take bets on ghost fights, not over who would win - that was always Phantom - but how long their favorite ghost could escape the Fenton Thermos.

There was even a trading card game… okay, Dash collected those, too. They were pretty cool.

But for Dash, there was only one reason to be in the Ghost Spotters, and that was to be alerted of every appearance of Danny Phantom possible. Watching Phantom in action, risking his life to selflessly protect the people of Amity Park, displaying awesome feats of power, and doing it all with a good sense of humor - it never got old, and Dash didn’t think it ever would.

Dash drove to the library at however many miles over the speed limit he could get away with. Every few minutes, the Ghost Spotters app would light up with a new notification. Dash grabbed his phone and glanced at them:

2:50 - Spider is down. I repeat, spider is down. #IRememberEmber58

2:51 - Vestigial ghost matter on library not disappearing. Phantom looks wary. #IRememberEmber58

2:52 - Phantom entering library. Ghost fight part deux? #IRememberEmber58

2:58 - Webbing on library vanished. May be over people. #IRememberEmber58

Dash growled. He was so close, but it looked like this was going to be a waste of time after all.

At last, the public library rose in Dash’s sight down the road. Like IRememberEmber58 had indicated, everything seemed quiet. Dash figured he ought to drive by anyway, see the damage, maybe catch a glimpse of Phantom flying away, make sure this wasn’t a complete fucking waste of time.

As he pulled up along the eastern side of the library, Dash’s phone went off one more time.

3:01 - Phantom emerging from library - on foot? Probability of injury high. #IRememberEmber58

Dash blinked at the notification. He took his foot off of the pedals, letting his car cruise slowly down the road, all while he squinted through the damp on his windshield towards the front of the library.

There. At the end of the parking lot, cutting across the grass toward the sidewalk a few hundred feet down the road from Dash’s car. Phantom’s aura was so weak that he barely stood out from his misty surroundings. He was limping, on the ground - the actual ground. Dash could see that his right arm was hanging at his side like dead weight and that his head was down, like all of his attention was on putting one foot in front of the other.

This was not good.

Fear wound its cold fingers around Dash’s heart and squeezed. Dash had never seen his hero in such bad shape; even when he lost battles, it was because the other ghost would get away, not because they actually defeated him in combat. Nervous, unsure of what he should be doing, Dash let his car keep coasting down the road so that he could follow Phantom, make sure he got to where he was going okay.

Phantom reached the sidewalk, Dash following a few yards behind. The ghost’s steps were slowing, and he was not walking in a straight line.

All of a sudden, one of Phantom’s knees gave out and he fell over face-first onto the ground.

He did not get up again.

“Shit!” said Dash. His foot slammed down on the accelerator, and his car leaped forward before he managed to slam his foot on the brake. He was out of his car a second later, running around the front of it, falling onto his knees by Phantom’s head.

“Phantom!” he cried out. “Hey man, are you okay?”

Phantom did not respond, did not move. He lay on the wet sidewalk in front of Dash completely inert, damp hair hanging over the half of his face that was turned upward. A Fenton Thermos, strapped over his left shoulder, lay in the small of his back, its indicator pulsing red.

Dash brought up his hands, and they hung in the air over Phantom’s back, shaking. He was hesitant to reach out and touch his idol. He had not been this close to Phantom since the time at Fentonworks back in his freshman year, when they had both been shrunk by some loony Fenton invention and had to fight Skulker to get back to their normal sizes. A true team-up, and Phantom hadn’t spoken to him since. Instead, Phantom had gone on to become even more powerful, defeating huge and impossible foes, rising to a place Dash could never hope to be, probably forgetting all about Dash in the process. Dash didn’t deserve to be this close to Phantom, not anymore.

But Phantom was in trouble, and Dash was all the help he had. It looked like, after two whole years, it was time for another team-up.

As Dash grabbed Phantom’s rain-slick, icy-cold shoulders to turn him over, he did not feel excited about the prospect at all; rather, he felt sick to his stomach.

Phantom weighed basically nothing. It was the easiest thing in the world to roll him onto his back, and Dash half-expected the ghost to dissolve into nothing in his fingers. Once he was on his back, Phantom’s head lolled against Dash’s knees. His eyes were open, dull green rather than the bright, vivid neon they should have been, staring blankly ahead at nothing. Dash saw trails of some silvery moisture coming out of the corners of his eyes, mingling with the rain, and he realized that they were ectoplasmic tears.

“Phantom…?” he whispered. Phantom did nothing to indicate he had heard Dash. The muscles in his face hung slack, and he wasn’t breathing - shit, he wasn’t breathing! But did ghosts even need to breathe? Did they even have lungs?

Could they die?

“Calm the fuck down, Baxter,” he told himself. “He’s not dead. He can’t be. He’s just hurt bad, real bad.” He glanced over Phantom’s body, looking for the injury that had put his hero in such a terrible state. What he saw were six small holes in his jumpsuit, in pairs, two on his right shoulder, two on his stomach, two on his lower left leg, all oozing a sickly green substance. Now that he looked more closely, Dash noticed veins of the same color, branching under the skin on Phantom’s neck where it rose out of the collar of his jumpsuit, curling over his jawline towards his cheeks like emerald lightning bolts.

