#Think twice (and then a third time) about getting a PhD these days

[weltraum-vaquero]

Swan song

Professor Viktor x TA Reader

[PART 1]｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆[PART 2] ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[PART 3]

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆[AO3 link] ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

Summary: You’re a bright phD student who won’t shy away from a challenge. Getting the most notorious professor at the University of Piltover to hire you as his assistant is one of them.

Tags: Modern AU, SFW (for now…), DILF professor Viktor, romanticizing and eroticizing borsht, lab shenanigans, reader being filled with equal parts shame and lust

Word count: 7.8k

Notice: This fic is written with a transmasculine reader in mind, but that won’t come into play at all until the final third chapter of this mini-series.

Notes: A little something something while we await season two ;] The draft for this post deleted itself twice now. If the formatting looks wonky (especially in the texting section), NO, it doesn't. Shut up.

He didn’t lie. 

Which is all the more shocking, considering you attend his 8AM lecture on the very same day, and he seems more bright and alight than you’ve ever seen him.

When did he find the time?

Though there isn’t a daunting amount to your thesis just yet, you still want to believe you’ve written something quite substantial over the past months. 

You toss one glance around yourself before you follow him into his office after his lecture, and you find the stack of papers you’d left on his desk last night looking positively devoured, in the most… academic way possible. Scribbles and notes litter the margins, the edges of the papers are already somehow lightly worn. 

He must have read it multiple times.

“Coffee?” He offers.

“Yes, please.”

As he gropes the machine in search of its switch again, he cocks his brow at you. “And what was that for?”

You frown. “What was what for?”

“That… glance, before you followed me into my office.” The switch clicks, the light comes on. “Looking around like you were being followed.”

“Oh,” caught in the embarrassing act, you shrug. “I don’t know. Being cautious, I guess. Students have been looking at me a little funny, lately.”

“Much too late for caution, I’m afraid.” 

Uh oh. 

As he retrieves two paper cups, you’re left wondering what exactly that should mean.

“Why’s that?”

“I thought you were well aware of the fact that rumors would start, um… circulating the moment I made it public that I had hired an assistant.” Coffee trickles into the cups, a soothing little melody. Viktor leans against the wall beside the machine as he watches the cups fill.  “I’ve always been adamant about not needing one. It is natural for people to have questions — and to come up with, eh, answers — when I suddenly do.”

The notion of the answers students might have come up with swirls around in your brain. 

You wish they were right.

You’re glad they’re not.

You look at Viktor.

“Do you mind it?”

The coffee stops pouring. Viktor does that thing again, spreading long fingers apart to grasp both cups. And he’s quiet — for a beat longer than he should be.

“No. There are more important things to worry about than… gossip.” He sets the cups on the table, then takes his seat. He hesitates for a brief second, craning his neck before he fixates on you, motionless. Waiting. “Do you?”

“Trying not to.”

The answer makes him… deflate, somehow. It’s barely visible, for just a fraction of a second his chest sinks, before his tone is back to his composed cadence.

“You will get used to it,” he assures. “Now, onto more interesting matters — your work.”

Thank god. You don’t know how much more of the awkward tiptoeing you could have handled.

“Yes.” Your heart leaps into your throat. Acting normal has never been so difficult. “What did you think?”

“Very impressive.” He slides the stack of papers towards you. “I have made some… suggestions here and there, should you wish to take them into consideration. But, I think you struck gold with your hypothesis. Should you need a conversation partner, guidance, anything at all — I would gladly be at your service.”

“Thank you, Viktor. I really appreciate this.”

At the sound of his own name coming from you, something in him shifts. Shifts with an unfamiliar near bashfulness, he stifles a little smile into the rim of his paper cup, the corners of his eyes crinkle, he settles into his seat a little further.

“But you never held up your end of the bargain,” you point out. That snaps him out of it.

“Ah, yes. I did not.” He continues to hide behind his cup, before he finally seems to decide to take a metaphorical leap, as he sets it down and stares down at it. “I fear the unfortunate truth may be that when it comes to research, I either work better with a partner, or that… Cecil is right and I need to slow down. Though I’d guess the former is more likely.”

“You used to work with, uh…” you’re not sure how to approach the topic, “Talis, didn’t you?”

“The five basic principles of applied arcanism are commonly referred to as Talis’ princies, you do not have to feign uncertainty to appease me.”

So you drop the attempt to tiptoe around the subject, and ask, plainly:

“Why wasn’t your name added on?”

Viktor scoffs. “Talis-Sidorov-Sviboda has a terrible ring to it. Or so he’d said. And admittedly… I was more of a conduit than the co-author of his idea. He said we would name the next big thing we would discover after me, but… well, you know how it is. I dedicated myself to teaching, he retired to lead a quiet life in his gaudy mansion with his sports cars and his purebred German shepherds after he married some businesswoman.”

Though his story does line up, those aren’t necessarily the rumors you’d heard. There’d been talk of more than just a mild dispute of names, and… well, there had been… something between Talis and Viktor. But that’s about all you know.

Under your gaze, Viktor grows suddenly uncomfortable — both with the subject and the fact that he might be able to tell you know more. He’s quick to redirect the conversation.

“As for my research: I have been studying the laminal hexoin cascade in stabilized hexgems in various matrices. And though bold, I have been attempting to figure out the ideal matrix — something that will allow for close to a hundred percent energy renewal and render all other sources of energy obsolete.”

”That is bold,” you say. Your other thought, you keep to yourself: it also sounds impossible. You suppose stabilizing hexgems 20 years ago was also something thought impossible — and yet, Viktor hadn’t shied away. If anyone is apt for the job, it is him. “Any luck so far?”

“Partially. They have been yielding favorable results, but not enough to be viable energetic alternatives as of now.” He takes his cup again, bringing it to his lips in a rushed movement, drinking a mouthful, rather than a sip. Once Viktor sets it down, his hand remains on the table, fingers tapping on the shiny surface once, twice— “I could use a theorist to assist me with a few things.”

The implication dizzies you. Is he…?

But then he slides another one of his drawers open, and retrieves a stack of papers. Slanted handwriting, barely legible — you’re by now intimately familiar with it: his cursive. It litters the pages, in different inks and in pencil, diagrams, sketches… just looking at it makes you hungry to read it.

He smiles as if he’s read your mind, again.

“I was thinking it could be you.”

—

You’re invited to his office for lunch break the very next day too. And though he assures you there is no pressure in having to read through his notes by then, you disregard it.

It takes you a reread to be able to make sense of all his scribbles, but… it’s brilliant. He’s brilliant. 

It should stop surprising you by now — his ideas, his drive, his curiosity, his mind — but with every single time Vikror impresses you anew, he becomes something more distant.

As you’re marveling at his intricate weaving of concepts, it strikes you, unpleasantly, that this is the same man you’d wanted to devour just days ago. The man who’s made you coffee, the man whose sharp eyes fold at the corners when he smiles. 

You’d have deified him, had he been your teacher. You still do, especially now, after you’ve seen more of what his mind is made of. The mere notion of him becomes terribly out of reach, and you’re plagued with guilt for that night. Guilt for having tainted such a man with your thoughts. 

And yet, you still can’t help but think of his neck, the soft pink of his chapped lips, the hollow of his cheeks. You wonder what his mouth tastes like, and you want to slap yourself on the wrist for it. You should have, because minutes later, you wonder about worse things too. The scent of his skin, the coarseness of his body hair, how far up under his navel it might reach.

And when you finish reading his notes a second time and bring the paper to your nose to sniff it — hoping for a trace of him — you realize you have a problem. A serious one.

It torments you for the rest of the night, through the hours you spend writing up some suggestions and ideas, all the way to when you switch off the light, and hug whatever pillow’s within reach close.

When you get the urge to tilt your hips against it, you decide to get up and splash your face with water.

And you wish you could do the same thing the very next day on your lunch break, when you’re standing in the doorway of his office and he’s eating borscht. The sweet-tangy smell of vegetables, beef and beets makes your stomach growl, but your physical hunger is long lost on your otherwise preoccupied brain.

The beet red of the soup has pigmented his lips. They look kissed raw, puffy, ripe. A lavish speck of colour on his otherwise pale face, it draws your gaze and does not let it stay somewhere more respectful.

You want to taste them.

He does it for you, raspberry pink tip of his tongue darting over the plush of his lips before he swallows and finally greets you.

“Sorry,” you say, and it comes out tense, near horrified. You’ve caught him eating soup, for chrissakes, not being bent over his table. Oh, god. Why did you have to think about that? ”I’ll come back later.”

“No,” Viktor gestures to the empty seat across from him. He screws his thermos shut, and puts it away. “Please, I’ve been waiting for you. Sit.”

And you do, like the dog you feel like you are right now.

“Did you manage to find the time to read my notes?”

Oh, did you.

“I… followed your example and made some suggestions of my own. But on separate pages. Here.”

His reaction is more than what you’d hoped for. It’s more than the impressed raise of thick brows that had kept you fueled last night, it’s more than the smile you’d been hoping for. 

“You are unbelievable,” he grins, and takes what you offer, pushing his glasses up his nose before he starts reading. You selfishly use the distraction to stare at his lips again. He mutters to himself as he reads, pink mouth molding around whispered jargon, nodding. “Yes, this… this is exactly what I’d hoped for, when I’d asked for your assistance. Your fresh set of eyes is invaluable. I hadn’t thought of approaching the modification from that angle.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He doesn’t take his eyes off the page for even just a moment, flipping it surprisingly fast, and taking it with him as he leans back in his seat. 

And decides to torture you.

Viktor traces the pad of his own thumb over the curve of his bottom lip as he takes in your handwriting. The give of the flesh under his fingertip hypnotizes, the slight drag of rough skin on soft pink one, your mind is long gone.

You think of rough fingertips on his lips, on his chest, rough fingertips on the pasty white of his gaunt lower stomach, rough fingertips in coarse hair. Rough fingertips dipping between his milky thighs, rough fingertips on where he runs just as pink as he does on his lips, rough fingertips dipping, slipping on slick skin—

You need to stop.

And you most certainly need help.

“Is something the matter?”

It feels like you’ve swallowed your own brain whole when he speaks, because your skull rings hollow when you try to come up with a reply that isn’t incoherent babble.

“Wh— me? No. Why?”

And because embarrassment loves to stick around once it has made its presence known, the stars align for the next social disaster: your stomach growls. Loudly.

“Did you not have lunch?” Viktor asks.

“I… didn’t get around to it,” you admit.

“I won’t take up too much of your time, then,” he assures. If he knew just how much of your time he’s started taking up — and the fact that you wish you could give him what is left of it to him, too.  “I would like you to work alongside me on my research. But if you don’t feel like you can squeeze another project into your presumably busy schedule, I understand. I would be glad to have you merely as… a colleague to consult with, as well.”

Is that even a question? He’s offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. You would be an idiot not take it. 

And an even bigger idiot to turn down more time spent with him.

“You don’t even have to ask,” you joke. “Yes. I would be thrilled, Viktor.”

This is his first smile you witness when his pretty boyishness doesn’t shine through. It’s a gentle quirk of his lips, no teeth to be seen, just tenderness. It makes your heart leap to be the cause of it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Thank you.”

Silence.

Just as you’re about to breach it — he does it first.

“Would you be free for lunch tomorrow as well?”

He watches you from below long, dark lashes as you give a breathless yes.

—

“I brought you something.”

It’s the last thing you expect as you step into his office at noon, upon exchanging hellos.

You’re alight. With curiosity, above all else. And with worry — why would he bring you something? What will you do to reciprocate? 

“Thank you,” you say, though you have no idea what for just yet. “What is it?”

“I saw you eyeing my borscht yesterday.” There’s a glint in his eye that suggests more, so much so you can’t decide between flirting or digging a hole for yourself in the hardwood floor of his office. 

The middle ground is standing in his office awkwardly as he unzips his backpack.

He retrieves two thermos bottles: the one you’re already familiar with, and another that looks older, more worn, and sorely lacks the sticker you’ve so come to love and fixate on and dream about. “I, eh, I made you some. In case you wouldn’t get the chance to eat before you came here.”

Your chest swells so much it hurts. 

He made you soup?

“You… Viktor, this is… thank you. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to. Have a seat.”

You practically jump into the seat across the table from his — a seat you’ve come to associate as yours, in spite of being well aware of the oppisite.

As he screws the bottle open and pours some steaming soup out into a paper bowl — god, he’d brought paper bowls — his eyes flick to you.

“But if you don’t care for borscht, you don’t have to—“

“I do care.”

And that rings true not just for the borscht.

It rings true for the soup he brings you the next day too, it rings true for every word that passes his lips. And it rings true for the time you start to spend in the insane coffee shop queue to surprise him with his preferred order and a slice of cake (a different one each day, until you figure out his favorite: cinnamon coffee), it rings true for the dark blue roughed up thermos he lets you take home the day you don’t finish the soup he brings you because you’re just so busy talking.

It’s November before you know it.

As the days grow colder, it’s not rare to be finding warmth by lavishing in Viktor’s attention as you ramble on about ideas — either for his research, or your thesis. All while he intently follows your thoughts with a smile, stopping just to shave another mouth-half-full’s worth off his cake of the day with his plastic spoon.

And once he savors the last bite, Viktor almost always flips it hollow side down, sliding it down the swell of his tongue within his mouth, removing it from between puckered lips. His cheeks hollow, he holds eye contact all the same, and it’s a mental image that haunts you. A mental image you project in your mind, nestled between the apex of your thighs. The thick of his tongue. The cushiony seal of his lips, the suction of his cheeks. 

It never becomes any less distracting than the first time it happens. 

You startle when Viktor speaks as he sets down the plastic spoon into the now empty packaging. 

“I would like you to accompany me to the lab sometime soon. When would you be free?”

You’ve been before — but just a handful of times. Mainly for him to demonstrate or disprove certain guesses, or test conclusions you’d reached together. 

“I’m free right now,” you suggest.

Viktor shakes his head. “I have a lecture in an hour.”

Right. 

“I mean… I think we could make it in an hour.”

“I prefer to take my time.” Viktor leans back in his seat, stares thoughtfully at the clock on his wall for a moment. “Would seven PM work for you?”

“Uh…” you mentally go through your schedule for the day, “yes. It should. I might be a little late, though. How about… seven fifteen-ish?”

“Good.” The flow of the word is syrupy, yet his next sentence comes out surprisingly peppy with excitement: “See you then.”

—

Though you’re well into the final week of November, it never stops bothering you just how quickly the sun sets. By the time you get to the lab, the air’s gone cold, dry, and the darkness is heavy and thick.

Viktor waits for you just outside the university lab, under the halo of the street light — perhaps just a hint overdressed for the cold, in your opinion. It’s certainly trench coat season, though his is surprisingly long, reaching somewhere along the middle of his shins. The hand he hasn’t tucked in his pocket holds his cane and is clad in a leather glove. Around his lengthy neck, a red knitted scarf lays in chunky, impenetrable layers, reaching almost all the way to the swell of his top lip and his ears. You can hardly see his smile from underneath when he spots you — but his eyes give him away. 

“Right on time,” Viktor’s tone has just as much pep to it as a few hours ago, perhaps even moreso. He rolls his shoulders, before he subtly nuzzles further down into his scarf, shying away from the biting cold. “Let’s get inside.”

He leads the way into the building, its warmth embracing you the moment you step in. The tip of your nose and your fingertips feel like they’re beginning to thaw, tingling just a hint. As you go to take off your coat, you notice Viktor isn’t in a rush. He rests his cane against the wall before he unwraps the thick, wide scarf from around his neck, folding it. He sets it on a nearby table, shucking off his trench coat, slender shoulders under a wool sweater. You watch closely as he then takes his scarf and stuffs it into the sleeve of his coat before he hangs it up. 

There’s something stiff, painful, about how he moves. You wonder if it’s the cold.

“What?” He watches you with appeased amusement.

Caught red-handed, you jump, still halfway clad in your coat.

“Nothing,” you reply, scraping for a way to deflect from your obvious staring. “Not a big fan of the cold?”

“Never.” He says it like it’s a very serious matter. “I still don’t know how I made it through my first eighteen winters in St. Petersburg.”

“You grew up in Russia?”

He laughs through his nose like you’ve told him a half good joke. “What gave it away? The accent? The surname?”

“No, I just thought… Svoboda is a Czech surname.”

With how his smile turns knowing, self-satisfied, you’re suddenly back in his office again, uncertain and nervous and asking for a job as his assistant. He could taunt you with the knowledge that you’ve looked up his last name, embarrass you a little, play with you.

But he isn’t that man anymore — not to you. This time, he feeds your curiosity, albeit just with crumbs.

“My mother’s,” he clarifies. “Sidorov is Russian — my father’s.”

Oh.

“It’s nice that they used both their names. I’m assuming that wasn’t… common, back then, and back there.”

“It wasn’t, and they did not.” Viktor waits for you to hang up your coat, watchful gaze making your every movement feel loaded with static that’s about to snap. “I added hers when I changed my name.”

Changed his name?

The image of the sticker on his thermos turns up fresh in your mind, and you can’t help but wonder…

“Well? I was hoping we could discuss more in the lab, but if you prefer the coat hanger…”

Goddamn it. Focus. You need to focus.

“Sorry.”

You catch up, then slowly follow Viktor down the hallway, into the small lab he has been assigned. It’s one of the less grand ones, but it has all it needs — from a pretty new hexion accelerator to a humble whiteboard. It smells sanitized, sterile, ozonic.

You assume your usual seat by the whiteboard while he sets up. It still doesn’t feel… right to let him do all of that by himself, but he insists upon it, so, you stay out of his way. Viktor tidies up the space just a little, finding his goggles among the mess. He slips them onto his head, elastic pulling back his soft hair into a fluffy grey and brown mess. His cane thumps against the linoleum with every hurried step — though he doesn’t seem to be hurrying on account of you being there as much as excitement to show you.

Once he’s done, he sits in front of the accelerator, slipping his goggles on, and nods for you to come. Which you do — you’d be at his beck and call beyond just the academic context. For a moment, you pluck the inviting tilt of his head and the quirk of his lips out of their context, and you plant it atop your own bed, him in just a loose shirt, underwear, lax with freshly received pleasure. More comfortable than he’s ever been, all because of you. Beckoning for you. Come here. Smiling at you when your knee dips into the mattress, tucking his index under your chin as you crawl to him, reeling you in for a kiss.

“Come closer.”

God help you.

You comply with a wildly beating heart, stepping forward until you’re close behind his sitting form, watching the accelerator over his shoulder. 

He smells nice. Like an indistinct, aromatic cologne, covering up the natural, gentle musk of his skin. You have to resist the urge to dip your head down and trace the tip of your nose along his spine, from where the bones of his neck show to where the scruff at the back of his head goes thicker, fuller. You wonder if he’d shiver as you let the scent of him imbue you… you wonder if he’d lean into it, if he’d tilt his head for you, let you dip your face into the slope of his shoulder, where his scent’s more potent.

The mere thought of him, vivid in your nostrils and clinging to your palate and the floor of your brain, rattles you with a shiver.

“I thought I’d rather show you than tell you,” he explains, wrapping both pale, bony hands around the handles of the accelerator. Steam hisses from the exhaust, flooding the room with more ozone, and gently, but certainly, the gem starts to spin behind the glass panel, beginning to levitate out of its socket, illuminating the room. 

God, you should have put on goggles too, it’s making your eyes hurt. It’s a welcome reminder as to why you chose to spend most your days staring down a blackboard rather than the thing itself. The screen right above it is more of a familiar sight to you: numbers, reading the rotations per minute, as well as energetic output, steadily increasing. 

It whirrs, magic static whirling up around the blue orb, electricity crackles. 

You can see the appeal of this over a blackboard. But you’d still take the chalk. Especially considering the deafening noise. 

Nevermind the damn goggles. You need to remember to bring some ear plugs.

“Watch the panel.” Viktor raises his voice over the hum of the machine, and turns to you, watching you from behind foggy lenses with a smile. You wish you could see the way his crow’s feet deepen. It rumbles harder, so much so Viktor almost has to shout the next thing he says, which is a shame, because his usually playful lilt is lost in the noise of it. “Not to… spoil the outcome of this experiment for you, but I implemented the conclusions we came to last week, and, it is safe to say…”

With a well-timed click and tug on a lever, the machine disengages, and the gem drops back into its socket under the influence of gravity. Its violating light returns to a faint, blue glow, like an artificially lit aquarium; fluctuating and undulating gently in its intensity. The potential energy indicator’s numbers climb back up, steadily, but faster than what you’ve seen before. 

Much faster.

You can’t help but grin with excitement. “It’s regenerating fast.”

Viktor smirks at you over his shoulder like you’re sharing a sacred, intimate inside joke. 

“It is.“

You await the verdict with a bated breath.

“How much?”

Viktor’s smile only grows, like he’s about to give you a present. And, all things considered, this is going to be one, in months’ or maybe even years’ time.

“A thirty-seven percent recovery after usage within an hour.” Viktor spins in the lab stool to face you with the theatrical self-satisfaction of a magician who just sawed his assistant in half and is waiting for the applause. You nearly forget to step back to give him the space for it, so much so your knees knock together. But there is no chance for you to apologize, Viktor is unbothered, sliding the goggles up his forehead enthusiastically, his show of complacency ditched in favor of pure excitement. “That is more than I’ve ever achieved thus far. Thanks to y—” 

His voice sticks in his throat, turning into a pained hiss.

His hair’s tangled in his goggles.

“Oh, wonderful,” he grits out sarcastically. 

A frustrated half-sigh half-groan rumbles in his chest as he pulls again and only makes things worse.

“Could you get me a pair of scissors? I should have some in the third drawer over there.”

“Wait. At least let me try first,” you insist. Reluctantly, you step closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Viktor lowers his head for better access like a feral animal letting itself be pet for the first time. He sits still, the sound of both your breaths suddenly loud in the tall, quiet room as you’re forced to step even closer. “Could you…”

You nudge his ankles apart with the tip of your shoe.

He listens.

After a stuttering, fragile exhale, Viktor spreads his thighs. 

You take the space offered. And you try not to think about kneeling, about making a home for yourself between his thighs.

“Do you think you can do it?”

You wish he’d asked you that about any number of things, except for the goggles tangled in his feathery, soft hair.

But yes. You think you do.

It would have been a terrible shame to cut it — though some shorter, bluntly cut hairs that sit a little further back near the top of his head tell you his suggestion was not the product of a new idea. Carefully, you pull whatever hairs are looser from between the lens and the bridge of the goggles, though a strand remains stubborn. 

You try to ignore the warmth of his breath on your shirt, the intoxicating, soapy, yet distinctively human smell of his scalp, and the mesmerizing ratio of grey to dark brown, the subtle heat on the sides of your palms and wrists, resting on his head for stability.

As you separate another few hairs from the stuck strand and accidentally tug at them, Viktor has no reaction. Beyond swallowing thickly, and sitting through it dutifully. 

You wonder if he’d act just the same, had you bunched his hair into the spaces between your fingers and tugged — simply biting his tongue and chewing through the pain — or if he’s leaned into the force, moaning with it, and god, you’ve hurt him, and you haven’t even apologized.

“Sorry.” You sound twice as genuine — mainly because you apologize for much worse than the inflicted pain. “Almost done.”

“The scissors would have been faster,” he half-jokes.

His voice sounds different. A hint more… strained. He shifts in the seat, wipes his hands on his slacks.

“Would have been a shame, though. You have pretty hair.” The last part of the sentence positively escapes you, and once you hear it, you freeze. Your brain scrambles itself trying to add something that will fix the inherent following awkwardness, the horrifying realization you just called your boss pretty, the fact that it’s true, the fact that—

Viktor flinches with another accidental tug of his hair, and so do his thighs — jumping with the surprise, clenching together until they squeeze around yours. But they’re gone just as fast, flinching away with horrified urgency. Before you get to savor the supple flesh pressing into your own in another new perverted way, before you get to imagine his ankles locking behind you, tilting and rubbing your hips into the hug of his thighs.

You need. To get. A grip.

“Sorry.”

You continue on in silence, and thank everything above he at the very least can’t see the way your hands shake, because he’s staring at the floor like he could drill a hole into it with just his eyes. 

You should have gotten the damn scissors. As if through divine intervention, the rest of his hair comes loose not soon after.

“Okay. All done.” You smooth the slightly crinkled, but now free strand back down into the rest of his soft hair. 

Viktor’s dainty features come into view from below his face framing pieces as he tilts his chin up. His lips quirk into a gentle smile, his eyes sparkle in the faint blue glow, soft shadows under the hollow of his cheeks and the swell of his lip and the tip of his nose and the bone of his brow. You wish you could immortalize him in whatever way he’d let you — a sculpture, a painting, a poem. He looks ripe for kissing, eyes half-lidded and twice as dreamy as he peers at you.

You’re going to see him like this in your mind’s eye later tonight.

Nestled between your thighs, or kissing down your stomach, molten gold under long, dark lashes, sitting atop carved marbled bone.

“Thank you.” He says it quietly — like it would break the sudden holiness of the moment to say it any other way.

He’s so warm. 

You could kiss him. See what the ozone of the room tastes like in the slick of his mouth. You wonder if he’d let you, if he’d suckle your tongue into his mouth in a show of submission, or if he’d bite your lip, licking your teeth, pressing, pushing, make you earn the privilege to taste him. 

You wonder if he’d hold you, or if his curious hands would roam, tracing the front of your stomach, or your spine, or press to the middle of your breastbone like he wants to see where you’d split open for him down the middle like a ripe peach. You wonder if he’d let you dip a hand down the front of his slacks, you wonder if he’d tilt his hips into it like he’d been aching for it, aching for you. Scorching your hand with want, materialized in slick or straining hardness. You wonder which it’d be.

From where you’re standing, the distance between the apex of his chin and the space where his slacks stretch between his thighs is small — and your gaze takes the leap, searching. But the material dips and curves in such a way that you’re left none the wiser, and with nothing but a disgusting realization.

You’re staring at your boss’ crotch.

You step back from the heat between his thighs, painfully awake, aware. It squeezes and wriggles in your chest like you have a parasite lodged in the chambers of your heart. 

You’re disgusting.

You need to put an end to this.

“You’re welcome, professor.”

With that, you’re practically bolting from between his thighs, to stash the scissors away again.

You’re neglecting your job, you’re putting it in jeopardy. Putting yourself in jeopardy, risking all the rumors circulating becoming a shameful truth, you’re risking the first man who ever kept up with you, followed you where you wanted to go and took you further — you’re risking it all because he makes you unbelievably fucking horny. 

And it’s absurd. Embarrassing. You need to get a hold of yourself. 

“I was… thinking, actually,” you begin, and want to punch yourself over how Viktor perks back up from where you’d left him. “About some things regarding my thesis that I’d like your thoughts on.”

“Oh. Of course.” You have got to be imagining the subtle disappointment in his tone. The second you let yourself believe it’s more than just a figment of your make-believe, is the second you will be doomed. 

Viktor, with all his years and experience, would and does know better than to fall for his assistant. You know he does.

“What’s on your mind?” He prompts after your prolonged silence.

If he knew the half of it.

—

You’re late.

And it’s a direct, shameful consequence of last night’s lusting, the time you’d spent frustratedly tossing and turning and thinking of his mouth and his eyes and his scent, before you’d given in past midnight, and humped your hand into completion.

Thinking about him under you, about pressing your face into his neck, about pressing him into the mattress and rutting into him until he gushes and his tired body sings for you and his voice cracks. Until he breaks for you, until pleasure itself oils and unscrews all the biological cogs of his body and he comes out unstrung, reborn.

Viktor’s in a wheelchair. 

And he looks worse for wear than you’ve ever encountered him before, slumping in the chair and massaging his eyelids with his thumb and index, seemingly gathering his thoughts. He’s dressed even warmer than usual, in a loose but thick, dark red sweater. There’s a colorful knitted blanket folded and set over the tops of his thighs. 

Viktor doesn’t acknowledge you when you come in and sit near the whiteboard, simply resumes his lecture as he regains his mental footing. And he goes on for a while, not sparing you a single glance, as he goes through powerpoint slides today, instead of his usual writing and hand drawn diagrams. 

He’s at it for a while, not as fast as his usual pace, but undeniably concise, certain. Until…

“The energy output increases proportionately to the spin, and, with powerful enough matrices, some hexgems can create force fields of their own. This is a particularly common phenomenon in unstabilized gems as well, though with the activation of their force field, those tend to also create… eh…”

Viktor stops, sighing, pinching the bridge of his nose. He frowns, mumbling something in another language, which, judging by the heavy consonants and squeezed vowel, you’d assume it’s Russian. The word must be slipping his mind, so you decide to help out.

“A shock wave.”

Viktor’s gaze cuts. He’s looked at you with disinterest before, sure, but this… 

He doesn’t even turn his head to look at you, just eyes you from the corner of his vision like something unworthy of acknowledgment. You wish you could swallow your words back up.

“Yes,” he says. “Thank you. A shock wave.”

You don’t say anything again for the rest of the lecture. 

Once the door falls shut behind the last few students who have left the room, Viktor turns to you. You wish you could shrink; and it feels like you do, when he finally speaks.

“I appreciate your intention to help — but do not interrupt me again. I know what I’m trying to say.” He sounds utterly unlike himself, both spent and angry. “I don’t need help. Especially not in the middle of a lecture.”

“Sorry.”

That alone softens him up a hint. He looks away, rubbing his thumbs against the wheels of his chair, before he speaks again. Calmer. 

“Just… do not let it happen again.”

As he slumps in his seat, massaging at his temples, you understand that his anger… might not have been as directed at you as you’d initially thought. He’d been snippy when his back hurt — having switched to a wheelchair must mean he’s in a lot more pain now.

And you understand his frustration. He’d just gotten himself an assistant a few months back, and started a new project — looking like he requires help in front of his students is certainly not doing his reputation right now any favors. 

“But if there’s other things I can do to make your day a little easier, I’d like to do them.”

“No, thank you.” He shakes his head, before he grabs both wheels and advances to where he’d left his bag. As he starts packing his things, he stops again, quietly groaning somewhere in the back of his throat. “Where did I put my pen…”

Viktor eventually finds it right behind his water bottle on the table, tossing the both of them into his bag, shutting it tightly. You expect him to wheel himself over to the ramp that leads to the exit, but he just hangs his head, massaging at his temples again, before he looks at you.

“Actually, I’d like it if you went to my office and got me a silver tin box in the… fourth drawer on the left side of my desk. Do you have the key with you, or should I give you mine?”

“I have it. I’ll be quick.”

“Thank you.”

And you deliver on your promise. You don’t run, but you power walk there, and you’re back with (hopefully the right) tin box in the same lecture hall before his break ends.

Viktor takes it from you gladly, popping it open. It contains two foils of painkillers, one already half empty, a small ziploc bag of… gummies, and at the very bottom, some dark chocolate. 

You must have pulled a bit of a face at the contents — particularly the gummies — because Viktor cocks a brow at you, before he faintly chuckles under his breath and pops three painkillers in one go.

After depositing the foil back in the box, he fishes out the dark chocolate bar. It looks to be the expensive kind, something Belgian — Viktor breaks off a piece, putting it in his mouth, before he holds it out to you.

“Peace offering,” he clarifies when you hesitate. 

You’d be a fool to turn him down. You take some — it’s rich, buttery, and melts on your tongue. It coats your mouth with its taste, dark and aromatic and unfortunately not as sweet as you thought Viktor preferred. He’d always favored the almost disgustingly sugary cakes.

“Didn’t think you’d like something so bitter,” you say.

“I do not. It sometimes helps with my migraines,” he tells you. “Sugar makes them worse. A very… devastating discovery to make, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

You wonder if right now is the right time to be curious — and you decide it might be.

“Do the migraines also affect your leg? Or the other way around?” 

“No.” Viktor shakes his head, popping off another piece of dark chocolate. “This,” he gestures at himself, the wheelchair, “was just a very unfortunate… overlapping.”

“Oh.” You grimace in sympathy. “Fun.”

“A punishment for it, more like.” 

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Let’s hope my migraine eases up on me throughout this lecture.” He smiles at you — and for the first time you’ve known him, he looks old doing it. Exhausted. The face of a man who’s seen enough hardship for a lifetime, but has yet to cave under it. 

You wish you could hold him. You wish you could melt it away, kiss it better, love it better. Whatever he’d let you.

You surprise both him and yourself when you lay a gentle hand on his shoulder and let your thumb rub a small circle over the wool. 

Though he flinches at the first contact, once something in his brilliant mind unfurls and settles, so does he. Through the cracks, tenderness shines under the fatigue. Viktor can be soft — in spite of everything im his body and his past that protests against it. “Thank you.”

You take your hand away sooner than you’d like — but at the ideal time to keep it from being anything more than a friendly touch.

“I’m glad I could help,” you say.

—

Viktor isn’t there at all next week. 

You come in on Monday to find his office empty during lunch break, and when you attend his lecture, it’s another professor from his department teaching it. The students don’t seem all too excited about the change either — and you leave before it even starts.

Heimerdinger is none the wiser about Viktor’s situation when you talk to him — in spite of their shared history. He simply tells you he’d taken the week off and had arranged for substitutes.

You consider messaging him… and ultimately end up doing so, after some internal debate. You simply text him to get well soon and that you hope he’s getting some well-deserved rest. He replies with just a plain thank you.

Tuesday is quiet. You receive a stack of midterms you need to get through from the substitute, and you do, by Thursday morning. Which is when Heimerdinger messages you.

Dr. Prof. Cecil B Heimerdinger

Good morning! I’m well aware this is on very short notice — but the substitute professor has unfortunately suffered a minor car accident. Not to worry; they only sustained small njury. However, I am finding myself forced to task you with Viktor’s lectures today. Do you think you could take care of that? Thank you.

-Cecil B. Heimerdinger

9:32

Just the thing you needed — teaching two full lectures, entirely unprepared.

Alright. You’ve got this. You’ve got this. You just need to find out what’s even on the agenda for today. You could text Viktor, right? If he answers on time, that is… he’s sick, he might as well be asleep right now. You could call, but… he said only to do that in the case of an emergency when he gave you his phone number. 

Would this count as an emergency?

Your phone beeps.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

There should be a black flash drive in the third drawer on the left in my desk. It has all my lectures.

9:34

Today’s topic is LHC segments naturally occurring in unstabilized gems. Feel free to use my work laptop to familiarize yourself with the presentation before the lecture.

9:35

Me

Thank you so much! 

9:35

His answer comes a few minutes later, just as you fish the flash drive out of his drawer, and plug it into his laptop.

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

Good luck 👍 

9:42

It would be a lot easier to get caught up in the desire to snoop around on his laptop if you didn’t have less than 20 minutes left until the lecture. His background is disappointingly the default image, but some of his folders look undeniably tempting — not just the scientific ones, which take up most of the space. There’s some photo albums titled with the year and location: Germany 2011, Czech Republic 2009, among many others. There’s also a photo album titled Persichka. 

Who is that? 

You almost click it. But then you check your watch again and realize you only have 15 more minutes until the lecture, and decide against it.

—

For how utterly unprepared you are, it goes surprisingly well. You stumble, once or twice, but you’re glad to see that even by the end of the lecture, you still have most students’ attention.

After you dismiss the class, you don’t expect questions. But a good handful of them, a little under ten, approach your desk, whispering among themselves, before a hastily appointed representative emerges. 

“We were just wondering,” she awkwardly begins, “if professor Sidorov-Svoboda is alright. And when he’s coming back.”

“Oh.” You hope they’re asking because they understandably prefer him, and not because you did a particularly shabby job. “He texted me just today — he’s doing alright. But I can’t give you an exact estimate for when he’s coming back just yet.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

With that, all of them turn to go. After the last student has left the room, you reach for your phone, and pray you don’t see any other day-altering messages today. 

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I did not mean for you to have to do this. 

10:11

You unlock your phone and jump straight into the chat.

Me

Don’t worry, it’s alright. I handled it :)

12:02

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I knew you could.

12:02

Thank you.

12:02

Me

Focus on resting up and getting well soon! 

12:03

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

I have been. I actually feel well enough for company now. Coincidentally, I’ve gotten some ideas for your thesis and I would like it if we discussed them sometime. Would you be free this weekend?

12:05 

He wants to meet? Outside of the university? Undoubtedly for academic purposes still, but your heart squeezes and bounces and pops with the implications. 

No. You shouldn’t let yourself hope for more than just a few formal, at best friendly hours spent together.

Viktor doesn’t want you. He would never want you — he knows better. You know better.

Me

I’d like that! Saturday works for me. Where would you like to meet?

12:05

Dr. Prof. Viktor Sidorov-Svoboda

If you’d prefer somewhere on academy grounds like my office or the coffee shop, either would be fine.

12:06

My apartment is also an option.

12:06

The choice is obvious.

[villxinoux]

𝐭𝐨𝐩  𝟓  𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠  𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬,       share  the  top  songs  in  your  playlist  that  most  inspire / represent  your  muses  the  most.    bonus  points  if  you  include  lyrics  to  go  along  with  it.  

tagged by: @heincus the mvp tagging: @nexarerum @tewwor @hiisfire

rich kids - new medicine .

i coulda went to college like rich kids do // buying weed with the money that your mom sent you // but I don't give a damn about no higher degree // cause you know in rock & roll, i got a phd, bitch // we got all that we need, packed it up in the van // put the pedal to the floor, gave the finger to the man // i'm not a rich kid, maybe that's a good thing // ain't got shit, but i got this far // keepin it real & rhymin & stealin // doing what i want

the whole attitude in this song is peak ciaran energy. ciaran has never had money, his family never had money, he never cared for money & especially people who have money. he has a strong loyalty to the lower & working class because he grew up with them, the struggles but also the solidarity. fighting for the rights of the lower & working class is a big deal to his punk heritage & he will carry it with him to the grave.

i love you like an alcoholic - the taxpayers .

i was getting off the late shift attempting to recover // crumpled up the bus pass, tossed it into the gutter // some handsome dark stranger, you were standing there on the corner // you had those compelling magnetized eyes // you must have lost when you got older // seven blocks in, my fingers brushed your hand // i blushed & you laughed, but you seemed a little sad // i ain't one to jump a ship, but i absolutely knew // i was six steps in when I fell into you // one last kiss // i love you like a broken pot // one last kiss // i love you like a pack of dogs // one last kiss // i need you like I need a gaping head wound

this song doesn't only fit ciaran due to his high functioning alcoholism, but it also encapsulate his relationship with his exes a great deal. the way he is attracted to things that are toxic for him is very well described through the lyrics of this song.

that's so gay - pansy division . i heard what you said, i'm not stupid, you know // what do you take me for? hetero? // the next time you say it, make sure i can't hear // 'cause you're pissing me off, is that clear? // heard what you said; just a figure of speech? // if you meant nothing by it, practice what you preach // the next time you say it, you better think twice // some pissed off f*ggot may not take it too nice // what'd he say? he said "that's so gay" // what'd he say? he said "that's so gay" // & if you say it again, there'll be hell to pay // i'll show you what it's like to be gay

this song is such a ciaran song from the voice, the execution & the lyrics. ciaran had to learn very young that the only way he would survive in this world as an openly gay man would be to challenge those who bullied him. he immediately learned to fight for himself, throw a mean punch & get to them before they can get to him. this song is exactly what i hear when i imagine ciaran getting in brawls with bigots in bars.

losemyhead - littledeath .

we could go and find ourselves a car to crash // or we could go and toss bottles off the overpass // if we tear apart the cushions for a little cash // we could buy a couple papers and a tank of gas // if we bargain with the devil, make the night our day // there ain't a single thing we wouldn't sign away // so we could grab ourselves a baggie, never leave the haze // light em', up light em' up 'til we don't know our names // oh, rock bottom // oh, rock bottom // oh rock bottom never looked so good

this song of course had to be in here. this song was the first song that i dubed "ciaran & mal's song" & i was obsessed with it after max sent it to me, so much it became my third most listened to through the whole year. the song is a great example to show ciaran's free spirit, his need for adventure, adrenaline & freedom. it also shows why he & mal work together so well; they are equally as crazy.

sorry about your car - savannah saturn .

the lot was empty // late at night // no one could see me // reach for my bag // & pull out a key // so baby, i'll meet you in hell // i could never tell // if this was just a dream // now I'll just sit for myself // wondering when // the cops will come for me // i'm sorry, i'm sorry // i shouldn't let it get this far // & now i just feel // sorry for your car // should i have cut the brakes // or is that too far? this is mostly a joke, but also... not really. it's a nod to how ciaran famously put his ex's car on fire after he cheated. ciaran is not forgiving; he is petty, & is not scared of committing arson, so stay on his good side.

[jeannereames]

Hello, Dr. Reames! I love your work (and am very excited to read your novels very soon!). I am thinking of doing a phd (not history or classics, but maybe sort of related to Alexander) but I'm scared that I'm not going to have the motivation to go through with the whole thing... Do you ever lose motivation and get discouraged when researching/writing and how do you deal with it? I know that this is completely unrelated to Alexander/ancient history so feel free to ignore it☺

Hi, there! This reply is going to be in 3 parts. First, about my own motivation…

I think everybody (even Alexander!) has periods of feeling discouraged. It’s part of being human. This is especially true when something you put days, weeks, or sometimes *years* of effort into doesn’t work out, or isn’t well-received, or comes back with “revise and resubmit.” Ha.

So, real life recent example:  About a year and a half ago, I finished an article that took me (literally) 5 years to research and write, because it combined research into two different areas, only one of which is my research area. It took a huge amount of reading, and I’d even presented it at a couple of conferences, where I received good feedback. It was supposed to be published in conference proceedings, but that fell through (not my part of it, the entire publication didn’t happen because the editor quit). So I had to shop it around to journals. It went out to three readers, and all three returned it with “Revise (substantially) and resubmit,” + large *additional* bibliography (mostly not in English) in the area not my field. Two of the readers thought my chief point was valid, but needed more support. (The third just flat disagreed with me, but it’s academia; that happens.) But that was after it had been presented 3xs already, and revised after each.

OTOH, I was pretty discouraged. But OTOH, the suggestions and reading lists were helpful. These are blind reviews, so it wasn’t personal. And the entire point of peer review is to help a book or article improve. Lord knows, nobody wants to put out something that will get you laughed at. But after all the time I’d already spent on it, it was still really discouraging as I’d thought it in pretty good shape.

Almost everybody in academia is going to have an article or three turned down, or a book refused, etc. And after a while, it can be really hard to keep trying. And it’s not just in academia.

Do you know how long it took me to sell Dancing with the Lion? 15 years! I got my first serious query from an agent in 1996. (The first words of the novel were written in December of 1988–that’s how old it is.) That agent eventually decided it wasn’t for her. I’ve had a couple others since…same thing. I’ve sent out probably around 500 queries to agents or publishers. In fact, I’d put the book AWAY and started a completely different trilogy (which I’m in the middle of now), because I figured it would only sell later.

Then I happened to read comments about Madeline Miller’s A Song for Achilles written by an English professor and new acquisitions editor at Riptide. She liked it, but there were a couple of things she really didn’t like. And they were the very ways (I thought) my novel was different. So I emailed her. She asked for sample chapters, then the whole thing, and finally, Riptide offered me a contract. They’re not a major press, they’re a Romance publisher primarily, but they were willing to take a chance on my coming-of-age historical, so I grabbed the opportunity. Now the book is out (well, the first half is), and it’s getting pretty decent reviews.

So persistence can pay off.

That said, if someone else had told me that story 10 years ago, I’d have snorted and said (in my mind), “Maybe it did for you. Maybe I’m just a bad writer and I’ll never succeed.” I’d also just been through a divorce and was having trouble selling my house in the housing bust, etc., etc. So a lot of things in my life were pear-shaped at the time, and that can make it really hard to keep trudging.

The “Dark Night of the Soul” is a real thing, and we all go through it.

The only way I get through it, myself, is to remember things in the past that went well, times I succeeded. Plus, I’m just a really stubborn SOB. Ha.

But discouragement is normal, and there will be points in everybody’s life where not just one or two things are going wrong, but it seems as if EVERYthing is going wrong and you’re just a total failure. You have to believe it’ll get better.

Now, part #2, about motivation to complete a degree. It’s a bit like the AA motto: one day at a time. Or really, one semester at a time. One hurdle at a time. When I first got to Penn State, the long, long road ahead made me freak out a little, but Gene Borza (my advisor) told me to take it in bites. And to remember that other people had made it through; I could, as well.

Also, don’t let yourself get thrown by “Imposter’s Syndrome.” This is the feeling that you don’t belong somewhere: in grad school, in a PhD program, in a department (or really, ANY arena). You’re not as good as the others. Minorities, women, and first-generation college students are those most likely to suffer imposter’s syndrome, but it can hit others too, such as the children of academics (I’ll never measure up to mom/dad), etc.

Last, part #3, and this may seem an odd coda to all the above rah-rah cheerleading. But as a (now former) graduate program chair, I would be terribly remiss if I didn’t put out a warning.

Not only is the field of humanities in trouble right now, in the US and Canada, and elsewhere, too, but the entire university system is changing. This latter is especially true in the US, but I hear rumblings from other places. Partly, this owes to the rise of online education. But even more, it’s what I call the “Wal-martization” of the university, where tenure-track lines are being replaced by a bunch of part-time instructors who have to teach 6 classes just to make enough to EAT. “Adjunct” professors, even those with PhDs, are paid a pittance. It’s absolutely immoral and ridiculous.

Universities are turning into profit more than education, with a degree seen as “job training” instead of learning to think critically and exploring Big Questions, which are increasingly viewed as a waste of time. Administration levels are increasingly bloated with deans, assistant deans, supervisory boards, etc. They’re (mostly) not teaching, but their paycheques are high. Tenured faculty positions are being eliminated. Colleges and unis realized that they could turn over a lot of (especially intro and survey) courses to part-time instructors for a *fraction* of what they paid tenured and tenure-track faculty, but still reap high tuition.

When I was finishing up in the ‘90s, I was teaching as an adjunct while writing my dissertation, then for a bit after, as was expected for “teaching experience” before being hired. The phenomenon of the “Visiting Assistant Professor” (or VAP) was *starting* to gain traction, but was still usually just a year or two until these people would find a tenure-track position (VAP is not tenure-track). But now, I know people who’ve been VAPping for YEARS. And some just give up. Also, adjuncting like what I was doing has gone from “teaching experience for a real job” into “the only lane for employment” for a lot of PhD (and some MA) graduates. Especially women PhDs get caught in that trap.

These are the realities of where we are right  now.

And THE MOST USELESS DEGREE ON THE PLANET is a PhD in the humanities. I say that as one who holds it. With a few exceptions, a humanities PhD prepares you for pretty much one job: being a professor. And those jobs are winking out of existence with frightening speed. This is a change that has accelerated over the last 10 years, and especially over the last 5. We’re turning out PhDs with no available positions. Museum studies, Classics, archaeology, philosophy are in even worse shape. SOME history PhDs are more popular. This year, H-Net has a bunch of Latin American positions open, for instance.

An MA in history (or related) is still useful. There are certain jobs that like them, ranging from state jobs like the Park Service to the FBI and CIA.

But a PhD? Think loooooong and hard before investing that time and money. This is not a matter of *you* not being able to do the work to get one. It’s a matter of the university system as we’ve known it crumbling away under our very feet. I have no idea what the American university will look like in 10 years. And once you have a PhD, it educates you out of most other jobs.

So that’s the unfortunate bad news. And I’d be a very irresponsible advisor if I didn’t tell you the truth. IME, people who really want a PhD will ignore me and go after it anyway. But at least you’ll go in with your eyes open.

[coochiequeens]

UK — London, England. A PhD student is under investigation for a slew of death threats on social media. The threatening posts included suggestions of going on a “terf hunt” and creating for “target practice” a list of supporters of a woman recently arrested when suffrage ribbons she retweeted were construed as a transphobic threat. Andrea Cachia, a Brunel University-London student of Robotics Engineering who is male and self-identifies as a “trans non binary woman,” is reportedly under police investigation for posts made on the @Transalorian Twitter account between March and June.

The first known apparent threat was tweeted on the account on March 25, and uses a sexist slur for women while threatening to make an unspecified woman’s pronouns “was/were.” An attached image shows Mr Cachia pressing the side of a gun across his lips while making a mysterious gaze sideways.

A tweet posted to the account on April 27 says, “POV [point of view] you’re a terf who read this.” A photograph of a wide-eyed, stubbly-faced Mr Cachia pointing a gun at the camera ominously accompanies the tweet.

Another tweet, dated May 17, shows two images of guns, including a pink gun sporting a transgender symbol. “You’re going on a TERF hunt, what u takin,” the tweet reads. Many of the remainder of Mr Cachia’s violent tweets were apparently a reaction to the case of Marion Millar. Ms Millar, an accountant, business owner, gender-critical feminist campaigner and mother-of-two, was arrested earlier this month on suspicion of a transphobic and homophobic hate crime. The man who filed the complaint against Ms Millar purportedly told police that a photograph depicting a bow of women’s suffrage ribbons that she retweeted was actually a photograph of a noose, and put him in fear of his life as a transgender advocate who is also a gay man.

While Ms Millar is receiving support under the hashtag #WomenWontWheesht, “some reaction was hostile, with posts characterising Millar and her supporters as ‘terfs’, or trans exclusionary radical feminists,” a Times article noted. ‘TERF’ is a slur used against women who understand that there are two sexes and that humans cannot change sex.

According to the newspaper, the hostile backlash led to at least one police report, filed against a “PhD student in Coventry,” who “published a picture of a gun and tweeted: ‘Making a nice list of terfs tweeting WomenWontWheesht because she needs target practice’.”

Another tweet, posted to the account on the same date of June 3, reads: “I’m making a list / I’m checking it twice / Gonna find out who’s TERFy and who’s nice / #Transalorian is coming to town.”

A third threatening tweet posted that day is directed toward Ms Millar. “I wish this Marion lady a very Talk S*** Get Hit #WomenWontWheesht #TransRightsAreHumanRights.” A woman tagged Brunel University to the tweet on Mr Cachia’s account, and asked what the university though of the threat to use “terfs tweeting #WomenWontWheesht” as “target practice.”

Mr Cachia interjected, “Yes @Bruneluni what do you think about trans rights, also can we get the Airsoft society going again.” The official account of the university responded to Mr Cachia: “Trans rights are human rights.” Met with backlash about seeming to support the mass murder of women that appeared on the top of the tweet chain, Brunel University deleted the response. A public letter of apology released by Brunel University explained that the staff member who responded to the tweet had misinterpreted the tweet’s context, and has since resigned.