“What the…” Dash murmured. Then it hit him. Phantom had been fighting a spider. These were spider bites.

Without thinking, Dash reached out his right hand and touched the green stuff oozing from Phantom’s shoulder, just above his collarbone. Immediately he recoiled - it felt like it had stung him! And it kept stinging him, burning him as if he had stuck his fingers into a vat of acid. Dash stared at his fingers in horror. His forefinger and middle finger had two small drops of venom on their tips, and even as he watched, it absorbed into his skin, snaking down through his fingers in bright green lightning bolts of poison.

Dash screamed, kicking away from Phantom, staring at his burning hand. The venom crept down his fingers, into his palm, where finally the green veins tapered to nothing. The sensation of burning sunk into a deep cold, and then into complete numbness. Dash tried to move his fingers; his thumb, ring finger, and pinkie only twitched, and the two that had touched the poison would not respond at all. The muscles in his wrist and at the base of his thumb ached dully. Turning his hand over, Dash saw more lightning bolts pulsing on the back of his hand.

“Fuckfuckfuck.” What had just happened? What was he supposed to do with this?

His eyes were back on Phantom. Whatever had just gotten on Dash’s fingertips, Phantom was full of it. No wonder he wasn’t moving. The dude needed help.

Dash clambered back to his feet, careful of his right hand. He opened the back door of his car, then turned around and, with extreme caution to avoid touching the spider venom again, lifted Phantom into his arms. One arm under the ghost’s knees, one under his back, Dash carried Phantom to his car and gently laid him in the backseat. The weakness of Phantom’s aura was even more apparent in the darkness inside the car.

Dash slammed the door shut and climbed back into the driver’s seat. His Ghost Spotter’s app went off again. Thinking that there might be another ghost around, Dash checked the message and scowled.

3:08 - Phantom abducted by strange black vehicle. Probably the feds. Good luck, ghost boy. #IRememberEmber58

Dash had no clue where IRememberEmber58 was watching the library from. Regardless, he rolled down the window, stuck his hand out, and flipped the dweeb off.

Dash put his right hand over the gearshift but could not clutch it to put the car in drive. Awkwardly, he used his left hand to shift gears. Driving home, his right hand was hooked in the steering wheel at the wrist to help in steering as much as possible. He sure hoped the numbness wasn’t permanent. That was his throwing hand.

On the way back to his house - and was that really the best place to take Phantom but he couldn’t go to a hospital and the Fentons wanted to gut him so screw it Dash’s house was as good a place as any - Dash kept an eye on Phantom in the back seat. There was no outward change in his condition, which could have been good or bad for all Dash knew. The green venom leaking from the bites and glowing under his skin was the brightest thing about the ghost, who could almost be mistaken for human at this point.

Dash speeded all the way home, and it still took too long. As soon as his car was on the curb, Dash cut the engine, leapt out of the vehicle, and got Phantom out of the backseat. He ran with the ghost, who couldn’t have weighed more than twenty pounds, up the driveway to the front door. Dash had to shift Phantom, drape him on his stomach over Dash’s shoulder, so that he could get his key out and get the door open. Once they were inside, Dash carried Phantom up the stairs, praying to God that his parents didn’t choose now to wake up.

At the top of the stairs, Dash began to feel a biting pain in his right shoulder, underneath where Phantom was laying on top of him. Clenching his teeth against an expletive, Dash hurried down the hall, into his bedroom, to the bathroom attachment. He shut the door, turned on the light, and hurriedly deposited Phantom in the bathtub. Stepping back to the counter, Dash looked in the mirror and was horrified to see that some of the venom from Phantom’s stomach had seeped into his hoodie. Crying out, he frantically yanked the hoodie off and threw it into the corner.

Turning back to the mirror, Dash watched three small fireworks of ectoplasmic venom sparking across his right shoulder. The bitter cold sensation sank deep into his muscles, and by the time the numbness set in, Dash was not surprised to find that he couldn’t lift his arm. With his hand already out of commission, the only thing he could do was bend his arm, weakly, at the elbow.

Dash gripped the countertop with his left hand and leaned forward until his forehead was resting on the cool surface of the mirror. Things were fucked, and he knew it. His hero was laying in his bathtub, possibly dead. Dash himself had been poisoned by a giant ectoplasmic spider he hadn’t even seen, and who knew what kind of messed up shit this was going to do to him?

He had no idea how to help either of them. He was just Dash Baxter, high school quarterback. He wasn’t smart enough to be useful to anyone in an emergency, not even himself.

He forced himself to take several deep breaths. He reminded himself that he might not have been the best help for Phantom, but he was the only help the hero had. Dash had to do something. For all the times Phantom had saved his life and the lives of everyone in Amity Park, he had to do something.

Not looking at Phantom - not yet - Dash went back into his bedroom. He dug around in his closet until he found the lime green raincoat his grandma had bought for him on his last birthday, which was so ugly that he had never worn it. Awkwardly, he shrugged it on, using his left hand to grab his right and drag the right arm into a sleeve. Then he went back downstairs into the kitchen, where he grabbed a pair of rubber gloves from under the sink that his mom used to wash dishes. He hoped that this would be enough.