A university investigation into the student is suspended pending investigation by police, the Brunel University letter said.

Twitter removed the threat to create a “terf” kill list earlier tweeted from the @Transalorian account, because it “violated the Twitter Rules.” The @Transalorian account is still active, but has been locked down by the account owner. On a GoFundMe account created 18 April, 2021, Mr Cachia is asking for £5,000 in funding for “facial feminization surgery” and “bottom surgery.”

[spencers-renaissance]

I turn and reach for you

Summary: Three months after Hankel, Spencer starts getting terrible nightmares that keep him up at night. He tries desperately to keep his secret until one day when it's all too much to bear anymore. Luckily, Derek Morgan is there to hold him together as he falls apart.

Tags: nightmares, hurt/comfort, ptsd, angst with a happy ending, fluff, literal sleeping together, getting together, post-revelations TW: past non-con drug use mentioned once in passing

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 2.1k

Masterlist // Read on AO3 // Bad Things Happen Bingo

This feels the "Nightmares" square on my Bad Things Happen bingo card, and was written for this prompt by @i-write-whump. Title from a poem by Devon Strang.

After Spencer is kidnapped by Tobias Hankel, he stays with Derek. Nobody on the team wants him to be alone, and he’s always felt the most comfortable with him, so it makes sense. Besides, he’s got the space.

Spencer sometimes wonders whether the team pushed so hard for it because they genuinely believed that, logistically, Derek was the best option, or because they could also see the slow-burning romance simmering under the surface of their relationship. They’ve always had a special friendship, but Spencer can feel the growing tension: the deep and intense looks they share mid-case, the lingering touches on backs and arms, the affection leaking into each ‘pretty boy’ and every ‘Der’.

Perhaps if Hankel never came into the picture they’d already be together — it really had felt like they were on the precipice of something special — but it’s three months later and Spencer’s still sleeping in the spare room; there’s still just as much will they, won’t they lingering in the air between them.

He tries not to mind too much. After all, he’s never had so much free access to the man he’s pined after for years now, and they’re living in each other’s pockets. Almost every waking hour is spent in one another’s company: they cook together, eat together, watch films together, and neither of them are showing any sign of getting sick of it. But every time they’re cooking pasta and Derek says something ridiculous, Spencer wishes he was allowed to lean in and kiss the tip of his nose; every time they sit down to watch something together, he wishes he could burrow into his side and rest his head in the crook of his neck.

(Sometimes, Spencer wishes he could rewind to the weeks immediately after the Hankel incident when Derek would carry him around the flat to keep him off his broken feet; when he could press his face into his shoulder and inhale the scent of complete and utter safety.)

It’s almost torturous, being so close yet so far.

He isn’t quite sure why the nightmares start so late. The nights during the first couple of months are blissfully dreamless, so exhausted from the physical and emotional trauma that sleep was a tantalising escape, but once he’s back in the field, once normal life resumes, everything changes.

The first time he wakes up sweating and panting, heart pounding as he tries to convince himself that he’s no longer in Hankel’s clutches but is safe and sound in Derek’s apartment, he dismisses it as a one-off. He hasn’t had nightmares yet, so why should they start now? He doesn’t go back to sleep that night, too shaken to relax back into the comforting embrace of sleep, too afraid of deception: that he wouldn’t sleep dreamlessly but that the nightmare would be waiting for him once again.

The second time worries him. He gets up this time and gets a glass of water as quietly as possible, leaning with his back against the kitchen counter as he ponders what this could mean for him. The thing is, they’re so incredibly vivid. It really feels like he’s back at the mercy of a three-in-one torturer armed with drugs and belts and guns, genuinely unsure of whether he’ll ever see his family again. He doesn’t go back to sleep this time, either, instead pacing around the living room until Derek wakes up. He lies that he’s only been up for half an hour, and Derek believes him.

The third time solidifies for Spencer the fact that this is a problem. Three is a pattern, everybody knows that, and Spencer spends the rest of the night scouring the internet for studies conducted around delayed trauma responses and discovers the prevalence of delayed-onset PTSD. He’s tempted to contact a professor he met during his third PhD who specialised in the psychology of trauma, but he thinks better of it. Admitting these nightmares would be admitting defeat.

This is something he has to deal with alone.

(He ignores the truth that it’s more fear than anything else that keeps him from telling anyone: fear of being seen as weak, fear of nothing changing, fear of voicing his trauma out loud. It’s easier to pretend it’s about independent agency.)

It doesn’t affect him too much at first. Sure, he’s scared to go to sleep and he sweats so profusely that it soaks through his bedsheets almost every night, but he’s managing. He’s okay. He contributes just as much to their profiles and takes down unsubs without flinching. He dances around Derek like they have done for over a year, and he sits through Dr Who marathons with Penelope just fine. So what if he’s a bit tired? He’s stared down some of America’s Most Wanted and interviewed famous serial killers, he can cope with a little fatigue.

It doesn’t stay that easy for long.

Soon everybody’s asking about the bags under his eyes, his slower reaction times when they visit the gun range, his twitchiness around the team.

“Are you sleeping okay, Spencer?” Penelope asks him one day, brushing a curly lock of hair behind his ears as they sit side by side on the sofa next to a conked out Derek.

He can’t nod his head quick enough. “Yeah! Yes, uh. Yes, Penelope, I’m sleeping fine, I promise,” he says as convincingly as he can, flashing her a smile. He hates lying to her, but he can’t let anyone find out, he just can’t.

Slowly, he begins losing his grip on reality. He’s almost delusional from the sleep deprivation, and he starts seeing Hankel everywhere he goes. He’s stood behind the fridge door, in the foyer of the FBI Headquarters, in the toilets of a local police station, stood right behind the unsub they’re currently trying to talk down, goddamnit.

He’s beyond exhausted, but some nights he still refuses to sleep, too afraid of what awaits him in his dreams, too afraid of the fear he knows he’ll carry into the next day, too afraid of feeling weak again. Helpless. Completely and utterly without agency.

He sits up with his back against the headboard, the main light off but the lamp switched on, scrolling through as many scholarly articles as he can read in a night, drinking cup after cup of steaming black coffee. Most nights he makes it through till morning without sleeping a wink, but sometimes he can’t stop himself from drifting off The nightmares on those nights are the worst.

He isn’t okay and people are starting to notice. Everyone’s walking on eggshells around him right now, but he knows it won’t be long before Penelope organises an intervention that Hotch hosts and Derek directs. The worst part about it is that he feels like a trainwreck waiting to happen. He’s headed straight for complete and utter collapse, and the only possible way to stop the train in its tracks is to reach out and get help, the one thing he can’t get himself to do.

And he isn’t even really sure why.

It all comes to a head on a warm night in July. He’d fallen into bed that night deliberately, actually intending to sleep for once. The bone-deep tiredness had finally caught up to him and he didn’t even care that he was walking straight into the arms of Tobias Hankel, if it meant he got even an iota of refreshing sleep, then it would be worth it.

But he isn’t quite of the same mind when he wakes up at two in the morning like he does almost every night: soaked in sweat with his heart going a million beats per minute, with only one difference. Tonight, he’s crying.

Maybe it’s the emotional turmoil of the last few months catching up to him, or maybe it’s just the severity of this particular dream, but whatever it is, he can’t seem to stop even once he’s awake. Sobs wrack his shoulders as he cries miserably into the pillow, finally letting out the emotions he’s kept bottled up so tightly, and he’s almost wailing after a couple of minutes of anguish.

All he can think as he cries helplessly is how badly he wants Derek. He wants to be wrapped up in his strong and safe embrace, he wants to feel the movement of his soft goatee against his cheek, he wants to inhale the comforting scent of his sleep t-shirts, he wants the warmth and solace that only Derek Morgan can give him, and in that moment, emotionally distraught and so incredibly sleep-deprived, he decides to get it.

He stumbles out of his bedroom and down the hall, stopping once he reaches Derek’s door. He hesitates for only a second before he pushes it open slowly, allowing the light from the lamp they keep switched on in the hallway to gently illuminate the shadows of his bedroom.

“Spencer?” Derek asks groggily, immediately sitting up and wiping his eyes. “What’s wrong? Are you crying?”

At the acknowledgement of his tears, Spencer starts to cry harder, and as embarrassed as he feels, he can’t slow the steady stream of tears rolling down his face as he stands in the doorway like a child in their parents’ room.

“Spence,” Derek says again, gentle and sympathetic, “come here.” He lifts the duvet up and scooches over slightly as if to make room for him in his already spacious king-size bed.

He doesn’t need to be told twice, though, and he stumbles forward, collapsing into bed and wrapping himself around Derek instantly. His arms come up to circle Spencer’s waist, caressing him gently as he holds him close to his body, shushing him quietly.

“It’s okay, Spence,” he murmurs. “I’m here now, alright? We’re gonna fix whatever it is, I promise you. We’ll get through this. You’ll get through this.”

He lets himself cry and cry and cry until his tears are dried up and he’s hiccupping from the force of his sobs. He would feel terrible about the damp spot left on Derek’s t-shirt, but he simply doesn’t have the energy. Instead, he continues to lie there on Derek’s chest, listening to his softly spoken assurances and losing himself in the sensation of Derek’s fingertips caressing the skin of his waist.

After a couple of minutes of silence, interrupted only by the odd hiccup from Spencer’s tired lungs, Derek finally asks the question. “What was that all about, pretty boy?” he asks with a tenderness Spencer isn’t sure he’s ever heard before. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Been having nightmares,” Spencer whispers, keeping his eyes closed against Derek’s imploring gaze.

He feels Derek tense beneath him, his fingers briefly pausing before resuming their comforting patterns on his waist, and a heavy breath escapes his lips. “For how long?”

“Last couple of months,” he mumbles, and somehow another tear manages to escape Spencer’s screwed up eyes.

“Well,” Derek sighs, “I suppose that explains a lot. We’ve been so worried about you, Spencer. We had no idea what was going on but we could all see you withdrawing, and it wasn’t exactly a secret how exhausted you were.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m sorry,” Derek says sadly. “I should’ve pushed harder to figure out what was going on with you. I’m so sorry you’ve had to deal with this all alone.”

“I didn’t know how to tell anyone,” Spencer says, suddenly desperate to explain as he shifts slightly to look Derek in the eye. “I was so scared and I didn’t want anyone to think that I was weak or I couldn’t do my job anymore, and I just didn’t know what to do.”

“I know, Spence,” Derek says soothingly, “but you’ve told me now, haven’t you? And I’m going to do everything I can to get you some help. We’ll fix this, baby. I promise you, I’m going to make sure you’re happy and healthy again if it’s the last thing I do, okay?”

Spencer sniffs a little, wiping tiredly at his eyes as he blinks up at the sincerity on Derek’s face. For the first time in far too long he manages a smile. “Okay.”

Derek runs a hand through his hair before dropping a kiss to the top of his head. “Do you want to sleep here tonight?”

Spencer’s smile widens and he buries his face in Derek’s chest again as his cheeks flush red. “Please.”

Months later, they’ll realise they never officially asked one another to be in an actual, exclusive relationship. Months later, they’ll know instinctively and with absolute certainty that this night was the night that changed everything for them, and exactly one year later, they’ll celebrate their first anniversary on that date.

Tonight, though, they sleep curled up next to one another in Derek’s bed, and although Spencer doesn’t fall into the same dreamless sleep he grew used to immediately after Hankel, for once he isn’t haunted by nightmares, but dreams inflected with hope for what the future holds for them, and he’ll take that over dreamlessness any day.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @lesbiantodds @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @enbyspencer @reidology @transhanniballecter @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @ @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @ropoto @thosecriminalminds (add yourself to my taglist)

[scripts4dreamers]

And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid 

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

------------------

You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

“By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

————————

Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​ 

[itswildwinters]

Seeing as it’s the holidays for me, I’ve had time to read (and re-read) quite a lot of fics, and I felt like sharing some of them with you. It’s my first time doing a fic recs post, so I hope it’s useful and not too much of a mess, especially since it’s quite long!

If you do end up reading any of these stunning fanfics, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!! ✩

✩ baby blue by @soldouthaz​ (39k)

summary: Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head. 

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin. 

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

I loved the dynamic between Cowboy Harry and Celebrity Louis. What I also really enjoyed about this fanfic is that the depiction of farm life was accurate. The way the story is written really gets you into action, so that you can picture everything quite well through the Louis-centric third point of view. 

✩ The Space Between by @lads-laddylads​ (39k)

summary: Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

A/B/O fanfic. I loved how Alpha Harry acted upon seeing Louis for the first time. You can really feel the tension and attraction through the screen, which is one of my all time favourite things. The way their relationship builds up is a delight, and Louis is a darling and so courageous in the end with how he deals with Harry, even when Harry is being an idiot. The connection they have at the end... just wow!

✩ fae series: Boiling Blood Will Circulate and Warming The Air Of The World by @crazyupsetter​ (42k and 3k)

summary of Boiling Blood Will Circulate: The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

I am a sucker for fantasy/supernatural fanfics, and this one is absolutely incredible. The suspense in there is well-built, and the dynamic between Louis and Harry leaves you hungry for more. There’s a lot of blood in this series, so if you’re not into that you should be careful, but for me the author really puts into perspective how complicated and different from mankind faeries are.

✩ With a whimper by @kitundercover​ (132k)

summary: Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

If you are into dystopian works, and doesn’t mind violence, blood and gore, this fic will make your day! I loved the world-building, the way it’s written, how Louis’ character is portrayed and how strong he is. I just couldn’t stop reading once I began. The secrets of the plot, the fear of the characters, and the curiosity that sparks within you as you read contribute into making this fic a unique one that’s so worth the read.

✩ Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter​ (40k)

summary: The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Another magnificent creatures/fantasy fanfic. The writing is absolutely exquisite, and I love how hard to get Louis is. The violence between Louis and Harry might bother some people, but to me it really spiced up their relationship and made Louis and Harry, who are creatures of gloom, particularly interesting and even real, somehow.

✩ Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl​ (40k)

summary: They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

Where do I start? I usually don’t like fake-relationship AUs since most of the time Louis and Harry are famous, which make it less fun to me. But in this fic, they’re students and Harry is a frat boy while Louis is a nerd, but it’s not cliché or anything. It’s actually so well-written and the relationship between Louis and Harry takes time to progress which I absolutely love, seeing as I am a sucker for slow burn. Harry is so sweet as a frat boy, and Louis is an angel. Really loved reading this.

✩ at your fingertips by @risthebrave​ (27k)

summary: He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

-

Or, Louis really should have seen it coming.

Besides being well-written, the whole plot is quite original. I absolutely loved Louis in there, especially since all of his insecurities made me relate to him. He’s so sweet, and I’m glad Harry was there to get him to open-up and see how amazing he is. I had so many moments of secondhand embarrassment haha, and they made the fic all the more amazing. Honestly, what really struck me in this fic is how the author managed to make Harry such an amazing person, and how intrepid Louis is while he learns to overcome his insecurities.

✩ Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense​ (83k)

summary: Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

It was such a joy to read this fic. Even though Harry pissed me off on more than one occasion, I took great satisfaction in how Louis ignored him or replied with one of his witty comebacks. The plot twist was just awesome and Harry’s stubbornness ended up being very much welcome.

✩ push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly​ (31k)

summary: Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

Oh my god, this was truly wonderful. The size difference made me go crazy! The smut was just wow too. What really made this fic so incredible is how protective of Harry Louis is, and how Louis seems to just... understand Harry despite his issues. Jealous Harry also! I loved it. Moreover, Louis’ character is literally perfect in this.

✩ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense​ (52k)

summary: Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

I’ve read and re-read this. I love Louis and Harry’s dynamic, and how they solve their troubles in the end. Harry is such a sweet soul, and Louis deserves the world!

✩ Canyon Moon by @eeveelou​ (40k)

summary: For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

What really drew me in is that I’ve never before seen a larry fanfic on the Lion King, and honestly? It was so beautiful. The way the author made the plot of the cartoon go along with the A/B/O world was truly surprising, and absolutely interesting to read. Also, when Louis is introduced to the modern world? It’s such a sweet part of the fic.

✩ a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent​ (27k)

summary: The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

Trailer park Harry? HELL YEAH! The concept has been going on in the fandom for so long that when I saw someone finally wrote it, I was genuinely excited. And I wasn’t disappointed! The writing is wonderful and the way Louis and Harry grow closer is just so sweet. Loved it!

✩ The Healing Song series: The Healing Song and The Wedding by 2204 (111k and 3k)

summary of The Healing Song: Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Or where Louis is a single father of two, suffering from PTSD, and Harry is there providing soulmatey and loving support while he heals the wounds of past abuse.

God, this fic I swear! This made me cry, laugh, scream... this is a roller-coaster of emotions. It’s quite a hard fic to read, because it deals with past abuse and trauma. And it’s even harder knowing this story is based on real life events that the author went though. But the way it’s written, the way Harry helps Louis through his struggles and issues, it’s so beautiful and inspiring.

✩ Sunrise and Pixie Dust by @moonyblouie​ (14k)

summary: Harry's taking a walk at sunrise in the forest he knows like the back of his hand when the wind starts blowing, the sky turns pink, and golden glitter starts to fall from the sky. He’s not sure about what’s happening, but when he comes face to face with a gorgeous winged-creature, he can’t help but be immediately mesmerized.

Or an AU in which Harry finds himself crossing the borders between two worlds.

I loved this, the smut is so hot!! But the end... I really hope there will be a sequel! But other than that, the way Louis is written? Wonderful!

✩ Weightless by @smittenwithlouis​ (25k)

summary: He hopes that Harry still thinks of him. God knows Louis thinks of him every day.

Or: Harry is the best dragon racer the world has ever seen and Louis is an almost-vet who feels like he is carrying the weight of the world.

This was... just amazing, honestly. I loved loved loved every time Louis interacted with dragons, I could picture it and it’s just so so sweet. The way Louis is concerned about Harry’s safety, and Harry’s will to make Louis’ life better, to give him the freedom he deserves... it’s just beautiful.

✩ The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror​ (25k)

summary: Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

I absolutely loved this! The plot, the writing, the suspense, the secrets... everything was on spot and left me yearning for more. The atmosphere really makes the reader completely engrossed into what’s going on, and the end doesn’t disappoint. Dark fics have always been something that I enjoy reading, and this one definitely didn’t disappoint. Just wow!

✩ Latibule by @quelquesetoiles​

summary: Louis had worked in the infamous resort placed in the median point of all worlds for longer than he could remember. He went through everyday with a soul-crushing emptiness filling his mind, going through the same routine over and over again. Despite all the happenings around him, his soul never wavered, his emotions stayed superficial, and nothing took his breath away anymore.

Nothing, except the intoxicating smell of lavender and the contemplating green eyes that came along for the ride every now and again. His heart always seemed to wake up full force whenever those pretty lips formed around even prettier, yet empty promises, and he felt the magic sizzle in his bones again only when contact was made between the divine body and his own deceivingly normal one. He hated it for the fact he really didn’t.

Or : A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

I have read this at least three times, that’s how good this fic is. I am a sucker for mythology, like truly, and Louis and Harry’s dynamic in there had me screaming! Jealous Harry is the best thing, and the semi plot twist at the end made my heart jump. But besides the universe we readers are diving into, it’s also the writing that’s left me pleasantly drunk. The words flow together perfectly, at after each paragraph you just long for more. Also the pet names!!! Just beautiful.

✩✩✩

If there’s any mistakes, please let me know! 

[makaylajadewrites]

What it Means to be a Fish

Summary: Spencer Reid wasn’t known for being the most social creature alive. He struggled with most social situations and was quite awkward in his every day life, and if he told his night time companions that he worked for the FBI, they would most likely laugh at him or simply dismiss him outright. But it was true. An FBI agent by day, a drag queen by night — who would have ever thought?

Potential tws: N/A

--

Spencer Reid wasn’t known for being the most social creature alive. He struggled with most social situations and was quite awkward in his every day life, and if he told his night time companions that he worked for the FBI, they would most likely laugh at him or simply dismiss him outright. But it was true. An FBI agent by day, a drag queen by night — who would have ever thought? Certainly not him. He had experimented once with makeup when he was still a boy, but from there, it had simply evolved into an outright fascination, that he was incredibly good at too. Even Garcia would be jealous if she knew how well he could rock a cat eye.  

Any drag queen would know that Spencer was experienced with the way he owned the stage and held himself with a pride that was absent in his daily life. He wasn’t nearly as confident at the bureau as he was in gay nightclubs, strutting around like a peacock with his feathers on display for all to see. He was good at it though, and it had been a hobby of his ever since he was able to get into nightclubs legally. Who would have thought that the awkward genius kid completing his third PhD at the age of eighteen would be a drag queen? Absolutely nobody, and that was why Spencer didn’t put extra effort into hiding the fact; because he was almost certain nobody would ever find out.

In the drag community, there were different types of queens. Eleven, to be exact; faux, androgyny, fish, club, goth, pageant, camp, transdrag, fluid, tranimal, and activessle. Spencer fit into one of those categories perfectly, and he always had: fish.

A fish drag queen was the type of queen who summoned every bit of femininity in their body and accentuated those features. They were determined to be the authentic woman, to the point where people wouldn’t think twice about her gender because to them, she was a real woman. Fish were polished, clean, and certainly weren’t shy with their makeup.

Now to be clear, Spencer was not gender dysphoric. He was comfortable with his masculinity as a gay man, but breaking the gender lines was always something that excited him. Dressing up in skirts and dresses and slipping a pair of heels on was empowering, and in Spencer’s opinion, any open minded person could feel like they ruled the world if they just slipped some stilettos on.

With the ever expanding appearance of drag queens in popular culture and media, Spencer wasn’t hesitant to join them. His colleagues wouldn’t ever suspect this from him, so there was no reason for them to go snooping. Garcia would never possibly consider this as a possibility, so why should he even bother to hide it? It would only prove to stress him out if he focused on the ‘what ifs.’

So he created a social media account. Just an Instagram at first, nothing too flashy, although as the follower count rose and rose, he began to feel like maybe he was just asking to be discovered. But apparently that wasn’t enough of a warning for him, because he went on to create a YouTube account on which he did makeup tutorials, for beginners and for the most experienced queens. It was a nice way to get rid of some stress, and after all, he liked to feel pretty: Who didn’t?

If his team had ever suspected anything, they would have found out by now.

But Spencer wasn’t really helping his case.

The first time he slipped, it had been a long night, and despite his initial plans to head home immediately after his show, he ended up staying with the girls a little longer than he expected, and hadn’t made it home until nearly three that morning. He was usually thorough when getting rid of the evidence, specifically with removing his makeup, making sure his hair wasn’t sticky from the wig-cap glue or tape, and taking off fake nails or nail polish. But he had failed that morning, and had completely forgotten about the bright pink polish on his fingers because of his sleep deprivation. What a shame. This wasn’t missed either. Because as soon as he was in Morgan’s line of sight in the break room, the older man looked somewhat shocked and began his torment.

“Well, well, well, Pretty Boy. You let your girlfriend do your nails last night?” He teased, innocent enough. Reid was confused at first, doing a quick, mental self-assessment before his eyes widened, his face glowed red, and an expression of absolute mortification took over. Instead of responding and embarrassing himself any further, he simply stuffed his hands in his pockets and treaded to his desk with faster steps, ignoring the sounds of laughter behind him and completely neglecting himself of coffee. Damn. So much for secrecy.

“What is it, Reid?” Prentiss questioned upon seeing him, a sharply tuned brow raised slightly. Spencer’s could look better though.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he stammered, internally cursing himself for his unbearable nerves. Emily looked humored but didn’t push it, thank god, and dropped it, not bringing it up again. Spencer kept his hands out of sight for the rest of the day.

The second time was completely Spencer’s fault. It had been a normal day, he had a show coming up that Friday, unless of course they were called on a case, and nothing was out of the ordinary. In short, it was a paperwork day and Reid was completely fine with that, simply because he usually finished early and the last hours of work were reserved for preparing for his upcoming performance. So, when his teammates thought he was simply staring off into space with some complicated equation taking over his existence, he was in truth thinking of outfits for the drag show.

He didn’t get to attend that show unfortunately, because a case came in right as he was packing up. He wallowed all the way to the roundtable room.

But when Penelope came into the room, it was over. A tight, somewhat outdated polka dotted dress fitted her curvy form and four inch pink heels that didn’t at all match the pink fabric of the dress nearly threw Spencer into a conniption fit. He was used to her bright and eccentric outfits, but this… How could she forsake the name of fashion so rudely? He nearly gasped at the sight, but he didn’t let it happen until his eyes had finished scanning over her body and rose to her face. What… What in gay hell?

Her eyeshadow was turquoise in color, the wings were sharp, and the contour… Oh god. Spencer was feeling nauseous already. It wasn’t blended. It wasn’t blended. It wasn’t blended. It was just straight blocks of color on her cheeks. He tried to hide the horrified expression on his face, but she saw right through him immediately since when Reid showed emotions, it was usually a big deal.

“Alright my furry friends, we have a—Why are you looking at me like that?” She said, stopping herself mid sentence and looking at Reid accusingly, the rest of the team instantly looking to him, clearly having missed the situation because nobody seemed as outraged as he was about the makeup disaster. He tried to look innocent, shaking his head quickly.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare,” he said dismissively, but Garcia didn’t buy it. Profiling wasn’t in her job description, but she knew when someone was lying to her, especially Reid. But JJ beat her to it, tilting her head slightly and smiling in his direction.

“What’s wrong, Spence?” She asked. She was too sweet for her own good, her pretty blonde waves tumbling over her shoulders so naturally. Funny how his wigs looked just as pretty.

“Oh it’s… Something on your cheek, that’s all,” he said, Garcia looking horrified immediately and whipping out a pocket mirror, seemingly from thin air, and overlooking her plump face in confusion when she didn’t seem to notice the problem.

“What is it, what is it? Get it off,” she said frantically, approaching the young doctor with a tatter of heels and leaning down towards him. Reid did a quick glance in JJ’s direction who regarded him with a shrug, and Morgan seemed interested now. Spencer hesitantly rose his hand, a slender finger working the edges of her contour on either cheek until it was smooth and not just a straight line. JJ giggled beside him, quietly, and Prentiss looked incredulous at his actions, but when he deemed her fit, Spencer couldn’t resist the little pat he gave to her cheek. Penelope looked both pleased and surprised, thanking him before standing and returning to the front of the room where she reported the case as if nothing had happened. But the little sparkle in her eye made it clear he wasn’t going to be let off for this incident.

That had been four months ago now, and Spencer hadn’t let up at all in his pastime activities and instead began to embrace it even more. He had come out as gay a couple of weeks ago to JJ who was both excited for him and eager to help him get into the dating scene, but little did she know, he was somewhat infamous in the D.C. gay community. He had a following on nearly every social media platform, and whenever he looked at himself, he felt so happy to realize that that beautiful person was actually him. He had so many issues with his self esteem when he was younger, ranging from his physical appearance to his awkward sociality, but when he stepped into the shoes of his drag persona, he was no longer Supervisory Special Agent Doctor Spencer Reid of the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He didn’t have to try, because something about wearing a leotard and high heels was freeing.

He had a show that Saturday night; nothing unusual about it, pretty routine and just what he expected. But the moment he saw his female colleagues walk into the club with a hesitant Morgan following suit, he was doomed. He had been on stage when it happened, strutting down the mini catwalk effortlessly yet suddenly feeling very exposed. He never hesitated, but the slight stumble in his step wasn’t missed, and as soon as his and Morgan’s eyes met, he knew the man had to have seen right through him. The eye connection was long and somewhat awkward, and soon, Spencer realized he was looking at a very confused man.

Spencer turned without incident though, leaving the stage the same way he entered it: confident. He couldn’t let them know, and if he had to go all night convincing them he wasn’t Spencer Reid, he would. He didn’t interact with them when he wasn’t on stage, and it was almost like he was daring them to identify him. His second time on, in a completely different outfit which consisted of a tight, mini dress and heels as high as the sky, he winked at Derek, and the handsome grin he received in response was enough for him to smile back, innocently enough.

At the end of the night, the other queens huddled around him and chattered about the handsome man who kept looking at him. He made a comment about getting the man in his pants, and they giggled away as if nothing strange had even happened. Hopefully nothing had, and tomorrow would be a completely normal work day.

But that was not the case. Not at all.

As soon as he stepped off of the elevator, something felt off, but before he could even make it into the bullpen, two hands landed on either of his arms, and he was whisked away into Penelope Garcia’s office by JJ and Prentiss. The resident of the office was there, but so was Derek, and he instantly felt uncomfortable.

“You have some explaining to do, Pretty Boy,” Morgan said first, arms crossing over his broad chest and suddenly Spencer felt naked. He mimicked the other man, a frown taking residence over his full lips as he looked back, overcoming his initial fear of intimidation.

“About?…” he asked, seemingly confused, but internally, he was panicking. Oh god, they knew, they knew, they knew, they knew.

“Well,” Garcia butted in, typing rapid-fire on her keyboard before an image of him popped up on her monitor, “Maybe we can start with this.”

It wasn’t a normal image. Sweet Jesus, he wished it was. He would prefer any high school picture over this. Instead, it was his most recent Instagram post: a selfie of him in drag. It was from last night, in fact. A bubblegum pink wig looking as natural as real hair falling straight over his shoulders, framing his done up face prettily. His makeup was perfect, a pink rosy blush dusted over his high cheekbones, glitter in all the right places. His eyes were winged, falsies set in place, faux brows arched high. But his lips were the attention grabber. A full burgundy pout, a touch of highlight bringing out a glossy accent. Dark eyes looked ahead with no hesitation; bedroom eyes. Fucking Christ.

“Who’s that?” He questioned immediately, having prepared himself for a moment like this in his moments of paranoid. He doubted himself in his panicky moments, assuring himself that nothing was going to happen, but here he was, living out his worst nightmare. He would quite literally prefer to be stabbed by an unsub than be stabbed with those accusatory looks.

“Reid…” Prentiss started, her hand coming to his shoulder. He looked down at her, trying to keep up the confused act, but the knowing look in her eyes he received was what made him realize he couldn’t hide it anymore. He had been completely and utterly busted.

“That’s you, man,” Derek said, a smile curling his lips upwards, although it was awkward and somewhat confused. Spencer had a tendency of making people question their sexuality when he was in drag.

“You’re so pretty, Spence,” JJ was quick to add in, a smile brightening her face. Spencer practically melted, his brows curving inwards and a hesitant smile curling his own lips upwards.

“You think so?” He said in response, nearly a whisper, as if he didn’t already know the power he possessed with makeup and a wig on. JJ rubbed his bicep reassuringly.

“Bria Monique, huh?” Garcia said his drag name aloud, beaming up at him from where she sat, beginning to scroll through more of his pictures, gasping quietly at one that was somewhat… suggestive. Not for a drag queen, but especially for Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Whoa, kiddo! I didn’t know you had it in you!” She applauded. It was a picture of him, a pair of high black stilettos on his feet yet he was crouched down, the supple curve of his bottom quite apparent from the tight black jumpsuit. His head was tilted back, exposing his bare neck and upper chest while those eyes looked directly towards the camera; bedroom eyes again. It had been a recent photoshoot he did, just for the fun of it. But he wasn’t having fun as of right now.

“I-I…” he started, stumbling over his words and debating on whether he should run or own up to it. He was left with one option; stay. But his friends didn’t look any less impressed with him than they were before. In fact, they looked somewhat proud, but the way Morgan looked at him within those few minutes was definitely enough for him to notice. He didn’t say anything though.

“You have got to show me how to do my eyeshadow like that,” Garcia piped up again, now on his YouTube channel, watching one of his quick makeup tutorial for advanced artists, specifically on a sunset eye. He nodded hesitantly, and the smile he flashed towards her was enough for her to giggle excitedly.

“A-Alright…” he said softly, Emily and JJ also adding in their own questions of makeup techniques and styles.

They let him go eventually, not without requesting invitations to his next show of course. Morgan was quick to catch up to him when he left Garcia’s den though, a large hand splaying over the small of his back as they headed towards the bullpen. Reid came to a gradual stop in the middle of the hallway though, and a shiver ran pleasantly down his spine as Morgan leaned in and whispered flirtatiously.

“I can’t wait to see you perform again.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and he looked towards Derek with both confusion and subtle excitement on his features. All he got in return though was a quick wink and a gentle pat against his ass. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Part 2: Girls’ Night->

[ggukcangetit]

Tomorrow: Jungkook x Reader

**

Pairing: Jungkook x reader

Genre: Fluff. Grad student au!; grad student! jungkook; grad student! reader; grad student! bts

Word count: 4.6k

Warnings: Suggestive language, mild kissing. Not much else really.

Summary: At the beginning of your third year of your PhD program, you didn’t expect many changes. Until the new PhD cohort started classes, and Jeon Jungkook became part of your group of friends.

A/N: i just wrote this randomly with zero plot in mind. idk what this ended up becoming but read it and lemme know if you like it? 

“Choi is a madwoman. I swear she makes me do so many lit reviews just to see me suffer.” Park Jimin, 2nd year PhD student, works part time at HopeWorld dance studio, and is currently regretting many of his life choices.

“I told you not to say yes to every single project that came your way.” Min Yoongi, 4th year PhD student, weekend DJ at Club Moonlight, recipient of the university’s most prestigious research grant, currently lives in a posh apartment four streets away from the main research lab.

“We’re older. Which means we have more experience. Which means we tend to be right more often.” Kim Seokjin, another 4th year PhD student, enrolled into the PhD program after realising that the completion of his MBA meant he would have to join the family business, amateur chef with professional sass, and sole reason behind Min Yoongi being able to afford living in a posh apartment four streets away from the main research lab.

“Not when you bet Tae he couldn’t finish grading Kang’s first year Intro class papers in 24 hours.” Jung Hoseok, 3rd year PhD student, simultaneously working on a second Master’s degree, also happens to run HopeWorld dance studio during his oodles of free time.

“Speaking of, weren’t you supposed to treat us if you lost the bet, Seokjin?” Kim Namjoon, 3rd year PhD student, plant dad, head of the graduate student council, and all-around overachiever.

“Tae was supposed to choose the place. Did you decide on which exorbitantly expensive restaurant Seokjin is going to take us to, Tae?” Y/L/N Y/N, 3rd year PhD student, roommates with Namjoon and Hoseok, addicted to bubble tea.

“I have a better plan. The incoming first year PhDs are supposed to have their orientation tomorrow. I think Seokjin should organise a mixer to welcome them.” Kim Taehyung, aforementioned ‘Tae’, 2nd year PhD student, works part time at the local art gallery, roommates with Park Jimin, deceptively fast at grading papers.

“I do not remember agreeing to that,” said Seokjin, with a frown, shutting his laptop with a definitive snap.

“Come on, it’s not like you can’t afford it,” Yoongi remarked, not having looked up from the large stack of papers in front of him. “If you can insist on paying 3/4ths of the ridiculously high rent of our apartment even though we could have moved into the perfectly reasonable priced place 20 minutes away from the lab, you can damn well afford to host a mixer for the incoming cohort.”

“20 minutes by car. It takes 45 minutes to walk there, Yoongi. Or do I need to remind you of the fact that only Y/N and Sooyoung own cars in our department?” scoffed Seokjin.

“Do I hear trouble in paradise? Have Yoongi and Seokjin finally had their first fight after years of marital bliss?” Lim Sooyoung, 4th year PhD student, part-time yoga instructor, full-time reluctant designated driver due to being the only other PhD student in the department with a car. 

“Hilarious,” grumbled Seokjin. “That joke is about as old as the milk carton at the bottom of Namjoon’s fridge.”

“That’s still there?” asked Hoseok, scandalised. “You told me you threw that out 4 months ago!”

“It’s a limited edition Blue Bean milk carton! I couldn’t throw it out, Hobi,” replied Namjoon, sheepishly. The use of Hoseok’s nickname meant that he had run out of logical arguments against throwing out the milk carton that had been purchased three months into their first year of doctoral studies. 

“Have you ever considered emptying out the contents and keeping just the carton?” you asked. This suggestion was met with the raising of an eyebrow and the throwing of an airpod by Namjoon. Unfortunately, this also meant that the airpod didn’t reach its intended target.

“Ow!” exclaimed Hoseok, rubbing the side of his face where the airpod had made contact. “This is why you’ve been through 33 pairs of airpods in the last year, Namjoon! You have dormant violent tendencies and terrible hand-eye coordination.”

“Now back to that mixer,” said Taehyung, turning towards Seokjin. “I’m thinking around 5 pm at the Underground should be good. What do you think?”

“Fine,” sighed Seokjin, reluctantly. “I’ll send a message on Slack. Who’s got the first years’ contact info?”

xxx

The next day, you found yourself struggling to find parking outside the Underground, despite it being 4.30 pm on a Tuesday. Namjoon and Hoseok were sitting at the back and discussing ways in which they could watch as many of the student films that were being shown over the weekend, while Taehyung sat shotgun and muttered to himself as he tried to destroy some kind of adversary on that godforsaken game that he always seemed to play. You whipped out your phone and started texting Sooyoung about whether she had found any parking.

SY: just parked… sending you the location… its behind the club

SY: is seokjin with you

Y/N: thanks!

Y/N: no i’ve got tae joon n hobi 

SY: ok… wonder how he’s getting here… yoongi’s with me… said seokjin left a while back

Y/N: idk… sure he found something… uber or lyft or whatever… don't worry he won't ditch lol 

Y/N: i found a spot damnnnnn. cya in a bit

SY: lol tae wouldn’t let him live if he ditched

SY: nice :D yoongi and i are in the purple section

The purple section was undoubtedly the best spot in the Underground, as you had discovered almost 2 years ago. Being new to the city, you had basically followed Joon and Hobi wherever they went to socialize or get food. It was around the end of your second month in the program that Seokjin planned a mid-semester gathering, refusing to eat at, in his words, “another cheap taco truck masquerading as kitschy Instagram bait”. That was your first encounter with the Underground as well as your first experience in the purple section. Simply put, it had the best sofas and chairs, an abundance of vintage arcade games, easy access to the bar and food counter, and a separate music setup. It also cost a lot more to sit at the purple section, but Seokjin had never been the type to scrimp when it came to anything. It had become a kind of tradition after that; every time someone had a birthday, Seokjin would reserve the purple section for the evening. Not having grown up surrounded by luxury and riches, it was sometimes difficult for you to understand how Seokjin never thought twice before spending money on things. Then again, you doubted you would’ve been this thoughtful even if you had this kind of money at your disposal. Seokjin might’ve been hard to read at times, but his heart was in the right place.

Speaking of, you spotted Seokjin standing next to a couple of people you didn’t recognise. Deciding that this was probably the best time to get introduced to the first years, you walked over to them with a smile.

“Just deposited Joon, Hobi, and Tae near the bar. I feel sorry for your tab today, Seokjin.”

Seokjin lifted one of his thick arched eyebrows at you and then burst into his signature windshield wiper laugh. “I’ll give them a free pass today. Afterall, it’s the beginning of a new academic year!”

“You’re planning on dumping all of Kang’s data analysis on them, aren’t you?” you asked, trying to suppress a grin.

“Ah, Y/N, you know me so well,” he grinned, his features lighting up mischievously. “By the way, here’s two thirds of the new cohort. Song Yeri and Jeon Jungkook.”

You glanced at the two unfamiliar people and smiled in greeting. Yeri was a petite girl with long black hair who quickly fell into conversation with you. Jungkook, on the other hand, gave you a soft nod and walked over to where Jimin was opening a couple of beers. 

“So is Professor Kang someone we should be worried about?” asked Yeri, not giving you much time to pay much attention to Jungkook. “I wouldn��t want to be unprepared.”

Seokjin laughed at her worried tone. “Straight off the bat, huh?” 

Yeri flushed slightly, tucking her hair behind her ear self-consciously. “Oh no- I mean, it just seemed like that from your conversation!”

“Don’t worry, Yeri,” you assured her. “Seokjin’s a fourth year - not much phases him. He’s doing his PhD under Kang so he has to do tons of data analysis for her projects. Which he sometimes dumps on people who have been bothering him.”

Yeri looked suitably concerned at this new piece of information. She glanced at Seokjin’s handsome profile and smiled uncertainly. You couldn’t help but giggle at her reaction. It really was difficult to get a grasp on everyone’s personalities just by their looks. Each and every guy in the department was strikingly handsome, and Sooyoung, the only other female besides you, looked like she had walked out of a fashion show. It would’ve been extremely intimidating if you hadn’t personally been a witness to how clumsy Namjoon was, how lame Seokjin’s puns were, how scared Yoongi and Hoseok were of anything remotely resembling an insect, how Tae hadn’t managed to cook a single meal without setting off the fire alarm or giving Jimin food poisoning, how Jimin often collided into objects because he was laughing too much, or how Sooyoung had gotten lost multiple times on her way to campus in spite of driving along the same road for more than 3 years. You were sure Yeri, and the other two first years, would definitely get over the initial nerves and intimidation surrounding their colleagues. In fact, if Jungkook’s animated conversation with Jimin was anything to go by, it seemed like he had gotten over that already.

“Come on, I’ll introduce you to the others.” You steered Yeri in Sooyoung and Yoongi’s direction.

xxx

“Thanksgiving next week! I cannot wait to get away from this blasted Ethics class!” 

You were currently in Seokjin and Yoongi’s shared posh apartment, trying to proof-read a paper before the conference deadline. On the couch next to you sat Seokjin and Namjoon, eyes blinking rapidly in tiredness, while Jimin sat across from you, his silver hair tied into a messy ponytail. 

The door to the apartment swung open at that moment as Jungkook walked in, armed with takeout from at least 4 different places.

“I come bearing sustenance,” he announced, as Jimin jumped up with surprising alacrity and rushed towards him. 

“Your Busan blood runs strong, my friend,” said Jimin, appreciatively, eyeing all the different containers on the table. “I knew I could count on you.”

“That makes zero sense, Jimin,” scoffed Sooyoung. She was buried deep inside Yoongi’s favorite bean bag, having taken it over since the owner was currently not at home. “But li’l Jeon has proven to be a valuable addition to our department.”

“Ugh! Don’t call him that! Li’l Jeon sounds like something else,” you said, scrunching your nose in distaste.

“I agree,” replied Jungkook, rolling up his sleeves as he began opening the containers carefully. “But i can assure you of one thing - there is nothing li’l about this Jeon. In any sense of the word.”

“I’ve lost my appetite,” you declared, throwing a particularly soft pillow over your face. 

Three months into the semester and Jungkook had become an integral part of your group of friends. It had turned out that Jungkook and Jimin knew each other very well, having gone to school together in Busan. It’s not as if you hadn’t become well acquainted with the other two first years - Yeri still consulted you whenever she needed advice on how to deal with grading or professors or classes in general; and Lauren, an international student from France, was very friendly and turned up at all the department hangouts. But Jungkook seemed like he had been part of your group forever - not someone who had met almost everyone for the first time about 3 months ago. As was customary with first year PhD students, they were required to complete a few mandatory courses before being allowed to customize their coursework around their individual research interests. So even though Jungkook had all the same classes with Yeri and Lauren, almost every moment outside of classes was spent with one of you.

“I can’t believe it’s already time for Thanksgiving,” said Jimin, popping an entire dumpling into his mouth. “-ime eeli plyz.”

“Chew your food, you barbarian,” scolded Seokjin, blowing on a particularly large piece of fried chicken before putting the entirety into his mouth. A couple of chews and a large swallow later, Seokjin was ready for a second piece.

“Speak for yourself,” remarked Sooyoung, holding onto her food protectively.

“I remember Yoongi telling us during our orientation,” Namjoon piped up, a can of beer in his hand. “‘In a PhD program, days are slow, but semesters are fast’. I thought he was high at that time, but I realise now that he’s a true genius.”

“I still don’t get why you’re such a Yoongi fanboy,” grumbled Seokjin, settling comfortably into the couch once again. “I’m just as wise, and definitely a lot funnier.”

“Don’t forget about being a drama queen,” said Sooyoung, nudging Seokjin’s knee with her toes. “You’ve got that one over Yoongi as well.”

“Four years and you're still as ungrateful,” sighed Seokjin, looking uncharacteristically cheerful at the teasing. 

“At least I’m consistent,” shrugged Sooyoung. “Gimme some of your kimchi.”

“Consistency is only useful across data samples,” remarked Seokjin, picking up a small amount of kimchi with his chopsticks and feeding Sooyoung. “Not sure how desirable it is in human relationships. Life would be unbearably dull in that case.” 

“They’ve been dancing around each other for as long as I’ve known them. Why can’t they just get together and stop their incessant flirting in front of the rest of us,” you muttered darkly, vigorously pouring chili oil over your ramen. You, Namjoon, and Jungkook were still getting your food from the kitchen, while Jimin had gone ahead and joined the incessantly flirting pair in the living room.

“Y/N is always so bitter about anything to do with romance,” chuckled Namjoon. “Jungkook, do you know how annoyed she was when Hobi started dating last year?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of hearing that story.” Jungkook glanced at you cheekily, while popping open a can of beer.

“She didn’t speak to him for an entire week. Which was particularly inconvenient because the three of us had just started living in the same apartment, and we were all assigned to assist Choi on her year-end department survey. Poor Hobi thought he might have to find a new place to live.” 

“I’m sorry? Were you the one who came back home after extended office hours to find your friend butt-naked and balls-deep inside the barista who works across the street from our lab? I couldn’t get coffee from there for a month because I couldn’t look Sujin in the eye without immediately imagining Hobi in his natural drawers.”

Jungkook, who had chosen this exact moment to take a sip of beer, spat out the amber liquid on an unsuspecting Namjoon. 

“That’s what you get for deriving pleasure from other people’s misfortunes,” you remarked, smugly.

xxx

It was around 11.30 in the morning, when you heard a loud knocking on your apartment door. Classes had broken for Thanksgiving yesterday, which meant that today was your day to catch up on all the sleep you had missed over the last three months. But instead, you had been woken up much ahead of your intended 16 hours of sleep schedule. 

“You look awful.”

Jungkook walked into the apartment, looking far too fresh and sprightly for your liking. He was wearing that godforsaken plaid shirt that hung loosely off his body, but would highlight his rather well-defined muscles every time he happened to move in a particular way. You absolutely hated what a tease his shirt was. Fortunately for you, he wasn’t wearing the skin tight black jeans which always looked like they were about to burst at the seams, thanks to Jungkook’s equally well-defined thighs. 

“It’s not even noon. Why can’t you call before showing up? Where are your manners, Jeon?” you grumbled, checking to see if your pajamas had any glaring holes in them.

“I need help with the data analysis,” he mumbled sheepishly. “Professor Lee gave me a really tough dataset because I breezed through the first two assignments.”

“Still don’t see why you came over without any notice at this ungodly hour,” you continued, tapping your foot impatiently.

“I also got jjajangmyeon, kimbap, and bubble tea from Kimchi Palace.”

“What kind of bubble tea?” you asked, pushing yourself off the doorframe.

“Strawberry milk tea, half sugar, light ice, with extra strawberry jelly, and no boba.”

“I suppose it isn’t that early.”

A few minutes later, you were explaining principal component analysis to Jungkook, while eating jjajangmyeon and sipping bubble tea. The kimbap was put into the fridge for later, in case Namjoon or Hoseok wanted to have some when they got home at night. 

Jungkook was very intelligent; he picked up new concepts quite easily and was one hundred percent committed to whatever he worked on. He also had a refreshing sense of humor, where he didn’t always crack jokes or stay in the limelight, but his occasional quips were enough to send everyone into fits of laughter. He got along extremely well with each of them. He and Taehyung often walked around the city taking obscure, artsy photographs. Seokjin had basically adopted Jungkook as a younger brother due to his video gaming abilities. Namjoon was glad to finally have someone who enjoyed going on nature hikes with him, while Hoseok had been hugely impressed at Jungkook’s dancing and promptly asked him to help out at his studio. Jimin already knew Jungkook quite well, and Yoongi was more than happy to teach someone else the intricacies of cooking different kinds of meat. Even Sooyoung, who usually remained closed off from new people, had allowed Jungkook to use her car whenever someone needed to be picked up but she was too exhausted to drive. 

“I’m sorry I came by so early. I know you’ve been looking forward to catching up on sleep over the break,” he said softly, looking up from his laptop. That was the other thing that had struck you about Jungkook, he was very perceptive and sensitive to people around him. A rare quality which you appreciated far more than you let on.

“It’s fine. You saved me from having to cook lunch. That itself deserves many prizes from my end. You know how I hate cooking,” you shrugged.

“Speaking of, I’m making dinner for me and Tae tonight. Jimin’s visiting his brother, so it's just the two of us. And since I’d rather not get food poisoning, I’m putting Yoongi’s lamb chop recipe to good use,” he grinned boyishly. “You should come over if you don’t have anything else planned. It’ll save you from cooking another meal.”

“I might take you up on that offer. Let me check if either Joon or Hobi are having dinner at home, otherwise I’ll definitely be there.”

xxx

Taehyung and Jimin (and now Jungkook) lived about 10 minutes away from your place. It was a much larger apartment, so three people were more than comfortable there. Jungkook was staying there until he found another place to stay, but judging by how happy Jimin and Taehyung were with him around, he would probably end up staying with them permanently.

“I found parking at your building for the first time today,” you remarked, dropping your bag on the nearest couch. 

“Half the people are visiting family over the weekend. You won’t be so lucky next time.” Taehyung walked over lazily, his thick black hair falling messily over his eyes. He was dressed in his favorite Celine t-shirt and a pair of the loosest pants you had seen till date.

“The perm’s still looking good, Tae,” you grinned at him, taking the soda from his hand. 

“I’m planning on getting it done again once it wears off,” he said happily, settling into the couch. “Catch up on your sleep? Or did Gguk ruin your Thanksgiving plans as well?”

“‘As well’?” you asked, trying to suppress a grin.

“Taking advantage of the nearly empty laundry room and washing all the sheets does not count as ‘ruining’ anyone’s Thanksgiving plans!” yelled Jungkook from inside the kitchen.

“He woke me up at 7 am and stripped the sheets off my bed, emptied all our laundry bags, and locked me out of my room so that I wouldn’t dirty the bare mattress with my grubby clothes.” Taehyung’s grumbling was always extremely funny because he would end up pouting by the end of his rant and no one would take him seriously after that.