Back upstairs in the bathroom, wearing the raincoat and rubber gloves, Dash finally looked at Phantom in the tub. The ghost looked even worse under the bright LED lighting. His glow was essentially nonexistent, his normally tanned complexion was sallow, and his dulled green eyes continued to stare into nothingness. Phantom’s white hair was plastered to his head with the moisture from outside, and his suit was wet with water and smears of toxic venom.

Dash had to get the venom out of Phantom. The question was - how?

Dash sat down cautiously on the edge of the tub. With his left hand, he pushed Phantom into a more comfortable position, sitting propped against one end of the basin. He grabbed the strap of the Fenton Thermos and pulled it over Phantom’s head before setting the surprisingly heavy contraption on the floor behind the toilet; Dash knew what was inside, and he wasn’t about to unleash a house-sized spider monster because he accidentally kicked the thing.

Turning back to Phantom, he experimentally touched some of the venom on Phantom’s leg with his glove, half expecting the ectoplasm to eat through the material. It didn’t, and Dash heaved a sigh of relief.

Using his left hand, Dash tried pinching the skin and muscles of Phantom’s shoulder to squeeze some of the poison out, but between the rubber of his glove and the slick material of Phantom’s jumpsuit, it was impossible to get a hold. Really, the jumpsuit needed to go.

Dash flushed red at the thought. Was he really sitting here, thinking about undressing his hero…? His eyes found the little zipper at the top of the neck, and Dash gulped. A second later, he was berating himself. “You’re being an idiot. Just take the damn suit off so you can help him.” He reached out, grabbed the zipper, and pulled.

Dash soon discovered it was a chore and a half to use one hand to undress another guy who was completely limp, and any excitement he might have felt at the task quickly evaporated. It was several minutes before Dash had Phantom out of his gloves, boots, and jumpsuit, which he piled in a heap on the floor next to the tub, leaving Phantom in nothing but his white undies.

Like the patterning on Phantom’s neck, the rest of his body was covered in zigzagging bolts of pulsing emerald poison, especially concentrated around the three weeping bite wounds. Dash felt sick looking at it, and he hoped Phantom wasn’t conscious underneath that blank expression.

Dash turned on the bathtub faucet and ran the water until it was lukewarm. Phantom showed no reaction to the liquid sloshing around his legs, but Dash had not expected him to. Dash figured room temperature was the best bet - he didn’t want to burn the ghost, but he didn’t think cold water would be good for someone with spider bites, even if ghosts were naturally cold. Thinking about that, Dash rinsed his left glove in the faucet and then used his teeth to tug it off of his hand. He then laid the back of his hand against Phantom’s forehead.

It was warm. Human warm. Dash had been grabbed by enough ghosts in his life to know that Phantom should have felt as cool as the inside of a freezer. Phantom’s heat now must have been the ghostly equivalent of a fever.

On second thought, Dash cut the heat to the faucet entirely.

He used his teeth to pull his glove back on, grabbed a clean towel from under the sink, took down the showerhead, and turned the hose on. Dash used the showerhead to rinse the globs of venom from Phantom’s wounds. Then he set the hose down near the drain and began pinching the punctures, starting with the ones on Phantom’s shoulder. Venom ran from them freely, running in viscous rivulets over Phantom’s chest. Dash stopped every few seconds to hose Phantom off, sending the toxic - probably radioactive - ectoplasm down the drain to be carried far away from the Baxter home.

Dash pushed against the wound until he was sure Phantom would have bruises, and it kept offering him venom. It was not until several minutes later when the green liquid oozing from the wound lost its visceral feeling of venom and turned into a much more neutral shade of green. It was the strangest thing. The two types of ectoplasm - the spider venom and Phantom’s ‘blood’ - were almost identical to the naked eye. Dash only knew that the venom had turned to ectoplasmic lifeblood when his gut stopped screaming at him about the wrongness of the liquid he was seeing.

Dash repeated this process on the other two punctures. By the time he finished, Dash noticed that some of the bolts of venom across Phantom’s skin had begun to lose their intensity. That was good. Dash had actually been able to do something.

He rinsed Phantom off one last time from head to feet and then turned off the water. Dash patted Phantom dry the best he could considering the ghost was sitting in a damp tub in soaked underwear. Tossing aside the towel with the rest of the discarded clothing, Dash bent down, slid his left arm under Phantom’s back, managed to hook his right arm under the ghost’s legs, and lifted him out of the tub. He was thankful that Phantom weighed next to nothing, otherwise his mostly paralyzed right arm would not have been able to support his weight.

Dash carried Phantom back to his bedroom and laid Phantom in his bed. The covers were already thrown back from when Dash had gotten his Ghost Spotters alert an hour earlier. Complexion drained, eyes staring vacantly at the ceiling, hair damp, veins etched in poison - Dash’s hero looked so small and helpless. It made Dash want to hold him. Either that, or cry.

He did neither. Instead, he stripped off his gloves and raincoat, which he put in the bathroom with the rest of the contaminated articles of clothing. He went back to his closet and pulled out a pair of pajamas from the bottom of a bin. They were his favorite pair from when he was in junior high but had no longer fit him once he got taller and bulked up in high school. Warm red flannel, patterned with brown teddy bears wearing cozy-looking scarves - the only person outside of his family who had seen these was Kwan, who was sworn to secrecy. But they had been the best, especially during the winter or when Dash had been sick, the times when it was important to feel comfortable. They would probably fit Phantom.

Averting his eyes, feeling his face burning, Dash peeled Phantom’s soaked underwear off, dropped them on the carpet, and immediately put the ghost boy’s legs in his red flannel pajama pants. The hero’s modesty preserved, Dash pinched the underwear between two of his fingers, took them to the bathroom, and hung them over the shower curtain rail to dry. They hung there innocuously, glowing faintly - ghost undies.

Back in his bedroom, Dash wrestled Phantom’s upper half into the pajama top. His estimate had been mostly right - Phantom was a little too tall and his arms too long for the pajamas, by about an inch, but otherwise the pjs fit him. Phantom was pretty small.

The veins of venom on the ghost boy’s face had retreated past his jawline and were not glowing so fiercely. Now that the rest of the ones on his body were hidden from sight, he looked a lot better, although it was strange to see the hero wearing Dash’s favorite childhood pajamas, laying in his bed. A strange flutter tickled in Dash’s stomach and flitted into his heart. He was blushing again.

Gingerly, Dash pulled the blankets over Phantom up to his chin and tucked them around him. Even more gingerly, trying not to draw comparisons between this paralyzed ghost and a dead body, Dash touched two fingers to Phantom’s eyelids and closed them. If - no, when Phantom recovered from the spider poison, it wouldn’t hurt him to get a few hours of sleep… assuming ghosts slept.

Dash preemptively texted his parents, letting them know that he was sick and would be staying home from school that day. He hadn’t had a sick day since last school year, so he knew they would take him at his word. To be safe, he locked his bedroom door.

He pulled his computer chair over to the side of the bed and slumped into it. His numb right arm lay in his lap, paralyzed, the green lightning bolts on his hand as harsh and virulent as when they first appeared. He tried not to think about it. Instead, he sat up, determined to watch over his hero through the rest of the night.

-----

Part 2 --> 

[doeilovr]

Turn Back Time

-> Pairing: Lee Taeyong x femReader, special guest Kim Doyoung

-> Genre: Angst, Idol Taeyong au, Cheating au, break up au, a bit of smut (like 1 paragraph)

-> Warnings: cheating, cursing, suggestive themes, mention of sex, physical violence, self doubt

-> Summary: And it was moments like this you wished you could turn back time, to make him stop hurting you. Taeyong was your world and all you ever wished for was to be his too.

-> Words: 2.6 k

Disclaimer: this is not how Lee Taeyong is at all! This is merely fiction! Cheating is also not okay, just be kind, people and love truthfully!

You knew something had changed, when you heard Taeyong walk into your shared bedroom.

He was out late again, working on choreography and writing lyrics at the studio.

A month ago he would have cuddled up to you in bed, pecking you on the cheek, before he would fall asleep with his arms wrapped around your body.

But he had stopped doing that and just got into bed as silently as possible, trying not to wake you up. You were awake though. Thinking about what had changed between you two.

In the morning you would get up before him, staring at him sleeping peacefully in your bed, regretting whatever you did wrong.

You were making breakfast for the both of you when Taeyong joined you in the kitchen, his blonde hair messy and his eyes sleepy.

“Good morning”, you smiled at him, tempted to stroke his hair. Taeyong’s cold expression brought you back to reality. “Morning”, he mumbled, grabbing an apple from the counter.

You wanted to tell him you made breakfast for him, but he was faster. “I’m going to the studio. It’ll be late, no need to wait for me”, he announced, not waiting for an answer and disappearing back into the bedroom.

Your stomach twisted, you just couldn’t understand what you did wrong. You weren’t even hungry anymore, putting the freshly cooked food in the fridge for another time.

You were determined to win Taeyong back, even if you didn’t know why you had lost him on the first place. Maybe he got tired of you because you never surprised him. Maybe he wanted you to be more spontaneous. With these thoughts in mind you bought coffee and made your way to the studio.

You entered the recording studio, knowing Taeyong was alone, as it was late already. He stood in the recording booth, practicing some random verses. He looked good, wearing a white tee and ripped black jeans. His blonde hair was messy, as he was constantly running his fingers through it.

To be honest, he just looked tired.

Your breath hitched in your throat, when he locked eyes with you. Taeyong put down the headphones and stepped out of the booth.

“What are you doing here?” He walked past you, pressing some buttons on the computer.

“I brought you coffee”, you smiled, placing the Americano down next to him. Taeyong side eyed you, noticing your black coat. You felt his hot gaze on your body, making your cheeks flush.

“Yeah, actually I’m not just here for that.” Carefully you pushed Taeyong down on the leather chair behind him. He let you guide him, intently watching your every move.

You placed a kiss to his soft lips, before you grabbed his hand, guiding it to open up your coat. It had been a while since you last kissed and you had missed him. The feeling of his lips against yours. Taeyong watched you with intense eyes, opening the coat to reveal a set of white lingerie.