“Okay, the bread is in the oven and should be ready in about 15. Lamb chops are almost done as well. We’ll be dining in no time,” said Jungkook, flopping onto the couch beside you.

“That gives me enough time to answer the emails Choi sent me this morning. Jimin was right, she’s a madwoman. Doesn’t understand what ‘a break’ is , apparently,” sighed Taehyung, getting up and walking towards his room. “Lemme know when the food is ready.”

3 years ago, if anyone had told you that you would be more than halfway through your PhD having become close friends with seven of the most handsome guys on campus (or even in the country), you would’ve laughed at them and then silently questioned their sanity. But now, you couldn’t imagine life without them. Even Jungkook, you realised, glancing at the boy next to you. He had also become an extremely important part of your life. He didn’t say much, but his actions made things abundantly clear. He was extremely caring and thoughtful, even if he didn’t always have the right words to express himself. 

“What’re you thinking?” he asked, looking at you sleepily.

“That this soda is almost lukewarm.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Suddenly, you felt a rough set of fingers poking your ribcage. Slowly, but surely, you were squirming in place as you struggled to not spill your soda while Jungkook continued tickling you mercilessly. 

“I know your weakness, remember?” he managed to say between giggles, his voice turning high-pitched as it usually did when he laughed too hard. 

“Gguk stop! The soda! It’ll spill on the carpet!” you gasped, trying to keep your hand steady.

“Oh shit! Sorry. Yeah, Jimin would freak out if he saw a stain on this carpet.” Jungkook let you go so that you could place the soda can on the nearest table. But as soon as you had freed your hands, you jumped on him and pinned him on the couch.

“I also know your weakness, Gguk,” you grinned, deviously, before tickling him with all your might. 

Needless to say, a scenario with two people in their mid-twenties behaving like 4 year olds, was bound to have certain consequences. In this case, it ended with both you and Jungkook falling off the couch, your faces mere inches away from each other. 

This wasn’t the first time you had been struck by how handsome Jungkook was. In fact, you had noticed the exact number of moles on his face and neck, having stopped yourself from reaching out and touching the one under his lower lip on more than one occasion. His large doe eyes also held a certain innocence and wonder in them, even though he was an extremely bright and capable PhD student with a lot of varied knowledge bases. Not just that, his impressive physique had caught you off guard many times. Particularly because it contrasted so heavily with his boyish face.

None of that mattered at this moment, as you could feel his breath on your face. He was so close… If you reached up a little bit, you would be-

“The oven timer’s been beeping for the last 10 minutes. But you both are too busy eye-fucking each other to notice.”

Taehyung’s deep voice caused you both to spring apart from each other, mortification heating up your face and neck. Jungkook’s ears, you noticed, had turned a very beautiful shade of red as well.

Dinner wasn’t as awkward as you expected because Yoongi dropped by a few minutes after your ‘eye-fucking’ session, extremely hungry and annoyed at Seokjin - who had decided to use this night to slow cook some pork.

“Gguk, this is really good,” said Yoongi, once all of you had finished eating. “Didn’t think you’d be able to get it right on the first go! Y/N, what’d you think? You’ve been awfully quiet the whole time.”

You nodded your head in response, keenly aware of Taehyung’s intense gaze that followed your every move. “It was really good, Gguk. Thanks for a lovely meal.”

“Do you need a ride home, Yoongi?” you asked, once all the dishes had been cleared away. “I’ve got my car.”

“Life-saver. I need to pick up a tin of coffee from the convenience store. I’ll meet you at the parking lot in 10?” said Yoongi slipping on his jacket.

“Wait, I’ll go with you. I need to buy some soda,” said Taehyung, springing up suddenly. Not bothering to change out of his slippers, he rushed out after Yoongi, but not before glancing quickly between you and Jungkook and sending you a rather outrageous wink.

“That was… weird,” you remarked, relieved to see that Jungkook had missed your exchange with Taehyung. “Anyway, thanks again for a great meal. You’re a really good cook, Gguk.”

“Thanks,” he said, not really looking up from his phone. He had also been rather silent throughout the meal.

“I’m heading out then. See you later, Gguk.” You picked up your bag and proceeded to open the door.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?” You turned around to find Jungkook standing rather close to you. You could see the mole below his lower lip quite clearly from here.

“You never told me what you were thinking about.” His voice was a lot more husky than usual, and you gulped as you realised you had no clue what to say to him.

“I-”

Before you could finish your half-formed sentence, Jungkook’s lips were on yours, kissing you slowly. After being frozen for a second or two, your hands made their way into his soft brown curls, relishing in the feeling of having him so close to you. You realised that you had been wanting to do this for a while now. Maybe even since the first day of classes, when he had offered you his cup of coffee after the machine in the department had stopped working. 

“Never mind,” he said, breaking the kiss with a soft ‘chu’. “You can tell me another time. Yoongi’s probably waiting at the parking lot.”

“And Tae might come back any minute now,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, a soft smile on his face. 

“Tomorrow?” It seemed like your brain had short circuited. 

“Yeah.” He dipped down and placed another chaste kiss on your mouth, before displaying his adorable bunny smile. “But even that seems too far away right now.”

You were really grateful that you managed to get both yourself and Yoongi home without crashing the car that night. Once you got home, you checked your phone and found two messages - a text from Jungkook checking if you had reached home safe, and another one from Taehyung.

T: the couch is off limits. don’t even think about it...

xxx

please do not repost anywhere. reblog if you enjoyed the story!

[oncexinxmyxdreams]

First Impressions

“Didn’t your mom teach you not to play with your food?” Peter wryly commented.

“Examining fungi is not playing with food,” Egon stated as he picked another mushroom from the noodles. He put it into a small jar.  

Peter rolled his eyes and took another sip from the glass bottle. The earthy vanilla flavor of root beer was a sweet change from the liquor he usually sneaked around in his pocket. With how slow Egon was taking with finishing his lunch, Peter knew they wouldn’t be leaving soon. He slumped back into the booth and eyed his surroundings. It was more interesting than watching Egon perform surgery over his pasta. (No doubt, he’d ordered it because it had mushrooms in the sauce.)  

The small restaurant had the familiar red walls, dark green upholstery and stained carpeted floors. Waitresses were bustling around with their trays stacked with water and breadsticks. It was warm inside with the savory scent of different Italian food which was comforting for Peter. It reminded him of his mother when she made different pastas for Saturday dinners; usually for the two of them.

“What did you get for Ray?” asked Egon. Now he was eating. Ray kept missing his usual eating out with his two close friends for over a week. He’d spent his spare time searching for a particular book in different libraries around New York City.  

“His fourth favorite dish from here,” Peter said as he pushed his plate aside.

“Chicken marsala,” Egon said half to himself. The take out box was near his side of the table and he opened it with interest.

“Don’t think about it,” said Peter. He reached over and snapped the lid closed. “You’ve collected enough fungus for today.” He scooted the box closer to his side.  

“I wasn’t going to take any,” protested Egon though his tone hardly changed. “Curiosity is just another-Peter?  Peter!” He noticed his friend suddenly wasn’t listening to him. No surprise, a woman had just passed them.

“Wow,” Peter murmured to himself with a dazed, love sick expression.

The lady that passed them wore a cyan blue dress with an A-line skirt and a black belt which emphasized her hourglass figure. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled into a low bun with simple hoop earrings. Even though Peter only got a glimpse of her face, he noticed her profile; like the classic beauty an old Hollywood starlet.

The lady made her way to an empty table and sat down, her back facing them. Just when Peter had started to rise up and make his way over to her, a man came up and sat with her. He had a navy blue suit and plastered blonde hair. Peter sank back. Of course she’d already have a boyfriend. Well, it certainly wouldn’t take too long to notice another lovely woman…or so he thought.

It was almost frustrating throughout the afternoon that he couldn’t stop thinking of her. It’d only been twice when after seeing an interesting lady that he couldn’t shake the image out of his mind. It looked like she’d be the third. Give it until tomorrow and things would be back to normal again.

Things calmed down into the early evening. Since Egon had already graduated with two PhDs in Applied Physics and Parapsychology he was working for Columbia in paranormal experiences. Though he had an incredibly high IQ and graduated quicker than an average student would, some professors found his work questionable. (He and Peter had to meet with one of the departments earlier that day because they had inquiries for his projects.) He worked in the Paranormal Studies Laboratory in Weaver Hall with his name printed on the glass door. It appeared more as a basement than an official lab with the sparse lighting and stale scent. Since Ray and Peter were attending Columbia, even though it was currently June, they made themselves at home. Anyone who knew Egon would be aware that he didn’t read Captain Steel comic books or have a full body poster of Marilyn Monroe. Besides, there was promise that if all went well they could work along with Egon after getting their doctorates in Parapsychology.  

Egon and Ray were spending their evening looking over notes for some prototype they wanted to build. Peter ignored their technical talk and with feet propped on his desk, read the newspaper. He skipped the boring columns of economics and went straight to the sports section. He took off his tie and tossed it to the desk where he left his blazer. He was vaguely aware of the soft knock on the office door and Ray’s quick footsteps to answer.    

“Oh hi Claire,” said Ray being his usual friendly self. “Come on in.”  

“I found the book,” said a voice with some triumph. “I was having lunch with one of my co-workers and he said he just returned this to the library. I thought I’d check it out for you.”  

“Gee thanks,” Ray said taking the thickly bound book. “I was worried I’d be waiting two weeks and-Oh! Sorry! Where are my manners? Hey guys. This is Claire Teague. She’s the one I met at the library. Claire, these are my good friends. That’s Egon and Peter’s hiding behind the newspaper.”

Right on cue, Peter’s eyes lazily looked over his newspaper and his heart skipped several beats! Be it fate, luck or even a miracle, there she was! No mistaking it, the same lady from the restaurant was there in Weaver Hall. Having heard that she was with a co-worker and not a boyfriend made Peter all the more pleased. Egon took little notice, but Peter scrambled from his chair, newspaper tumbling to the floor and turned on his charm.  

“Well hello,” Peter said smoothly. He leaned against the bookshelf, chin resting on his palm and eyes gazing into hers. “I’m Peter Venkman-uh, soon to be Dr. Peter Venkman.”

“Hi,” Claire said politely. She turned back to Ray and stepped closer to him. “So are you finally going to tell me why you were looking for this book?”

“It’s kind of hard to explain,” continued Ray as he flipped to the first page with interest.  

“Tell me” said Claire with a smile. “You said you’re earning a doctorate in...you said, Parapsychology?”  

Peter tuned out Ray’s explanation as he leaned back against the bookshelf and took in Claire’s beauty. She was a perfect combination of actresses he liked: The smile of Michelle Pfeiffer: the soft round face Jessica Lange: the blue eyes and defined bow shaped lips of Grace Kelly: the classic hourglass figure of Marilyn Monroe. He could say perhaps even tad more voluptuous since she wasn’t as thin as a rail.  When Claire sat in one of the metal chairs next to Ray, she crossed her shapely legs.

“Gorgeous,” Peter thought. He really hoped she was single. No chance Ray was dating her since he had just been asked out by another classmate. He’d been so wrapped into his thoughts that he didn’t hear Ray’s conversation end. It hadn’t been long, probably two minute. Claire looked at Peter and then back to his desk.  

“What about you?” Claire said to him. “You’ve got some type of box on your desk.”  

“You don’t want to know,” Egon said with some disdain.

“Have you ever heard of the ESP test?” Peter said giving his friendly tone.

“No,” Claire simply said with a head shake.  

“It stands for extra sensory perception,” Peter continued. “Guess you could say it’s to figure out if you have a sixth sense and the test is based off of the psychologist Karl Zener.”

“What exactly are you testing?” Claire actually seemed curious.

“I’m examining the negative reinforcement of the ESP test with electrodes,” Peter simply answered.  

“Not even scientific,” Egon muttered.

“How does that work?” Claire asked.

“Easy,” Peter explained since he thought he was gaining her attention. For full effect, he leaned over his desk and started shuffling some of the Zener cards. “Every card has a symbol on the back and-”

“There’s nothing scientific about it,” interjected Egon. He didn’t turn his back around from his project. “It’s chance! Each card has a plus sign, star, square, circle or wavy lines. You just keep randomly guessing to see if you get one right. It’s been discredited for clairvoyance!”

“Isn’t he cute?” Peter smirked. “Doesn’t have a doctorate in Psychology and he thinks he knows everything.”  

“It’s not a bad idea,” said Ray who was trying to keep the peace. “Maybe if Karl Zener had just done more experiments it could’ve been credible.”    

“I suppose that’s what Mr. Venkman is trying prove,” said Claire. “It just needs more testing and it could be a success that even this Zener couldn’t achieve.” She stepped a little closer to Peter. “Maybe you just need the right people to test it.”

“Funny you should say,” Peter said stepping closer to her. “I had one ditch a session tomorrow.”

“She freaked out when you told her about being hooked up for electric shocks,” protested Ray.

“She had another engagement Ray,” corrected Peter almost through his teeth. He wasn’t keen on Ray ruining his moment. He gazed back into Claire’s eyes, getting lost in the shades of blue. “If you’re interested in how the Zener test works, how about you be a test subject? I bet you’re one of the smartest ladies around; you could guess those cards so easily that you wouldn’t even get the tiniest shock.”    

“I have a high threshold for pain,” Claire said after a pause. “I could be a test subject if it’s after my work. I get off at five-thirty.”

“It’d be a pleasure Miss Teague,” Peter responded. “An absolute pleasure. Six-ish work for you?”

“That’d be nice.” Claire walked around him for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Let me know when you’re ready to check the book back in Ray. Goodbye.”

Right after she left, Egon muttered something and scribbled another formula for the prototype. Peter playfully slapped Ray on the shoulder.

“What?” asked Ray innocently.  

“When you said you met some girl at the library you didn’t say she was a bombshell,” teased Peter.

“I told you her name,” said Ray. “We were just in the history section and I accidentally bumped into her.”

“She doesn’t seem to have the same interest as you,” Egon said who couldn’t help overhearing a little.

“Well no,” admitted Ray with a shrug. “She loves history and I was looking for that book about ghost sightings during America’s earliest years. So she said she’d keep an eye for it and I told where I’m at if she finds it. Nothing to it. It’s not like I was going to date her.”

“Did she mention being single?” Peter asked eagerly.

“I think she is.” Ray scratched his head in thought. He noticed the gleam in Peter’s eyes. “Oh come on Peter! Don’t tell me you’re going to ask her out after the ESP test.”

“Very good Ray,” joked Peter. “You catch on fast. You should’ve seen the look in her eyes when she said she’d volunteer. That’s the look of a woman who’s fallen under the Venkman charm.”  

It would work out perfectly. Claire would get all the right cards; she’d be smitten by Peter’s “encouragement” to guess correctly and then a date. Who knew, maybe something extra later in the night? She seemed self-confident to have hinted being a volunteer. Peter already liked that. She didn’t give off too much personality other than the first things he usually noticed in a lady; that being pretty and nice. Either way, the usual plan was already up and running.  

 (Author’s Note: Finally! First ficlet up! BTW, you better be hearing Lorenzo Music’s voice when reading Peter’s lines here. 😉 Props to Spengs0 for suggesting Paire as a shipping name. 

[thetierdslytherin]

Its nice to have a friend  Spencer Reid x reader

So this is a Spencer Reid song fic based on its nice to have a friend by Taylor swift. and I saw someone else to a songfic based on this song for another character and i felt inspired. there’s mention of bullying and divorce but other than that just a fluffy fic.

Mostly gender neutral reader x Spencer but at one point the reader wears a dress

School bell rings, walk me home

Sidewalk chalk covered in snow

Lost my gloves, you give me one

"Wanna hang out?"

School was finally over as the bell rang signaling the end of the day my teacher said something but I didn't hear her. No, I'm too excited to get home. It's the first day of winter break and I couldn't be more excited. I didn't really see the point of kindergarten and most of the kids are mean.

           Anyways my mommy lets me walk home by myself alot of the bigger kids do and it's only a 10 minute walk to my house. I finally stop running just outside of the school yard where a lot of the kids color and draw on the sidewalk too icy to do it now which reminds me i'm not supposed to run because I could get hurt.

           As I look up to continue my walk home I see a kinda frail looking boy with crooked teeth and glasses too big for his face, ah Spencer he's not in my class with me but I know him cause a lot of the kids tease him and hide his stuff. I don't really know why but my parents say if you don't have anything nice to say don't say anything at all. Besides, I don't know why they do it all he really does is sit by himself and read. 

          He doesn't have any gloves on or a hat and it's snowing and I'm cold with my gloves and coat so I know he is too, maybe he doesn't have any. It's not really common to snow in Las Vegas but it's probably because the kids hid them from him. I run up to catch up with him. It's not that hard, he's not exactly moving fast, he doesn't seem really excited to get home, maybe he doesn't have anything to do. 

“Here take one of mine” I hold out one of my gloves to him so at least only one of his hands will be cold. He looks at me like he's expecting me to tease him or snatch the glove away at the last second but I guess he deems me trust worthy enough and takes it putting it on his furthest hand.

 “t-thanks i’m s-spencer”  

“I know i’m y/n you lost your gloves right?” I know the kids took them but I don't want him to feel any worse about it.

“Yeah I did thanks” he still looks really cold so I grab his hand closest to me and try to interlock our fingers so both his hands will be warm. He kinda flinches at first but then seems to accept that I'm not gonna hurt him. 

“So you won't be cold Spencer”

We walk for maybe a minute in silence before I get another idea 

“Wanna hang out?”

Video games, you pass me a note

Sleeping in tents

It's nice to have a friend

(Ooh)

It's nice to have a friend

(Ooh)

I'm now i'm second grade and Spencer is in third and ever since that day we've been best friends and do practically everything together and this is the first year without him in my grade and I miss him a lot but we still hang out everyday after school. 

          “C’mon Spencer it won't be bad I promise my parents are right inside and if you want to go you can but could you please try it”.

I'm referring to spending the night in a tent in my backyard.Sleepovers were a common thing for Spencer and I especially with his dad having left I think that's why he likes being over so much it lets him forget for a little while.Earlier this week I learned Spencer had never been camping due to his thing with germs but after a lot of begging and secret planning on my part he agreed “okay y/n but if I don't like it we can go in?” 

          I nod happily and lead him to the backyard where everyday after school I've been cleaning it and setting up a campsite in the cleanest way possible. “Did you know that 77 million american households contain a member that camps and 81% of households in America say they want to camp more?”

“No, I didn't Spence, do you have any more statistics about camping for me?’ this is one thing I love about him he can tell you something about any subject you ask him it's because of his Eidetic memory.He found out he had last year and its super cool he can remember and fact I wish I had his memory some times.

          I open the tent to reveal an air mattress with a bunch of blankets and some comic books my mommy bought earlier. It's not the big books like he likes to read but it's Marvel comics that I introduced him to a few months ago and we've been reading them together ever since.

           “w-wow y/n this is so cool, did you know the hulk was supposed to be grey in the original comics but was changed to green after a mess up with printer ink?” 

“No but i'd love to hear more comic facts”

He deserves someone to listen to him after everything with his parents and all the kids at school bullying him. I don't want him to ever feel alone. 

Light pink sky up on the roof

Sun sinks down, no curfew

Twenty questions, we tell the truth

You've been stressed out lately? Yeah, me too

Something gave you the nerve

To touch my hand

It's amazing how two people who are in such different places in their lives can still love each other so much while Spencer is the only 16 year old I know with 2 phds working on another i'm still in highschool. Not from lack of hard work though i’m graduating this year 2 years early so I can go to cal tech to be with Spencer. If i'm being perfectly honest if not for Spencer I wouldn't be graduating early but I miss him too much to stay any longer. I'm sick of highschool boyfriends and football games and dealing with the same kids who bullied Spencer for being a nerd acting like we’re best friends just because I made nice with them.

            Right now were on the roof of my house after a lot of convincing on my part to get him out here 

“Why are we out here y/n do you know how many roof related accidents happen a year?”

“No but I'm sure you do dr.” I think my favorite pastime of recent is teasing Spencer.

He's saying something to me as I nod along but I'm not paying attention to what he's saying. No, I'm too busy staring at him. 

          He's really grown into his features he still has a boyish look about him but now his jawline is very defined and his brown hair goes just past his hair curling at the ends after a long day of hanging out the gel has worn out making his hair as messy as ever and he’s traded his glasses for contacts but i still think he looks for lack of better word beautiful either way. I know I love him, I've loved him since the first day I met him and over the years at one point I guess the feelings went from platonic to romantic but I don’t tell him. I don't have to I know i'll spend the rest of my life with Spencer Reid 

“y/n y/n hello”

“Hmm, what were you saying Spence?”

“I-i’m sorry am i boring you y/n?” the worst part is he's not mad about it he looks upset like he feels bad for boring me.

“No never, i'm sorry I was just thinking” 

“About what?”

“You” why did I say that but it's fine it has to be Spencer won't care but I don't want to see his reaction to my words instead focusing on the pink orange sky 

“You know I love you right that i'll always love you”

I feel him grasp my hand interlocking our fingers and I let out a quiet gasp-but he heard it. We've only held hands twice our whole lives the first day I met him and after the goal post incident so this is well, completely out of character for him and our friendship.

“I love you too y/n”

Church bells ring, carry me home

Rice on the ground looks like snow

Call my bluff, call you "babe"

Have my back, yeah, everyday

Feels like home, stay in bed

The whole weekend

          They call us stupid-young and dumb-that well be divorced in 10 years but we love each other and known each other our whole lives hes just been accepted into the BAU at 20 he has to move to Quantico. I'm gonna go with him I can get a job i've finished my degree there's nothing keeping me here.

“Let's get married” 

“What?” it's rare that I make him speechless but this seems to do the trick.

“Why don't I love you and you love me. We've been dating for how many years now 4? I want to spend the rest of my life with you i've known that I wanted you in my life since that first day on the sidewalk I want to grow old with you and have kids and grand kids so why wait let's get married” I look up at him silently pleading with him to just agree with me.

“y/n 45% of marriages end in divorce and 20% of couples under 24 get divorced in the first year of marriage”. He’s cautious I don't blame him not after what happened with his mom and dad.

“Well this is one time i'm going to ask you not to trust the statistics. I may not know all the facts about marriage and life but i know us and i'd like to think that's enough. I don't want anything big just us we can go down to the courthouse and make it official” 

He moves over to the couch where i'm sitting and grabs my hand “yes”

          It wasn't anything big, him in the only suit he owns and me in a dime store wedding dress. The rings we have are cheap and the diamond in my hand may have been small but it means everything to me. 

          We didn't even tell our parents why his mom is institutionalized, his dad left and my parents don't approve of me leaving for Quantico instead its Spencer and I with 5 of our college friends. We both walk out of the courthouse as they throw rice at us-unnecessary but sweet of them-and get into his car driving off to go home. We aren't having a honeymoon unless you count moving to Quantico.

          He picks me up and carries me through the threshold of the apartment as he sets me down I ask “can we do our vows I know we both agreed not to prepare anything don't worry I didn’t I just want to tell you some things and you don't even have to say anything back I just need to say it. Spencer I just want you to know how incredibly proud I am of you and all you’ve acomplised and overcome even the first time I saw you I could tell we were gonna be friends.I am just so thankful to have you here right now and for sticking with me through all of the chess matches and late night adventure and stupid boyfriends and what I guess i’m trying to say is thank you for always being you I love you.”

          I look at him with tears in my eyes and with tears in his eyes too and he clears his throat “ y/n I will never be able to express how you have helped me over the years from school yard bullies to cal tech and my mom.And I know i'm not the best with words i'm better with analysis and fact but there is no fact or statistic that will let me describe how i'm love with you I am” I put one hand on the side of his face and pull him in for a kiss.

It's nice to have a friend

(Ooh)

It's nice to have a friend

(Ooh)

It's nice to have a friend

(Ooh)

(Ooh)

[ship-enthusiast]

Fred Weasley Headcanon

1,700 words

• Colette Adélaide le Beau was raised in a strict household since day one

• Her family was the very picture of sophistication and grace

• She had been taught as a child that acting like a wild child would end up with no supper and no toys

• Her older brother of one year, Colton Adams le Beau, had learned it the hard way since he loved to play sports and roll around in the mud

• Two years of strict boarding school later he came back as if a new person

• Colette hated it and wanted her old brother back but knew it wouldn’t happen anytime soon

• Her parents were elated when they found out about the Triwizard Tournament and would’ve forced the siblings to join if they didn’t volunteer

• Of course they volunteered to go and would proudly represent Beauxbatons Academy of Magic to Hogwarts

• That was when Colette met the insufferable, cocky Fred Weasley

• She had witnessed many of him and his twin’s pranks and always thought about what their mother would think

• She always scoffed when one of his schemes wouldn’t work

• For example, the age potion to put their name in the Goblet of Fire

• This attention wasn’t invisible to Fred, either

• He would often tease her about a crush on him because of all the attention she unconsciously gave him

• Fleur Delacour was chosen as the champion from Beauxbatons and saying Colette was relieved was the understatement of the century

• It wasn’t that she doubted her and Colton’s abilities, but didn’t want them to face the horrors in the tournament simply for money

• She had heard many rumors about the champions who had died while competing

• After hearing about Harry Potter’s story, she knew he didn’t put his name in the Goblet and was determined to help him survive the tournament

• Colette stayed up endless nights helping prepare Harry for the first task alongside Hermione

• Fred didn’t like the fact that she no longer paid attention to him and would often try to prank her

• She usually saw what he was trying to do and never fell into one, much to Fred’s chagrin

• Fred confronted her one day before the first task where he asked her why she despised him so

• Colette wouldn’t answer him so Fred would block the entranceway

• She finally revealed how she wasn’t able to act freely or like herself and has become void of her emotions due to the suffocation of her strict parents

• She was jealous at how Fred and George could be whomever they wanted and do whatever they desired

• Fred tells her she’s not void of her emotions because she’s helping Harry survive the tournament and that’s something she did on her own

• After the first task and Harry’s victory, Colette agrees to help the twins raid the kitchen to celebrate in Gryffindor’s common room

• She finally has fun for once and Fred gives her her first nickname; “Cully”

• Colette begins to feel more at home at Hogwarts when the Yule Ball is announced

• She had known about this event but had thought about studying the night instead of attending so she didn’t have a dress

• That was until Fred asked her to be his date

• Hermione offers to go shopping with her for one in Hogsmeade where the two bond over the Weasley brothers

• Hermione reveals that she’s waiting for Ron to ask her although Viktor Krum had already asked

• Colette purchases a dress that looks like pure starlight and Hermione gives Fred a heads up on the dress code so the two would match

• Harry asks her to the ball but she apologizes and says she’s already going with someone

• The Yule Ball soon came and Hermione decided to attend with Viktor, much to Colette’s delight

• Fred’s cravat and suit patterns match Colette’s dress

• The two dance the night away — cue TWICE— alongside Hermione and Viktor

• Before she knows it, the second task arrives and Colette is one of the people who had been taken

• She and Gabriella, Fleur’s little sister, come up last after Hermione and Viktor

• Fred hugs her tight when he finally sees her emerge from the water

• Harry confesses that he likes her but Colette sees him as a little brother

• After she’s warm and dried (Fred might’ve given her his jumper his mum knitted) he confessed that he’s beginning to really like her and asks her out

•Colette isn’t sure her parents would approve but says yes because it’s Fred Freaking Gideon Weasley

• Fred takes Colette on a date to Hogsmeade the next trip and the two have a great time

• Fred talks about him and his brother’s plans on opening a joke shop in Diagon Alley

• Colette supports the idea fully and could see herself in that future

• Harry decides that he doesn’t need her help for the third task and Colette is kind of down but is cheered up by Fred

• The third task is finally upon them and Colette sits with Fred and Colton

• Colton doesn’t approve of her relationship with him and they get into a heated argument when Cedric and Harry show up at the entrance of the labyrinth

• Fred wants Colette to spend the night in the school but Colette insists she’ll be fine with the rest of the students of Beauxbatons

• They spend the last moments together as much as they could and sitting at Cedric’s memorial together before she had to leave for France and face her parents

• The moment she comes home, Colton tells their parents about her relationship with the “Weasel boy” and her parents make her denounce their relationship

• Colette denies her parents the satisfaction and tells them she loves Fred

• They kick her out of their château and she manages to get ahold of Hermione who quickly invites her over to stay with them

• She doesn’t want to tell Fred from guilt but Hermione owls him who quickly apparates and brings Colette back to the Burrow where she finally meets the rest of the famous Weasley’s

• Molly welcomes her immediately with open arms and she stays with them the rest of the summer until she goes back to Beauxbatons where she’s the laughing stock since she had been kicked out of her home

• Colton decides to apologize for his past actions and defends his sister

• He is no longer a student but helps out in hopes of becoming a professor there himself

• The two reconcile and Colette tells him all about Fred

• Colette wants the two to meet so when Fred comes to pick her up for Christmas, he’s a bit adamant when meeting Colton since he was the reason she was kicked out

• Fred begrudgingly forgives Colton when their parents show up

• He curses them out for being terrible parents before thanking them for raising Colette and saying he could handle it from here before apparating them to the Burrow

• Christmas the Weasley Burrow is absolutely beautiful and heartwarming

• Harry is also there but that’s to be expected

• Fred’s oldest brother, Bill had asked Fleur to be his girlfriend a week before Christmas and she had been invited to the Burrow

• Molly and Ginny had been wary of Fleur but Colette knew she was a good person and vouched for her

• She had stayed in touch with Colette after the second Triwizard task and the two had become close friends

• Fred tells her all about their awful Professor Umbridge and they exchange stories between their schools

• Fred apparates Colette back to France the day after Christmas break before going down on one knee and giving her a promise ring

• Colette accepts with a mistletoe before the two had to separate

• They keep in touch, especially after Fred and George drop out to start their joke shop with the money Harry had given them

• She is at the shop for its grand opening and helps Fred and George run it when she graduates from Beauxbatons

• Colette moves in with Fred and George in their flat above the shop

• They offer her a permanent job but she declines, saying she doesn’t know what she wants but would continue to work there for the time being

• She, Fred, and George were playing one of their games in the parlor when they receive the news about Dumbledore’s death

• Colette stays with Fred and George when they take the polyjuice potion to look like Harry to transport him to the Burrow

• She’s Fred’s date to Bill and Fleur’s wedding when the Ministry announces that the minister has fallen

• Colette stays at the Burrow to help Molly take care of everyone who came home due to the war that had begun

• She and Colton help fight at the Battle of Hogwarts

• Colton pushes Fred out of the way just in time but gets crushed instead

• All of the Weasley’s survive (yes, even Percy)

• A month after reconstruction, Colette and Fred are 19-years-old

• Fred decides to propose and the two get married that winter

• Hermione is Colette’s Maid of Honor and George is Fred’s Best Man

• Mrs. and Mr. le Beau were offered an invitation and decided to attend

• Their son’s death was a wake-up call to cherish what family they had

• Colette decides that she wants to become a doctor and studies at a muggle college to get her PhD in medicine

• Two years later, they have a boy they name Colton Frederick Weasley

• A year after that, a girl named Molly Colette Weasley

• And a year after that, a twin pair named Jacob Gideon and Elain Adélaide Weasley

• Colette finally graduates from school three years later and starts as a nurse at the local hospital in London

• She is promoted to doctor a few years later

• Their children undoubtedly attend Hogwarts when they are of age

• Colton is placed in Ravenclaw, Molly in Gryffindor, Jacob in Hufflepuff, and Elain in Slytherin

• Colette and Fred retire at the age of 58, two years after they became grandparents

• Jacob and Elain take over the joke shop while Colton became an engineer and Molly a zoologist

• They resided in a cottage in the English countryside near George and his wife, Theodora, for the rest of their years

[indomitablemegnolia]

I have been dragging this coffin around, like Django, for a while now, and for some reason American politics has to just keep poking at a seeping infected wound; as a psychologist I know that the best way to deal with certain emotions and PTSD is to talk it out, if you can talk past the ragged breaths.  Now I am not much of a talker but I do write; I was thinking that maybe letting this out into the world might help someone or perhaps not fatally wound them by reading. I just know I have been  keeping all of this way too close for way too long. I am going to try to do this so those who don’t want to know can avoid. I do add a bit of fantasy into it as my own default coping mechanism; so it is not just a barrage of horror. There are triggers... physical pain, blood, rape, and political triggers...this is me screaming into the void. If anyone reads this, I would hope that I could inspire a kind word.

Good god, what fresh hell is this? I swear that sometimes I have to just kick this evil darkness, beat it back, strike out with every weapon I have until it bleeds sunlight; oh, and when that first drop of sun falls I have to keep fighting until I am bathed in that healing glow, smearing it over my face, rubbing it in to my soul; reveling in the warmth of the end of a battle well fought and valiantly one worth the effort.  This is always a rough two weeks for me every year for well 19 years now… the tenth falls and it seems some note really minor catastrophe befalls me; there has not been a skip year, a stand out or a delayed year; I will not whine about the past, but for the past three years it has been a political horror show on top of the menial financial, health, or personal failing; I focus on the possible and look up, which usually lands me down a manhole but I can’t change my stripes. In these last three years the shit-show of a congress (and congress is both houses equally guilty) put on these shows of caring and disdain, evil in its fake almost after thought of un-electability. Kavanaugh sent me into a bottomless tailspin; something about a Judge rapist being put on the highest court in the land on the anniversary of my own…attack; not that I think it sits any better in the pit of my stomach any other time of the year, but now… again… and I just can’t breathe, they had made my life all of the things I still struggle to live through… a joke, a pawn, something to leverage each other with… I am sick; politics making life, again, not worth living; nothing mattered, the truth did not matter, their ignorance, their lies did not matter. I find myself feeling rather Wilde; I was left feeling, broken, forgotten, as if I do not belong anywhere; there was nothing to lose myself in and no escape even if there were.

This country, this world, has become such a small, terrible place; I cheat, and I excuse myself, as I escape only by avoiding reality, I love the world that I create; but once there was a moment, out of time, such a terribly long time ago that I bring the memory to life often; for a time I had sunshine, and flowers, mud under my nails and rich coffee and I apologized to no one for who and how and what I am; I live with no thought regularly to why I should not be here and who I should be; yes, I do know that eventually I will die here, being banished to that other world where indeed I know because of the impermanence of life it will be as if I never did exist; every broken molecule of me will parish, every inch, every thought, but one. That molecule, that inch, that thought, its small, its infinitesimal, its worthless if you asked most, but in this world of whit and worry it is the only thing worth having; it is worth all the worlds in all the universes.  I cannot lose it; I can not barter it or sell it and above it all it should never be given away. This world must get better, it must stop getting lost in all the things that are not real, such as money, race, all the false differences we draw between us; there is only one true thing about this world, there is no escape, so make your difference here and now.  I must tell you, now that you see me, you know part of my life, my story and because of that I hope you understand that I Love you.  I love you, despite never knowing your story, we may never meet, never laugh or cry together and I will never kiss or hug you, but I love you as dearly as my universe, as closely as a flesh and blood friend.

I love you.

It has been so many years, I hardly talk about it, but I warn you now this gets a bit graphic, but it is my story; this story is not being told for anyone else's campaign; it is not a #metoo. This is me taking a psychological victory, screaming my pain into this void like echo chamber; I know no one may hear me, and that is fine. This is one of Dante's hells I live in, wrapped deliciously in my favourite personal coping mechanism a piece of detached fiction that reads like a conversation between my super ego and my Id....

I sought freedom, the only freedom to be had in this world, music loud, the delicious truth of life’s simplicity; music is a true elixir, ideally it should be listened to at 60-80 decibels and 70 mph; everything can be made right if you just put the music on and the top down, drive 85 mph on a country road, as if you are trying to out run time itself. The sun low in the western sky; fat fluffy gray clouds float lazily over a layer of black, brooding, formidable clouds rolling in like the undaunting wall of night, mocking the artificial azure sky that lays at the last eighth of the sky, about to be swallowed up. Music playing too loud, I sang atonally along; the cool breeze of autumn playfully ruffled my hair as if I resided in a third visible universe in one place unattached to the storm or the artificial sunny day.  The little silver dream I drove was cutting through the country side; coming up on a slower moving rusted out pick-up truck I worked the gearshift, not laying off the gas, dropping to fourth to pass, galloping ahead hard and fast, leaving the truck behind.

Suddenly, for the first time in ages the world almost made sense, err, I suppose it is awkward saying that because the sense it made was tenuous and momentary at best. Escape possible only by way of ignoring the horrors; after a week like the last, a little sensical nonsense was called for.  I had to get away, I had to distance myself from the news and the bluster, the horrible reality; the reminders that weighed my heart, slammed my soul, obliterated my psyche; in my home, my home, the country I love, whose founding documents read of words like truth and justice; a vicious criminal is appointed to the highest court in the land; a man accused of raping three women; a charge that not so long ago would have precluded his admission; but that was then and this is now, basically more of a wild west, kangaroo, dumb-fuckery idea of conscience; we are now a people who allow the separation of children from parents, to be kept in cages. Now, because of this stupidity, people treating justice like a partisan football; horrible happenings from my past are brought front and center of my subconscious every night as I sleep. Yes, I have read books and listened to tapes as to how to guide dreams, none have prevailed.

Letting my mind wander, it was dangerous; and yes, it circled back to last night’s bout with Fate, Christ, she hit me hard and fast; for a figment of my imagination she really left me bruised, broken, bloody; I can still taste the sickly copper iron flavor of blood in my mouth, my soul limping.  First. she took me on a trek into the past; tiny, horrible, years ago; Jesus, I realize, if this nightmare I carry heavy in my mind were a child it would be graduating high school; oh god, the thought, the kind that should never be thought; after, I was sentenced to a more vile prison, to a sentence more than double theirs, I see no possibility of parole from this place. I feel as if I were slowly being eaten alive; Fate, she held my face to the fire, she made me watch and relive it, over and over and over again.  

I despise the fact something as delicious as this breeze can trigger panic, terror, horror; this feeling was, twice upon a time, in the valley of faded fears, my favourite season, now it sits heavy on me, like a box of babies tears. Though now, it is that recurring nightmare, I try to break free, but as he said in The Godfather ‘every time I think I am out, it drags me back in.’ I feel so pathetic, seriously, I earned my PhD in psychology, trying to outfit myself with all the tools; I should have been able to drown this demon long ago, but alas, I find the zombie bastard can swim; argh, and yes, I know that isn’t possible, no one can fight off all the memories, it's impossible to erase events, for anyone, most especially me.

Out of the blue it seems, a wonderful friend, a friend one which I didn’t know I still had; sadly I assume that I am always left behind, but she sent me in a tailspin of introspection; she asked me simply, 'are you okay?' A real flesh and blood human asked me, she noticed, she pointed out that I am not acting like myself; I have been tearing myself down, doubting the simplest things, I have even, in an odd way, seeking her approval; asking permission to hang my own pieces on my wall, my usual 'it's easier to ask forgiveness, than seek permission', attitude gone.  

Gods, she is right, I know she is right; I am acting weird, different, calling myself stupid, pathetic, worthless; at first it started just stupid, small, subtle... most people bought that I was fine, they never saw it... I think. Anyways, they never called me on it. This friend, this good friend called me on it; I wrote a piece out of my usual character, at first, I loved it; then the next day in a mercurial hissy fit, I ripped into it, then in another flip I apologized for it, I am acting like a kid caught lying, obvious, blatant, guilty. This friend, ah, this beautiful friend called me on all my shit; like that guilty child, my psyche tried to hide it, then I stopped, I looked, really, I am. Then this introspection brought me to the realization that at times, not always, very rarely, I get weird, almost puritanical about sex. Usually I have a very laissez faire attitude; bi, straight, whatever flavour of the lgbtq or any other spectrum, if you get off on it, if you like it, then it's beautiful; there are people I love on all levels of depravity. It may even seem to them that I am a touch prudish because I do not partake, that is fine. Because this friend, this wonderful friend, shined a light, I could again see the bruises fate had left.

Fate had asked me, "so, if it is all good, what gets you off?" With that I was lost, nothing; everything; how was I to know? Of known experiences I have rape (not awesome) and a failed relationship (asshole never understood a thing I said, then tried to recreate experience #1); yup, two times lose on those. I know what I need, no desire, no require; with all the horrible mediocrity in this world that we seem to accept as fair sacrifice, I will not let love be among those. I want epic love, mad, passionate, crazy, undying, span the universes kind of love; anything less will be a poor substitute, meaning I can not, I will not let her take that from me; this is just one of those turns where nothing goes well. She shook me, and god, I had let Fate affect me.

The moment she reared her ugly head was pain. I was lost in a soft dream of sweet remembered soft kisses. Suddenly, a hit to my face, my eye starting to swell; a doubled fist to the gut, air rushed out in a horrible half scream.  A hand wrapped in my hair slamming my head into a stony ground, again, that horrible haunting memory.  Her voice chilling in a predatory growl, she wanted blood. She taunted me, "I KNOW what you wrote, hmmm, I know what you enjoyed, I told you; you can admit it, just to me, no one else is listening;" She ground her hips into mine from behind, "I know that you liked it, you loved it; I wonder, did you reach orgasm? Was it earth shattering? Did you moan like a whore?"  Fate, that horrible bitch, licked up from my jaw to my temple, I stopped the urge to vomit, I felt my hate multiply, but in seconds I felt a turn inward, "You know that the hecklers are still right;" she raked her pelvis suggestively against me, three more thrusts.

"No, but it seems to get you off, dry humping me; hmm is the bitch in heat? So ya like my ass? I have been working out." She slammed my face down into the stone.

I let a painful groan escape, "You like the rough trade."

"Oh yeah," I ground out lifting my head turning to face her, "about as much as I like you."

She laughed cruelly, standing slamming her foot into my kidney. “Look at you, still so pathetic, still that laughing clown punching bag, you are always such fun; there is a lot to be said about consistency," slamming her boot into my jaw.  "If it was not the roughness, the pain, was it the team effort? Now, remind me how many was it that you liked? Four or five? How many holes were the putting it into?" She ground her heel onto my palm, I try to stop the noise, a near scream, "how many holes?"  

I smiled showing my blood outlined teeth, "This many." I held aloft a single middle finger.

Fate came to torture my soul time and again, with unlimited creativity; it has happened more than a few times in recent days; using more taunts, planting more doubts, inflicting more pain; cracking open my soul leaving it weeping and bereft. The more it happened the more I began to believe that she was right; yes, maybe I really enjoyed it; then I didn’t take the moment needed to breathe before I reacted this time out of emotion, gut check. She was right, they were all right; it was all I deserved; I asked for it, I had enjoyed it. Though that moment of introspection given to me by a gorgeous friend, gave me time to recognize this is actually an extreme rendition, interrogation tactic, the kind used in interviews at Gitmo; some good interrogators can even implant false memories, causing false confessions.

I woke from the nightmare; I gathered my own thoughts.  I had to run; I had to hide. I hated; I hated the world and all the people in it, I hated myself and most of all I hated all this wasted time. If I had known Life before would I blame him, hate him… yes, right now, in fact I do.

I drove faster, not even slowing at bends in the road; why was I running? What good could it do? I know can not escape when the horror is inside my own skull. The green leaves starting to turn gold, some starting to age red at the edges. I whisked through the countryside, far too fast; it was liberating. God, this is my favourite season; there is something so sultry and libidinous about fall; I let go of the wheel, raising my arms joyous in the air. The feeling, the smell, the look, it seems to get my heart racing and my mind reeling; in pure celebration of the seasons change, the bite to the wind and the trill of cinnamon to the air, senses that are so much Life, oh me, oh my, oh my favorite things. Dark chocolate, eaten slowly, savored and enjoyed; passionate literature read in a hot bath tub that requires an entry like bugs bunny getting into the boiling cauldron; music, so many lovely perfect kinds of music, hard hitting, rampaging, soothing and truly sensual all appreciated savored and enjoyed… Please, Life... I need you.  Why don't you come? I call to you, I miss you.

Before even fate showed the aphasia really affected my self-confidence; I no longer had my words, I constantly sounded either stupid or drunk or both, that had shaken me to my core; with both of those, it changed my own reactions. Then America, my home, is not helping, the president mocking a rape survivor, his little toadies backing him up. It just tore a hole in my psyche, in my soul, letting all these demons back. This is not me really... but what is me?

For me, after the attack, the police, they never doubted; the bruised and bloody the evidence abounded, they had no trouble even finding the culprits, but the faculty, the students... not so kind... I heard the whispers, they never looked at me, not the real me, I was just a disregarded scrap.

My lips hurt, they were cracked in two places, my ribs were bruised, all making me wonder if Fate was more than just my horrible subconscious. More than the conscience that makes a coward of me; makes me want to run for the shelter of a strong set of arms.  My foot slacks off the gas pedal; I was losing my will to run, I realized that I was not able to run from this kind of mountain.

"Why can't you hear me?!” I yelled at the building clouds so hard my throat ached; they were heavy with rain. I saw the edges of refracted rainbows as they slid slowly in front of the sun.

Soft, so close to my ear, I felt the breath of Life. "But I did."

I swerved, nearly off the road, I screamed, slamming in the clutch not touching the brake, cutting the wheel sharply, putting the car into a full 360 spin, it almost came to a rest.  "Jiminy Cripcity Roosevelt Christmas, man. You could have just killed me." I collected my galloping heart, letting the clutch out in 3rd gear screeching off the tires. He laughed, his words sunk in slowly, I understood his words and they angered me, I slid the gearshift into 4th, without the clutch; "Yeah, right, you heard me, sure.  So, what you are saying that as usual when the world begins using me for a toilet brush, I am on my own; lemme guess, all for character building I am sure. Just go, I do not need you anymore.  Just get out." I leaned into the gas, not caring the speed, anger making my eyes begin to run.

"What the hell was that?" He reached his hand over, gripping mine, "wound a little tight their honey; let’s get you relaxed” he started rubbing the inside of my wrist, my breathing slowed. "I wish, with every ounce of power I have, I wish I could have come when I heard your cries, they caused an ache in me so cutting so horrible, I cried. I don't know how I heard you or how I am here now."

"Yeah, yeah, sure." I jeered my hand waving him away. I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, his expression was so hurt, “God, I shouldn't have mocked... I’m just angry, but not at you,” I took a long breath, “I am sorry" I whispered, easing off the gas.

"Then just stop, pull off the road, talk to me."

I sighed seeking that cognitive reset.  "Okay." There was a wooded turn out just ahead.  I pulled the car over, stalling out, killing the engine. I rolled my eyes internally; it has been ages since I stalled out.  I swiped the little tears away. "So, what? What is it that you want?" My jaw set. "What?"

He sighed, seeing this was going to be an uphill battle; he reached for my hand bringing the palm to his lips; instantly my jaw slacked, and air rushed from my lips, "I missed you." He kissed the tender pad of my palm. "I know you have been in pain. Tell me what caused it; tell me haunts you." His fingers still softly drawing hypnotic circles on my wrist.

"Ah, pain, but where to start? We could do a chronological study into the beginning of pain; it might take a while."  I try to sound unbothered.

"Where this pain, your pain, the one that has had you screaming, where that pain started." His face so beautifully earnest, and there is an importance to being earnest.  “Please…” he breathed

"Words, it always begins with words, then those sticks and stones; they come hard."

He let one hitched chuckle out, "Wow, what a cop out." He dared.

I breathed again, then let it out slow, "Dammit really?” he nodded, “shit, with this whole 'legitimizing rape' floating around, taking even the one recourse for a victim of said crime has if it takes an unlucky turn. They have the audacity to mock and berate a survivor of a crime, I have seen them, mock hurricane victims, the disabled, they come just shy of saying that they want all of us defectives to die they put a rapist on the high court, now this monstrosity that will end my only piece of mind. My…" he held up his hand.

Clicking of his tongue stopped me. "No, not what I asked for Joan of arc, I was asking for the story, for this pain I see in your eyes, not a history of the worlds ills. I want your story."

"Eg, yeah, but that’s not important, it's really not even worth telling."

"Just stop; stop with the bullshit, stop deflecting; I want to hear your story, please, just tell me the goddamned story.” He gritted his teeth, “sorry, but I hate when you make light of yourself; you are making fun of my favourite person in the world, I am sorry just, please, just tell me."

"Cheese and crackers man, it is a horrid little pathetic thing. But fine." I take a breath, “Shit, my story…" I could not form the words. "hey, what’s better I could just tell you the tale of the little engine that should have known better, but still did it anyway.”

"No," he watched me closely, not letting his impatience show "I want to know your story, your pain, please."

"Shit, shit, shit, OK, shit... dammit," I hit the steering wheel, I pressed my forehead into the hard surface of the wheel, "but don't say I didn't warn ya. Shit” minutes passed, I said nothing.

He reached over holding my shoulders, "Honey, nothing that would make you too nervous to say, could be a waste of time, you are that fearless girl that never holds her tongue. Trust me, I think I can help." His thumb rubbed tenderly.

"I am neither fearless, nor am I a girl; I am a right old horrible spinster," I huffed, I fiddled with my fingers. I looked in his eyes; “I am" I stopped gathering my thoughts; "I don’t think you will like this as well as you think; I know what will happen after its all out, so, I must preface with a goodbye, you have been lovely. I know your opinion of me will slip; you won't want to know me after I finish, so thank you." He looked doubtful, but I knew, gods, I will miss him. "Before I start, I want to say, even if it means nothing to you, if no one ever tells you, I love you." A tear streaked from my eye, "What am I? Nothing," he shook his head vigorously, "look at me, I know most don’t think much of me, red round cheeks and usually a smile, no makeup and holes in my jeans; I have been told many, many, times after having conversations with people that my Naivety was endearing, but if I had ever encountered the real world my outlook would become as jaded as theirs. I may act like I have encountered nothing but sweetness and light in a noodle salad life, but that is far from the truth. I believe that you can encounter the worst that life has to offer and choose your reaction to it. You can stop believing in the world around you or you can continue to believe in kindness, understanding, and trust. Some say it is just denial, burying my head in the sand that allows me think that life is still what we make it… I Laugh and Laugh… If they knew what this girl, well, shit, here you go. Enough wasting time, I will get down to it. It's a shit story..." I wiped my hands down my face, the a swipe under my nose with the bad of my hand, then on my thighs, "shit," I sighed out, “Too many years ago it was a bright sunny day; a warm fall morning with a light breeze. I was worried about a calculus test; the biggest thing on my mind were cos A and sin B. I was on the phone ironing out a scheduling problem; I was talking to my internship mentor on the first cell phone in my family, dad got it for my safety because of my commute 90 miles to school. Jabbering on about what, I don’t even remember, I reached into the back seat for my bag. Sighing and hanging up the phone, preparing for the day ahead, or so I thought." I took a steadying breath, I had evaded long enough; I couldn’t meet his gaze, I just stared straight ahead out the windshield. "Suddenly, horribly brutality was introduced into my life; the surprise really isn’t as horrible as the feeling of helplessness; I was still bent closing the door with my hip I started to heft my book bag; my head caved in the rear door of my car; you should have seen it, truly impressive the damage a cranium can do." I remain in this protective tone, details curtailed "I was knocked out cold; I slowly came out of my haze I felt pain, searing horrible pain, but not my head, I heard ripping material;  I smelled blood my blood; flying back to reality and I know what is happening, the animal grunting and horrible rhythm; pain, it’s between my legs; no one had ever been there before;" I heard Life take a savage breath, it was nice to know someone cared, even if it was just for show.  I wiped the dampness from my face again.

"They raped me, I did not count or really anything." I tried to laugh it off, "they beat me, pulled my hair, god, one stood one foot on my head so I couldn’t move and urinated on my face as that other one finished, they called me whore, and cum bucket, and worse; every part of my body was used and abused; I lost, my hands blindly flail, I try to kick. I was savaged by animals I use the term loosely. They ransacked my car as they took turns, seeing my viola in the trunk and to punish me for fighting they crushed my left hand, they kicked me, beat my head into the pavement repeatedly. When they had finished with me and my car, the cruelest one of them, pulled the scarf wrapped around my neck and strangled me, they murdered me, and I do have to say part of me did die. As they did they laughed, god, they laughed, horrible laughs, they creep into my conscious when anything goes awry. I lost consciousness, I guess they assumed I died, I woke, I don’t know how much time passed, but I woke in a pool of blood and …err other, I got in my car and drove to the security station on the bottom level… yeah." I shook. He rubbed my hand; I pulled away quickly, I could have spit on him, but it was not him the anger belonged to. "What is madness but nobility of soul, at odds with circumstance?"  

"My god, I was expecting bad, but my… my heart, it is broken” ready to face the loss of him, I turned, I watched his face as the light died in the low, dark, rain swollen clouds; a delicate falling rain drank in the dusk; it felt like it swallowed my misery whole and for that I was grateful; shrouded in silence, the branches of the trees above wrapped me in their stoic peace. Shadows fell across us the boundaries lost their edges, as the borders were erased, once again the wonder if I had ever really existed. His presence was always so elegantly reassuring, and still I had to remind myself it was not him I was so mad at.

"Yeah, so, how was that for a hard luck story? The first time I have told anyone since I left the police station. Not exactly Disney Channel friendly, but I am waiting to hear back from lifetime." I laughed; the sound was hollow.  "Peachy side, I didn't end up knocked up or diseased; so, maybe the universe heard that plea."  I sniffed, my frustration returning.  He trailed his hand lightly down my damp cheek.  I flinched away, shy, stupid, embarrassed, "pretty pathetic, huh?"

He shook his head. "Shh, stop that please, you don’t have to mock yourself in that Cyrano de Bergerac style you always use; you are not beating me to a punch line, I was never going for one” he ran his hands over his face, “did you not hear your story? My heart is broken." I tried to look away; his gentle hands coaxed my gaze back.  "I heard a story of survival, those monsters tried to end you; here you are, fight intact, undaunted, truly indomitable, the rest just damaged facia."

I looked in his eyes, "Fate has been taunting, mocking me, whispering that I liked the assault,” I stopped, hesitating, “that has me doubting everything."

His face skeptical, eyebrow raised, "And you believe those taunts?" He shook his regal head.

Temper sparked, "kind of,” I stopped, feeling stupid, I bristled, “I do, okay. So what?"

"Why?" He cajoled. "Really, tell me why; the whole truth answer." He sat back like Cesar at the gladiator games, "hold nothing back, I can take it."

Apparently, he was satisfied that I was soundly kicking my own ass. "I wrote out, an imaginary tryst, you and I, we were on a boat, it was just delicious, an escape, there was a touch of rough to it... some of the details were... similar to... that." my voice stopped working.  "I liked it a lot, but then I got overwhelmed, confused; how can I like that, without liking the other.  The reality of that implication," I sniffed, fluttering my hands; that horrible weird guilt weighing my soul, I knew it was just my own psyche, but it was horrendously irresistible; I stopped I gave up; "shit, now you know; you know… everything why I am so deplorable... grotesque... disgusting." I rolled my eyes closed, I concentrated on my breathing, minutes clicked by finally I opened them, expecting that he had blew away on the breeze.

I met his gaze, I saw no pity, no disgust; I saw him, just Life.   Confused, I searched further, still none.

"You are not. You know better than most that feelings can be deception; sex, isn't just soft, isn't just rough, it is never one flavour; it is the connection, the intention." He ran his hands through my hair. Pressing it back behind my ear the way I like it.  "Honey, there is no equation between your rape and having a touch of rough in a fantasy. It does not mean you liked being helpless, beaten, or broken, the intention there was viciousness; there was no connection there, no trust" he sighed.

I gave a derisive chuckle, "right."

He dropped my hand, pulling away, gaining my full attention. "You apparently have made up your mind not just for you but also what I would think; you really must be magic; I think you would be surprised by what I think.”

I let a derisive chuckle out, “Sure because you are some kind of paragon.”

“I wouldn’t say paragon, but I heard every word you said. It made me so mad that you would think that way about you.”  I rolled my eyes.  He growled, and good god something in me was listening, something found the sound so delicious that it made me tingle; I scanned his eyes, there was still softness there. “Honey, look, I heard a story of an invasion, a horrible, massive invasion. I don't care if you were splayed naked on a table saying, 'come and get it big boy, give it to me hard,'” I let a snerk of laughter out at the idea. “if it was not the specific person you were talking to; that was an invasion. You cannot discount a rougher, needy kind of love making; accepting carnal love rougher more animal in its display requires trust in the intention of the other party, it is not simply the actions; Accepting love rougher, that act of trust is never more shameful or dirtier; it is a communication telling the other party, I trust you to be just this much, but no more; the instant you voice a dislike and it continues it becomes the other; it’s all up to you, whatever is pleasing to you, only you. There is no right, there is no wrong, no disgusting or dirty; sex is all about the feeling, expressing.” I understood what he was trying to say, but I really didn’t want to hear it, I knew he was trying to placate me, I tried to ignore him; “Don't be like a velvet glove cast in iron, dealing only in absolutes." I had to look away, “love is love, is love, is love, and it all matters” the storm gaining strength, he released the top and pulled it up; kissing the top of my head as he passed. "Sweeting, the space between absolutes..." he sighed, "remember, you said that is where you had chosen to live, you were right, it is the place where life happens." He ran his hands through his hair; his frustration evident, then a light hit his eyes; "I would really like to read this fantasy, curiosity leads me to wonder," he chuckled, "I just wonder if it would match up to any of mine." I shot him a skeptical look. “oh, honey; I have had so many fantasies since the first time you appeared.”

I had no words to say, I just sat watching him, waiting for the change.

He sat, looking at me, the storm began to rage, much like the maelstrom that had been inside me for so long; I pulled the piece up on my phone handing it to him. We were more than damp, I noticed I had been shivering; for how long, no one knows. I sat watching the storm split the sky; I started the car, flipping a bitch, starting back in the opposite direction; he was deeply ensconced in my words, he reached over with out looking up, turning on the heat, directing the vents at me.  

I shot him a look, just a glance; but what I saw. God, the power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that I had never believed in its power; no one now dares to say that two beings have fallen in love because they looked at each other. Yet, an unguarded look can tell you so much, love, despise, languor and fear; tenderly in his exquisite look, I saw the most gorgeous thing, understanding; an acceptance.  I was astonished, I was bewildered, dizzy, in a daze; I still did not understand, I began wondering what universe he was from... My stomach panged, rumbling as loud as the storm, I ignored it.

"Hey, can you pull in up there, you need something to eat." There was a neon sign in the distance, that advertised barbeque, I was surprise he could even see if as he didn’t look up from my words. I pulled in, reading the sign that promised barbecue and drinks, after all it was Texas, a bourbon sounded just right. I pulled in and parked; I was a numbed, near depressed but electrified, dumbfounded, impressed and slightly aroused; all the roiling emotions had my jaw clenched, I was disassociated, separated, on autopilot. My feet moving me through the rain, but I was a cloud of confused emotion; a stranger in a strange land; emotion was not my wheelhouse. Wandering idly toward the door; passing the columns, he gripped my shoulders almost punishingly. He spun me to face him, his face dark and serious, I began shivering, he pressed me to the wall. His face serious, but the passion burned; again, that growl, it hit the bottom of my stomach, warming, making my legs shake; he kissed me, suddenly, deeply, no warmup, no cuddling into my lips just immediately lips and tongue.  Tucking his knee between my legs pressing hard, soft mewling left my throat caught in his mouth.  He pinned my arms to my sides I tried to touch him, but he wouldn’t yield, he wanted to kiss me, his way; and yes, I liked it, he ran his tongue along the roof of my mouth, I moaned softly into his mouth, rocking gingerly against his knee; the visceral feeling. He started to deepen the kiss even more, his knee caressing, moving with intention. A quiet shudder rocked me.  He sucked in a deep controlling breath, resting his forehead against mine, staring deeply into my eyes; I shook like a leaf as we parted. Shaking I clung to his shoulders.

"Now, kitten, did you feel my intention, to bring you pleasure?" I nodded, "was there pleasure?" I bit my lip, a small smile creeped, I nodded. "You know, the fact that you know the horrible purity of absolute, pure despair; doesn’t mean that is all there is in this universe." He kissed me again, faintly. He passed his fingertips over my skin, almost without touching an experience that neither of us had expected or experienced before, the miracle of feeling myself in another body, "Now, did you feel that?"

"Yes," I whispered, I was shadow pinned against a sweating wall; needing more, my soul pleading for more, but I was frozen; "Oh there was a moment there; oh me, oh my; as you began a whisper of that kiss; clearer than any whispered words; god there was something there that makes it all worthwhile; that was the edge, hmm, the edge is what I have; truth of this fiction, it's the edge of flavour that makes the difference.” I giggled, “there was a time when I would speak words that made sense." I giggled.

"Yes. But what truth is there in sense?" He laced my fingers with his and pulled me after him; we walked in me confused actually wanting to go back to being pinned to that wall, we walked in.  The waitress took us to a booth; I slid in first, I gasped in surprise as he slid in next to me on the same bench. He ordered me a bourbon and an order of fries; I sat there blinking, he then turns me to face him, he leans in close whispering deep and low; his breath warm on my neck, "When we are young we felt we are invincible; as we age we find ourselves, second guessing, always thinking twice." As he spoke, he planted little kisses on my neck; “I am done with that, I thought I was done paying my dues, same for you; now, I find that I have something I do not want to lose. The day you came into my life I changed again, fear still there, but also a cacophony of joy, both at odds, now every day now is just a grateful roll of the dice." His hands skimmed over my arms as they draped around his neck, freely delicious. "I look at that, it is working; you are starting to hear me; I like you, feel powerless in the lonesome times, thinking to myself 'dear god what have I done?' But with you here..." biting the edge of my ear, "you can run baby, you can try to hide, but whatever comes it will find you. For us, there is now; yesterday is history, an hour from now, no one knows for sure; but baby right now it's just you and me and that kiss, it said a lot." He turned me to face him.

Our drinks and fries came and I took a long drought, I laughed cuddling close, I felt young, I felt alive, and I really had never felt that way, “Are we mad?" he looked wounded, "but the good madness, the change the world madness."

"I want to just hold you tight; right now, we can make this moment last; don't think about anything other than helping you forget about the past, for just a moment if needs be." His kissed me slow, long deep caresses with his tongue; I tried to match him, I was awkward at first, but he led me in a natural rhythmic motion.

I missed feeling him, tasting him, gods, it was like breathing. I kissed him with everything I had. "You know, your fantasy, it was gorgeous." He kissed me again, his hands cupping my cheeks, tilting my face for a new angle. He broke from my mouth kissing down my neck. "I have sailed a 20-foot catch; I have had some very similar thoughts, but I loved that very forward confident you that you wrote."

I fumbled with my hands trying to make him feel some of what I was. "Have you really imagined us together as well?"  My fingers sliding through his hair. He nodded, “I kind of assumed you were so out of my league."

He laughed, the sound rippled along my nerves; "oh, kitten, you have no idea who you actually are. Yes, I have, so many things I have fanaticized about."

I pulled away to see his eyes, they held no lie; "Even now?... after?"

He looked shocked, "Especially now." He said with conviction.

"Tell me one," I was breathless.

He held my had looking into my face, "Happily, but I would rather show you. I long to grab your hand and run to the motor inn across the parking lot, get a room." I looked out the window over his shoulder gnawing on my kiss swollen bottom lip.

"Mmm, story first," I stood firm.

"OK then, well, I suppose I could tell you about the one where you are the aggressor; holding me down using me as you will." He shook his head, "no, the one where I am the aggressor, holding you down? Kissing you slowly, teasing your nerves, dipping my fingers into you, feeling you shiver; nah, you don't look keen on that, eating chocolate ice cream off of your skin;” I really shivered, “maybe another time; I suppose, I could tell you about how I dreamt of kissing you, teasing you, then bend you over this table licking all the way up the back of you thigh and... no, no, not that one. Kitten, come here." He pulled my leg up so he could slide closer, fitting just between. "You have to use your imagination; I dream of laying you down, kissing you so hard, it takes your breath away; I want to make out with you like a teenager out passed curfew." He caressed my trembling bottom lip with his thumb. "I would get lost in your kisses; intoxicating, enticing, articulate, telling me exactly what you want, how you want it; using only the tip of your tongue you draft a treatise." He toyed with my hair idly, my eyelids began to sag half-mast; passion building in my body, "Wowzah, that scorching look in your eyes, so intent, you are so Wildely beautiful; why, oh why do you squash that want, fighting it like a foe, a weakness; please, just... let it free."

His hand began caressing my neck, I could not have stopped myself from rolling my head, so my neck was wide open for his lips. His tongue. "I love kissing your neck, licking, taking little bites, right here." His fingers wisping passed the place where neck meets shoulder, my bones melted; he smiled mischievously, shot me a naughty look wiggling get his brows. He slid his fingers along my neckline, his touch whisper soft; his voice low, rumbling, deep, "deliberately I descend along your succulent curves;" my body raising to meet his fingers, straining for attention. "I watch you arch your back, just like that; I can't take my time learning; your heaving breasts wanton for attention, nipples like diamonds," oh and they are, his two fingers caress along the crevice between my breasts. My breathing hitched, coming in soft pants, his eyes gorgeous reverent. "I reveal the state in which I see your nerves are in; rampaging, greedy, alive for just a whisper of a touch; oh, but I want more" he sunk in closer, enjoying the slight shake of my shoulders. His hot mouth kisses just behind my ear, his tongue licking along my skin; his lips playing with the cords in my neck as I let out a sighing moan, just a solitary note; his fingers toying with the area of my soft sweater, just over my the area of my nipple. "Your belly covered with barely visible downy hairs, soft, soft, so soft;" he slipped his fingers of his other hand up under the hem of my sweater, just above my waistband; his first hand dropping to my thigh, dipping between rubbing with soft curious fingers; the nail of his wide thumb, scraping along the seam between; "they are standing up because of the goose bumps I just made."  His fingers velvet soft over my skin, I try clamped my thighs together he keeps that from happening.  "Pushing passed the band of your jeans, I reach for what I crave the most." His second hand skimming a rougher scratching fingernail along the seam; his other fingers just trace along the skin along the edge of the bottom of my bra, his lips kissed along my neckline.  "I would make you moan," I squirmed, "I would form a symphony of your empassioned calls, all the delicious sounds of satisfaction; I will be ruthless in my intent, pleasure my only goal; releasing you from the past, my hope. I know you will want to run, to escape, but at the same time you will be wanting more;" he pulled back, "more; look at you, breathtaking, deliciously titillated. Your cheeks flushed, you lips slightly parted; eyes glossy, erotic, steamy, fervid, seductive, coaxing, shameless; saying every want your lips refuse." Pulling at the hem of my sweater, "I want to slip my hand under your panties, sliding my fingers across your damp skin.  God, I have wanted that for so long" His fingers ghost over my skin, reaching the edge of my satin bra; his lips crashed into mine, his kiss demanding, delicious, scalding; his hand enveloping my breast; his thumb rubbing delicately, I react honestly. I grabbed his wrist of his hand that was resting on my thigh, pulling his fingers to my mouth, sucking. The clench in my belly responding to his hand slipping under my bra. I pull away, gasping; I stand, dropping a ten on the table.

"Shit, I am sorry," his breath laboured, his face recalcitrant, "I pushed too far, too fast; I am sorry; so, where are we off to?" He looked disappointed, sad.

"Well, I decided, you are right," viciously, I let that hang in the air; “you should just show me.  Our direction, over there," I pointed out the window to the inn.

He looked like a child at Christmas, he grabbed my arm tossing me over his shoulder, I giggle and squeal, he moved quickly to the door. We were out and across the parking lot swiftly, he was running; the rain drenching us; he dropped me to my feet under the awning. "I'll be right back."

I watched him fill out the forms, pay the woman, and he bounded back.  "We will make, new experiences, giving you back all the power. Let’s roll." Pulling me over his shoulder again; I squealed, I laughed; he slapped my rump, I moaned.

And outside it was October Country . . . that country where it is late in the year and everyone is tired and waiting for that one good thing to break; country where the amber hills covered in fog, rivers are mist and ice; where noon shortly proceeds sundown, twilights linger, and mid-night’s stay; geese and dusks on their parade to the south; dilled carrots and jams are lined into cellars, sweaters, coats, jackets, are cycled to the front of closets, boots and gloves to the entry way, coffee and tea served hot and steamy with fresh cookies and it seems for a season everything faces away from the sun. October people, think October thoughts and wish that the Christmas stuff would remain hidden for another season, and passing nights, cool, bundled in warm socks and a large sweater walking or listening to the light rain on the tin roof hoping the winter doesn’t kill hope

[atinyidea]

[ 1 ] UNDER THE RAIN | THREE | O. Sehun

chapter summary — The aftermath of a fight can be messy and painful, but the people around you can change that to make this less messy and less painful. That is until the real ‘threat’ is remembered.

word count — 2.7k

tag list — @avmfreak96 and the tags from the first edition, please let me know if you would like me to untag you! @asslikegilinsky, @acevampyre, @high-on-food, @chanyeolol, and @marshmallow-phd! also, let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list!

main masterlist — the lunar myths masterlist

THREE — Resolutions And Repercussion

SEHUN

In the one month, one week and three days since he had met his you, his lovely mate, there had only been two times he had nearly lost his shit and either shifted in front of you or pulled you into his arms. Both of those time wouldn’t have been very good for either of you, and thankfully he had always been able to control himself and his wolf.

Now is the only time he had the urge to do both. His wolf shifted first.

Inside the bar, when the trio of rogues had entered, he was able to control the urge to pick you up and take you far away, but he had to get you out. For his sanity. When you went over to defend your friend, he felt the conflicting emotions of pride for his mate and the anger towards the rogues. But, when one of them grabbed you by the neck, his vision turned red.

He felt Danbi’s hands curl around his waist. It was a subtle technique the pack had come up with to help weres from shifting. Danbi was human, Junmyeon’s mate, and a wolf would never be able to hurt a pack member’s mate on purpose. It helped focus a were’s mind and clear the vision. It worked nine times out of ten, and it was working now plus, Junmyeon would actually kill him if anything happened to Danbi. He didn’t even remember what he said before his vision had cleared, but his mouth was open, and his fists were clenched.

And then you head-butted the fucker.

And Sehun was once again, filled with a sense of pride. His mate could take care of herself. Then he remembered that she was a human and she was going up against a rogue werewolf. You vaulted yourself over the bar counter, and a second later the rogue was over your shoulder and on the ground.

Sehun felt Danbi’s arms retreat from his waist. Maybe she was getting ready to vacate the bar and find Junmyeon, Sehun didn’t particularly care. He cared about the fact that he could now smell blood. When he looked up, he saw the split of your lip and the way blood dropped from it. Maybe Danbi saw it happen.

Before he knew it, he had charged at the trio, he yanked the guy who slapped you and sent several punches of rage at his face. The doorman, who Sehun heard was called Damon, had managed to push the fight outside, on a back street. Sehun got tackled by a different rogue. Punches and kicks were thrown left and right for however long. It was practically three against eight (nine if Damon was included, but he wasn’t really fighting) and before too much time had passed, two of the three had been detained.

And then you kicked the fucker. And the little shit shifted. And then Sehun shifted.

                                                           ••:۞:••

Kim Danbi had known about the existence of were’s practically her whole life. Her mother’s sister, Lim Soojin, was a mate and when her mother officially became a doctor Soojin’s mate had become really sick. Her mother became an informed healer, keeping her job at the hospital and learning how to help heal a were. It worked out well, the weres had a safe place where they could heal adequately without being questioned, and in exchange, Soojin didn’t have to keep such a huge secret from her family. When Danbi was little, she went to the hospital with her mother (because she was four and she had to) and wandered into a patient’s room in search for her mother. It was one of the super-closed-off places, and she had watched her mother go in there earlier and just followed her when she had finished her picture. There was a shifted wolf in the room, and so she learned the secret when she was very young. She grew up learning what her mother knew, and when she met Junmyeon, at the age of seventeen, she wanted to learn even more.

It was safe to say, as she worked on her doctorate, she knew how to tend to a head wound. When Sehun shifted, he pounced on the rogue the two of them tumbled down the street and off of you. Danbi made her way too you immediately after, watching Junmyeon shift and go after them from the corner of her eye.

When you went down, your head hit the edge of the sidewalk. When Danbi lifted your head slightly, she could see a small smudge of blood. She may need stitches. Without looking up, Danbi motioned for one of the boys to help her pick you up. Without any protest, both Luhan and Baekhyun had come over and picked you up.

“Be careful of her head.”

“Take her inside, the bar should be empty now.” The doorman spoke up. Honestly, Danbi forgot he was even there. Baekhyun and Luhan nodded in unison, moving back into the bar. Danbi had no idea where Tao and Eunjin had got to, but she was grateful they weren’t there for that mess of a fight. While Tao was an excellent fighter, whenever Eunjin was in proximity to the potential danger, he lost his focus very quickly, things may have gotten even messier.

Back inside the bar, the boys had placed you down on a set of cushioned seats and had pushed the table away. The other girl from the bar had switched the big lights on and laid a first aid box next to you before moving back into Damon’s side. Danbi thanked her with a small smile – Jinyoung, her name tag said – and knelt down on the floor.

She got to work cleaning the back of your head, you would definitely need a shower to get all the blood out, but once the wound was clean, she could tell you wouldn’t need stitches.

“She doesn’t need stitches, thank The Lunar, make sure Sehunnie knows as soon as possible, it’ll calm him down a little,” Danbi commented towards Baekhyun who was headed for the door. He nodded before leaving.

“Is she okay? What happened? Where are those men?” Jinyoung asked in a quiet voice like she was scared to even mutter the words. Danbi was about to answer when Luhan beat her to it.

“She’ll be okay, it’s not a big head wound. Those men won’t be bothering you again for a long time.”

“Where are they?” Damon asked, his deep voice bringing a sense of warmth to the empty bar.

“Two of them ran off when we got distracted. I suspect the third will follow shortly.” Luhan answered, locking eyes with the doorman. They knew he knew about weres, they just didn’t know if Jinyoung had any knowledge. They didn’t want to scare the poor girl more. As if he sensed this, Damon suggested the idea of home to the young girl and even offered to walk her to her apartment himself. Jinyoung nodded, a little hesitant as it was her job to lock up.

“We can take care of it. We’ll just slip the keys back under the door.” Luhan assured, and then the two of them left.  They would have to ask about his knowledge at a later date.

A few minutes passed before three men walked through the door. Junmyeon came through first, making his way over to Danbi immediately. Baekhyun and Sehun stumbled in together, Sehun was limping. While he was shirtless, he wasn’t completely naked, donning the pants Baekhyun was wearing earlier while Baekhyun resided in just his boxer shorts. At least they weren’t wholly indecent. Baekhyun set Sehun on the floor close to you and Danbi before running back out the doors – most likely to find and retrieve the torn cloth that was Sehun’s clothes.

He’d have to get a new leather jacket.

“Is she okay?” Was Sehun’s first question.

“She’s fine. Just hit her head a little hard. She didn’t pass out from the injury.” Was Danbi’s reply. She finished wrapping up the wound, setting your head down on the knit cardigan she had taken off earlier, and moved to attend to Sehun. “What happened?”

“The fucker has sharp teeth.” Danbi shot him a look, she was never one for curse words but refrained from saying anything, he didn’t deserve a lecture at this moment in time. As she pulled up the leg of Baekhyun’s sweatpants, Sehun was thankful he decided to be a little lazy in his attire that night. The bite wasn’t the deepest he had ever had, but it did hurt. The rogue had clipped his ankle.

“Nothing’s broken, but there is some swelling. You should be back to usual in a matter of hours. Try to refrain from running anywhere for at least three, please.” Danbi concluded with kind eyes. Sehun nodded and scooted closer to his unconscious mate. Just being in your presence, both calmed his wolf and made him twitchy.

A few minutes of silence passed before Baekhyun was back. “I think I found everything, I ran the block twice just in case.” He stated, walking towards their little group, concern lining his eyes. It was funny just how much the pack seemed to care for you, someone they hadn’t actually met before. Danbi assumed it was because you were their youngest’s mate. While all mates were sacred, the entire pack held a particular concern for their youngest. Danbi didn’t particularly understand the feeling, maybe it was motherly – the thought was always strange to her, considering how much older Sehun actually was than her. But Danbi just assumed it had something to do with their early days as a new pack.

After about ten minutes had passed, a small groan left your lips. Danbi could feel the small smile form on her own lips, her personal concern for you lifting. She really is one tough cookie, she thought, watching as you sat up slowly.

                                                          ••:۞:••

If you were honest with yourself, you fainted quite quickly. However, to be true to yourself, you only fainted after trying to punch the biggest wolf you’ve ever seen in the face. Then he jumped on top of you, and when you fell, hitting your head on the concrete pavement, you swore the wolf multiplied.

If you were honest, you might have dreamed the whole thing up because when you woke up, you were still inside the bar. You couldn’t have known where you would’ve woken up, but you had assumed it would be on the street floor out in the back. Opening your eyes was easy, adjusting to the lights was a little bit harder as you squinted a little to lessen the glare. Your head hurt like hell, and your hips definitely felt bruised already. Braving the pain, you made yourself sit up slowly. You were on one of the long, cushioned chairs that lined the bar.

When you lifted a hand to touch the back of your head, you felt the texture of a bandage. You definitely didn’t do that. When you hissed when you pressed too much pressure (accidentally, you weren’t really paying attention) you heard a low growl fill your ears. Slowly you turned to your side, finally noticing the group of people you were with, and moved so that you were sitting, facing them with your feet touching the floor.

You felt your eyebrows rise in surprise. The first person you saw and recalled was the girl who came with Sehun – Danbi. She was sat on the floor in the lap of a man, looking at you with a small smile, with an opened first aid kit next to her feet. She must have bandaged my head. You didn’t know if you smiled back at her, but you made a mental note to thank her. Then next person you recognised was right next to you – and shirtless.

Sehun was the closest to you and seemed to glare at your hand as you slowly brought it down from the back of your head. Why is he shirtless? You opened your mouth to ask a question, your nose scrunching up at the slight pain the action caused both your lip and your head.

“What… happened?” You managed to get out, looking down at the bandage that covered Sehun’s ankle. “Are you okay?” His eyes met yours, and you could see the hint of surprise in the dark brown irises. Bit by bit, memory what actually went down came back to you. “Was that actually a big ass wolf?”

You hadn’t expected it, but Sehun actually snorted. And then another dude snorted too. Your attention moved over to him, standing against a table with no pants on. Well.

“I’m sorry, is something funny?” You asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Don’t laugh at the poor girl, Sehun, just tell her, we don’t know who the rogues were, but we know that at least one of them caught her scent.” The man Danbi was sitting on spoke up, and their small laughing fit stopped.

“Rogue? Scent? What are you talking about.” You didn’t shout, maybe because you were already piecing it together.

After a second of silence, Sehun turned his body to you, eyes connecting with your own. Again, you saw the green flash in them for a second before it disappeared. “The wolf… was the guy you were fighting.” He spoke clearly. You felt a hand on your knee, but you dismissed it – maybe you wanted to be comforted a little, but you’d never admit it out loud. “He is a werewolf. Like me, and Junmyeon-hyung, Luhan-hyung and Baekhyun-hyung.”

“Werewolves? Like the myths?” You asked slowly.

He nodded. You nodded back.

When you were little, your grandfather used to tell you the myths of The Lunar and their creations of children. The myths of the werefolk were always your favourite myth (Euina’s were the myths of the merfolk), and you had always believed in them a little bit but, the actual proof of it was given, and you had to take a few seconds to adjust.

“Okay.” You murmured, finally.

“Okay?”

“That was easier than expected.”

“Wow, even Eunjin took more convincing.”

You just shrugged. “You said something about a rogue? And my scent? What does that mean?”

It was as if you flipped a switched in them, especially Sehun. His smile slipped from his lips, and his grip tightened slightly on your knee.

“It means you’re not safe back at your apartment,” Danbi said softly, standing to walk over and take a seat next to you. “We don’t know who they were, we’ve never encountered them before. Sehun was just telling us that the guy threatened us with your scent before running away. Do you have anywhere else you could sta-“

“With us. She can stay with us.” Sehun cut her off.

You didn’t really care about where you stayed, you were a little more concerned with the fact that a drunken idiot-werewolf-dick-of-a-dude was now on a quest for your head or something. You didn’t know why he was so pressed, was it because you were close to beating his ass? Did he feel threatened by a girl? All these thoughts ran through your head, you didn’t comprehend the conversation happening around you.

A sudden flash of realisation flooded through you, your eyes widened as you gasped. “Did you say my apartment wasn’t safe?” You asked, receiving several nods. “Euina, my little sister, she’s still there! They won’t go tonight, will they? What if they do and they take her or hurt her or something?” You exclaimed, feeling guilty for only thinking of her now.

“She’ll be fin-“ Sehun started, but you cut him off.

“Fine? No. I’ll go get her, we can stay in a hotel or someth-“

“No, you’re staying with us.”

“I am not leaving her in an unsafe place.”

“Then we can send someone to go get he-“

“You think she’ll go with a stranger willingly? I’m going to get my sist-“

“Not alone you’re not, we’re getting you out of here right now.”

“We can go when I have my sister.” You said slowly, almost glaring at him. The room was silent for a second before he nodded, albeit reluctantly, but he still nodded. The two of you stood.

“We’ll meet you at the house. And don’t shift with that ankle.” Danbi bid you goodbye and the two of you left for your apartment, to get to your sister – and hopefully, before some rogue dickhead did.

Did you like that one? Give me your thoughts on what you think’ll happen next!

[scarcelyodd]

Transitions

It’s funny how we hold on to things. I haven’t posted a YouTube video in 6 years, and yet I’ve been planning to make it my hobby again all that time - and stressed out about it at times to boot. But I realized today that I am no longer that person, and I haven’t been for quite some time. It’s a bittersweet recognition: necessary, but painful, with excitement about what’s to come. (I have no idea what’s to come.) I was journaling about this and really wanted to talk to someone about it, but I couldn’t figure out the right person to talk to. And then I thought “Tumblr. Tumblr would understand.”

You see, the idea of running a physics YouTube channel has been on my mind for a decade now. I got the idea at the end of my first year of grad school, which was 2011. And I specifically decided not to pursue it at the time because I was joining a lab and needed to focus on this grad school thing I’d signed up for. But the idea wouldn’t leave me alone, and ideas for videos would often pop into my head - often enough, in fact, that I started keeping a list for when I could make them. In my third year of grad school, the list was long enough and the excitement great enough that I had to act on it. And so The Physics Factor was born. And I enjoyed (and stressed) about making videos for it for somewhere between a year-and-a-half and two years. It was a heady time. I loved thinking about it, and there was such a high every time I posted a video - I’d have trouble sleeping. I went to VidCon twice. For a time, I thought that when I finished grad school (there was never any question in my mind that I wanted to finish), I might want to give being a YouTube creator a proper chance.

And then I needed to take a health leave of absence.

(Of course it wasn’t that abrupt.)

I deal with chronic depression, though I had not properly internalized this at the time. It got to the point that I was no longer able to care for myself, and I needed to take a year-long health leave of absence from my PhD to recover. (Yep. It did take a year, and even then it was more like I was functional than fully recovered.) When I was back in grad school, I had two years to go until I’d be done with my PhD, so naturally I was thinking about what I wanted to do afterwards. And I found that I didn’t want to make a career out of online video anymore, but I still wanted it to be my hobby - a hobby I knew I couldn’t sustain while I finished my PhD, but a hobby I could pick up again in the future.

And so I finished my PhD and was lucky enough to get the exact sort of job I wanted (9-month university lecturer = health leave built in every summer), and there was a video studio in the department too! I could start a group in the department to make physics videos - and I did, my second semester here at UF. UF PhysTube became my new physics YouTube project, but I’ve struggled to do what I want with it. (We have made some videos, but there are also videos I still need to post that we shot a year ago.) I just don’t have the drive I thought I would - I don’t want to regularly work the extra hours apart from my job to build it into what I know it could be. I’m still tired. Not super-depressed, but tired of trying to be...unique, I suppose. I shared with @smokeandsong once that there was a part of me that wanted to be famous on some level - not massively famous, but known at some scale beyond my family, friends, and coworkers. I don’t think I want that anymore. I’m content to do my job and do it well and take in the things other people create rather than be a Creator myself. (Capital “C” because I recognize that we all create things every day, and can do so without being well-known, but “Creator” has been an identity for me for the past decade, and I no longer want it. I’m ok being a Consumer.)

All of this is to say that I am only now emotionally letting go of a project that functionally ended 6 years ago. And that is hard. But it is also good because it is me acknowledging that I am a different person with different desires than I was in the middle of grad school. My health leave changed me. My illness changed me. Grad School changed me. And there are many things I am thankful for in all of those experiences, but in the words of the immortal Miley Cyrus, “It’s time to let it go.”

[thehomierobbstark]

Idk if you’ve already wrote about this, but could you please do a quick blurb about Erik’s girl being on her period & she sends him to the store for pads/ tampons

A/N:  I haven’t written anything like this before, so thank you for giving me the opportunity!! I’m currently on my period and it fucking sucks, but I hope you like what I did with this anon!  Thanks for asking 😄

Warnings: At the bottom 👇🏿👇🏿👇🏿.

This is for all my lil cute ass black gorditas out there rockin back fat, belly rolls and thick ass thighs that touch!!  x Reader is always gon be black, chubby, and sassy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The soft silk pillowcase caresses your face as you shift around in bed, trying to turn over to your other side.  Your body felt heavy from the deep slumber you’d awoken from, the third one you’d taken that day as you tried to replenish the ridiculous amount of energy you seemed to be running through.

As the strength returns to your body and you start to feel your limbs again, you attempt to move your hips so you can rotate when you’re met with a firm resistance.

You try again, thinking that maybe your legs are still asleep, and this time you wiggle your toes too… only you can’t move those either.

Giving a low groan in dissatisfaction, you lift your head up to see what the deal was, and upon seeing the problem you roll your eyes, letting your head flop back down on the pillow with an annoyed huff.

It was Erik. Of course.

You can’t honestly say you were surprised; every time you were on your period it was as if his attraction to you became magnetic, and it was the hardest thing trying to gain back your personal space until your period ended.

While you relax against the pillows waiting for your vocal chords to kick in, you run a play by play in your head as you try to remember how you both ended up here.

The last thing you recalled was laying on the couch, Erik was in your lap and the heating pad you’d wrapped around your pelvis had come unplugged from the wall.

You remember the very difficult process of trying to untangle yourself from the mass of muscle that was your boyfriend without waking him up, which resulted in you tumbling onto the floor from the cord getting wrapped around your leg.

While you now had a sore knee and a loose scarf, the gentle giant hadn’t lost a single wink, and you’d stormed off to the bedroom with the heating pad under your arm after chucking a throw pillow at his unconscious head.

And now here he was.  Laying all over you and invading your space, again.

“ERIK!” Your vocal chords were working again and you were about to put them to full use.

“Get up, dammit!”

He groans a tired yawn and tightens his arms around your waist, trying to bury his face into your belly button.

“I’m right here ma, why you yellin?” His tired voice mumbles into your tummy, the vibrations tingling through your skin and waking up your bladder.

Ugh. Now you were gonna have to get up.

You sigh to keep yourself from crying as you wiggle around again, this time with a little more movement since now he was awake too.

“Move little boy, I need to pee.”  You start shoving at his shoulders to get him off you so you could run and go pee before you fully woke up.  

He kisses his teeth.

“Man, what I say about that? Don’t think I won’t snatch your lil ass up just cuz you moody right now.”

“I’m only mood right now cuz you’re laying on my bladder.  Now GET. UP!”  You slap at his bare arm and he finally lifts off of you, mumbling about how he should make you pee yourself to teach you some manners.

You ignore him, scooting yourself to the edge of the bed to stand up when you feel something shift at the base of your uterus.

Your eyes widen as you realize it’s not just pee that will be rushing out of your body soon, and you shoot up from the bed, squeezing your legs together as tight as you can as you awkwardly catwalk/run to the bathroom to hopefully keep from ruining anything other than just your underwear.

You barely make it in time as you slam the bathroom door shut, hearing Erik cackle a “HA! That’s what you get!” from the other side as you pull down your pants and plop yourself down on the toilet.

You unclench and let everything flow out of you, pulling at the roll of toilet paper as you look down to assess the damage.

Thankfully other than a dirty pad you were mostly in the clear, your underwear suffering a little over bleeding at the front and high up in the back, but the compression shorts you wore were saved from being sacrificed to the clorox bleach gods.

You always wondered how little droplets of blood managed to make their way all the way up past the asscrack of your underwear, but you decided to just let it go today and be grateful that you weren’t dealing with an 80’s horror movie situation this time.  Those were always day ruiners.

You roll up the dirty pad and toss it into the knotted trash bag at the bottom of the trash can with the others, and you slide off your underwear and toss them in the sink, turning on the cold water.

You clean yourself up with some baby wipes, trying to decide if you should hop in the shower or not when a small knock on the door grabs your attention.  You glance up to see the door open a small crack, Erik’s hand sliding through with a fresh pair of underwear in his fingers.

You laugh as he tosses them to you, whispering a soft thank you baby at him as you catch them.  His hands slides back out only to be replaced by his head wedged in the door.

“Uh huh.  What happened to all that attitude you had just a minute ago? ‘Thank you baby’,” he mocks you with a nasally voice that was apparently supposed to imitate yours, and you suck you teeth, telling him to shut-up.

He sticks his tongue out at you, opening the door a little more to peek around inside.

“You good? You need anything?”

You flush the toilet, reaching over to wash your hands in the sink while you still sit.

“No, I think I’m okay right now.  Can you hand me a pad under the sink please babe?”

He side eyes you at your sudden sweetness, but steps into the bathroom and squats down to open the cabinet.

“Where are they?” He shuffles a few things around, sticking his head further into the cabinet.

“Where they usually are in the back next to the hairspray.  You don’t see it?”

You unroll a wad of toilet paper and shove it between your legs for a temporary makeshift pad and put on the fresh underwear before joining him in front of the cabinet.

You instinctively reach towards the back like how you instructed only to find… nothing.

“You were saying?” He tilts his head at you, and you shove him off balance making him fall on his butt while you move over to the drawers to search for a stray pad.

He swats playfully at your legs while you look, only for you to come up empty handed.

“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, trying to rack your brain for where an extra one might be laying around.

“Wassup? You ran out?” Erik leans back against the door, fingers playing in the curls at the nape of your neck.

“Yeah.  I think I need you to go to the store and get some more.”  You shut the drawers with a  frustrated sigh, leaning back against the door frame next to him and looking over to him.

“You know which kind to get?”

He’d only been with you a handful of times when you’d had to get them but you weren’t sure if he’d paid close enough attention to notice the brand and type you usually got.

“Uhhh…yes.” He hesitates a little making your eyebrows scrunch together.  Maybe you should show him a picture or something.

“You sure?  Cuz I don’t have time for you to be getting the wrong kind so just tell me if you need some help-”

“Girl if you don’t chill! I got this baby!  What, you don’t trust me to get you some pads??”

You narrow your eyes at him, studying him to look for any uncertainty.

“Uh huh… yeah OK.  I trust you baby.”

“Thank you!”  He pops a kiss on your forehead and gets up from the floor.

You scoot aside so he can open the door to go get his keys and wallet before getting up yourself.  Looking over yourself in the mirror you take note of your frizzy curls and oily skin, deciding that maybe it would be a good idea to hop in the shower after all.

Erik comes back with his keys in your hand, a red hoodie thrown over his head and a pair of shades on.

“You need anything else while I’m out?” He asks, already deciding in his mind to grab a pint of your favorite ice cream and a pack of cookies at the store too to help feed your cravings.

“No I’m good.  You sure you gon be okay?”  You eye him teasingly with pursed lips, and he rolls his eyes before popping another kiss on your mouth.

“Girl hush. I got this!”

With that he turns and walks out of the apartment, leaving you to laugh by yourself, and you go to turn on the shower head as you hear the front door shut.

~

“….I ain’t got this.”

It had been twenty minutes Erik had been standing in the feminine care isle by himself, and the longer he looked at all the options, the more confused his brain got by all the different types of pads and tampons there were to choose from.

In his defense,  when he left the house he thought he had it…. at least, that was until he saw all the choices there were.  He didn’t remember there being so many choices.

Wings.  No wings.  Xtra absorbent.  Panty Liners.  Maxi Pad.  Ultra thin.  8 hour protection.  What did it all mean!?

The look of confusion on his face was starting to become permanent, and he knew if he didn’t make his selection soon, Y/N would be calling him to ask if everything was alright.  He refused to call her first to ask for help, especially since he was so confident he could do this, even after she’d asked him if he needed help, twice.

Nevertheless, he knew if he went home empty handed, or, worse, with the wrong thing, there would be nothing to protect him from the absolute wrath that would rain down on him once he got back.  Not even the melting ice cream and crumbling cookies in his hand.

Taking a deep breath, he shakes it off a little, refocusing his mind.

Okay.  No need to worry.  He got this.  The man had a whole PhD for god’s sake, surely he could figure out which feminine products his girl needed without letting it get the best of him.

Starting at the top shelf, his eyes scan over the items from left to right, and before he can even get to the end of the row his mind goes blank again.  Fuck.

“Aye, my man.  You good over there?”  A voice from the left of him calls his attention, and Erik turns his head to face its owner, the puzzled look still etched on his face.

Standing close to his height is a thickly built dark skinned brother with a loose muscle t-shirt that showed off his frame.  He wore dark sweatpants with some slides of his own on his feet, his head shaved completely bald which only helped further accentuate how strong the dude looked.

“You looking real lost there bro, you need some help or sum?”  He walks up to Erik, holding his hand out to him, and Erik blinks himself back to the present, sliding his own hand against the strangers before giving him a dap and greeting him.

“Oh, yeah yeah, I’m just over here tryna figure out what to get my girl.  She goin thru her period right now.”  Erik looks back to the shelf as if somewhere behind one of the price tags will be the answer he’s looking for, and the guy beside him starts chuckling.

“Uh huh, lemme guess: She asked you a couple times before you left if you knew what you was doin and you told her yes.  Then once you got here, you realized it’s a whole notha world up in the store.”

“Man!” Erik kissed his teeth, his eyes widening a little as he looked back to his new companion.  “A whole notha world!  Ion remember there being so many damn kind last time I was in here.”

“I know man, I know.  On one hand you wanna be mad it’s so many companies tryna reinvent the wheel,  but on another every woman flow is different so they all need a special type to help make it easier for them.”

Erik shakes his head, running a hand through his dreads as he blows out a sigh.

“Bruh.  I can only imagine what Y/N be going thru every month.  You here for your girl too?”  He asks the stranger, and he nods, a warm smile spreading over his face.

“Yeah, my lil Chipmunk, she’s our middle child.  She just started today and my wife is outta town visiting family, so I gotta show her the ropes.  I learned the hard way the first time that if you freak out, then they gon freak out, so you gotta be calm about the fact that they growing up on you to help them get through it.”

“The first time??? How many girls you got man?” Erik asks him humorously, and the stranger holds up his fingers in answer.

“Three.  A house full of girls.  And I couldn’t be more happy about it.”  The man’s entire mouth shines bright with all his teeth showing, a small sparkle coming from the one gold capped tooth on the bottom row, and Erik swore that if there was a blackout right that second this mans smile could light the whole city.

“That’s beautiful bruh.  Congrats.” Erik extends his hand again to the stranger in a fist that he returns with a small bump to it.

“Thanks,” the man smiles to himself for another moment as if he’s lost in thought before clapping his hands and rubbing them together.

“Aight!  Back to business.  Let’s see if we can help you get your girl what she needs.”

He steps up beside Erik in front of the shelf of products, putting his hand to his chin as he thinks.

“Ok, first things first: Is your girl a tampon girl or a pad girl?  Or both?” He looks up at Erik expectantly, and his answer comes immediately.

“Nah, she a pad girl.  She says the tampons are too hard to insert and make her feel uncomfortable.”  Erik had remembered that conversation the first time he came with you when you’d run out of pads but you had an entire jumbo box of tampons under the sink.  You’d explained that your mom had given them to you years ago but that even though you didn’t use them you didn’t want to throw them away either, just in case a family member or friend came over who needed them.

“Yeah, my wife said the same thing, so we a “pad only” household for now.  Okay, next question: Is she a light bleeder, or do Moses gotta step in and help out?”

Erik snorts, taking a moment to think about it.  The only time he remembered her flow being really heavy was when she’d switched birth controls, and that week she’d nearly camped out in the bathroom all day and night when she wasn’t wearing adult diapers to protect every piece of clothing and furniture she owned.

He’d never been so upset seeing his babygirl look so miserable.

“No, her flow is pretty regular other than on her 3rd and 4th days.”  He remembered her saying that, too.  

“Oh!” Just as he spoke, he remembered something else.  “She likes the long pads.  They real thin but she says they absorb a lot.”

The stranger nods his head, going back to scanning the shelf.

“Okay, that helps.”  He glances down at the snacks in Erik’s hand and snickers. “I take it by the ice cream and cookies that you like to spoil ya girl, right? Which means she probably bougie, too.”

Erik laughs at that.

“Yeah, she definitely spoiled and bougie,” he was thinking about the gold plated necklace he’d just bought you last week that had his last name on it, and how you couldn’t wait to wear it out that same night with the special area code gold plated hood hoops you’d ordered offline for your birthday.  Yeah, she was bougie alright.

“Mhm, all mine are too. Spoiled asses.  Aight, so that means your girl prolly a name brand girl.  Lemme ask you, when you get a pad for her, do it have designs on the wrapper? Like lil pink and purple squiggly shit?”

Erik snaps his fingers together.

“Yeah yeah yeah! And the box look like that too, right?”

“Yaup!” Stepping up to the shelf the man grabs a box off the 3rd row, the Always Radiant Flex Foam pads in the number 2 for heavy flow.

“Boom.”  He hands them over to Erik, clapping him on the back.

Erik smiles a huge smile, recognizing the box immediately. “Yeah! These the exact ones!”

“Mhm, these the ones my first daughter uses too, and she loves them.  Sheitt, they havin a sale right now so I might go head and grab her a few boxes.”

Erik moves the box of pads under his arm before grabbing the mans hand in a handshake and pulling him in for a hug.

“Yo, you don’t know how much you just saved my ass right now bruh.  Thank you so much, I really appreciate all your help.”

“Fasho my nigga, anytime.  Gotta make sure we look out for each other when we tryna provide for the special women in our life.  Don’t forget to take a picture of that and save it in your phone. You gon need it in the future.”

“Trust and believe I will man.  I’ll never forget again.”

Both men give each other one last dap, Erik grabbing a few extra boxes of pads before heading off to the frozen section to replace the ice cream.

Before he gets out of the isle he stops, turning back to the man and calling to him.

“Aye, my man.  What’s your name?”

“It’s Jeremiah.”

“Your girls are really lucky to have a man like you in their life, Jeremiah.”

Jeremiah smiles, shaking his head.

“Nah man, I’m the lucky one.”

Erik hums at that, and he tosses him a peace sign in farewell before going off to finish his shopping.

~

The keys rattle against the door as you hear the lock open, the sound of plastic bags shuffling and footsteps entering the apartment. The door closes shut and you see Erik appear in the entryway, a bag between his teeth as he tosses his keys into the dish on the hallway table.

You hop up from the couch, pulling the towel you were sitting on free from your butt as you go to help him.

“You didn’t get my texts?  You’ve been gone for a while I was starting to get worried,”

You take the bag from his teeth first, looking in it to find a pint of vanilla bean ice cream and a pack of oreo’s inside, smiling as your sweet tooth started to hit you.

“You know me so well.”

Erik smiles as he reaches into the bag in his hands, pulling out the box of pads.

“Uh huh, too well,” and he laughs as you clap your hangs together, commending him for getting the right kind.

“I knew I could trust you,” you cheese innocently at him, and he kisses his teeth, mushing your head away.

“Whatever girl.  Here, go put your stuff away,”  he hands you the bag of pads, taking the one with the snacks from you and you skip off towards the bathroom to take care of your business.

When you come back Erik’s already on the couch, a bowl and spoon out on the coffee table next to your ice cream and cookies, and the heating pad already plugged in.

“Wanna watch a romcom tonight?” He asks, and you nod your head, settling on the couch and wrapping the heating pad around your back while Erik wraps himself back in place around your front, nuzzling into you.

As the movie starts to play, Erik chuckles silently at the sound of you crushing oreo’s into your bowl, thinking about how wonderful it would be to have a house full of girls just like you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Warnings: Humor, SoftBoi!Erik, Fluff