You had bought it just for him and felt nervous to show yourself like this, since it had been a while you two last had sex. Or just any other intimate interaction.

You sat down on his lap, your eyes never leaving his face. Taeyong gulped visibly, before you placed another kiss on his lips, this time using your tongue. His hands roamed around your body and his member twitched beneath you. Fuck, he felt so good.

Your hand traveled down his chest, all the way to the button of his jeans. You stroked him through the fabric, making him inhale sharply. “I want you, Taeyong”, you whispered, a sudden desperation in your voice.

There was a flicker in Taeyong’s dark eyes, his hand moving to yours and grabbing it quickly. Just when you thought you got through to him, he removed your hand from his crotch, pushing you off his lap.

You stepped back, watching him with sad eyes. Did he really not love you anymore?

Taeyong got up, cursing under his breath. “Don’t fucking do that”, he mumbled, his eyes moving quickly.

“Taeyong-“, you tried to reach out to him, but he moved past you and got back into the recording booth. You felt so vulnerable, closing the jacket and hugging yourself.

Was that it? Was that how you broke up with him? Why couldn’t he just explain himself or at least talk to you? You wiped away a tear that threatend to run down your cheek and left the room.

In a quick pace you moved down the long corridor, making your way to the exit, while trying to calm down. On your way around a corner you bumped into someone’s chest.

“Y/n?” Doyoung smiled down at you. You greeted him quickly and hoped he wouldn’t notice your glistening eyes.

“Are you here for Taeyong?” You started shaking your head vigorously, trying to smile back at him, but you looked rather awkward.

“I’m on my way out, actually.” Doyoung’s smile faded a bit. He just knew you too well, sensing that there was something wrong.

“Everything alright?” He furrowed his brows. “Yeah, don’t worry. I’m just tired”, you waved your hand around. “I’ll get going now, see you around.” Doyoung nodded, waving goodbye to you and watching you walk away.

Something for sure wasn’t right. You didn’t look happy at all. And Doyoung wondered why?

Back home you cried yourself to sleep. You loved Taeyong too much, how could he so easily turn away from you? That night he didn’t come home at all.

You just got out of the shower the next evening, when Taeyong texted you. You hadn’t heard from him the whole day and felt beyond disappointed. He could have so easily talked to you, but he chose to ignore you. “I’m out with the boys”, the text read. You didn’t reply and went on with getting ready for bed.

You were lying awake for way too long now, taking a glance at the clock to see it was not even midnight yet. Your phone suddenly rang, it was Doyoung.

“Hey y/n”, he greeted.

“Doyoung.” You often talked over the phone like this, but it had become less and less after Taeyong distanced himself from you. You felt weird being around his friends without him, which was stupid to be honest, as they all seemed to like you a lot.

“I didn’t wake you up, did I?” He gasped a little, probably just now realizing how late it was.

You chuckled. “No, don’t worry.” It felt good to talk to him again. “Are you also at the club?” You were curious. Honestly you just wanted to know if Taeyong had maybe talked to them about you. Who knows, maybe he was more talkative with them than with you.

“What do you mean? Who’s at the club”, he asked confused.

You chuckled nervously. “Taeyong told me he was out with you guys.”

Doyoung was quiet for a moment. “No. Taeyong did go out, but not with any of us. He went out with Jia, she’s collaborating with him, I don’t know.”

Your heart sank and you sat up in your bed, turning on the lamp. “What”, you mumbled. “Which club?”

“Pretty sure they went to Octagon. Is everything okay, y/n? You know you can tell me”, Doyoung reminded you softly.

You bit down on your lips, emotions washing over you. “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m going back to sleep now”, you lied. Doyoung didn’t ask any further questions and said his goodbye before hanging up.

You sighed, dropping the phone on the bed. Taeyong lied to you. He had lied. But why? Did he cheat on you? Was he cheating on you right now?

He was. In the past week, while you were waiting at home, doubting yourself and everything you ever did wrong, he was with Jia. So he was now. In the club, dancing and making out with her, trying to get you out of his head.

That’s how you found yourself standing in front of the club the same hour. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater. To your luck, Doyoung showed up too, knowing damn well something wasn’t right. He got you in the club and searched for Taeyong with you.

When you finally spotted him you didn’t feel shocked or mad. No. You were sad. Sad, disappointed and broken-hearted. You still loved this man after all, even if you saw him cheating right here and in front of your eyes.

“Y/n”, Doyoung mumbled, following your gaze to Taeyong. Despite the loud music you could hear him clearly. Doyoung couldn’t believe his eyes either. Taeyong was cheating with Jia. His best friend was cheating on his other best friend.

Fuck.

“You knew?” Doyoung stared at you wide eyed, feeling nothing but empathy.

You nodded, tears prickling in your eyes. Seeing him make out with her so easily made you feel sick. You never thought Taeyong was able to hurt you like this.

You always thought the best of him. He was so caring. You didn’t know where it went wrong, but suddenly he treated you like you were the worst person ever. He replaced you and seemed to not even feel bad about it.

Walking towards Taeyong your steps felt heavy. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer, he didn’t love you anymore. He hurt you and you wanted him to know that.

Stopping in front of him you waited until Taeyong caught your figure next to him, immediately staring at you with wide eyes. He almost pushed Jia back, startling her, before she also noticed you standing there.

Unlike him, she didn’t look fazed at all. You wondered if she even knew you were his girlfriend. You barely held back your tears and your voice was shaky.

“Whatever I did to you, I’m honestly sorry. I hope you’re fucking happy now.” You stopped for a second, taking in Taeyong’s face one more time, his shocked expression.

Quickly you disappeared in the crowd, making your way to the exit, Doyoung running behind you. As you got out of the club, the fresh air hit your face. Hot tears fell down your cheeks, as you slowly walked down the alley.

Doyoung came up next to you. “Are you okay”, he mumbled, putting a hand on your shoulder. You didn’t look okay. And he hated seeing you this broken.

Another voice called your name and you both turned around to find Taeyong angrily walking up to you. “Y/n”, he shouted.

He looked so angry and for what reason. Doyoung quickly stepped between the two of you. “Taeyong, fucking leave her alone”, he shouted, but Taeyong only pushed him to the side.

“You fucking knew”, he shouted at you and you stepped back, scared. “What sick game are you playing”, he added.

Now you got angry too, poking his chest with your index finger angrily. “I defended you all this time. I made up stupid excuses for you and your behavior, when you didn’t even have the guts to talk to me. This is so fucking low Taeyong, even for you”, you shouted back.

“Please, you’re obsessed with me. You even show up in the same fucking club, knowing I’m with someone else. You’re a pathetic bitch.” You saw the change of expression in his eyes as soon as he said the last words.

“Y/n-“ his face softened and he tried to reach out for you, but you quickly interrupted him, slapping him across his face.

Out of reflex, Taeyong shoved you to the ground and you landed on your butt. You gasped, finding yourself sitting on the cold asphalt. Taeyong realized what he just did and wanted to help you up, but Doyoung had already rushed to you side.

“Y/n are you okay?” Doyoung grabbed your hand. You couldn’t help but burst out in tears, letting Doyoung help you up. “Please take me home”, you whispered and he quickly nodded.

Taeyong watched you two walk away, Doyoung sending him a death glare as you both turned around.

He couldn’t believe how far he had went. He hated himself so much for hurting you. He had hurt you with cheating and now he had even hurt you physically. Taeyong never wanted this to happen either. He had been tired for a long time, stopped giving you attention and touching you. But you did the same.

When Jia came to the studio, flirting non stop, he just let her. He would mindlessly fuck her until you would give him attention again. But when the time came around and you did, he had grown tired of you, too.

He hated himself and he had projected it onto you until he hated you too.

You thanked Doyoung at the entrance to your apartment, watching him drive off with the taxi, before you entered the building. Unlocking the door, you walked inside, immediately aiming for the bedroom, just wanting to go to sleep.

You were shocked seeing Taeyong in your room, examining a picture of you two together. He turned around, looking at you. For the first time in weeks he looked as sad as you. As hurt as you.

“Y/n can we talk, please”, he asked gently, moving towards you.

“It’s too late, Taeyong.”

“I love you so much”, a tear rolled down his cheek.

“No, you don’t. If you love someone you don’t ignore them, or hurt them or cheat on them. You hate me Taeyong. And I don’t even know why”, your voice cracked before you could finish your sentence.

“No, y/n. I don’t hate you.” He stepped closer again, taking a hold of your hand. “I hated myself so much. I was so sick and tired of everything. I let it all out on you. And I’m honestly so sorry. I love you so much, please.”

You cried more, your heart hurting in your chest. His fingers stroked over the back of your hand, a feeling you had been longing for for such a long time.

“You cheated on me, Taeyong”, you whispered.

He nodded, pressing his lips together, to hold back tears. “I don’t have any feelings for her. Please, y/n. Believe me, please.”

“It hurts, Taeyong. I gave you my heart and you threw it away just like that.”

Taeyong’s other hand moved to cup your face, wiping away the tear that had left your eye. “I didn’t. My heart belongs to you, you’re the love of my life.” He paused, breath shaky. “I have no excuse. Cheating on you was wrong in so many ways. I started because I thought I would find my love for you again. But fuck, I realized it was never gone in the first place. I never want to hurt you again, y/n.”

You cried out one more time, before stepping forward and hugging Taeyong tightly. He immediately pulled you closer, rubbing your back and kissing your head.

“I love you so much”, he whispered over and over again.

After a while, you pulled away from him again, sniffling and wiping your tears away.

Taeyong was all you had and wanted, but his actions scarred you deeply. You looked up at him, pecking his lips softly. It was lovely moments like this you wanted to last forever.

And it was moments like this you wished you could turn back time, to make him stop hurting you. Taeyong was your world and all you ever wished for was to be his too.

But sometimes it’s not meant to be. You would find someone else, someone that would love and appreciate you, even if times were tough.

And maybe one day you’d be someone’s world. And maybe Taeyong would be someone else’s.

a/n: I rewrote this so many times lol I hope you enjoy it. It was my first attempt on smut so please bear with me. I’d also appreciate any feedback <3

[sometimesiwritebadly]

Rogue Thoughts (Spencer Reid x FBI Agent!Reader)

Summary: Soulmates can occasionally hear each other’s thoughts. You happen to hear the thoughts of a fellow FBI Agent while you’re interviewing for a position at the BAU.

Check out the series

Warnings: Some language, but it’s just fluff

Notes: SOULMATE AU MOTHER HECKERS

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

After nearly 30 years of listening to your soulmate’s thoughts, nothing could surprise you at this point. While most of your friends or family heard relatively normal things from their soulmates before they met, your head consisted of random facts about anything from mental illnesses you’d never heard of to Greek philosophy. Once, you had what you learned to be some of Friedmann’s equations stuck in your head for a week. Despite how little you cared for mathematics, your curiosity had given in eventually and you ended up googling it after 3 days. Whoever your soulmate is, he’s an absolute genius. 

Sometimes the thought of just how smart your soulmate is feels a little daunting; You’re not dumb, you have a master’s degree in Criminology and worked for the FBI, but you couldn’t help but wonder if your soulmate would be disappointed when the two of you finally meet. There’s no way of telling which of your thoughts your soulmate had heard from you over the years; maybe he learned about your study of criminals or some of the bad guys you’d managed to catch over the years...or maybe he learned about how you have almost every episode of Friends memorized. Recently, the thoughts you heard have become more frequent. Back when you were a kid, the thoughts you heard could be weeks or even months apart, but as you got older, you heard his thoughts more and more often. Your mom had said that must mean you’re going to meet your soulmate pretty soon; the same thing had happened with her and your father. 

“17 interviews and we still don’t have a replacement…”

The thought entered your head for a moment, but flickered away before it completed. “Don’t distract me today, soulmate. I’ve got a job interview.” You thought. Even though you don’t have any control over which thoughts he would hear, you hoped he had gotten your message. You currently worked in Crimes Against Children with the FBI, but after 4 years excelling in that area, one of the higher-ups, Strauss, had suggested applying for the renowned Behavioral Analysis Unit. You had become a profiler of sorts within CAC; when you were in college you had attended multiple lectures on the subject matter. Even though you weren’t officially trained, your bosses all agreed that you had the potential. Plus, the BAU had been down an agent for a while, so today you were meeting with SSA Hotchner.

When you arrived at the FBI headquarters today, instead of heading to your usual building, you went to the building where the BAU was held. Your nerves were getting the best of you as the elevator slowly made its way to the 6th floor, and to make matters worse, your soulmate’s thoughts were flying through your head at an astronomical rate. “I should book a flight to visit mom soon…” “Maybe we’ll finally get a new agent today....” “if Morgan tries to make me do his paperwork one more time…” Clearly, he hadn’t heard your plea to try and keep it down today. Or, he has just about as much control over which thoughts you heard as you did with his. Despite the foreign thoughts filling your head, you tried your best to stay focused as you exited the elevator and made your way towards Hotchner’s office. 

As you walked through the room, your eyes were pulled from your destination to the various people sitting at the desks. Or, more specifically, to a certain guy filling out paperwork diligently. “Holy fuck, he’s cute.” You thought. Almost immediately, his head snapped up towards you. “Did he…?” “Wow.” You both thought at the same time. This time, you stopped walking, and he pushed away from his desk to get a better look at you. Your interview had almost completely slipped your mind until you heard someone call your name.

“SSA Y/L/N?” You turned away from the guy, who you were now incredibly intrigued by, to the man you recognized as Aaron Hotchner. 

“SSA Hotchner, it’s good to see you again.” You said, giving him a wave. You weren’t a fan of shaking hands, although you were nervous your avoidance of the motion would come off unprofessional. Luckily, Hotchner didn’t seem to mind.

“Please, call me Hotch. My office is just this way, if you’d like to follow me.” Hotch led you to his office, where you took a seat in the chair across from his desk. Luckily, the thoughts from your soulmate - who may or may not be sitting right outside this office - had calmed down, so you had a clear head for your interview.

~~~

“Garcia!” Spencer burst into Garcia’s batcave, shocking the girl. Morgan stood next to her, looking at Spencer like he was insane.

“What’s wrong, pretty boy?”

“I need to know the name of the agent Hotch is interviewing right now.”

“Ok, you could’ve just asked like a normal person instead of giving me a heart attack!” Garcia grumbles, sitting in front of her computer to pull up the information. “Do I at least get a reason as to why you need to know about,” She paused, reading the name that had popped up on her screen, “SSA Y/N Y/L/N?” Spencer leaned down next to Garcia, so he could see the picture of you on the screen.

“Y/N Y/L/N…” The name felt perfect coming from his lips. It was like he never wanted to say another name again

“Reid? Seriously, what's up with this girl? Do you think she’s bad news?” Morgan asked, clearly concerned about Spencer’s actions

“N-no, I, um, I think she’s my soulmate.” Spencer whispered, not really registering what he had said until Garcia’s excited squeals finally tore his eyes away from the computer screen

“Oh my god this is the best thing that’s ever happened! Are you sure? Oh my god I need to do more research! No wait - if you think she’s your soulmate what are you doing in here with us! You need to be with her and fall in love and get married and name your first born after me like yesterday!” Garcia began rambling, grabbing Spencer’s hand and practically dragging him out of her office and back towards the bullpen. She continued talking as they walked over, while Morgan trailed behind with a wide smile on his face. 

Prentiss and JJ had been chatting at their desks when Garcia dragged Spencer in. “Code Red, ladies! Spencer Reid met his soulmate and she’s with Hotch right now!” Garcia announced, finally letting go of Spencer’s arm. 

“Holy shit!”

“Oh my god, Spence!”

Emily and JJ both gave Spencer a hug, while a blush rose to his cheeks. “I-I don’t know for sure yet. I just, it was like something was pulling me to her. And this time when I heard her thoughts it just felt so…” Spencer was at a loss for words, which was very rare for him. He couldn’t describe this brand new experience.

“Like everything suddenly made sense?” JJ suggested, as the only one in the group who actually knew what the experience of meeting your soulmate was like. 

“Yeah.” Spencer nervously began to play with his hands, turning to look at the door. Through the blinds of Hotch’s office, he could just make out where she was sitting. “Good luck.” He tried to send her the thought, knowing that if they really were soulmates, he should have more control over which thoughts she would hear or not. He may have been imagining it, but he swore she saw her figure get less tense through the blinds.

~~~

“Well, Agent Y/L/N, you’re certainly one of the best candidate’s I’ve interviewed so far. I know you still have an active case to finish with CAC, but once that’s resolved we’d love to have you transfer over here to the BAU.” Hotch said with a small smile.

“Thank you so much, Hotch! My current case is almost wrapped up, so I should be able to officially transfer within the next week or so.” You said with a smile. The both of you stood from your chairs, and Hotch opened his office door for you. Immediately, your eyes found the man again, and you found he was already looking at you. 

“Did you want to meet the rest of the team? Clearly, they’ve all decided it’s social hour anyways.” Hotch suggested, clearly not too pleased with the group that was very clearly not doing any work at the moment. He had mentioned that the team didn’t have a case right now, but you were sure there was still plenty of paperwork to get though.

“Yes! Please.” You said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. Even though you did want to be on good terms with the whole team, right now the only person you cared about was the man in the cardigan.

“Guys, this is SSA Y/N Y/L/N, she’ll be joining us here at the BAU soon. Y/L/N, this is SSAs Derek Morgan, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareau, and Dr. Spencer Reid. Penelope Garcia is our technical analyst, and SSA David Rossi should be around here somewhere-” 

Hotch was practically cut off by Penelope, who immediately pulled you in for a hug. You did your best to hide your discomfort, but you had always been a bit of a germaphobe.“Oh my God it’s so lovely to meet you, we’re all so excited for you to join our little family…” Penelope began to ramble as she pulled away from the hug, which you found endearing. 

“Is she like this all the time?” You thought. 

“Yes. You’ll get used to it.” Your eyes immediately move to Spencer’s. Dr. Spencer Reid.

“I’m sure I will. Don’t know if I’ll get used to talking in our minds though.” You think. You were completely tuned out of the conversation the other Agents had started, now focusing only on Spencer.

“Well, studies show that transitioning to life with a soulmate can be jarring, but not because of discomfort of hearing thoughts. It usually takes couples a long time to learn how to turn it off, which can result in soulmates getting to know each other’s secrets rather quickly. That’s why nearly 38% of soulmates will break up within a few months of starting a relationship, although it should be noted that 87% of those that break up will end up getting back together at some point in their lives.” Spencer’s thoughts began racing, and you suddenly understood all the random facts you had learned from him over the course of your life. As he told you the facts and figures of soulmates breaking up - not the best subject for a pair of soulmates that just met, but you didn’t mind - you noticed that the rest of the team had stopped talking and were now just watching you and Spencer converse in your heads.

“That probably explains why we’re talking with our thoughts instead of out loud. And why your team is staring.” Spencer’s cheeks reddened when he looked away from you and realized you were right.

“Honestly, I forgot they were there. Which is rare for me, I have an eidetic memory.” You laughed aloud at his remark, earning more confused looks from everyone else.

“Sorry, guys, I guess we got a little...distracted.” You spoke aloud for the first time in a few minutes. Spencer moved closer to you, his hand itching to take yours.

“Oh, please, don’t apologize, I was the same way with Will after we met. I know how overwhelming it can be at first.” Jennifer waved off your worries, and extended a hand towards you, “You can call me JJ, by the way.” 

“Oh, um, I don’t really shake hands, I’m a bit of a germaphobe.” You worried once again about coming off as rude, but this remark only made JJ, and the rest of the team laugh.

“Wow, you two really are soulmates, aren’t you.” Derek remarked, swinging his arm over Penelope’s shoulder as he spoke.

“I’m the same way.” Spencer explained to you, “It’s actually safer to kiss.”

“I’m sure we’ll put that to the test when we’re alone.” You didn’t think it was possible, but Spencer’s face became even more red after your thought entered his own head.

~~~

tagged: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal