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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

storm-darkened or starry bright

Summary: Spencer contracts HIV. It all falls apart after that.

Tags: angst, illness, hurt!spencer, hurt/comfort, worried derek, depression, mutual pining, getting together, angst w a happy ending

TW: vomit, implied/referenced sex and addiction, disordered thinking, depression as a result of medical diagnosis

Pairing: Derek Morgan x Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6.5k

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

(I've tagged my usual moreid taglist in this fic, but I won't be offended at all if this is too heavy for you!)

Title from "Where All My Books Go" - W.B. Yeats.

Originally inspired by J_Ballinger's Swift, Fierce & Obscene which is just a brilliant piece of art.

you said I could have anything I wanted, but I just couldn’t say it out loud — richard siken, litany in which certain things are crossed out

It starts with the flu.

He calls into work sick and he makes himself comfortable in bed, preparing to ride it out. It is the middle of January after all, and their last case saw them in Ann Arbor, shivering their way through each crime scene and a police station with abysmal heating.

His lymph nodes are swollen, and he’s running a moderate fever — 102 the last time he checked — and the cough he’s had for a couple of days is definitely getting nastier, but he uses the time to catch up on the documentaries he’s had stored on his DVR for the past couple of months. He tries to see it as a positive: he never gets time to rest like this. Warm soup, chamomile tea, and some Nyquil should be the end of it.

He makes the most of it. He gets better. He goes back to work, and life goes on.

“It’s not like you to get sick, Reid.”

Emily doesn’t mean anything by it, it’s about as innocuous as a comment can possibly be, but something about it makes his heart stop for a second. Because the thing is, she’s right. The last time he was actually sick was the anthrax poisoning three years ago, which can hardly be blamed on his body itself. He hasn’t been sick with a virus since he was a child — certainly not anything more than a mild winter cold.

His world turns upside down in the middle of a Tuesday, a couple of them gathered around Derek’s desk laughing about nothing in particular, the easy camaraderie of a close-knit team without a time-sensitive case on their minds.

Three and a half weeks ago: a night heady with alcohol in a gay bar in downtown DC, a charged encounter with a man just Spencer’s type, a whispered invitation back to his place, not making it past the bathroom…

He pales, suddenly feeling violently ill at the prospect of what’s happened, how badly he’s fucked up this time.

“Spencer, are you okay?” Emily asks, suddenly noticing his appearance. “You look really pale… maybe you’re not ready to be back at work yet.”

Forcing himself out of his stupor, he manages to open his mouth without vomiting. “I don’t feel so good,” he says, and even to him his voice sounds weak and distant. Blood roars in his ears, and all he can think is what that blood could very well be tainted with.

Far away voices discuss something he doesn’t pay attention to before Derek’s placing his hand on his shoulder, drawing him back into the discussion. “I’m gonna drive you home, okay?” Emily isn’t standing at the desk anymore, but he doesn’t think to look around for her, just locks eyes with Derek: noticing his brows knit deeply in concern, worry clouding his dark, striking eyes.

He lets himself be led down to the garage. Later, he won’t remember any of the winding car journey home, Derek’s worried sideways glances, his attempts at making conversation, tucking him into bed, his hesitancy to leave and go back to work. He’ll just remember the weight of his realisation, the sinking acknowledgement of what this means.

What it makes him.

⭐️

The next day, he wakes up ravenously hungry. He doesn’t remember anything after the dreaded realisation, but he remembers that he came to it only minutes after eating lunch: meaning he’s gone over eighteen hours without food. Somehow, he manages to pick himself out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. He finishes it all and doesn’t taste a single bite.

He texts the group chat Penelope had made for the whole team last year, ignoring the dozens of anxious messages from his team already filling his phone. Won’t be in.

Almost on auto-pilot, he gets dressed, picks up his phone, wallet, and keys, and walks to his nearest metro station. He counts four stops, gets out of the carriage and walks up the stairs onto the street, weaving through exactly three streets until he finds himself staring at the sign for his Urgent Care clinic.

Words — not ashes, as some small part of him anticipates — manage to spill from his lips as he tells the doctor everything from the unprotected sex he vaguely recalls having on the night of Saturday the 12th of March to his brief flu-like symptoms to his sickly realisation yesterday. Vaguely, he thinks there’s some sort of sick humour in being able to recall exactly what day he had sex, but not the details of the sex itself. Alcohol and dilaudid are the only things that have ever been able to interfere with his memory.

He obediently opens his mouth for a saliva swab, lets the nurse prick his finger and collect a drop of his blood. He wonders if she knows what they’re testing him for. He wonders if she thinks he’s as dirty as he feels, if she’ll violently scrub her hands after smiling politely at him, if she’ll roll her eyes when she talks to the other nurses, lamenting his stupidity.

The sounds of the waiting room melt into the background as he waits for the test to be conducted, and judging by the tone of the nurse who gets his attention when it’s time to return to the doctor’s office, it’s not her first attempt.

He mutters a distracted apology as he gets up from his seat, but she just smiles sympathetically. It shouldn’t get his back up in the way it does.

“I’m afraid you have tested positive for the Human Immunodeficiency Virus, Dr Reid,” she tells him, her voice gentle but straight-forward. He’s at least glad she doesn’t try and soften the blow. It’s not a blow that deserves to be softened. “I know this is a shock, but—”

“It’s not a shock.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s not a shock,” he repeats insistently; impatiently. “I knew it was coming. It’s my own fault.”

“Playing blame games isn’t going to help anybody here, Dr Reid,” she says firmly, meeting his eye. “Whether you were expecting it or not, this would knock anyone off-kilter, and I’d be remiss not to acknowledge that.”

She waits for his reluctant nod before continuing. “The good news is that we’ve caught it early enough to contain the infection. Your CD4 levels are very good, and you do not meet AIDS criteria. I’ve referred you to Dr Frederiks at George Washington University Hospital. He’s an expert in Infectious Disease and specialises in HIV/AIDS treatment. He can see you tomorrow at ten o’clock.”

He arrives back at his apartment almost $300 out of pocket, having gained nothing but a positive HIV diagnosis. The FBI has brilliant healthcare insurance but Spencer ticked the ‘no’ box on the insurance form. He can’t risk anybody knowing about this.

He texts Hotch and tells him he has a doctor’s appointment in the morning and will let him know whether he’ll make it in for the afternoon. Then he lays on the sofa, and cries.

⭐️

“HIV is a chronic illness,” the doctor explains at four minutes past ten the next morning, “a latent infection. Not a death sentence. Medications have come leaps and bounds in the last ten years, and the regimes aren’t anywhere near as rigorous as they used to be. With your CD4 levels this good, your life really won’t be much different than it was a few weeks ago.”

Spencer’s never had much interest in medicine — after all, there’s a reason he’s not that kind of doctor — but he knows this much. He doesn’t tell the doctor that he’s wasting his time explaining the basics of the disease, just stares blankly at the point in between his eyes, staring at the small crease in his skin, the way it moves as he speaks.

“It’s likely that you’ll die of something else, Dr Reid, decades in the future. When managed correctly, HIV is rarely deadly.”

This seems irrelevant: it doesn’t matter to Spencer what he dies of. Whether his immune system gives in or he’s shot in the line of duty or drops dead in the street from an aneurysm he doesn’t see coming, he’ll be dead.

He still doesn’t say anything.

“For the first six months of infection, the risk of transmission to sexual partners is high,” he continues, unfazed by Spencer’s lack of response. “Are you in a relationship?”

“No.” It’s the first word he’s spoken since he entered this office. His voice breaks. He can’t have the person he wants: this feels like the nail in the coffin of a relationship dead on arrival.

A look of sympathy crosses Dr Frederik’s face. “In any casual encounters you may engage in, you’ll need to be extra careful. Do you have the contact details of the person you contracted this from?”

His voice is steadier this time. “No.”

“Do you have any suspicion that you were deliberately infected by them?”

“No,” he answers, because he doesn’t, but it occurs to him that he’ll never actually know. He doesn’t remember if they used a condom; if he even wanted to use one. (All he remembers is his muscles and the way he pretended he was Derek, the amused look on the other man’s face when he whispered his name like a prayer.)

“That’s fine,” the doctor smiles encouragingly. It feels patronising. “We’re going to start with a triple combination of medications: tenofovir and emtricitabine combined with dolutegravir. HIV is an adaptable virus and easily becomes resistant, so it’s best to attack it hard and fast as early as possible to give you your best chances at an undetectable viral load in the next year. Which, I might add, Dr Reid, is a completely reasonable goal. At that stage, you will not be all that infectious. You’ll have bloods drawn before you leave to estimate your baseline kidney and liver function as well as overall health. In three months, you’ll have another test, and in six months, we’ll assess how well the drugs are working for you.”

Spencer nods, his eyes not leaving the crease between Dr Frederik’s eyebrows.

“Make those appointments with my secretary on your way out, and contact me if you have any concerns.” He pushes a brown paper envelope across the desk. “Inside you’ll find a copy of your positive test result, your prescriptions, and a number of leaflets on the condition as a whole.”

He squashes the urge to push the envelope back across the desk and nods again.

“Pick up the medication before the end of today and start them either tonight or in the morning,” he advises, before standing up from behind the desk and walking towards the door.

Spencer follows obediently, nodding once more and forcing a grimace onto his face, before walking down the hallway towards the secretary, another stranger he has to share his secret with. Swallowing down the urge to either scream or vomit, he fiddles with the envelope in his hands and bites the bullet.

⭐️

He tells Hotch that he won’t be in that day, and he goes home and forces himself to get it together. He showers first, the hot water washing the grime of the last few days down the drain, but he can’t do anything about the lingering layer of shame clinging to his skin. For the first time since the realisation, he forces himself to look in the mirror. A thin, pallid man with bags under his eyes and the look of someone harbouring a secret looks back at him.

His hair has grown out a little in the last few months, actual curls visible around his face (memories flash across his mind of breathy gasps; a hand buried in his hair, pulling ever-so-gently but they’re gone before they’re even remotely tangible), and he lost a little bit of weight he couldn’t afford to lose during his symptomatic period.

But, as frustrating as it is, it’s not what he sees. Not really. He sees Spencer Reid, possessor of five degrees, soon to become six, expert analyst in the FBI, the man who listens to jazz when he studies and watches documentaries for fun and solves crossword puzzles on the metro.

Something inside him shifts as he’s reminded of his humanity in that moment. It’s the most okay he’s felt in the last forty-eight hours.

He’ll take it.

He goes back to work the next day with little fanfare, getting warm smiles and ‘glad you’re feeling better’s from the team before they’re plunged headfirst into a new case, as it so often goes. They fly to Vermont, and part of him is glad for the distraction: no more talking about his illness, no more self-pity — he’s forced to try and bridge the gap between Dr Spencer Reid, Before and Dr Spencer Reid, HIV Positive as quickly and seamlessly as possible.

He does what he’s good at: offers relevant, detailed facts, profiles the victims and the unsub, cites studies that help them get to the bottom of the case, and for a moment he allows himself to forget about the virus coursing through his blood and the feeling of shame he can’t quite shake no matter how clean he scrubs his skin.

They get to the hotel late that evening and Spencer takes his second dose of medication, individually popping each tablet from it’s sheet into his hand. The pharmacist he spoke to yesterday told him that from his next medication order they can put all three tablets into a blister packet for him, but for now he’s stuck punching through three different plastic packets every night. Derek asks him to join them at the bar for a drink, but Spencer turns him down. He’s barely been able to look him in the eye.

If, in some rare and far flung universe, Derek did want to date Spencer, he wouldn’t want to date HIV positive, ex-addict, reckless and unsafe Spencer.

He wouldn’t want to date a man so heartbroken and lovesick that he got black-out drunk and slept with someone — most likely without a condom — just because he bared a passing resemblance to Derek. Contracting the Human Immunodeficiency Virus in the process.

No.

Spencer spends the evening staring into the mirror instead, desperately trying to find the man he was four days ago under the burden of broken suffering he seems to have picked up along with the diagnosis, the positive test, the sympathetic doctors.

When he hears the others come up past midnight and pile into their hotel rooms, laughing and chattering among themselves, Spencer still hasn’t looked away.

The use of the case as a distraction only works until 11am the next day. He’d had trouble falling asleep, and he’s powering through the day fuelled by black coffee and raw determination alone, but those motivators — as effective as they can be — can’t stop his legs from shaking as he stares at the geo-profile, searching for what they’re missing.

It sucks, but he’s glad for the warning the shaking gives him. He finds a chair and sits down, which is likely the only thing that stops him from collapsing when black dots swim in his vision and he’s suddenly vomiting down his front.

“Reid!” Hotch cries, running from the other end of the police station to where he’s sitting, panic clear on his face. They’re the only two from their unit currently in the station, but Hotch quickly locates an officer and turns to him. “Call an ambulance.”

“No,” Spencer manages to protest, although it only makes him want to be sick again, “‘m fine, promise.”

“What’s going on? I thought the flu had passed? Healthy people don’t spontaneously vomit and almost pass out, Reid.”

Somehow, his addled brain manages to concoct a decent enough lie. “Keep thinking I’m better,” he mumbles, leaning forward to put his head between his legs as Hotch places a hand on his back, “and then I’m not.”

“You’re sure this is just the flu?” Hotch asks, concerned but at least appearing to believe him.

“Certain,” Spencer lies.

Hotch nods once before shaking his head at the officer on standby with a phone to call an ambulance. “Well, you can’t work the case like this,” he sighs. “We need to get you back to the hotel, okay? You can rest there. God, Reid, what did the doctor say?”

“Bad case of the flu. Gave me some strong Tamiflu and told me I’d be fine in a couple days.” He gasps the words out in between intense waves of nausea, clasping his hands together in an iron grip.

He absolutely can’t let Hotch catch on. In the nine years he’s worked at the FBI, he’s managed to conceal his sexuality below layers upon layers of closeting, and he’s not about to be forced out now. It started as a purely protectionist strategy — law enforcement in the early 2000s didn’t exactly have a stellar reputation when it came to tolerance — but then he just felt forced too deep, felt the web of lies spun too tightly around him to even begin to unpick them.

Terror seizes his heart at the idea of his team knowing who he really is: not because he expects homophobia or backlash, but because he’s not sure he’s ready to live that openly yet. He’s never been good with change, and this is no exception.

It doesn’t help that the whole team is all too aware of his past addiction. He dreads the thought of them thinking he’s using again and, worse, so irresponsibly that he managed to contract HIV.

Hotch gets a rookie officer to drive him back to the hotel, and she keeps sending him nervous glances, most likely worried he’ll stink up her immaculately kept squad car with his spontaneous vomiting. Both he and the car make the journey unscathed, although he knows he probably looks as green as he feels as he drags himself up the stairs — could there possibly be a worse time for an out of order elevator? — and somehow manages to make it to the bed before he collapses.

Unfortunately, his restful slumber doesn’t last long. He’s woken up not half an hour later with the intense need to be sick again, and he races to the toilet, where he spends the next two hours: intermittently slumped over it, being sick into it, and lying on the cold tiles next to it.

It feels like a punishment. If Spencer was a religious man he’d be certain God was smiting him for his sins, but instead he’s left instead pondering karma or fate or some other theory he doesn’t really buy into either. Logically, he knows it’s just a combination of guilt and regret — he made a mistake, he’s suffering the consequences; there’s no fate or religion or karma involved — but his delirious, out of sorts mind struggles to hold on to that.

Reason doesn’t make the nausea any less crippling, after all.

Eventually, he must manage to pass out on the bathroom floor, because he’s being shaken awake by a pair of gentle hands, and when he finally opens his eyes, it’s dark outside.

“Spence?”

Shit. Derek.

His eyes fly open and he fights to sit up, to make himself more presentable. The smell of vomit lingers in the air and he remembers that he didn’t even put the toilet seat down, let alone flush it. (At least he thought to change out of his vomit-covered shirt. Thank God for small mercies.) He blushes, and thinks he must look a pretty picture of red and green as he finally meets Derek’s eyes.

“God, Spence, how bad is this flu?” he asks worriedly, smoothing his hair with the palm of his hand. Despite himself, Spencer finds himself pressing back into the touch, relishing any contact he can get.

Then it hits him: he’s dirty. He can’t contaminate Derek like this.

“You should leave,” he asserts hurriedly as he pulls away, hating that desperation is so obvious in his voice. “I don’t want you to get sick.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve cleaned everything up, and I used gloves. I’ve been in contact with you the last couple of days, so if you were going to get me sick you would’ve already. I just want to be here for you.”

Spencer squeezes his eyes closed so tightly they hurt. He wants nothing more than to fold himself into Derek’s arms, let himself be comforted by the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with. But he can’t. There are so many reasons that he can’t.

“No,” he says, not opening his eyes, resenting the tear that slips out and spills down his cheek. “You can’t. I’m… I’m not safe to be around.”

He doesn’t really mean to say it, but it escapes anyway, and he opens his eyes just in time to see the confusion cross Derek’s face. “Not safe to…? Spencer, what—”

“I just… I need to be alone.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek says softly, bringing a hand to his hair again, and he knows that HIV isn’t transmitted through sweat or vomit but he’s dirty, and Derek is so so good, he can’t be responsible for tainting him. Derek doesn’t relent, though, not even when Spencer pulls away from his touch and shrinks in on himself, leaning against the toilet. “You need to allow yourself to be comforted. You need to let me help, Spencer.”

Suddenly, he feels incredibly tired: the energy seeping out of his body, and he’s boneless against the toilet, absent even of the effort to hold himself upright.

“Come on, let’s get you into bed.” He puts his arms around Spencer’s rolled up body and lifts him, holding him close to his chest as he carries him from the bathroom to the bed.

Spencer doesn’t just let him, he curls into his embrace, clinging to the material of his t-shirt like it’s his only grip on reality.

(Later, he’ll blame the fever, but deep down he knows that just once, he wanted to play pretend, and just once, he didn’t have the energy to stop himself.)

⭐️

The side effects take weeks to finally leave, his body having a hard time adjusting to not only a deadly virus in his bloodstream, but some of the strongest drugs on the market inhibiting his natural enzyme production. Eventually, though, he’s back at work properly, selling a story about a simultaneous gastro-intestinal virus making the flu exponentially worse.

He’s not really sure everyone believes him, but nobody questions it out loud, so he avoids everyone’s eyes and takes it as a win.

Nobody gets close enough to try, anyway. He pushes everyone away, holds them at arm's length no matter how much they kick and scream and claw their way closer to him. It surprises him how persistent Derek is, and for a moment he feels a sad flutter of hope in his stomach and he’s forced to stamp it down: Derek sees him as a brother, a friend, a colleague, not a potential romantic partner.

And it would be irrelevant, even if he did. Derek wouldn’t want him as any of those things if he knew what he was hiding. Ever since his lapse in judgement on the case in Vermont, he’s refused to spend any time alone with Derek, and he hates the hurt he sees in his eyes, hates that he can’t scream at him that this is for his own good. But he can’t know. Because Spencer is still ruled by his relentless selfish desires, and he can’t let Derek go, no matter how hard he tries to.

Kept at arm’s length at least means he’s still touching his shoulders.

He muddles through the next few months on his own, returning to his quiet apartment every night and eating a sad, lonely dinner on his sad, lonely sofa before punching his way through a blister pack, taking his tablets, and going to sleep. He turns down drinks invitations, declines phone calls, ignores text messages. He pretends he isn’t home when there are knocks at his door.

He takes showers that are too hot and cries on the metro, scrubs his fingernails and his face, and when he got a shallow knife wound on a case last month, wouldn’t let a single member of the team near him. Whispering his status, shame-faced, to the attending EMT.

This is it, he thinks one night, as he opens the microwave and takes out the mac-and-cheese ready meal he’d bought on the way home that night. He doesn’t even like mac-and-cheese. It was just the only thing left in the store at 8.30pm. This is my life now. Standing in my kitchen at 9.15pm, not being able to remember the last time I was actually happy.

(He does remember, really. It was Sunday the 13th of March, 9.37am: Derek had ruffled his hair and joked with him as they waited alone in the conference room to find out what was so urgent they were being called into work on the weekend for. Spencer could still feel the aftermath of his Saturday night tryst, and pretended for a brief few minutes that that encounter was with Derek, and those jokes were actually flirting. But then the case took over, then the flu symptoms, and then. Well.)

Before he can carry the mac-and-cheese into the living room, though, there’s a knock at the door. Everyone had mostly given up on turning up unannounced, so it catches him off-guard, and something in him, some vain flicker of hope, or maybe a masochistic desire to hurt even more, propels him forward until he’s opening it and coming face to face with Derek Morgan.

“Spencer,” he says urgently, and panic immediately grips Spencer as he wonders what could be so wrong that he’d need to show up out of the blue, but Derek must see it on his face. “Nothing’s happened, don’t worry, I just… I need to speak to you.”

A knot of something that Spencer can’t quite place tightens in his stomach as he stares at the myriad of emotions playing across Derek’s face, but he steps aside to let him in anyway. He closes the door behind them and feels a flash of embarrassment at the state of his apartment. It’s completely clean — his already rigorous attitude towards germ and cleanliness have only intensified in the last few months as paranoia plagued his mind relentlessly — but it’s barren of any joy, and it couldn’t be more obvious.

The furniture is drab and Spencer’s packed away all the photos and trinkets that used to litter the entire place because they just made him too sad to look at. The only life that remains is his books, and the sheet he’d hung to cover them up in a fit of rage a couple of weeks ago still hangs there limply. He hadn’t wanted to see his books: didn’t want the temptation of touching them and tainting them. What if he got a papercut on one of the pages and his virus-ridden blood spilled across the words he treasures so dearly?

He watches as Derek surveys the place with a sad expression on his face, before recollecting himself and turning back to Spencer.

“I know you’ve been pulling away from us, Spence,” he says, almost breathless as he takes a seat on the sofa. Spencer doesn’t know what to do with his body, so he settles on remaining where he is: stock still facing the couch, his hands buried deep in his trouser pockets. “We’ve watched you become a shell of who you used to be, and we’re all worried about you—”

“I don’t—”

“No, just let me speak. Everyone is worried, and I am too, but… I’m also… I’m hurt, Spencer. You’re pushing me away, turning me down every time I try to get close to you, and it’s painful because you’re my friend. You’re my best friend, and you mean the world to me.”

I wouldn’t if you knew my secret, he thinks miserably, but he doesn’t say anything.

“More than anything, though, it hurts… because I’m in love with you.”

Spencer stares. He’s hallucinating, he has to be.

“And I know — well, I don’t know because we’ve never talked about it — but I know you’re probably straight and even if you were interested in guys, too, who’s to say you’d be in love with me back? But I had to tell you because our relationship is heading south anyway, plummeting straight for the ground, and I figured it couldn’t hurt, I just… say something? Please?”

He doesn’t mean to say it.

“I’m HIV positive.”

It’s Derek’s turn to stare. Spencer can’t meet his eyes, and suddenly feeling like he needs to Get Out, he rushes to the kitchen and picks up his rapidly cooling mac-and-cheese. He gets a fork out and faces the countertop, away from Derek, as he starts to shovel unsatisfying bites into his not-hungry stomach.

It can’t even be a full minute later that he hears footsteps behind him. “You have AIDS?”

He sets the mac-and-cheese back on the counter. “No,” he answers, not turning around. “I tested positive for HIV; I don’t meet AIDS criteria. My CD4 levels are apparently very good, and the medication I’m taking is proving effective in controlling and managing the virus. I don’t have side effects anymore, and I don’t feel any different than I did before I contracted it.”

There’s a beat of silence. “And this is why you’ve been pulling away from us?”

Spencer hesitates before nodding shamefully, his eyes burning a hole in his dinner. “I didn’t know how to tell anyone, and I—” He’s cut off by a heaving sob. It catches him by surprise, but suddenly he’s choking on emotion: everything he’s been through, everything he’s been dealing with alone for so long a burden he no longer knows how to carry.

“Oh, baby,” Derek breathes, rushing forward and turning Spencer until his face is pressed into his neck and their arms are wrapped around one another. The nickname only furthers his emotion, falling apart completely in such a way that makes him unsure he’ll ever be put back together again. “I’m so sorry.”

He lets Spencer cry it out until his sobs recede and his tears slow, and he feels confident enough to pull away and meet Derek’s eye properly again. It feels like a reconnection; a reconciliation of sorts, and his breath catches at the emotion on his face. He’d expected a meddle of sympathy and disgust, but all he finds is compassion and love, tinged by a sadness Spencer supposes probably comes from watching the man you’ve just professed to love fall apart like that.

Oh wait. Derek just told him—

“You love me?” His voice comes out quieter and shyer than he’d hoped, and not nearly as incredulous as he’d intended, but Derek softens anyway.

“Yes,” he says emphatically. “So much. And if you think you telling me this is going to change how I feel even a bit, then you’re dead wrong, Spencer.”

It’s suddenly too much to think that everything he’d feared happening for the last few months was wrong, and he’s gasping for breath again, sinking to the ground to bury his face in his hands.

“Spence?” Derek asks worriedly, following him to the floor. “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No… please, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself, ground himself in the reality that’s unfolding before him, no matter how different it might look than that of his anticipation. “You know, the man. Um, the man I… contracted this from. I slept with him because he looked like you.”

He looks up and meets Derek’s eyes again, searching for anything in them to confirm that he was thinking all the thoughts Spencer feared and coming up empty. “I was so heartsick that I got blind-drunk and slept with a complete stranger because it was the closest to you I ever thought I’d get and then I was just so scared of what everyone would say when I found out. I know logically that HIV doesn’t make someone dangerous or unclean, but I just couldn’t shake this feeling of shame, you know? I was constantly panicked that I’d pass it to one of you. Besides, I’m not even out to the team, and I know the implications of a disease like this: gay or an IV drugs user — I didn’t know how to deal with the fact that I was both. I’m clean, and I’ve stayed clean, I just…”

“Hey, I get it,” Derek says gently, reaching out a hand and cupping Spencer’s cheek gently. “I think if I was in the same boat I probably would’ve reacted in exactly the same way. You can’t be blamed for bowing to a social stigma this heavy, Spence. I’m just sorry I didn’t realise what was going on sooner. And even sorrier, for that matter, that I didn’t tell you I was in love with you before this even had a chance to happen.”

Spencer smiles a little at that. “Hey, I didn’t tell you either. I don’t blame you at all. Neither of us were out and confessing something like that is no small feat.”

“I suppose so.”

Spencer shifts a little in his position on the floor, the raging storm of emotion that he’s been drowning under for the past four and a half months quieting for the very first time. He breathes deeply for a few seconds before working up the courage to ask the question he really wants the answer to. “I know you said that this doesn’t change the way you feel—”

“And it doesn’t.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods, because suddenly he gets that. He isn’t sure what took so long. “But does it make you not want to be in a relationship with me?”

“Spencer, no.” Derek’s voice is urgent as he makes intense eye contact with him, raising a gentle finger to his chin. “It doesn’t change a single. thing. I don’t know much about HIV, I’ll admit, but I do know that these days you can get to a point where it doesn’t transmit to partners. And we can be really safe about it. I’ll do all the research to make you comfortable, but Spencer, even if it did mean that we could never have sex, I’d still want you. I want you so badly, pretty boy.”

He can hardly believe his ears. “Really?”

“Really.” He swipes his thumb across his cheek, catching a falling tear. “I’m hopelessly, desperately in love with you, Spencer. I have been for years. You can ask, Penelope: she’s been putting up with my pining like a saint, but I’m not sure she could’ve taken it much longer.”

“I’ve been in love with you for years, too.” Another tear falls as the prospect of what’s about to happen really sinks in.

“Can I?” Derek murmurs, as he inches closer ever so slowly.

“Please,” Spencer whispers, barely finishing the word before their lips are colliding and a flurry of butterflies break out in his stomach as his chest glows with the warmth of a kiss he’s long been aching for. Derek’s hands find his waist, his jaw, his cheek, his hair, exploring his body ever so softly as he kisses him with the same inquisitive gentleness, managing to take him apart with just his lips and his hands.

“God,” he whispers as he finally pulls away, pressing his forehead to Spencer’s as he struggles to hide his wide grin. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve dreamed of that. I’m gonna be like a teenage girl tonight, running my fingers across my lips as I remember every minute of it.”

Spencer giggles at that. “Well you can rest easy in the knowledge that I’ll be doing the same.” He pulls away slightly and looks down for a second before looking back up into Derek’s earnest gaze. “I’ve never been kissed like that before.”

“I’ll kiss you like that every day for as long as you’ll have me.” He doesn’t hesitate to lean back in, connecting their lips again as they melt into one another’s touches, and it makes Spencer laugh later that the most intimate and passionate encounter of his life so far happened on the kitchen floor.

They pull apart as soon as it heats up a little bit, and pain flashes across both of their expressions at the thought of why.

“There’s this thing called PrEP,” Spencer says, still a little ashamed of his situation, that Derek has to be protected against him before they can take this any further. “It’s medication that you take before and after sex with a HIV positive person that blocks the virus from entering your bloodstream if you were to somehow contract it. And we can wear condoms. And once I reach an undetectable viral load, it means the virus is untransmittable, and you won’t contract it even if we’re unprotected.”

Derek blinks. “Wow, that’s… that’s better than I thought.”

“Really? You’re still okay with all this?”

He softens. “Pretty boy, I am so okay with all this, and I’m sorry that you spent so long thinking otherwise. We have time to figure all this out, but what matters is that right now, I have you next to me, and we love each other. Don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” He smiles, and leans forward to kiss Derek chastely. “I do.”

“Now, how about we bin that disgusting mac-and-cheese and order some Chinese?” he suggests, matching Spencer’s smile. “We could eat it in bed and watch one of those documentaries you’re always talking about.”

Spencer laughs fondly. “You want our first date to be eating takeaway and watching a science documentary in bed?”

“Well it sounds perfect to me.”

“Yeah, it sounds pretty perfect to me, too,” Spencer whispers, the happiness in his chest feeling warm and inviting, begging him to bask in the moment for as long as he can.

They’ll work out the specifics later — they’ll get Derek started on PrEP and attend Spencer’s appointments to measure his viral load, they’ll have important and serious conversations about the risks to both of them, they’ll work out what their relationship means for work, how they’ll begin to repair the damage the last few months have done to Spencer’s mental health — but right now, none of that matters.

All that does is: the buffet of Chinese food Derek lays out on a blanket on Spencer’s bed, the documentary about bees playing on the TV, and the thrilled little glances thrown each other’s way, the stolen kisses and casual touches, the love palpable in the air around them. And later, when the food is eaten, and the documentary is playing the credits: Spencer’s tired head resting on Derek’s loving chest, and the syncing of their heartbeats as they fall asleep to the sound of each other.

This shouldn't have to be said but please do not use fanfiction as sex education and PLEASE practice safe sex. As far as I know, all the information included in this fic is correct, but I have no personal experience with HIV/AIDS, and this is very much written from an outsider's perspective - albeit a thoroughly researched one.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @jellejareau @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @im-autistic-not-stupid (taglist form)

#cm #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds writing #derek morgan #spencer reid #moreid #moreid fic #moreid angst #hurt spencer reid #derek morgan/spencer reid #derek morgan x spencer reid #spencer reid/derek morgan #spencer reid x derek morgan #my writing

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slythergirlimagines · 4 years ago

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Well Why Don’t You?- Zuko x Reader

Summary: You and Zuko constantly dance around each other, and Sokka and Toph have had enough. Fluff, with a tiny bit of angst!! Masterlist

(GIF isn’t mine!) Words: 3,398 Request: yes

**** let me know if I you all want a masterlist!

Well Why Don’t You?

The first party Zuko hosts is a year after the war. It is a “welcome to Fire Nation” party, to honor the new members of one of Zuko’s outreach programs.

One year after the war, and everything is slowly starting to feel normal. Your parents had died before the war began, and having no where else to go, you ended up sticking close to Zuko, your best friend.

Zuko had brought up the idea first, claiming that he had no one left either, and it had really worked out quite well for the both of you. You gave Zuko advice and opinions with an honesty no one else would. Zuko offered you a place of belonging and a deep friendship.

Though you missed your parents and your friends, you had never felt quite so happy as you did with Zuko. You knew a lot of that happiness had to do with your feelings for him.

Zuko had joined your side and won you over first. You believed him before anyone else did, and as time progressed, you slowly started opening up to each other. You often teamed up in battle and just naturally gravitated towards each other. Toph and Sokka had teased you about it relentlessly. You had realized you loved him when Azula struck him with lightning, when you had almost lost him.

Then Zuko had healed and had become Firelord, and you hadn’t said a word to him about your feelings. Now you are really starting to regret it as you watch him dance with Mai. They had broken up a long time ago, but that didn’t make you feel better as you watch him pull her tighter to him and whisper in her ear. Angrily, you slam your finished drink on the table.

“Another.” You demand, and Sokka looks at you with troubled eyes.

“Y/n, you’ve been drinking a lot more than usual, are you sure you can handle another?” He asks you, brows furrowed. You must be really obvious if Sokka was noticing something wrong.

“Obviously it has everything to do with Lover Boy and Mai.” Toph says, inclining her head in the direction of the dance floor. For a blind girl, Toph really does see everything.

“No it doesn’t.” You hiss.

“Ooh you hit a nerve.” Sokka giggles, tipping his drink back. You aim a hard kick to his shin. Sokka chokes on his drink, and you take a little pleasure in his sputtering. Toph pats him a few times on the back, but she’s laughing too hard to really help.

“Ok, ok. I’m sorry. I won’t say anything else about your all encompassing love.” Sokka says.

“All encompassing love for who?” Zuko asks, head cocked to the side like a puppy. Mai is there, arm wound tightly through his. She smiles at you, but the expression looks forced on her usually bored face.

“For wine.” You cover smoothly. “I was just about to get another drink and Sokka was teasing me for being an alcoholic. I showed him though.”

You nod at Sokka, who now sits rubbing his shin.

“That’s my girl.” Zuko smiles. “Guys, you all remember Mai?”

Everyone at the table nods, and exchanges pleasantries. Zuko pulls out a chair at the table and seats Mai, and then takes the chair in between you both.

The wine is catching up with you, and your head is fuzzy, even fuzzier with Zuko so close. You want to kiss him, to hold his hand, to be with him. All of that is impossible with Mai next to him. Of course Mai is beautiful, and of course that’s who Zuko would go for. Mai is a badass and she’s controlled. She’d be the perfect match for Zuko and his mood swings.

You stand up too quickly suddenly desperate to get away, and knock over your empty wine glass. You wobble in place before regaining your balance.

“Y/n?” Zuko asks, concern etching his face. “Are you alright?”

“Fine!” You say in a voice that tells everyone you are absolutely not fine. “I’m just off to get some wine! Haha that rhymes.”

Your awkwardness combined with the alcohol has just made a painfully embarrassing moment that you’ll never expunge from your brain.

Sokka bursts into drunken laughter like a child, and Toph rolls her eyes. You barley manage to get yourself out of the party before you start crying.

————————————————-

The next party Zuko hosts, you are prepared to make a move. Toph has taken to giving you weekly pep talks, and she’s bolstered your confidence a lot.

You had picked out the perfect dress, a black gown with a plunging back. The bodice was tight against your figure, and emphasized your curves. You spent all day creating a dramatic makeup look and pinning up your hair. You knew you looked good, hopefully Zuko would see it too.

You take up your usual spot at the table with Toph and Sokka. Katara and Aang were hardly ever at these things, too busy running their academy or fixing the world. Toph and Sokka are a bit more like you, with no where to go.

Toph and Sokka are starting a drinking game, and you’re too zoned out to really listen to the rules. You’re eager to see Zuko, and even more eager to have him see you.

“With the rate she’s going, we’re going to die of alcohol poisoning.” You hear Toph say.

“What?” You ask. Toph smiles sheepishly, and looks to Sokka to say something.

“Well...” Sokka says, and his face says that he is absolutely trying every way to get out of this.

“Are you playing a drinking game about me?!” You demand. Their smiles give it all away, and suddenly you feel rather affronted.

“What are the rules??” You smack your hand down on the table.

“Obviously it has something to do with being the most beautiful girl in the room.” Zuko says, smiling at you. He places a kiss to your cheek, and then sits down. You could literally explode on the spot, but even in your high you don’t miss Sokka and Toph taking a synchronized drink.

So it was about you and Zuko then.

“Thank you.” You tell Zuko, and you can’t help the warmth that colors your tone. Who gave him the right to be so charming? You knew this was his normal diplomatic persona, the one he used to flatter his subjects. You could pretend it was real for a night.

Sokka and Toph drink again, and this time is not subtle at all. Zuko notices, and quirks his eyebrows at them.

“So what are the rules?” He asks, truly perplexed.

“Don’t have any.” Toph says. Zuko rolls his eyes, but leaves them to their own game.

You’re about to ask Zuko to dance, when an advisor comes up to him.

“Lord Zuko, I have someone who would really love to meet you.” The old man says. The person who wants to meet Zuko is clearly the beautiful young woman trying her best to pretend she isn’t watching the exchange.

Zuko notices this too, and smiles at his advisor.

“Of course, give me just a moment.” He says. You’re torn between two feelings. On one hand, you love Zuko’s devotion to his people, but on the other, jealousy is eating at you.

Zuko smiles at you softly.

“You really do look lovely.” He says. “Don’t go anywhere guys, I’ll be right back.”

You watch him walk away, with a heavy heart. It seemed like nothing would truly be enough to capture his attention.

“Drink!” Sokka calls, indicating your wistful glances at Zuko. You drink until your glass is empty.

————————————————

You don’t go to the third party. Every inch of your body hurts, and your head is pounding. You think you might have a fever, but you don’t want to call anyone in to check. You absolutely despise being sick, and sometimes you like to just wallow in your sorrows.

Toph comes in to check on you before the party. She’s dressed in a lovely green gown, and a gold headpiece.

“Toph, you’re gorgeous.” You croak. “Stay away from me though, I’ll get you sick.”

Toph gives you a pitying look.

“You sound awful.” She says.

“I feel it.”

“Do you want me to send somebody in to check on you? No offense, y/n, but you actually look like you could be dying.”

“Thank you Toph, I really wanted to hear that.” You mutter into your pillow.

There is silence for a few seconds as Toph debates what to do.

“Seriously Toph, I’m ok. Go have fun.” Then sitting up, you tease her. “Tell me all about Sokka’s reaction when he sees you in that dress.”

Toph blushes, and hurries away like you expected her too. Content at your privacy, you fall back on your bed to get some sleep.

You had only just fallen into a fitful sleep, when you are awoken by someone stroking your face.

Zuko sits in your bed in his party robes, looking more concerned than you’d ever seen him.

“Zuko?” You croak. Maybe this is a fever dream or a hallucination. There’s no way that Zuko left his party to come sit with you.

“Hey.” He says softly. “Toph told me you were sick. I sent for a healer a few minutes ago.”

He brushes a few sweaty strands of hair out of your face and you groan internally. How could he ever want to be with you after seeing you like this?

“Get away from me, you’re going to get sick!” You protest when you realize that he’s sitting too close.

Zuko rolls his eyes, and moves closer just to spite you.

“I don’t care about any of that, y/n.” He says. He leaves his hand on the side of your face, and his thumb strokes your cheek bone. “You’re really hot.” He says.

You know he doesn’t mean it the way it sounds, but in your feverish state his words are funny.

“No you’re the hot one.” You say, giggling. Zuko smiles, but he also looks more concerned than before.

“You’re delirious.” He says. The healer knocks on the door, and Zuko hurries to let him in.

The healer makes him stand away from you, as he gets to work. Zuko paces, watching everything with his amber eyes.

You’ve never really noticed how beautiful his scar is, before right now.

“Thank you, y/n.” He says, and you blush.

You definitely hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“My lord, I think she’ll be ok after some rest. We just need to break the fever.” Zuko winces, and you think that he must be remembering the time he was sick in Ba Sing Se. He had told you about it long ago, about how painful it was.

“Alright.” Zuko says, “Thank you for seeing her. I’ll stay with her.”

“My lord, I am perfectly happy to stay...” the healer trails off at Zuko’s face.

“I’m not leaving her.” Zuko says, tone final. The healer bows his head, and starts instructing Zuko.

“Keep the cloth cold, and keep her under the blankets. I’ll come by to check every few hours. The best thing for her to do is sweat it out.”

You hear the door close, and then Zuko sits beside you on the bed again. You hadn’t realized that you had closed your eyes.

Zuko’s hands replace the healers, and he starts pressing the cold cloth against your forehead.

“What about your party?” You croak.

“More important things for me to be doing.” Zuko says. You are ill, quite possibly delirious, but you could swear you hear some deeper meaning in his words.

——————————————————

The fourth party Sokka and Toph are armwrestling, and you are keeping score. You all are by far the loudest table, and you know that if it wasn’t for your status as war heroes, you would have been kicked out long ago.

Zuko has been floating around tables all night, shaking hands and kissing babies. The people love him, and they see him for the great ruler he is. You’re happy for him, and you’re proud. But you also miss him.

Zuko finds his way over to you all during round 8. Sokka is only up by one point, and the narrow margin has really been a blow to his pride. You’ve decided to call a winner at round 9, so this victory really determines the outcome. You hate how into their stupid game you are.

Toph is just edging out Sokka when Zuko’s hand touches your back. He lets it trail slowly upwards and cup the back of your neck, thumb rubbing in slow circles.

“Who’s winning?” He asks lowly, to not disturb the serious concentration. You’ve never been more turned on in your whole life.

“It’s a toss up right now.” You say, obviously flustered. “If Sokka wins this round, he’s the winner, but if Toph wins we go into sudden death.”

“Mmm.” Zuko says close to your ear. Goosebumps explode down your body, and you fight a shiver. You glance over at him, and you lock eyes.

Is he looking at your lips? Is he leaning closer? Am I?

“Victory!” Toph cries, slamming Sokka’s arm into the table.

Your moment with Zuko is broken as you turn to them.

“That’s a tie. Round 9.” You say. You turn back to Zuko with a smile, and find one mirrored on his face. He looks happy, you think. More content than he has in a long while.

“Y/n?” A cocky voice asks you. You turn to find one of Zuko’s youngest advisors standing there. He is around your age and rather handsome. One of the types that knows it too.

“Dance with me?” He smirks, holding out a hand.

“Sorry.” Zuko says, with faux politeness. He drops his arm around your shoulders and curls you into his side. “We just can’t spare her. She’s our scorekeeper.”

His arm is holding you tight against him, possessively. Your whole body is fuzzy again as you smile at Zuko.

You turn back to his advisor and shrug.

“No one else can do it.” You say by way of explanation.

Zuko doesn’t move his arm the rest of the night, and neither do you.

————————————————-

Sokka and Toph are done with the games. You and Zuko had been dancing around each other for years now and it was really starting to get annoying. They couldn’t even enjoy getting drunk at parties anymore without one of you looking longingly at the other all night.

That’s why they were currently holed up in an unused advising room discussing plans.

“We’ve got to do something, Sokka. It’s not even fun to drink anymore.” Toph cries, slamming a fist on the table.

“Tell me about.” Sokka says. “All they do is drool over each other.”

“You’re the master strategy guy, let’s come up with a plan. There’s got to be something we can do.” Toph taps her foot rapidly against the ground.

Sokka sits in deep thought for a minute, hand rubbing his jaw. His blue eyes are far away as he considers several options.

“Well, jealousy didn’t work either time they were around other people. Zuko was still too chicken when y/n got all dolled up, and aside from locking them up together I just don’t know what will break their stubborn minds.” Sokka groans.

Suddenly, he and Toph both jump up.

“That’s it!” Toph says. “New mission, find a door that locks from the outside and lock those idiots up.”

————————————————

The fifth party Zuko hosts, you rewear the black gown. You liked it, and Zuko had called you beautiful when you wore it. Maybe tonight it could be your lucky charm.

It’s Zuko’s birthday, and you had managed to get Aang and Katara here as a surprise, and they were going to stay the entire weekend. Iroh was also going to come stay, and you had planned a smaller private party for tomorrow. You knew Zuko would be thrilled to spend some seeing his friends, and actually getting to spend some time with them.

You were just finishing spraying yourself with perfume, when Toph comes barreling into your room.

“Y/n, quick it’s Zuko!” You are in instant worry mode as you follow her out.

“What’s happened Toph? Is he alright?” You question.

Toph leads you through the winding corridors, and into a back part of the palace.

“Toph!” You demand as you come to a stop in front of a door you’ve never seen.

Sokka stands there, dressed in his finest blue party outfit. Toph is in her usual green.

“You guys? What’s going on. Where’s Zuko? Is he alright?” You question.

“He will be.” Toph says from behind you. Sokka opens up the door, and before you can ask anything else, Toph shoves you inside and the door slams shut.

Instead of falling onto the ground, something warm and hard catches you. Arms wrap around you to steady you, and you can instantly tell it’s Zuko.

“Zuko? What’s going on?” You ask him. “Are you ok? Toph said-”

“They did the same to me.” He chuckles. Your eyes are adjusting to the darkness, and you can just make out his smile. “I think we’re being set up.”

“Oh.” You say, as calmly as possible.

“Yep! And you’re not coming out until you talk about your feelings.” Toph says. “Gonna be weird to have a birthday party with no birthday boy. So you better make it quick.”

Zuko still has his arms around you, and you find that you haven’t moved yours either. You’re so close that you can feel his body heat.

“Zuko.” You whisper, softly. “I’m sorry they’re ruining your birthday.”

You can’t say that you feel that badly about having some alone time with Zuko, but you feel the need to share it all the same.

“Don’t be.” He whispers back, head lowering. “This is exactly where I want to be anyways.”

Your face breaks out into a grin as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Yeah?” You ask.

“Yeah.” His lips are on yours immediately after, and there’s no more time for talking.

Zuko pulls you as close as he can, pressing hot kisses down your neck and to your collarbone.

“This is my favorite dress.” He says, running a hand over it appreciatively. “I always thought about how I’d tear it off of you.” He growls and then brings his lips back to yours.

In between passionate kisses you manage to respond.

“Then why don’t you?”

The invitation seems to be all he needs, because his hands are suddenly everywhere. They leave warm tingling trails wherever they touch, and you think you might be in heaven. Zuko’s hands deftly find the zipper, and he’s got it halfway down when the door is thrown open.

You and Zuko blink guiltily into the bright light of the hallway, and you can just make out the horror on Toph and Sokka’s faces.

“I did not think it would work this well.” Toph says, thoughtfully.

Sokka simply looks disgusted at the whole thing, and shudders.

“This room is occupied.” Zuko says, winking at you. He closes the door with a well aimed kick and you all are alone again.

“Hi.” You whisper, smile too wide for your face.

“Hi.” Zuko says. He leans down and kisses you again, a little less hungry than before. He takes his time, really exploring your mouth with his tongue.

You’ve never loved him as much as you do right now, in this tiny closet.

“Zuko.” You say, pulling back from the kiss. “I love you.”

Zuko pulls your face up to look into his eyes.

“I love you too. So much.” He says, and then he kisses you again and again.

“We better go.” You say, almost sadly. “People are going to start missing you.”

“I don’t care.” He growls, nipping at your lips.

“I have a suggestion.” You say, coyly. You stand on your tip toes to whisper in his ear. “Why don’t we make an appearance, and if you’re really good, we’ll sneak away and finish what we started.”

Maybe Zuko hugs his friends and promises to see them tomorrow. Maybe you stay at the party for all of ten minutes. Maybe Zuko all but carries you away. And maybe, for years to come, you and Zuko find yourselves in the habit of getting stuck in tight spaces.

A/n: Wow two in one night! I hope you enjoyed reading this story! I’m going to try to get through as many requests as I can this weekend, so keep an eye out. If you want to request something, please do! My asks and inbox are always open! I hope I tagged everyone who asked, but if I didn’t, please let me know and I’ll add you! As always you can find my work under the tag slythergirlimagines!

Taglist: @galacticamidala @a-random-queer-kid @taeeemin @realimbo @samsmultifandomblogs

@fire1ordzuzu @shortmexicangirl

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homoose · 4 years ago

Text

Winning is a Habit

Hi y’all! Okay sooooooooo this is my first time writing fic??????? Like omg please be nice lmao. I don’t have a beta reader, so if you catch any mistakes pls lmk! I saw this challenge and the world is total garbage, so why not write our own realities????? Ok here goes!!!!!!!!!! Written for @veraiconcos fic challenge

Summary: The BAU gets called to investigate two high-profile murders in a college town, only to find that they are part of a much bigger, more complicated picture. No real pairings, although you could make it happen if you want lol ;) This is an idea I’ve seen floating around the fandom for a little while now, and I really wanted to see it fleshed out. Set around season 4 or 5.

Category: some angst, sort of fluff? I wouldn’t say it necessarily qualifies as an AU, but it’s outside of canon.

Warnings/Includes: some brief descriptions of violence/CM type stuff; mentions of rape (no details)

Word count: 6.1k

———

“Stillwater, Oklahoma,” JJ said, navigating the map off screen and pulling up the crime scene photos. “Two college seniors— Tyler Allen and Leon Williams, star football players for Oklahoma State University— both found dead the day before the playoff qualifier.”

“Do we know the cause of death?” Spencer asked, thumbing through the case file.

“The ME report concluded that both boys died of acute alcohol poisoning,” JJ informed them.

Emily looked up from the file. “And the locals don’t think this could just be a case of college kids having a little too much fun?”

“Before a major playoff game? I doubt it.” Derek leaned back in his chair. “Especially considering OSU’s having a record-breaking season. I’d guess the coach had players on a pretty strict lockdown.” He raised his hands and joined them in a steeple over his chest. “Showing up to a game hung-over— particularly one as important as this— would be a major conduct issue.”

“That, and there was a pretty specific message left on both victims,” JJ added, arms crossed and eyebrows lifting into her hairline.

“On them?” Rossi questioned.

JJ motioned with her hand back to the screen. Six sets of eyes moved over the photo; the words “U LOSE” scrawled in ink across the foreheads of the two men.

“Resorting to murder to win a football game?” Emily asked, eyes narrowed.

“And why use the forensic countermeasure of staged alcohol poisoning, only to backtrack and assert it as a murder?” Spencer pondered, pursing his lips.

“Whatever the reason, we’ve got two dead college students and a definite signature. Wheels up in 30,” Hotch told them, closing his case file.

⧭⧭⧭

“No sign of forced entry.” Derek walked through the entry hallway and into the living space. “Doesn’t look like there was any struggle, either.”

Rossi thumbed through the mail on the kitchen counter and peered around the small space. “Everything you’d expect in a boys’ college dorm room: dishes in the sink, generic decor, general mess. Nothing that stands out.”

“Agents, thank you so much for coming.” A tall man in a dark suit stepped across the threshold of the apartment. He stuck out his hand for Rossi to shake. “Steven Barrett, Dean of Students.”

“I’m Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi. This is SSA Derek Morgan.” Derek nodded from his place in the living room.

“I apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. We’re dealing with a grieving campus,” Barrett said, running a hand over his face. “I’m actually on my way to speak to the Board, but I wanted to check in with you before. I’m not sure I can be of much help, but I can try to answer any questions you might have.”

“These boys were seniors, but they still lived on campus. Is that typical?” Rossi asked, gesturing around the apartment.

“Uh, yes, it is for student athletes,” Barrett confirmed with a nod. “OSU teams have demanding, sometimes grueling practice schedules. Being on campus simplifies things, allows students to get to classes and practices, as well as utilize the dining halls.”

“Does this building have security cameras?” Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. All of our buildings do. I’ll let Campus PD know you’ll need access to the footage.” Barrett’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He reached for it and punched the button to answer the call. “Yes. Yes, I—I’m finishing up with the FBI now. I understand. I’m on my way.” He ended the call and pocketed the phone. “I’m sorry to leave you, gentlemen. Our top priority right now is supporting our students and community through this tragedy. Part of that healing process is finding out who did this to Tyler and Leon. So anything else you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” He turned on his heel and disappeared down the hall.

Derek shook his head. “I’m glad I don’t have to do that job right about now.”

Rossi gave another glance around the nondescript apartment and sighed. “Call Garcia and ask her if she’s found any other cases that could be related. And let’s hope there’s something useful on that security footage.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Based on lividity and rigor mortis, I was able to put the time of death between 8:00 and 10:00pm on Wednesday evening. The blood alcohol content for both boys was over five times the legal limit. I’ve never seen anything like it,” the medical examiner mused.

Emily looked over the bodies, her arms crossed. “Dr. Saraj, about how much would they have to drink for the level to be that high?”

“When drinking, the level of alcohol in our blood reaches a peak before it drops off after the last drink ingested,” Spencer supplied. “In a typical night of drinking, spread over the course of several hours, the average man can have 8-12 drinks without ever reaching lethal levels. But considering each victim weighed around 230 pounds, they’d have had to ingest approximately 180 ounces of beer or 18.75 ounces of liquor to reach a lethal blood alcohol content.”

Dr. Saraj glanced at Spencer before adding, “Look, this is a college town. Kids drink. But... to have had this much alcohol still detectable in their system post-mortem indicates that these boys drank at least the equivalent of a 30 rack, by themselves, in less than an hour.” She flipped up the first page of the report in her hands, eyes scanning the second. “And the toxicology screen also found trace amounts of ketamine.”

Spencer bent over the examining table and adjusted the wrist of one of the boys with a gloved hand. “Doctor, are these ligature marks?”

“Oh, yes,” Dr. Saraj agreed, nodding. “They’re relatively faint, so I almost missed them. But I found similar marks on both boys on the wrists and ankles.”

“So,” Emily said, gesturing with her hands, “the unsub doses them with ketamine to gain control, ties them up, forces them to drink lethal amounts of alcohol, and then— what?” She looked to Spencer. “Waits for them to pass out before removing the restraints and leaving the message?”

Spencer examined the marker scrawls. “Were you able to determine what the message was written with and if it was left pre- or post-mortem?”

“My guess would be it was written with some type of permanent marker, but I can’t say for sure,” Dr. Saraj said. “We’re analyzing the residue now, and I can send the report your way as soon as I have it. As for when it was written, I couldn't tell you.” She shook her head. “The one simple mercy is that these boys would have been out cold for a while before they died.”

⧭⧭⧭

“I’m so sorry. I know how difficult this is. Anything that you can tell us will be helpful in finding the person who did this,” JJ encouraged softly. “Anyone that Tyler might have had an argument with recently or who he mentioned having problems with?”

“No, no. He was—he was just your typical boy,” Mrs. Allen sniffled. “Playing football and hanging out with his friends,” she said, voice hitching. “Oh my god.” She dropped her head into her hands.

“He didn’t have time to have problems,” Mr. Allen asserted. “He spent all his free time on the field. Coach had them out there for two-a-days until classes started. He’s the quarterback. He was leading that team to the first national title since 1945.” He stood to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Some lunatic murdered my boy and you’re sitting around talking to us while they’re out there, walking free.”

“Sir, I promise you that we have some of the best agents in the country working on your son’s case,” JJ assured. “But in order to help them do their job, we need to know as much as we can about who Tyler was.”

Across the bullpen, Hotch sat across from Mr. and Mrs. Williams. “Leon was a good boy. Football was his life. He loved being a part of this team. It was the season of a lifetime,” Mr. Williams said.

“We taught him better than to be drinking and carrying on,” Mrs. Williams added.

“Can you think of anything or anyone he might have mentioned recently that was out of the ordinary? Anything that was bothering him or causing him distress?” Hotch questioned.

“He was feeling pressure about the season, but he’s been handling that kind of thing since he was twelve years old.” Mr. Williams shared an almost indiscernible look with his wife. “He got into—into the same kinds of trouble any college kid gets in. Nothing that could have gotten him murdered.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Yeah, baby girl, what d’ya got for me?” Derek held the phone out so that Rossi could listen in as they waited in the OSU security office.

“Well, my handsome knight, I wish I could tell you more but so far, I’m coming up empty with similar cases,” Penelope sighed. “Nothing that matches our alcohol poisoning M.O. or the signature. I just expanded the search to surrounding states, and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

“Anything on our two victims?” Rossi asked.

“Now that’s where it gets interesting,” Penelope mused, tapping the fluffy end of her pen into the palm of her hand. “There’s nothing. Zilch, nada.”

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “And that’s interesting because...?”

“Come on, sir,” Penelope scoffed. “Two young, athletic, good-looking college football stars and there’s nothing at all? Nothing scandalous on social media. No run-ins with campus PD. Not even a write up from an RA.”

Derek tilted his head in thought. “Hotch and JJ said their conversations with the parents told a similar story.”

“Okay, but no one is this squeaky clean, particularly not at a Big 12 college. Everyone has some dirt,” Penelope insisted. “I haven’t found it yet, but there’s gotta be something out there. When I have it, you’ll know it!”

“Thanks, Garcia,” Derek drawled.

“Over and out!” Penelope jabbed the button to end the call.

The OSU officer waved them over with his hand. “I’ve got it queued up to 6:24pm. You can see the boys here,” he pointed on the screen at the two victims, “entering the north entrance of the dining hall.”

Derek leaned toward the monitor. “So they leave practice, come through the dining hall for dinner. When do they leave?”

The footage sped up on the screen, then stopped. “Here. 7:01.”

“Rossi, you seeing this?” Derek slid his eyes over.

Rossi nodded. “Is there any way to enhance these frames?”

The officer shrugged his shoulders. “Not on this system. Honestly, the camera quality isn’t great. I’ve been trying to get them to invest in an upgraded OS, but you know—budget woes. Your analyst might be able to do more.”

“It’s not going to matter.” Derek sighed and straightened up. “She’s careful of her angles.”

“I couldn’t find them on any grounds cameras, but they pop back up entering the dorm. Here, at 7:12.”

“All three of them,” Rossi noted. He looked at Derek. “And like you said, she’s discreet.”

“They all go upstairs to the apartment,” the officer continued, “but only the girl leaves. At 8:43.”

⧭⧭⧭

“We have a witness from the cafeteria that confirms that the boys ate with a dark-haired young woman in a red coat,” Hotch said, arms crossed. “But other than those two details, the witness couldn’t recall anything else and said they’d never seen her before.”

“So we’ve got the two victims entering their apartment with an unknown woman. They’re upstairs for an hour and a half before she leaves,” Emily recounted.

Derek stood with his hands on his hips. “And in that time, she manages to dose and gain control of two boys that are more than double her size and funnel a lethal amount of alcohol into them. Now the question is why?”

As the team converged around the conference room table, a uniformed officer entered into the doorway. “Agent Jareau? There’s a possible witness—says she might have some new information.”

JJ nodded to the team and moved to the doorway. A petite young woman stood in the center of the bullpen, wringing her hands. When her eyes landed on JJ, she let her arms fall to her side. As JJ approached, she motioned with her hand for the girl to sit at the closest desk. “Hi, I’m Jennifer. I heard you wanted to speak to someone about this case. Can I have your name?”

The girl nodded. “Um, I’m Cassie. I saw the announcement you made. About the woman in the red coat. I heard you say that she had brown hair. Is that true?”

JJ cocked her head slightly. “Yeah, the witness and security footage we have shows a woman with dark hair walking with Tyler and Leon. Why do you ask?”

Cassie’s eyes darted around the bullpen, and she drew her arms tightly over her chest. “I just— um—well, I—”

“Would it help if we moved somewhere a little quieter?” JJ suggested. When Cassie nodded and stood, JJ placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and directed her toward an empty interview room. Cassie sat in the chair farthest from the door, and JJ sat opposite her. “Is there something you wanted to tell me about the woman? Or is it something else that’s on your mind?”

Cassie let out a long breath. “When I heard that they were dead, I— I was relieved. That sounds awful, but it’s true.”

JJ tread lightly over her next question. “You felt relieved. Why was that?”

Cassie looked directly at JJ. “I’ve been looking over my shoulder everywhere I go for the last seven months. I won’t have to do that anymore.”

“Can you tell me more about what you mean?”

Cassie took a breath and closed her eyes for a long second, before opening them and continuing. “There was a huge party in the spring. I mean, there were, like, hundreds of people there.” Cassie’s eyes went wide. “I never go to parties like that. But it was the end of the year, and my friend—well, I went with my friend. She got invited.”

“Were Tyler and Leon at this party?” JJ asked.

“Everybody was. I mean, everybody who’s somebody at OSU was there. We saw them right away. The whole team was there, but people treated those two like kings.” Cassie looked down at her hands. “We were drinking... a lot. At some point, Laney and I got separated. I tried calling her phone a bunch of times, but the party was really loud. I—I didn’t want to leave without her, but I was getting really messed up. I had a guy friend from one of my classes walk me home.” She swiped at her eye with the back of her hand. “Laney didn’t get back until the morning. Her clothes were all torn up, her hair had... blood in it, and she—she had a bruise under her eye.” She looked up at JJ, eyes shining with tears. “They raped her. I left her behind, and they raped her,” she whispered.

JJ reached across the table for Cassie’s hand. “Cassie, I’m so sorry. What happened to Laney was not your fault, or hers. Do you understand me?” JJ paused before continuing. Cassie looked down. “Do you know if she reported it?”

Cassie nodded. “I’m the one who went with her to the infirmary. They did a kit and confirmed it. When we went to Campus PD, they did nothing. Said Laney was wasted, and there was no one that could back up her story.”

JJ squeezed her hand. “So there was no official report filed?”

Cassie laughed coldly. “Oh, they wrote a report. I think if we ask them to, they have to. But they wouldn’t name Tyler or Leon in it. Said they didn’t want to ‘give legs to any gossip.’”

JJ’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “Where’s Laney now?”

“I don’t know.” Cassie shook her head. “She didn’t come back to OSU this fall. I haven’t really talked to her since—” She looked at JJ. “I can’t get the image of her out of my head. How she looked when she came through the door that morning. What they did to her… I’m not sorry that they’re dead.” Her eyes were shining with rage. “People knew what happened… and no one did anything. And those two were still the kings of campus.”

⧭⧭⧭

The team absorbed the new information quietly. “So Garcia was right. They did have something to hide.” Derek’s phone buzzed. “Speaking of. Hey mama, you’re on speaker.”

“I hope you’re all sitting down,” Penelope warned. “I expanded the parameters of my original VICAP search to include the surrounding states. No hits on suspicious deaths by alcohol poisoning. However, the U LOSE signature? Seven hits across Texas, Arkansas, Missouri, and Kansas.”

“So our unsub’s been traveling across the South—” Emily started.

“Oh, I’m not done,” Penelope continued. “Just to double check, I expanded the search area to the continental US. Our unsub has been busy. Over 30 murders with this signature, all across the country, dating back to March 2007. All different M.O.s: gunshot, stabbing, strangulation, you name it. But all with U LOSE scrawled across their forehead in—get this—liquid eyeliner.”

“Anything tying the victims together, Garcia?” Hotch asked.

“All men, mostly white, but all across different ages, occupations, and marital statuses. At first glance, there’s no real connection,” Penelope answered.

“What about on second glance?” Hotch prompted.

“Way ahead of you, sir. I did a little digging.” Penelope shrugged. “Okay, a lot of digging—most of it legal. Every single one of these victims had at least one sexual assault allegation. Some are official police reports, some are HR complaints, some are sealed court records. But in every case, the victim’s cause of death is directly related to the details of the assault records. Women that were held at knifepoint, their attacker was stabbed to death. If they were choked, he was strangled. If they were held at gunpoint, he died of a gunshot wound. Et cetera, et cetera.” Penelope twirled her pen. “The differing M.O.s combined with the fact that the unsub kept crossing state lines kept local PDs and field offices from making the connection.”

“Garcia, can you search OSU PD records for an incident report?” JJ asked.

Garcia tapped rapidly across her keyboard. “Absolutely, sugar, when would it have been filed?”

“It would’ve been this year, sometime at the end of April or beginning of May,” JJ answered. “The victim would be named as Laney Collins.”

After a few moments, Garcia peered through her green cat-eye glasses at the report. “Mmm, I’ve got one incident report, filed on May 7th. And woof, this report is not much to go on. The responding officer wrote a whopping three sentences. According to him, Laney was incapacitated and thus was not a credible witness.” Garcia twirled her pen. “The alleged attackers, who are not named, denied Laney’s account of what happened. Because there were no other witnesses, Officer Thorough deemed that no further action was necessary.” She jabbed her pen in the direction of the screen. “And this, my friends, is why women don’t bother reporting.”

“Good work, Garcia,” said Hotch.

“There’s one more interesting detail from the report,” Garcia continued. “The dean of students signed off on it.”

“So Barrett knew about this the whole time,” Derek fumed.

“And again, people wonder why women don’t report,” Garcia repeated, ending the call.

“So our unsub is seeking justice for women she believes have been failed by the system. We’re looking for a vigilante, carrying out revenge killings,” Rossi concluded.

Derek nodded. “And she’s organized and efficient; she finished with Tyler and Leon in less than two hours.”

“She’s smart and she blends in, doesn’t draw too much attention to herself,” JJ added.

“She’s meticulous and has at least some knowledge of forensic countermeasures, considering there’s no physical evidence tying her to any of the scenes,” Spencer remarked.

“And she knew enough to keep her face off the security footage,” Emily finished.

“Rossi, Emily, and I will stay here and deliver the profile,” Hotch directed. “JJ, I’d like you to speak to the families again, see if they knew about the rape. Reid, Morgan, talk to Barrett and see what else he might be trying to keep quiet.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Makes you wonder just how many people knew what happened,” Derek considered, closing the car door.

“It’s estimated that twenty percent of student victims of sexual assault report it to their university, but less than one percent of assailants receive any type of disciplinary action,” Spencer cited, making his way toward the sidewalk.

Derek shook his head. “And so the victims don’t see the point in reporting it. Your attacker gets to walk around like nothing even happened. Cassie told JJ that she felt like she had a target on her back once they reported Laney’s assault.”

As they walked up the blacktop driveway to the entrance of Barrett’s home, Spencer slowed his steps as he noticed the front door. “Morgan.” He nodded at the door, slightly ajar.

Derek drew his gun and moved ahead of Spencer. He pushed the door slowly open and called out, “Mr. Barrett?” In the foyer were the remnants of a broken vase and a small trail of blood. “Call Hotch, let him know we’ve got trouble here.”

Derek and Spencer worked to quietly clear the rooms, one by one. Derek stopped at the bottom of the stairs and motioned to Spencer. As they started up the stairs, a woman’s voice called out, “Shut up! You had nothing to say before. So now, you’re just going to listen.”

Derek reached the top of the stairs and started down the hallway. He reached the open door where a woman stood, her back to the door. Behind her, Derek could see Barrett, sitting on the floor, blood dripping from a gash on his head. His hands were raised in front of his chest, palms facing out. Derek stopped, his gun trained on the woman, and murmured, “Laney?”

The woman pivoted her body, her short blonde hair whipping around. Derek saw tears in her eyes and a revolver in her hand. “Don’t,” she warned.

“Laney, my name is Derek. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want to talk. I need you to put the gun down.”

“No!” Laney screamed. “You don’t know what he’s done.” She shook the gun in Barrett’s direction, and Barrett closed his eyes.

Derek spoke softly. “I do, Laney. I do know. I know what happened to you. I know that he kept Tyler and Leon’s names off the report. I know that he didn’t help you when you needed it most. I know that he let them get away with--”

“Rape. He let them get away with rape. Because he cares more about reputation and football than what happens to women on his campus. They ruined my life.” Laney turned away from Derek and put both hands on the gun. “They ruined my life, and you did nothing. And then they walked around campus like they were invincible, because you taught them they were.”

Derek moved further into the room, into Laney’s eyesight. Spencer moved into the doorway, covering Derek. “Laney, look at me. I’m putting my gun away.” Derek held his hands up and then moved to holster his gun. “Doing this won’t make the pain go away.”

“How many others? How many other women did he do this to?” Laney let out a painful sob. “If I don’t stop him, it never ends.”

“Listen to me.” Derek took a step closer to her. “Killing him won’t change what happened, Laney. It won’t. Believe me. I know how you feel.”

“People love to say that when they’re trying to shut you up. How could you possibly know how I feel?” Laney spit out.

“Someone hurt me, just like they hurt you. And nobody was there to help me. No one was there to listen.” Laney froze, eyes shifting to meet Derek’s. “I wanted to hurt him, Laney. Wanted to make him feel the same pain I felt. I wanted him to suffer.” He moved another step closer. “I know that those men hurt you, and I know that he let them get away with it. And I am so, so sorry. But you’re stronger than anyone knows, Laney. You are the only person who has the power to help others who didn’t get justice. I have a friend who’s spent her whole life helping survivors, and I know she’d love to talk with you.” He took another step. “You are the only person who can stop it from happening to someone else. You can make sure he’s held accountable for what he’s done. But if you pull that trigger, you can never go back,” Derek warned.

Laney looked at Derek, his hand outstretched, wordlessly asking her to give him the gun. She looked at Barrett, crying and silently begging her to show him the mercy she never got. “I wish I’d been the one to kill them,” she whispered.

The gun dropped out of her hand as Derek stepped forward to catch her. He kicked the gun into the doorway, and Spencer recovered it. “I’ve got you,” Derek said, helping Laney out of the room. “Shh, it’s ok, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Spencer moved to lift Barrett off the ground and helped him into a chair by the window. Out of the corner of his eye, Spencer caught a flash of red below the window. He stumbled over Barrett, nose almost pressed to the glass as he stared out. The woman froze, eyes locked on Spencer’s. His mouth opened slightly as he stared at her, bewildered. By the time his brain caught up, she had already disappeared from view.

Spencer turned and raced down the stairs, clinging to the railing as he nearly missed a step. He burst out the front door into the driveway, sprinting around the side of the house. He heard Derek call his name, saw the other SUVs pulling up, but he kept running. He skidded to a stop at the edge of the backyard, and then spun in a full circle, eyes frantically scanning the perimeter.

Hotch approached from the side of the house, gun drawn. “Reid! Are you all right?”

Spencer took a last look, scanned from east to west. “Yeah, yeah. I just—I thought I saw—I thought I saw something.” He shook his head. “Barrett’s inside. He’s got a head laceration, but he’ll be fine.”

Hotch lowered his gun and nodded. “And Laney’s not our unsub. So we’re back to the beginning.”

⧭⧭⧭

“Strauss is asking us to head back to Quantico.” Hotch pocketed his phone and looked at the team. “We’ll move the cases to our watch list and flag the signature for hits in VICAP. From what we know about the unsub’s behavior, we know she’s no longer in the area.” He gestured to the evidence board. “Our best course of action is to keep the profile in our periphery for now. We can do that from the BAU. It’s late. Go to the hotel, get some rest. We’ll leave first thing in the morning.”

“I’m absolutely starving.” Emily slipped into her jacket and headed for the door. “Anybody want to hit up that 24 hour diner?”

Derek and JJ quickly agreed, following Emily from the conference room. JJ turned back, eyeing Spencer. “You coming, Spence?”

“I’m just really tired.” His voice lilted up, almost a question. “Next time, though.”

JJ gave him a look but didn’t press him. “Have a good night, Spence.”

“Yeah, thanks.” He gathered up the case files, not quite ready to put them away.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer’s eyelids felt heavy as he walked through the lobby of the hotel. He really was tired. He blamed the exhaustion for what he thought he saw through the window at Barrett’s. His fatigued mind was seeing things that weren’t there. He practically floated into the elevator and up to his room. Sliding the room key through the slot, the door beeped open and Spencer stepped inside. He flicked on the light and dropped his bag on the floor, loosening his tie as he walked toward one of the sling back chairs sat by the window. He paused just before he reached the chair, his gaze lingering over something on the desk. A note hastily scrawled on hotel stationary.

623.

Spencer lifted the note with two careful fingers. “623?” He turned it over, looking for the rest of the message, but the paper was blank other than the number. He lowered the note, and his eyes landed on a small plastic card where the paper had rested on the table. Not just a card. A room key.

⧭⧭⧭

Spencer stared at the door of the room. Room 623. He turned his head and slowly looked up and then down the hallway. He took a breath and raised his hand to the door. He knocked in the familiar rhythm: five knocks, pause, two knocks. He pressed his ear close to the door, listening for any movement inside. When he heard nothing, he knocked again; the same pattern, but a little louder. He listened again. Nothing. Spencer felt a bead of sweat creep down the nape of his neck. He thought about turning around, about walking back down the two flights of stairs to his room and getting into bed.

Instead, he pulled the keycard from his pocket. As he lifted the card with one hand, he used his other to raise the strap on his holster. He held his breath as he swiped the card through the slot and heard the beep of the lock. Drawing his gun from the holster, Spencer slowly turned the handle of the door.

The room was mostly dark. Only the yellow glow of one of the bedside lamps illuminated the space. Spencer stepped into the room and quietly closed the door behind him. Again, his mind said to turn around. Yet his feet carried him further into the room. He could see now that the sling backs were facing toward the window. There were two glasses from the mini bar on the table between them.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” a familiar voice mused.

Spencer startled and then swallowed audibly, a cartoon character realizing he’s in serious trouble. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“You can put the gun away,” she continued. “Really. Come sit down, Reid.”

Hearing her say his name sucked all the air out of his lungs. He closed the remaining distance between them, staring dumbly at her perched in the armchair. She gave him a small smile, warm despite the nervous energy in the air. “Hey, Reid.”

“Elle.” Spencer sunk into the chair across from her. “I—I thought I was seeing things. Earlier. At Barrett’s.”

She studied him quietly. “This hair is a good look for you.”

“Thanks,” Spencer blushed, smoothing down the hair at the nape of his neck. He quickly dropped his hand. “It was you then.”

“What was me?” Elle asked innocuously.

“You were at Steven Barrett’s house today. In the yard.” Spencer folded his hands to keep from wringing them. “You were wearing a red coat.”

Elle lifted one of the glasses to her lips, taking a sip of the clear liquor, ice cubes rattling. She swallowed and gestured to the other glass. “Have a drink.”

“I, um, I don’t drink anymore.” Elle raised an eyebrow. “A lot has happened since… the last time I saw you.” Spencer smoothed his hands down the tops of his thighs. “You were there today. Elle, did you—are you…” He wasn’t even sure what question to ask.

Elle ran her fingertip around the rim of her glass. She was quiet for a long time. Spencer fidgeted in his seat, but stayed quiet, waiting. Elle set the glass down.

“Do you remember that night in Dayton? In the hotel room?” Spencer looked at her pointedly. Elle let out a laugh. “Sorry, I forgot who I’m talking to; of course you remember.” Their eyes met. Spencer felt she was looking right through him. “You told me that I’d won. That because Garner was dead, and I was alive, I won.”

“Elle—” Spencer started.

“You asked, Reid. This is my answer.” She screwed the cap off the bottle of gin. Pouring the remainder of the bottle into her glass, she continued, “It took time, but I started to feel safe in my own home again. I could close my eyes without seeing his face. I could take a shower without bringing my gun.” She downed the rest of her glass. “When I killed Lee, I gave that same freedom back to the women he’d raped. They could exist in the world knowing that he would never hurt them, ever again.” She smiled ruefully. “And it felt… good. It felt right. And after years of having watched people be destroyed by monsters… I don’t know. It was just something I had to do. To bring that freedom and that safety back to other women who had been hurt and broken and alone. To destroy their monsters.” Elle looked at him then, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t expect you to understand or approve. But the answer to your question is yes.”

Spencer took a breath and asked, “Why’d you put the key in my room? You could have just… disappeared.”

Elle shook her head. “I chose this. I knew what I was doing and what it would mean. Most of the time, I’m fine, great even. Because being able to give these women justice is the greatest gift. But with this work, you can’t really keep anybody close. No holidays or birthdays. No dates or girls nights.” She shrugged. “I guess I just wanted to see what would happen. What the boy genius would do.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Spencer admitted.

“Well, that’s a first.” Elle smiled, but Spencer could see apprehension in the rigidness of her shoulders, in the slight bouncing of her leg.

“I should probably arrest you,” he considered.

Her leg stopped. “You probably should.”

Spencer looked down at his hands. He ran his fingers up to the crook of his elbow, ghosting over the scars there. His mind raced from memory to memory: Elle on the train car; Tobias Hankle standing over him; Elle in the hospital bed; the needle in his arm; Elle in the hotel in Dayton; the click of an empty chamber.

“Elle, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for telling you that you’d won.” She was motionless, staring at him. He continued, “I didn’t know. I didn’t know what it was like. To be consumed and overcome by a memory.” Now it was Spencer’s eyes that shone with tears. “I didn’t know that the trauma could… fester in your brain like an infection that you can’t get rid of. I don’t know if winning is even possible after something like that.” He rubbed his hand under his eye and cleared his throat. “It was an awful thing to say. And I’m sorry.”

Elle tipped her head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling over. “All’s forgiven.”

Spencer reached out and gently grabbed Elle’s hand. “I’ve been so tired recently. I thought I saw something through the window at Steven Barrett’s house. But when I did a perimeter check, I didn’t find anything.” Elle dropped her head back down and turned to look at him. “We’re headed back to Quantico in the morning. We’ll, um, be keeping tabs on VICAP hits on the signature.” Spencer gave her hand one soft squeeze before standing. He let a small, bittersweet smile move over his face.

He made it to the door before he heard her voice again.

“If I asked you to stay, would you say yes?”

Spencer swiveled back to look at her, the door just barely open. Elle’s arms were crossed over her chest. Her eyes were dark and wide and full of storms. “Just for a little while longer?”

Spencer turned and moved his eyes up the length of the doorway, considering. He heard Elle let out a breath. His own breath stuttered. He closed the door softly. He put his hands in his pockets and turned back to her. “I’ve got a little while.”

#vicficwriterchallenge #criminal minds #tw rape #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #penelope garcia #elle greenaway #homoose writes

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astringofmadhousefloozies · 4 years ago

Text

Birthday Sequence

Three friends have their birthday in a month of each other, and the parties get progressively more interesting. Content warnings for coarse language, offscreen sexuality, underage drinking and the consequences thereof.

As always, check my Twisted Wonderland Fanfiction tag for more, let me know if you enjoyed reading, and if you want to chat or ask a question, my askbox is open.

~*~*~*~

"You look great."

Idia made a whine you were certain they could hear in Savannahclaw and put his face in his hands. "Why did no one tell me about the birthday event?"

"I dunno, because we'd all assumed you'd seen everyone else put on the prissy little birthday boy suit and dance around like an idiot while I did an interview, and realized you weren't exempt."

"But why didn't you make Crowley skip me?" He looked ready to cry, so you you got up on tiptoes to kiss his nose and dry his tears, which simply had the opposite effect.

"Because maybe I wanted to see you dressed up pretty for a change?"

He just groaned. "Wasn't the festival enough?"

"Never enough; not with you. I'll make sure me and Ortho are your bodyguards, okay? Now, get out there and pretend they're all in their underwear. I got a present on the table for you. And..."

"And?"

"If you're truly overwhelmed, I'll bring you back here to hide, and get you out of the monkey suit myself."

It took him three seconds to turn a truly absurd shade of pink, and flee out the door of his room. The only thing scarier than a crowd where you're the center of attention is a lover who's relentless in voicing her attraction, if you're a neurotic dweeb with a molten core of self-hatred.

~*~*~*~

He'd relaxed somewhat as the presents went on. After checking with each person if they'd rather he open it now or in private (shuddering every time someone said now, in fear of bad reactions), he'd so far wound up with a super mega deluxe vinyl release of the Moirai's most recent album (despite not owning a record player, but it came with the digital album and lots of feelers so he still liked it very much), piles of sweets, and wouldn't have to pay for the subscriptions on most of his game for at least two years. And, he still had a pile to go through.

"Who's this one?"

"That's me. Go ahead."

He lifted the lid off the box, and took out a little creature, a sofubi toy of transluscent grey plastic painted with pearly stripes and shiny green eyes. "I've never seen this Nyarochi before." He turned it this way and that, a small smile on his lips. "Where'd you get this?"

"I got it blank at that second hand shop you showed me."

"... Blank." You could see the gears turning.

"Why do you think I asked to borrow your airbrush?"

Turning, turning... there we go. "You did this?"

"Yeah, dude. One of a kind, just for you."

He looked back and forth between you and the toy, smile growing. Once finally settled on you, he lit up - literally; his hair let out a bright, sparking burst that left spots in your eyes. You think he might have said thank you, you were too busy reeling from the sweetness of his expression, all directed at you, and little Nyarochi was tucked in his jacket pocket until he finally left for his room, you in tow.

~*~*~*~

"Hey Sam."

"Hey, Yuu. What can I get for you this fine day?"

"I got a list. I'm making something for Lilia. Did you know he's a new year's baby?"

"I did!" Sam scanned the list, only to set it down and raise an eyebrow at you. "I have much of this, and can order almost all the rest. You do know I'm not allowed to sell alcohol to a minor."

"It ain't for me, though. Do you know where I can get it?"

He shuffled around in a drawer before sliding a card across the table. "In Stock Now! The solution to your problem."

It was your turn to raise an eyebrow. "Sam. Does Crowley know you're selling fake IDs?" Your turned it over. "Really, really good fake IDs?"

"Crowley lets me do what I want, because I might stop doing what he wants."

You laughed. "Gross. Alright, I don't know the price, but can I get a discount if I help you stock a few weekends?"

"I'll do layaway just for you, if you come in next week."

~*~*~*~

"Yuu!" Lilia leapt at you, and you swung him around in a hug. "It's so great to have you here! Where's my loot?"

"I got to finish it, let me go a minute."

He did, and watched with interest as you set up from your cooler. You ran a lime around the rim of a glass, and crust it with red salt before filling it with ice.

"Yuuuuuuu. My little darling. You know I'm too young to drink."

"No you're not, dude. it's an open secret, like what happens in that shed behind the gym stays there and you don't get admitted to NRC if you're completely heterosexual." You added the mix to the glass, before tossing in a celery stick and sliding it over to him.

He barked out a laugh and took the glass. "That's true all right." He sipped at it and smiled. "What is it?"

"At home they call it a Caesar. I made up a shitton and I'm leaving you with the recipe, which you have to follow. I figure you liked your tomato juice, so..."

"It is just my taste. Thank you." You'd only blinked, and he'd already finished it and slid the glass back. "More, please."

~*~*~*~

You'd learned two things tonight, of which you'd only dimly suspected one. The first was that Lilia could probably drink the entire school under the table, staff and ghosts included. The second, far more interesting thing, was that when tipsy, Lil talked about his past, and in his past, he truly redefined the meaning of "absolute slut".

Looking like a particularly cute teenybopper had not stopped him from fucking his way through most of the Court of Thorns, and a great deal of the places he'd visited, in ways both inventive and more than occasionally disturbing. You really, really ought to stop him; poor Mal was standing out on the balcony with his fingers in his ears, singing very loudly to drown out the noise, but you were too busy taking notes. Kalim was listening to his fellow Light Music Club member in awe, and Cater had been recording for the past forty five minutes, though you were pretty sure if he uploaded any of this his Magicam account would get permabanned for pornographic content.

"And that's when his sister - fabulous woman, cunt like a ripe fig and she'd start giggling every time you..." he stopped and swirled his empty glass. "Where'd my drink go?"

"You drank it all, dear. There's none left."

"Aww. Why'd I have to share it all." He set his glass down and plucked the half-full one from in front of Silver's sleeping form. "Hey, did I ever tell you what I got up to with his," nodding out towards Malleus,"his grandmother?"

You never found out, as Mal simply bodied him clean across the room before any more could be said.

~*~*~*~

"Vil."

"What."

"Can I borrow your lab equipment?"

He narrowed his eyes. "Why."

"I wanna make perfume."

He brightened. "Finally decided to stop smelling like a haunted house?"

"Vil, I actually pay real money for perfume that smells like a haunted house. I have multiple. Sometimes I layer them, to mix with the natural scent of the haunted house I already live in. And it's not for me, though if this works I might try to make stuff for myself."

He wrinkled his nose at you, somehow not creasing his makeup. "Why should I help you?"

You thought about it, and then shrugged. "Well. Why not?"

"... I hate that I can't argue with that. Come on."

~*~*~*~

You have no idea if the party was sedate because of the relatively few people outside of Diasomnia, or because everyone was scared of potential etiquette breaches. You could not complain either way; parties wore on you as they went on and Idia hadn't tried to leave in fear. Either way, Mal was starting to go from blandly cheerful host to fretful.

"What if there is too much cake? I don't wan't to have to finish it."

"You don't have to, dude. Cake's for sharing."

"When I was young, I was the only person at my party who wasn't a servant. So I would end up eating the entire cake by myself, every time." He stared off into the middle distance. "I don't really like cake."

"That's the single saddest thing I have ever heard in my entire life, holy shit dude."

"Why have a cake then, if you don't like it?" Idia was halfway through his piece. Third piece, actually. You envied his capacity to eat what seemed like his weight in buttercreme and not get nauseous, even if you worried for his pancreas.

"Tradition," Mal said, as if he was explaining the most obvious thing in the world.

"You should have done an ice cream cake, then. You actually like that."

"That is an option?" He paused, eyes full of wonder. "What else can be ice cream?"

You cut in before Malleus could continue down a road of ice-cream-everything. "You know, if you're that worried about leftovers, why not send a wrapped slice with the thank you cards for the gifts? Gets rid of it all so you won't be compelled to eat it ‘til you're sick."

Mal instantly grabbed you. "You are a brilliant, amazing, genius of a person. I'm glad you're my Son of Man and I like you very much."

Idia gave the tinest of coughs, looking towards the poison-coloured flames in the fireplace.

"You are mine too. I like the special case for my Dragon-Kun very much."

"Thought you would." He smiled down at his plate.

"Oh, shit, yeah. Here's mine." You brought the bag out from behind your seat and handed it over; Mal shredding it in his excitement.

"... What is this?" the box inside revealed a set of five amber bottles with screw-on tops.

"Your own special perfume blend. Rose petals from the Heartslabyul garden, blackberries, and the fruit of a blackthorn tree." You leaned back in your seat and struggled not to laugh at your own hideous pun. "I call it Feeling Thorny."

Good thing the box was well padded, because he dropped it in his laughter. Idia, bless his heart, wound up choking on some of the cake and needed an entire glass of water to stop coughing.

"I got the goods!" Lilia and Sebek had returned, the latter glowering at you over the top of a dusty crate as though he'd assumed you'd simply eat his precious prince alive the second his back was turned.

"What's the goods, Lil."

"Well, he's got friends he made here for this party, so I figured I'd crack something open from my stash." He pried the top of the crate with his bare hands, which would have made you need to sit down if you hadn't been already. "Saving this for a special occasion."

"Lilia, there's no need to bring that out for us."

"Nonsense! You deserve it! And this party's too damned slow. A little wine will be just the thing, and this is very light stuff, you'll all be fine."

You doubted that, but still accepted the glass of liquid gold when offered. It smelled sweet and floral, and to your pleasant surprise, did not taste like fermented misery when sipped.

Wait a minute.

"Lil, if I drink the fairy wine, I don't have to go live in the Valley of Thorns forever, do I?"

Malleus, seizing opportunity, sad "Yes" at the same time Lilia said "No" and Lil elbowed Mal in the ribs for it. "I'm not invoking any of our more traditional rules of hospitality. If I must," he said, elbowing Mal again before he could try to weave anything, "Let this be in return for being such wonderful friends to both me and my boy."

"I'll accept it." You sipped more as Silver wandered over and leaned over Idia for a glass himself. Idia simply drained his own to try and distract himself from the proximity of him before the anxiety kicked into high gear. Maybe it would vanish entirely if you got him profoundly drunk, you thought to yourself, but that wasn't something you wanted to try. He had enough issues without his deciding alcoholism was the solution to his problems.

Time to settle down and enjoy the evening. The wine didn't feel like anything, so what could possibly happen?

~*~*~*~

You woke up with a pounding head, your party clothes in disarray, and new and interesting pains. You examined yourself and your surroundings, and let things come back naturally.

Lilia, being very generous with his bottles, to the point of not letting a glass go empty at any point. Malleus sitting with his legs crossed and head in his hands, gazing warmly and not without hunger at a both very animated and disheveled Idia as he talked. You getting up to leave, and sitting right back down because your legs didn't work, so you'd simply...

Simply wound up here in Mal's bed, instead of home. With both of your boys.

The evidence wasn't the best. No telltale soreness, but you had a number of new and interesting bite marks, including one very high on your inner thigh with the dentition clearly showing fangs. Your underwear was in place, even if the tule of your pannier was shredded, so you didn't think you'd done anything more than very heavy petting. And to tell the truth? The idea of having done anything more didn't bother you - truly, there weren't other people you'd rather have done it with - but the idea that you had? And you couldn't recall all the fun details? Agonizing.

You leaned over, holding your head, to brush the hair off of Mal's face. He looked at ease, and had managed to slot himself into his weird pillows, so at least he wouldn't wake up with a crick in his neck.. You checked your boyfriend, clinging to Mal's far side like a lanky blue limpet. On his collarbone, at the spot where you preferred to leave your own marks, was a bite similar to the one on your leg. You had to turn away at the sight; the images it brought to your mind left your flushed and dizzy with want despite your pain. How fun, to learn new and interesting things about yourself.

Idia stirred and sat up. He looked to you, to Mal, to you again. His face had no expression beyond starting to turn rapidly grey and sweaty.

You pointed. "That door."

He nodded once before stumbling off to bed and through the bathroom door, to puke away his hangover.

Alright, next step. You poked at your sleeping friend. "Mal. You alive?"

He opened both eyes, bloodshot with a hair-thin pupil, and started making a noise akin to a base boosted tea kettle up 'til you placed a pillow over his head to shut him up. Fortunately, it worked immediately, he lay where he was like an idiot until adjusting it so the pillow merely blocked the top of his face.

"Yuu. How are you feeling?"

You thought about it. "Like I got run through a laundry press. You?"

He smacked his lips and ran his tongue over his teeth. "My mouth has grown fur."

"Wonderful."

"Light hurts."

"Par for the course."

"I'm not sure what else yet. Where is Shroud?"

Another bout of heaving from Malleus's bathroom answered that thoroughly.

Mal pouted. "Poor thing. He didn't even have that much."

"We all had enough. I'm still remembering bits and pieces."

He reached towards you and grabbed your arm, squeezing. "You are... you..." As much as he struggled for the words, the anxiety in his voice made the meaning clear enough.

"I'm not upset over any of it. I just hate that I don't recall it clearly yet." You extracted your arm from his grasp, and slid off the bed. "I'm gonna get water from the hall bathroom. You want any?"

He smacked his lips again, and smiled, wider than you'd ever seen him do before, specks of blood still crusted in the grooves of his teeth. "I can still taste you on my tongue. I never want it to fade."

"Hhhhhholy shit you need water. Bye." You left to try and hide the wobbling in your legs that wasn't from the hangover.

~*~*~*~

"You."

You stopped, and stared. It took an entire four seconds to realize that the large, half-dressed green bean glaring at you from the doorway was Sebek before he styled his hair in the morning. "You mean like, my name, or just me in general?"

He pointed a finger, hissing out his words. "You finally did it! You evil little minx."

"I didn't, actually, or at least not what you think."

He kept going, trying to keep his voice down. "You've seduced Lord Malleus! And now you're going to try and steal the crown."

What in the actual fuck. And he wasn't done yet. "You cruel temptress! Leading him on just so that you could become a queen our people would detest! My poor lord, at the whims of some-"

"Hey, you jealous there, Zig? You mad you aren't serving him all ways? If you want his dick so bad-"

"Shhhhhhhhh!" He looked over his shoulder, back inside, before glaring back at you. "I couldn't do that in good conscience! Lord Malleus deserves someone who holds only him in their heart. He's not my whole heart, so I wouldn't try. You, you have damn near everyone here wrapped around your fingers! And it's still not enough for you!"

"Sebek! He is my friend. And I give zero fucks about the whole throne thing, just so you know. Why would I want to be a queen? That shit sounds exhausting. And he isn't going to ascend until my great grandkids are in the dirt, so, yanno, shit planning if I tried."

Sebek was trying to think of a rebuttal when a pair of hands squeezed him from behind. "Stop yelling. I'm going to brush my teeth." Silver let go and circled around, dragging his hand along Sebek's waist as he did. "Be ready when I'm back." With that, he walked past you with his small smirk to the bathroom you'd just exited, wearing nothing but one of Sebek's shirts.

You watched the hemline skirting the back of his thighs with entirely too much interest before looking back at Sebek. "God damn, dude."

"Say anything else and I will throw you out the window."

~*~*~*~

Mal had traded his bed for sitting on the floor, braced against the wall by the bathroom. He'd managed to close the drapes against the garish light of morning, and the sounds from beyond the wall had changed from sickness to a running shower as you gave Mal a cup. "Drink up, asshole."

"How am I an asshole?"

"Because it's your birthday we all got drunk at."

"Please blame Lilia for that. Fairy wine is not something humans should start the evening with." He sipped the water and grimaced.

"Taste bad?"

"I forgot I didn't want to put anything else in my mouth after you."

"Mal, no. There won't be a repeat, even if I don't really regret it."

He looked at you with heart about to break. "Why not?"

"It's not fair to either of you! I love you dearly, but I'm not in love with you. I'm in love with him." You sighed. Even as more of last night came back, you realized you may have broken the whole thing beyond repair. "And how would you like it if you saw me running around with someone else? Don't say you wouldn't be jealous. You've got a five mile streak of it."

Mal was silent, before saying very quietly, "I don't mind so much after having him too."

"Yeah, well." You put your head in your hands. "You're sure he didn't jump out the window to hide in his room forever after that?"

Mal knocked againt the door, wincing at the noise. "Idia? You are present? You're alive in there?"

A few moments before that shaky reply of "I'm not sure, check in five minutes."

Mal smiled. "That's promising, is it not?"

"You know I can hear you out there, right?"

"I didn't."

"I can." More silence. "Also, the window doesn't open."

You quirked your mouth. "Is the shower helping? I might need a turn."

"Some."

"Do you want to talk about last night?"

More silence, before a small, "Not yet," as the shower shut off. "Can I borrow a robe? My clothes are wet."

"Go ahead, Idia."

He exited in a cloud of steam and purple-black terrycloth, and simply laid down on the floor, gripping it as if he would fly off.

"Still bad?"

He noded, cheek pressed against the floor. Fresh from the water, his hair was low enough that you could make out the actual hair on his head, each glowing like the finest fiber optic thread.

"Well. I don't think any of us are going to class today. So stay as long as you need to."

"Thank god, I don't want to try those damned stairs until my head's on right." You thought to yourself for a moment. "Is Ortho okay?"

Idia actually managed a smile. "I told him I was thinking of staying over and trying to activate event flags."

It took you a moment to understand the implications of that. "Noooo. This was not your idea."

"Mal wasn't. But. Ummmmm." He held up a hand and wiggled it. "He was there?"

"Your boyfriend is interestingly pliable when someone puts their mouth on him. A trait you both share, actually."

You felt ready to burst into flames. This could not be happening. "So who's idea was you getting under my skirts, Mal? That bruise is going to last weeks."

"Yours, actually. You wouldn't let go of my horns until you were satisfied."

The memory of that, and more, hit you like a transport truck, and you simply laid down and refused to say anything until Lilia burst in, disgustingly chipper and with a platter of burnt toast to chew on until the worst of the hangover was gone.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland fanfiction #idia shroud #lilia vanrouge #malleus draconia

29 notes · View notes

missinghan · 5 years ago

Text

time lapse ⤖ seo changbin

❖ genre : idiots to lovers! au; long-distance relationship! au; fluff; a teeny tiny bit of angst

❖ word count : 14,9k.

❖ warning : explicit language, suggestive remarks & mentions of alcohol

❖ summary : you used to see Changbin as a friend until you realized that you both don’t look at each other the way best friends are supposed to.

one.

Apparently, people like you and Changbin don’t look forward to spring breaks, ever, because you simply cannot see the point in getting pumped for the very few days of sleeping in only to dread every last moment of it. Hence, he keeps FaceTiming you every day and night with such ridiculous reasons it actually boosts your ego into thinking that he misses you.

Oh, boy were you wrong.

But this time around, he seems so flustered and burnt up all of a sudden it makes a smirk creep its way up to your lips. Seeing him in such a vulnerable state, you’re more than satisfied like a sadistic predator. You can really use some tea right now, it’s been a little boring without any dramas other than Hyunjin being dramatic over how his hair does not look good in any way, shape or form. That alone is enough for you to throw him off a cliff because since when does Hwang Hyunjin not look good?

Changbin asks. “Have you eaten?”

“Yes, I have. You’ve been asking the same question for five minutes straight.” You roll your eyes at him in the bitchiest way possible.

He questions subconsciously, only to have you narrow your eyes at him. “You have work tomorrow, right?”

“Bin, you have my schedule. Of course, I have work tomorrow.” You utter in disbelief.

“Can’t I just make up excuses to call my favorite girl?”

You make a gagging noise. “Cut the bullshit. Spill or I’m gonna whip out the big gun.”

“And what is that?” He drawls the question in boredom.

You grin at him coyly. “I’m gonna tell Chan to poison you with cilantro.” If Changbin had to choose between eating cilantro and jumping into a tank full of sharks, he’d definitely, without a second thought, sleep with those horrifying fishes with ridiculously deadly teeth. He hates cilantro with an ignited passion, and he’s entitled to that decision for the rest of his life. He’s sworn that he would never eat cilantro as long as he lives.

“Fine,” Changbin huffs in defeat as he holds his phone up while lying on his bed. “I need your help.”

You twirl the end of your hair dreamily and acknowledge his request. “I like the sound of that, go on.”

He shoots you a dirty look, proceeding to continue. “How do I get a girl to notice my feelings for her?”

His words strike through your eardrums like a lightning bolt. You don’t know whether you should be crying or laughing because 1) Changbin was never the kind of guy to be interested in having a girlfriend, he has always kept his hands to himself since forever although girls were more than ready to throw themselves at him anytime, anywhere; 2) How come he has never talked to you about this? You feel utterly betrayed because the key to having a long-distance relationship is to not hide anything from each other. And he’s doing the exact opposite of that; 3) You don’t feel as happy for him as you’re supposed to and now you feel like a horrible friend.

“Oh-my-god.” You gasp scandalously. “I’ve been waiting for this day to come my entire life! And it’s happening right in front of my eyes! It’s actually happening! Wait… did you already pop your cherries or…” When Changbin looks like he’s about to put your head on a stick, you quickly realize that you should have just focused on the topic.

He fakes a smile. “And what day is that?”

“The day that my best friend asks for relationship advice from me! To finally embrace the most amazing thing to happen in life, called ‘love’! Duh.” You prop your head onto your hand, blowing a few strands of hair out of your face. “So, who is she?”

“I don’t know if you can really help me Y/N but she’s like 5,000 miles away from me right now—“

“What did you just say?” You cut him off unintentionally. “Is she an exchange student?”

“Yeah? You can say so..” He trails off and scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “We met on Tinder and got to see each other later at a uni conference, and she’s really—“

You cut him off again, this time, it’s intentional. “Run, just run away.”

“Why?” He looks at you weirdly. “You’re not making any sense right now.”

You chuckle creepily, making him shudder. He’s never seen you laughing in such a dark tone it makes him wonder if you’ve been possessed or not. “Running away is actually a smart move, my friend. Just get yourself out of the war before there’s blood on those precious fingers of yours. Exchange students get all the attention. Guys or girls, doesn’t matter. Students are gonna be attracted to them like a bunch of moths to a tiny spark of flame.”

“But, but—“

You stop him before he can even say something stupid. “No but. And a long-distance relationship too? Not ideal. You can’t just slide into her DMs and ask her to be with you when you’ve only met twice. Unless her feelings aren’t necessarily not mutual. But yeah, I doubt that.”

“Whatever, I might as well just gonna fly home and watch some shitty movies with you instead.” Changbin purses his lips in boredom and runs a hand through his hair. “Do you wanna watch that zombie movie still? Zombieland right?”

You nod eagerly because gosh, after months and months, he still remembers. It’s one of those little moments which perfectly showcases how much Changbin cares about you. Because unlike some people, he actually pays attention to what you’re saying. And you would be lying if you said that those little actions of his never made your heart tingle. They do, and it sucks.

“Damn right, I’m pumped for the sequel, never really got the chance to watch it since college has been nothing but a bitch to me.”

“You’re so fucking spoiled, Beastie.” He snickers, biting back a smile. But deep down, you can clearly see right through his facade and feel the slight disappointment in his brown eyes. Exchange student or not, if it’s what makes him happy, then you fully support his decision. And if that girl ever tries to pull a dirty move on him? You’ll hunt her down and sell her off to some random mafia organization.

You laugh wholeheartedly, trying to lighten up the mood. “Listen, if you kept scrolling through Tinder, having a girlfriend wouldn’t be a problem. Because I’m pretty sure there’s not gonna be a single person who’d not swipe right.”

Changbin cocks a brow. “Why not?”

“Because you’re hot as shit!”

He groans loudly at your bold statement, cheeks tinted pink in embarrassment. “Shut up, mom.”

You smile cheekily at him. “Love you too, honey boo.”

two.

As much as you clown Changbin for using Tinder since the day he asked you for dating advice, you can’t help but think that you’re a little bit lonely without his company. Funny enough, you also found yourself scrolling through the infamous app for hours and hours until there’s a match.

The only thing that’s funnier than Changbin asking dating advice from a total fetus than you is you talking big games to him when you haven’t even got laid, not even once. So obviously, you’re so close to pissing your pants as you dread the drive to your date, tremendously.

“Since when did you even start using dating apps?” Yeji scrunches her nose in disapproval as she starts the engine. You both just finished watching ‘Dolittle’ since Robert Downey Jr. is an icon and you’re not planning on missing out on any of his movies. But that’s not the point because the point is, your roommate knows your impulsive ass too well. Meaning, she’s not letting your day end without giving you something to feel better about it. More straight forward-ly, she’s trying to lighten up your mood before your date can piss you off.

You singsong, trying to wiggle yourself out of the situation. “Since Seo Changbin asked me about a girl.” You know Yeji just as well as how she knows you, so you’re taking advantage of her carelessness to bring up a whole new topic before she can lure you into ‘the talk’.

Yeah, ‘the talk’, sounds scary enough if you’re thinking about that one awkward, intimate conversation with parents about how babies are made. You think it’s utterly useless since society is basically corrupted and kids these days are all over the place, watching porns left and right with their parents’ IDs. So having ‘the talk’ with Yeji is definitely not gonna be full of questionable statements in replacement for making love.

As far as you know, she only forces someone into ‘the talk’ with her when they suddenly have some kind of romantic interest in another human being. Upon hearing that, she’s gonna be out and about, playing the role of God and telling people all of the do-s and don’t-s along with a detailed description of how she’s gonna drag that person to the very bottom of hell if they end up breaking their heart. You’re sure as hell that you’re not ready to talk about it with her. In other words, you’re not ready for her to torment you about some boy that you haven’t even met.

“Seo Changbin, dating someone?” Yeji fakes a gasp. “Wow, tell me all about it.”

You roll your eyes at her. “So you knew?”

You don’t know why you’re even surprised anymore since Changbin tells Hyunjin everything who’d spill everything to Ryujin for their midnight gossip session who’d complain about it to Yeji later on. The cycle is fully completed before you even know it and that does not make you feel any less of a dumbass.

“Duh,” She purses her lips before making a turn at the second intersection. “Listen, just enjoy your date, I’m not gonna tease you about it until you tell me how much of an asshole that guy is.”

You sigh in relief, drowning into your seat like a jellyfish. “Thank God.”

“But,” Your roommate drawls the word for a painfully long time. “Can we just talk about how it’s such a shame? You and Changbin would make an extremely adorable couple, right? I kid you not.”

You choke on your own saliva, coughing furiously as your hand desperately tries to roll down the window for some fresh air, mainly for the heat that’s slowly creeping up on the apples of your cheeks. “Who would ship me and my best friend together? That sounds like every drama to ever exist. Ew.” Hissing at her like a snake, you repeatedly fan your face with the hope to rid off the annoying coral tint.

Yeji narrows her eyes at you and quickly diverts her attention back on the road because no one is getting pulled over on a gorgeous Saturday night, at least not her. She still has to finish the last episodes of the drama she’s been fangirling over. “So you’re telling me that you’re not jealous when Changbin told you about other girls? You’re totally, absolutely, entirely okay with him hanging out with some random chick in Italy?”

It makes your blood boil even more when she mentions the fact that yes, Changbin is having fun with someone who’s probably ten thousand times hotter than you in Europe, but you’re more pissed off at the fact that she’s always right. Of course, you’re fucking jealous, why wouldn’t you? You can’t even fathom the sheer fury that’s running through your veins. Your heart is pumping pure exasperation into your brain. Even your liver can’t filter such anger. You hate the idea of Changbin wrapping his arms around someone other than you so much you’d rather choke yourself to death than even glance at such sight.

But, for the sake of a completely normal conversation, your mouth says otherwise. “Why not? He’s not my property, I don’t get to decide who he falls in love with. Moreover, he deserves someone he truly adores. That’s not my business for all I know.”

“Liar,” Yeji smirks. “Enjoy your date all you want, Y/N. Try not to think about Changbin too much or your date’s gonna flip.”

Again, you can’t stress enough how annoying Hwang Yeji is because somehow, in which you still don’t know how, she can read your mind in a snap of a finger. So it’s no surprise for her to know that you’ve actually thought about dating your own best friend before. It sounds so cliché you might bury yourself alive if you accidentally slip one day and confess your stupid feelings for him. As if on cue, your sixth sense is currently tingling, trying to tell you that you will definitely make a fool of yourself as you try to elaborate on how you feel about Changbin.

“What did I do to deserve you?” You sneer sarcastically at her as she parks her white Rover right in front of the restaurant.

The moment you step out of her car, Yeji tosses you a look. “Don’t you dare trip on me Lee freaking Y/N, don’t even try it.”

“I’ll have Minho pick me up, now skittle outta here.” You grimace before shutting the door close. Turning on your heels, you inhale sharply and push the glass door open to enter what seems like literal hell on Earth for the next four hours or so.

three.

Being on an actual date reminds you of why you never even use dating apps in the first place.

The only part that prevents you from running away is that Yeji has his dating profile. She knows his number, his occupation, his face, and all that jazz because meeting strangers for the very first time and already eating out with them gives you every right to be paranoid. But you’re not gonna tell him that because you still respect him just fine. And in case he’s acting all sketch, you’re gonna make sure that he’s not going home in one piece.

Okay, you can’t just blame Jaemin because he’s not an asshole. He really isn’t. He’s a nice guy in general: respectful, confident, and outgoing with a good sense of humor. Respectful? Checked. Confident? Checked. Good sense of humor? Checked. Outgoing? That’s the dealbreaker right there. You don’t hate him for it, it’s just he’s too outgoing for an introverted potato like you.

Both Jaemin and Changbin have very strong personalities like every Leo should. You’re most definitely not an astrology nerd but you’re educated enough to know that Leos are dramatic, warm-hearted, passionate and impulsive.

In which, Changbin makes you laugh your ass off until you can’t even breathe whenever he’s whining about you waking him up at 9 a.m. But you gave Jaemin nothing but a scrunch of your nose when he yelped out loud as his mashed potato was too hot. And you kindly offered to finish it for him after knowing that he can’t have dairy products. Changbin’s managed to get you out of the house every weekend even when it’s a simple trip to the mall and whereas, Jaemin makes you feel more of a voiceless being when he continuously brings up one topic after another at the literal speed of light. You almost miss how you can just throw out the most random sentence without being afraid of someone judging you.

Clearly, Jaemin isn’t the one to blame here.

Admittedly, it’s just a ‘you’ problem.

And even more admittedly, it’s just because Na Jaemin is being himself, and will always be himself. He’s never gonna be, and will never be Seo Changbin.

Seriously, what’s up with Changbin taking over your mind today?

“Do you perhaps wanna watch a movie after dinner— you’re not listening to me, aren’t you?” Jaemin stops mid-sentence when he catches your dreamy expression, for the fifth time that night.

You quickly regain your composure and sigh in defeat. “Fine, you got me. Again.” Burying your face into your palms, you’re practically choking on your own frustration because you don’t wanna lash out on him just because he’s not your type. “Ugh, I’m sorry, okay? I’ve never been on a date with a stranger before. Who’d have thought talking on texts was so much easier?”

Jaemin props his head on his hand and makes eye contact with you. He breaks it after a good five seconds to catch you off guard, slowly processing his current thoughts like a lawyer in court. “Let me guess, you’re in a long-distance relationship with someone but since they’ve been away for quite some time, you got bored. So that leads to you, drum rolls, hopping on Tinder to find a one night stand.” He closes in proudly, a triumphant smirk painted on his slightly chapped lips.

For the first time after hours of dreading Minho to come and pick you up as soon as possible, you can finally let go and have a good laugh. It’s like the pressure of being on a date is gladly lifted off your shoulders and you feel like you’re just catching up with an old friend. Which is weird because Changbin— Would it kill to stop thinking about Changbin for once in your life you dumbhead?

“And how did you know that?” You smile at Jaemin, deciding to focus on him for the rest of the night so that he doesn’t think you’re disrespecting him. A date is still a date. Even when the feelings aren’t mutual, the amount of respect should be.

He slowly takes a sip of his water and chews on his steak after. “Not to be creepy but when you went to use the restroom, a notification showed up and I saw your lock screen. He looks like one of those hot SoundCloud rappers who manages to stay anonymous under their stage name even when they’re mad famous. You know, cool people making dope music without being too problematic like ‘real’ celebrities.” Jaemin says it with such admiration you’re nearly more than ready to rant about how talented of a music prodigy your best friend is. But for the sake of him being your best friend, you’re not gonna do that. Yet.

“We’re not dating, just childhood best friends.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you with mischief laced in his brown eyes. “You have a thing for him then. Aha! I knew it! All best friends are obligated to be together, it’s an unwritten norm of the universe.” Wow, just when you thought that no one would know about your feelings for Changbin other than your annoying, chaotic friend group.

“In my defense, he was the one who set that photo as my lock screen.” You grunt under your breath but don’t even try to hide it. “I shouldn’t have swiped right.”

“Be grateful that you did.” Jaemin inhales the last bits of his dish with satisfaction, dabbing the sauce on his lips away with a napkin. “Because not only am I paying for the meal, I’d love to meet up again to hear you ramble about the boy on your phone. As friends. Also because you totally saved my lactose intolerant ass back there.” He declares loud and clear, smiling from ear to ear.

You roll your eyes at him in slight annoyance. “Fine, but I’m paying for the movie tickets.”

Jaemin extends his fist. “Frozen 2? I know a place that’s having it tonight.”

“You got it, broski.” You chuckle and bump your fist with his while your heart is yelling at you to get the fuck out of this restaurant because you’re about to suffocate yourself with the amount of painstakingly awkward silence that this place possesses.

Before you even know it, you’re walking out of the Hilton Hotel with an empty bucket of popcorn in your arms as Jaemin hogs two cups of Coke which are left with nothing but ice cubes right beside you. It’s like the whole being too cautious thing that’s been driving you insane has disintegrated into literal dust. Watching a movie with Jaemin feels like you’re babysitting your non-existent little brother while your parents are out of town and Minho is bar-hopping with the guys. Except for the fact that he gave you his hoodie because the cinema’s ACs are ridiculously cold as always. But it’s really nice, actually, because although the date didn’t turn out how you expected it to be, you did make a new friend.

That rarely happens so you’re definitely giving yourself a pat on the shoulder.

“The plot was kinda messy, don’t you think?” You ask him after tossing the bucket into a nearby trash can.

Jaemin nods in acknowledgment and swings an arm around your shoulder. “It was all over the place, I’m with you all the way. And Elsa in that purple dress too? Yikes.”

You laugh with him, continuing the conversation with much less ‘watch what you’re saying’ and more ‘actually enjoy the date for the sake of it’ until you both reach the parking lot. “Drive safe and text me when you’re home, okay?” You remind him like the bossy person that you are as you pull out your phone from your purse.

“You’re not my mom.” Jaemin snickers and his fingers hover above the tips of his keys inside his pocket. “Wait, your brother’s picking you up right?”

[9:35 p.m.]

y/n | hey, pick me up already.

meanhoe | sorry sis, I’m a bit occupied over here.

meanhoe | just call a ride home or smth.

[9:36 p.m.]

y/n | LEE MINHO ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

y/n | do you have the slightest idea about how many serial killers are lurking the streets, waiting for girls like me to fall right into their traps?

meanhoe | paranoid.

[9:37 p.m.]

meanhoe | let me tell you about how Han Jisung is taking a nap on my lap rn.

meanhoe | in graphic details.

[9:38 p.m.]

y/n | or I can just tell you about that time when mom and dad found you right next to a trash can on a sidewalk instead?

y/n | it’s a very lovely story, trust me.

[9:39 p.m.]

meanhoe | ugh, what do you want?

y/n | nothing, Jaemin will drive me home.

y/n | goodnight.

[ 9:40p.m. ]

meanhoe | hey! I can make it up to you still!

y/n | I SAID GOODNIGHT.

You toss your phone back into your purse in pure disappointment. And with a prolonged sigh, you turn to Jaemin. “He abandoned me. Can you give me a ride home?”

He cackles at the scowl on your face and gestures you towards the seat next to the shotgun window. “Hop in.”

four.

“Wow,” Minho utters. “Just wow.”

“It’s you again, why am I still surprised at this point?”

He grins coyly and slips the keys into his pocket before running a hand through his bed head. Chuckling creepily, he watches as Changbin struggles to roll both of his suitcases across the bumpy surface of your front porch. “You left my sister crying with a bucket of ice-cream for Italy. How does that feel? You know, to finally be free from her ?” Minho inquires with an amused smile. “But on a serious note, she missed you, very much so. Did you even tell her about this?

“Minho, it’s supposed to be a surprise. Do I have to translate ‘surprise’ into whatever the fuck of a language that all snakes speak in general or you’re fully capable of doing that yourself? Also, it would be so incredibly kind and generous of you to actually comprehend my messages.”

Minho chuckles and leans back against the wall comfortably. “Why not move back here then? Aren’t you done with your degree already? Or did Italy blind you with their good food and hot girls? You’re quite qualified to be my roommate.” He drags the last part. “Just wish you didn’t have to give me that attitude whenever I’m trying to start a civil conversation.”

Changbin scoffs at him, clearly uninterested. And Minho’s definition of a civil conversation just concerns him even more. “I have enough qualities to be your roommate? Let me guess, smart ?”

“Secretly a nerd.” Minho tuts.

Changbin shoots him a dirty look. “Composed?”

“I’d say indifferent and stubborn.”

“Brave enough to kill some stupid bugs for you?”

Minho rolls his eyes. “More like painstakingly reckless.”

“You literally fell off the couch when Jeongin accidentally popped a balloon with his pen.”

A smirk blooms on his lips. “But you gave him an entire lecture about why he shouldn’t bring pens to a party. Inspiring leadership.”

“Looks good in black?”

Minho looks unimpressed. “Everyone looks good in black you moron.”

“Then why the fuck are you trying to pull me into your system?!” Changbin throws his hands upwards, a frustrated groan escapes his lips. “You know I hate commitments. They give me anxiety. Especially when it involves you.” Which is not entirely correct because he did have a date last week or should have had a date last week. He was so close to pissing himself in the middle of a Michelin rated restaurant. But lucky him, his date flaked out on him before he could start having a full-on mental breakdown inside the restroom.

A glint of curiosity ignites in Minho’s orbs. “Because you absolutely have no life whatsoever.” He starts calmly, going back and forth within the limited space of the hallway. “And don’t even get me started about your love life. It’s drier than Chan’s attempt at making macarons. Oh and remind me, did your goldfish die or did you kill him? Did he die or was he killed? Or was it both?” He taunts further, and further, and further until he’s hanging on that weird borderline between having Changbin lunge at him like a predator and succeeding at luring him back to Seoul. “I’m being as kind as my mind can possibly allow without a drop of caffeine so you better take it while you’re at it.”

Changbin is fuming with nothing but pure anger. He’s so fucking close to crush every single strand of liveliness left inside of the man in front of him until he turns white like a complete ghost. But he’s also convinced that Lee Minho is just a non-biological heir of the Angel of Death. Hence, getting rid of him is impossible. “Come over here and make me.” Crossed arms, he’s determined to not leave the city without at least throwing a punch at Minho’s ridiculously perfect face.

“What are you? Four?”

Changbin stops himself from throwing hands at him and turns on his heels. “Nothing, it’s just that I don’t really like you all that much.” He makes his way to the kitchen, tossing his black beanie onto the counter.

“Yeah, me neither.”

He protests triumphantly. “See?”

“Listen up you man child,” Minho grits and walks behind him through the living room, passing by a hungover Jisung with Woojin on top of him at an unusually persistent pace that seems to cover up the bubbling anger inside his stomach. “Would you stop what you’re doing and listen to me when I’m trying to prove my own point? I’ve known you for all my life—“

Changbin interrupts him. “Those times when you passed by me at the library and made fun of me for studying for finals in high school? Doesn’t count.”

Minho hides behind a rather cheerful voice, his stare colder than an ex-wife’s fighting for custody over her child in court. “That doesn’t matter! Y/N went out with some guy last night and even let him drive her home. I don’t even know if she’s okay or not since she wouldn’t pick up for the past hour. And I just can’t let those two idiots at home alone, completely unaware of their surroundings.” Changbin shoots him a weird look and he quickly brushes it off with a click of his tongue. “Don’t ask.”

Changbin chokes on the can of Coke that he just grabbed from the fridge. “Wait, so she’s not here?”

“She moved in with Yeji months ago in an apartment near college, didn’t she tell you ?”

“No?” He raises a brow. “And what date? Who? How? Where? When?”

Changbin’s starting to panic a little bit because if you were to be on a date, you’d most likely hide in the restroom just to text him for a good five minutes. Very much like him. Anyway, he’s also quite concerned about the fact that you didn’t reply to Minho’s texts all morning. Maybe he’s overthinking again but he knows that you’ve forced yourself to be a morning person even when it’s the holiday since you don’t wanna dread bringing back your old habits when a new semester hits.

Minho drums his fingers against the dining table. “Who? Some boy called Jaemin? How? Tinder. Where? The Hilton Hotel. When? Last night until almost 10 I believe.”

Now Changbin’s fully entered panic mode because since when did you even use Tinder? And not tell him about it too? What if you’re already kidnapped and sold to some creepy people from China to make profits off your organs? “That’s it. Give me her address, I’ll go.” He drops his backpack onto the floor and grabs his coat, downing the last few drops of his beverage in a rush. As soon as Minho texts him your address, Changbin dashes straight through the front door like a tornado to the point that it has Woojin facepalming himself on Minho’s dad’s old carpet.

“My job here is done.” Minho cracks his knuckle and takes a seat at his family’s dining table, picking up his phone only to receive a text from you.

[8:23 a.m.]

y/n | ugh, is your friend gonna come over to pick up the speaker or what? it’s been fifteen minutes.

y/n | and what’s his name again? Jackson?

meanhoe | yeah, he’ll be there in ten.

meanhoe | eat a chill pill sis, I’m in charge.

five.

You frown furiously at the series of messages that you and your brother have been sending each other for the past ten minutes. Something smells fishy, and you can already see that stupid, self-indulging smirk spread across his face without him being right next to you. But then again, no one really knows what’s going on inside that disturbing glimpse of thing called ‘a brain’ inside his head because magically, and spontaneously, everything works out whenever he’s in charge.

Except when he’s in the kitchen with Jisung and Hyunjin as his cannot-be-anymore-useless vice-cooks, aka when they’re holding onto each other for dear life the moment Minho cracks an egg onto a heated pan with oil boiling along the edges.

“Ugh, Yeji! It’s supposed to be your turn to do laundry, you ass.” You repeatedly hit your roommate’s sleeping figure with a pillow, slightly mad at the fact that she’s still in bed when you’re done with grocery shopping. Sometimes you wonder if her only talent is sleeping through earthquakes. Maybe that’s how she has mad stamina and can still do a decent thirty minutes of cardio after dance practice.

Yeji mumbles nonsense into her pillow and slaps your hand away only to bury herself under the wool blanket again. It takes every strand of energy left inside of you to pull the soft fabric over her head and onto the floor it goes. “Why are you making such a fuss out of me forgetting to do laundry ?” She sits up grudgingly like a zombie digging itself up from its own grave and yawns obnoxiously.

You blink numerous times at her in disbelief. “Uhm, hello? Because I don’t have anything to wear? And also, FYI, it’s almost ten, okay? Wake up Sleeping Beauty. Prince Charming isn’t available today.”

“Shut the fuck up!” She whines loudly before dropping onto her backside in defeat. “You’ve never binge-watched any dramas before, you’d never get it.” Hey, it’s not your fault she chose to stay up until 3 a.m. for a stupid drama. You’re not gonna tolerate her complaints about migraines after having lunch, not this time.

“Besides,” She glances at you before throwing an arm over her head dramatically. “You look good in that hoodie, where did you get it?”

You grab various pieces of clothing dangling off of her bed and her beige-colored computer chair as you ponder about your life choices. “Na Jaemin, who else? God, and I need to give it back to him too.”

Yeji teases. “Are you making an excuse to meet him again?”

“We didn’t click, that’s all I have to say.” A smirk finds its way to your lips. “I basically adopted him now, so yes, I am making an excuse to meet him again because a mother has every right to see their son.”

“You’re so weird.” Your roommate purses her lips before turning her back against you.

You scroll through your feed in pure boredom. “What do you want for lunch? Wait, it’s too early for lunch, what about brunch?”

“Anything will do.” Yeji shrugs, not even trying to get out of bed when it’s already 9 a.m. So naturally, you’re already facepalming yourself at her questionable sleeping habits.

Now, where is that guy Jackson?

As if on cue, your doorbell rings. You’re dead meat to me. You roll up your sleeves and put on your ‘formally serious’ face before grabbing the tote bag right beside your couch. Without even checking who’s there through the peephole, you swing the door open in a rush. “Look, Jackson, I’m really not in the mood to invite you inside for tea nor biscuits so just take the speaker and—“

“Y/N, I don’t need a speaker, stop bombarding me with information that my brain can’t even comprehend. And who the hell is Jackson?” Changbin puts his hands up as if you’re holding him at gunpoint. And you almost laugh out loud at how he looks like he just found out Trump is president, he— wait, Changbin’s here?

You subconsciously drop the speaker without noticing that you might break something before Jackson actually gets here. “You came back?!” Your mouth automatically goes agape, utterly speechless.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I?” He chuckles when you crash yourself into his embrace as an attempt to hide your teary eyes. Meeting Changbin in person again feels like a rollercoaster full of mixed emotions, you have so many things to say but nothing comes out right. Maybe it’s best if you just keep your mouth shut for the time being.

And thank God he still smells the same and doesn’t shower himself in ridiculously expensive cologne like other guys because you’d disown him if he starts smelling like a Tommy Hilfiger store. Changbin gently wraps his arms around your waist, rocking you from side to side. “You missed me that much huh?” Suddenly tongue-tied, he’s officially lost the ability to form a proper sentence when you hold onto him so tightly, so desperately.

When you pull away, you don’t even know what to say when so many things are running through your mind at the speed of light. After all those years, he’s changed. Yes, people change. But Changbin changed, for the better. He looks impeccable even in a simple black t-shirt with a grey bomber jacket thrown over his figure. Wait, has he been hitting the gym? You swear, last time you saw him he was five times smaller. His jawline can now cut you too apparently. Years of friendship and you just found out your best friend is an actual health freak.

“As if..” You sniffle into the crook of his neck, tears continuously streaming down on your cheeks. Eventually, you give in. “Fine, I did miss you.”

Changbin laughs wholeheartedly, sending vibration throughout your entire body. “Missed you too, Beastie.” And it’s there again, that fuzzy feeling tickling the pit of your stomach. It feels wrong, and your heart knows that too well. To the point that you’re afraid of your own feelings for him, that you’d hurt him, or he’d hurt you. You just can’t decide if confessing to him is worth the risk of destroying your friendship forever. But it’s most definitely not. Maybe it’s better this way.

“Wait,” Changbin scrunches his nose and pulls away. “You smell like a guy.” Then something rings a bell inside of him. “Right, you went on a date with some cute boy without telling me? Explain yourself.”

You scratch the nape of your neck sheepishly, slightly embarrassed. “Well… long story short, I got bored and downloaded Tinder. He was cute, but not compatible.”

“There you are, what took you so long?” Yeji pops her head out of her bedroom, almost giving you a heart attack.

You toss her a look. “What do you mean ‘what took you so long? Did you know? Again ?” And she nods apologetically. “Why the fuck do I feel so left out right now? Are you guys setting me up for something sketchy? Who’s in charge?”

“Your brother, obviously.”

You step aside so that Changbin can walk into your living room before shutting the front door closed. “Zip it, he’s adopted.”

six.

Kim Woojin, as always, throws his annual ‘welcome back’ BBQ party whenever someone returns from a long trip for a fairly long time. Of course, he would never leave Changbin hanging.

Which, also means you’re obligated to accept the fact that he just single-handedly dragged you out of your apartment with the most minimal of physical effort. So now you’re stuck inside his stupid kitchen, with your siblings (no not Minho, not that heathen), potatoes. You look so incredibly alike your brother might actually be whatever with the harsh truth that you can’t stop taunting him about how he’s adopted.

Anyway, because you’ve always been terrified about the thought of accidentally having your sleeves caught on fire, Chan just shooed you back inside to work on the potato salad. And the worst part of making a potato salad? Peeling the skin. Seriously, you’d marry someone who invented an automatic potato peeler, that’d be godsend privilege.

The saying goes : ‘When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade’. Likewise, but in your case, it’s : ‘When life makes you cook, get yourself a best friend who’s good at it instead’. Problem solved. Changbin might not be as great as *snorts* Minho, but he did manage to survive multiple months in Italy without spending too much money eating out when he’s very, absolutely, entirely financially capable of doing that for the rest of his life. He appreciates home-cooked food because of the process, the time, the effort, the love that every family member (or one family member) put into the dishes. And it may not be something that’s Gordon Ramsay-approved, but gathering around at the same table gives people the chance to catch up, to communicate, to care more.

And what does that mean? Well, that means when Changbin, fortunately, makes it out of the war zone in Woojin’s backyard where Hyunjin is chasing Jisung with a dead spider between his metal tong, he finds out that he just, in fact, got himself into another disaster. Bits of potatoes’ skin is everywhere, scattered randomly from the kitchen aisle to the wooden cutting board. Bottles of mayonnaise and mustard are lying lifelessly across the dining table, saucing dripping from the opened caps. And jars of different spices look like they just got dumped into one big bucket, mixed together, and then carefully divided them evenly into each one again. Changbin is utterly alarmed right now and he can’t decide whether he should be helping you or just run away. But since it’s you, he can’t simply turn on his heels and leave because chances are, you’re gonna fucking stab him in his sleep.

“Woah, who did you kill ?” He gasps, taking slow strides toward your figure standing at the kitchen aisle.

You blow a few strands of loose hair out of your face, crying dramatically. “My sanity, it’s long gone.” You tell him as you try to stir the mixture of mayonnaise, paprika, apple cider vinegar, celery seeds, mustard, and sweet pickle relish in a stainless steel bowl with a wooden spoon, trying hard not to ruin Jaemin’s favorite hoodie. “And if you’re not planning on giving me a hand, then the exit is right that way. No one’s stopping you.”

Changbin shakes his head at you in disapproval for a hot minute before pulling your hair free from the loose bun, accidentally dousing himself in the more than familiar scent of your shampoo. Fresh, and a bit pepperminty, he missed this so much it’s starting to get creepy. Basically his heart just swells, but he’s gonna choose to be in denial like usual. “Better get your hair out of your face first.” He says and effortlessly puts your messy, black mop of hair into a high ponytail. It’s not like he hasn’t done this before because Changbin tends to play with your hair a lot while you’re both on a Netflix marathon. But this time, you didn’t know what it was, but the moment the tips of his fingers brushed past your bare skin, they sent electricity down your spine and goosebumps rose on your skin. The fact that your little heart feels like it’s running on a treadmill for hours doesn’t make it easier to deny how much he can affect you without even trying.

“Why are you still wearing that hoodie ?” Changbin points out, confused.

You answer monotonously, still mad at your roommate. “Because Yeji forgot to do laundry. So I have nothing to wear.” You hate her even more now because she’s probably gonna be out and about, going to questionable parties with Ryujin until dawn and asking for a cup of water when she gets back home on your bean bag chair. “I’m gonna have to return it to Jaemin soon.”

Changin snickers. “Yeah, you better.” He finishes chopping up the hard-boiled eggs, celery, sweet onions, and fresh dill, dropping the ingredients into the dressing that you just made.

“So,” You walk over to the dining table to grab the bowl of chopped potato. “How did your date go? Was she cute or did she look like a potential serial killer? Wait, serial killers can look cute.” You shiver at the thought of losing your best friend in some foreign country because someone can literally be kidnapped in a span of fifteen to twenty seconds. So you don’t see the point of being ashamed about always being paranoid.

Changbin helps you pour the dressing over the potato before stirring the goodness together with a wooden spoon. “Ah, that,” He scratches the nape of his neck sheepishly. “She’s okay I guess. But you never know, talking over text is always easier.”

You decide to let Changbin finish up the dish and grab some paper towels to wipe down the table and counter. “So you guys never met up ?”

He looks hesitant to tell you. “Technically, we were gonna see each other every day because of the internship but I guess no? Our schedules aren’t exactly compatible. Maybe I’ll just ask her out again when I fly back.”

You stop cleaning up the mess on the kitchen aisle and turn your attention onto your best friend. He’s nibbling on his bottom lips, guilt is evident in his eyes.

“What internship?” You ask.

seven.

Seo Changbin used to have ( and still has ) a soft spot for you. And everyone knows that all too well.

He wasn’t kidding when he said that you’re his favorite girl. He wasn’t kidding when he said that he’d take a bullet for you. But you kinda wish that he was because falling in love with your childhood best friend just sounds so wrong on so many levels altogether. Jaemin night be right, it is written in the stars for some people to fall in love with their best friend but that life is not for you. There’s just something about the idea of Changbin and you as lovers that twists an immediate knot in your stomach. Sometimes you wish he doesn’t have to be so affectionate towards you so that you can give up on the one thing that’s holding you back : false hope.

He would always drag you out of bed in the middle of the night to watch the stars and talk with him even when you guys were practically inseparable. Your group of friends constantly tells you that Changbin could never keep his hands to himself when it comes to you but realistically, he’s just a secretly clingy person who loves cuddling. But those little moments where you guys were sharing the same bed, snuggling into each other’s presence like it’s the last sense of comfort in the entire world were the ones you cherish the most. They can make you smile stupidly to yourself all day.

And Changbin never failed to surprise you too. He once made the whole fancy breakfast in bed with flowers that only happens in movies and you couldn’t stop talking about it. Even ‘till this day, you still can’t shut up about it. He only brushed it off and told you that he wanted to spoil you since it’s your birthday but you took it as something much more than just a birthday present. Because those little actions of his are what set your heart on fire and you feel like it could combust anytime if he keeps looking at you so tenderly all the time.

Changbin isn’t a man of many words because he truly believes that actions speak louder than words. At least for him, his actions are much more powerful than his words. But that doesn’t mean his words never had any kind of effect on you. Because they did, greatly. You still remember how you’d always wake him up in the middle of the night because your stupid brain cells decided to give you a mental breakdown after bottling feelings up for so long. But Changbin didn’t just scold you for keeping everything to yourself, he did something else much more magical and much more comforting than any advice you could ever have.

He’s written plenty of songs for you before, and you can still vividly hear the familiar melodies every now and then whenever you’re in a really dark place.

It felt like a tight hug when you were all alone and in distress. But what sucks is that it makes you miss him even more. Where in the world is he? What is he doing? Does he have a decent life? Moreover, is he happy? You were always worried sick about Changbin because he’s that type of guy who works his ass off for things that he’s passionate about but he’d be willing to do something else for others because he doesn’t want to hurt anyone. Hence, upon hearing about him turning down an internship just to fly back, you didn’t know what to say or think.

You yell at Changbin. “Are you out of your mind?!”

He huffs in disbelief. “I’m a fully grown man who has every right to make my own decisions so I chose to visit my friends instead of torturing myself inside a studio. Yeah, sue me!”

“Do you have any idea how many opportunities and chances that internship would bring? There’s no need for you to do that just because of us!”

Changbin points out snarkily. “Well, you were the one who decided to call me at 3 a.m. every single day, complaining about your insomnia and shit.”

You gasp scandalously. “Why are you even saying that? It’s like you don’t even know me! I’m trying to put your benefits before mine, why is it so hard to understand that? Are you trying to say that I’m the bad guy in this conversation?”

“Maybe you are,” He says through gritted teeth. “Likewise, I’m trying to put my friends first instead of locking myself up within four soundproof walls twenty-four hours a day, five days a week, until spring break is over. You are being fucking ridiculous!”

You’re slightly taken aback when Changbin had the audacity to say such things. Why is he still so fucking stubborn? “I’m the one who’s being ridiculous? Me trying to not get my best friend's talent wasted, me trying to not have my best friend make the rest of his break go wack because all we do here is apparently get drunk, eat, sleep, and repeat. That, is being ridiculous ?” You let out a humorless laugh. “Well, if I need to keep on doing that in order to keep you on track with your dream, then I fucking will.”

He hisses at you. “What are you? My mom? I’m a fully grown adult for fuck’s sake!”

“Yes, I am technically your mom since the day you threw up on my dress in kindergarten. I even wiped your puke off of your face, you ungrateful brat.”

“Uhm guys, you might wanna tone it down..” Felix tries to cool off the situation since he doesn’t really enjoy eating dinner while two people are continuously throwing daggers at each other with their eyes.

Another thing, no matter how whipped you are for Seo Changbin, there’s still this little demonic part in your heart that screams to strangle the light out of his eyes every single day. Even back then, you guys bickered like there’s no tomorrow without a care in the world. Fortunately, your problems were always quick to be resolved because you just could never bring yourself to hate him even when you wanted to. He’s just that contagious, never fails to put a smile on your face nonetheless.

So naturally, it’s ten minutes into the BBQ party in Woojin’s backyard and you’re more than ready to fight him. Metaphorically, not literally because you’re too utterly soft for him anyway.

“Shh, shh,” Minho easily shushes Felix up with his index finger over his lips. “Lix, keep it down, the Petty Olympics is just getting started.”

Jeongin purses his lips. “You’re such a snake, did you know that?” He’s obnoxiously chewing on the slices of grilled steak that Chan just took off the iron rack. Like Felix, he wishes to enjoy dinner in peace but that has not happened for quite some time and he’s already sick of it.

Minho rolls his eyes at the younger boy with nothing but disgust in his eyes. “Wow, what a truly shocking revelation, Jeongin. It’s for the irony, sarcasm is needed in order for my joke to work.” He sips on the glass of whiskey in front of him like how he simply sips on his coworkers’ complaints about their relationships every morning. “Now run along, grab your monthly paycheck and buy yourself a sense of humor.”

Jisung snickers. “Wow, is he mean today—“

You cut Jisung off unintentionally, huffing with such determination. “Don’t ever talk to me again.”

Changbin says casually. “It’s not like I want to.”

“I will break you.” You give him your best death glare.

He tips his imaginary hat with a smirk tugged on his lips. “If that’s what makes you happy, then I certainly cannot wait for it, Little Mistress.”

eight.

It’s the second time you’re hanging out with Jaemin and still, you can’t bring yourself to develop any non-platonic feelings for him. Do you really want to date him? Not really. Again, he’s not a bad guy. In fact, girls can just pass by you both walking by the Han River and they’re already eyeing him up and down like an expensive piece of steak.

Maybe it’s something about trying to push Changbin out of your mind for once in your life. Or it can be something about the fact that he actually has some kind of romantic interest in his Tinder date. Or you’re just being ridiculous and totally overthinking the situation.

It’s sad, but you’ll have to accept it sooner or later. You see Jaemin as nothing but a friend, and a little brother because he’s funny, respectful, and everything you can ask for in a guy. But, at the end of the day, he’s just not Changbin.

And although you’re madly in love with your best friend, it seems like Jaemin gets you and manages to keep your mind off of him for the day so that you don’t end up crying alone in one of the bathroom stalls. You can’t be any more thankful.

“You seriously didn’t have to watch ‘Dolittle’ twice just because of me,” Jaemin tells you as you both stand at the front door of the movies, hugging his bucket of popcorn closer to his stomach.

You smile at him. “Robert Downey Jr. is worth watching any movie twice. That’s why I’m still not over the Endgame depression phase because I may or may not watch it one too many times.”

He rolls his eyes at you and proceeds to throw his garbage away. “Crybaby.” Then, he wraps his arm around your shoulder and walks you towards the entrance. “I had fun tonight. Thanks, Y/N, it means a lot. Should I walk you home?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” You answer cheekily.

Jaemin teases, “Because your boyfriend might show up and punch me in the face?”

“Shut up! He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Woah, I didn’t even say who it was. You’re so whipped for him.”

You elbow him in the stomach, earning a low grunt from him as a response. “I shouldn’t have given you your hoodie back. I should have burnt it or something.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you, holding onto the paper bag that you brought tightly. “No, keep it if you want to. You look good in it.”

Before you can even clap-back at him with a witty retort, your phone vibrates inside your pocket. “Sorry, someone texted me.”

[ 9:23p.m. ]

meanhoe | Y/N WHERE ARE YOU?!

meanhoe | SOMEONE BROKE INTO OUR HOUSE!

meanhoe | I’m upstairs rn, but there were some sketchy sounds earlier. I think they’re in our kitchen.

meanhoe | Bin’s still in the living room!

meanhoe | COME HOME!!

Oh. My. God.

nine.

“Changbin, pick up, pick up,” You murmur and keep pacing back and forth at your parents’ front porch, frantically fumbling with your phone in your hands. “Goddamnit just pick up!” You groan out of frustration when you can’t even open the door because it’s locked, and Changbin’s not doing a great job at responding to your calls either. Which can only mean one thing, he’s being held hostage inside along with your brother and the intruder’s probably confiscated their phones.

You’d take a bullet for Changbin if that’s the last thing you could do for him. There are no words to fathom how important he is to you, so now instead of thinking of how to save his ass, you’re stupidly, foolishly thinking back to high school where he would always eat lunch with you whenever Minho’s too caught up with practice, where you both would lie under an ugly tree at the very back of your school’s enormous backyard, trying to do homework and dozing off five minutes after. Changbin’s been with you through thicks and thins, with all of your ups and downs. His lack of doubt for you was what helped you survive those horrendous years and you’ve decided that you’re not gonna let go of him, not in this life.

Therefore, you’re about to do something dumb. That something is going to prevent your best friend from getting murdered. But the chances of getting your head blown into bits are undeniably high too. That wouldn’t matter now, would it? If the intruder dares to tick you off, he best believes that you’re gonna fucking take him down with you.

Mustering all of the courage you have left, slowly, your fingers hover over the doorknob, the other on the wooden surface, ready to bang on it like a crazy person. You inhale sharply and close your eyes. 3..2..1..

The door suddenly swings open, causing you to stagger forward and your eyes widen in panic. “Y/N? What the hell?” Changbin catches you in time and frowns furiously at your soaked figure. Your hair and clothes are doused with rain, the tips of your fingers as cold as ice from staying outside for so long. You flutter your eyes open at his words, mouth grows agape when you find out that your current position can’t be any more awkward.

Great, now what?

Wait, where’s the intruder? “Are you okay?!” You mindlessly throw yourself at him, holding onto him so tightly like he’s gonna disintegrate into thin air once you let him go. Blood is roaring inside your ears, your heart is picking up its pace as you have so many questions, so many things to say but.. he seems pretty okay? “Is Minho okay too? Where is he? Why didn’t you pick up my calls? Why was the door locked?”

Changbin pulls away softly to prevent you from hearing his heart thumping vigorously inside of his rib cage, eyes as wide as a goldfish’s. “What? Minho’s downtown today to meet up with his old friend who’s studying abroad. Didn’t he tell you?”

“No?” You knit your brows together and take a full ten seconds to process what just happened. Why do you feel like you just got played?

He closes the door and walks you inside. “And why the hell do you look like a wet rat? Did you just walk home? Weren’t that Jaemin guy supposed to drive you instead?” You purposely ignore his questions and continue to piece the little amount of information that you have together. But once you throw a glance at your parents’ living room, you see a box of fresh, piping hot Hawaiian pizza with ‘Fast and Furious’ playing on the forty-eight inches TV. With that, everything makes sense.

You ran home as fast as you possibly could, under the rain when it’s dark outside all alone and this is how your brother repays you?

“Wow,” You utter, somewhat lightheaded. “I need to sit down.” You tell Changbin when he comes back with a white fluffy, towel. He clicks his tongue in annoyance, wordlessly bringing the towel to your head as an attempt to dry off your hair. You’re startled by his sudden affection, cheeks growing pink as you avoid eye contact.

Changbin caresses your cheekbone gently as if you’re far too fragile for him to touch and you just play dumb by batting your eyelashes repeatedly to shake the droplets of rain away. He quickly snaps out of it, taken aback by his own action. “Would you care to tell me what happened before I put you on trial?” He says with his arms crossed.

Your blood slowly boils as you choke on your own exasperation.“Minho told me that someone broke into our house and basically held you hostage. So I rain-checked on Jaemin, ran home only to find you in one piece with a pizza while watching ‘Fast & Furious’.” You hide your face behind your palms in sheer embarrassment as Changbin cackles his ass off in his annoyingly adorable laughter that makes you crack up every time.

He throws his head back and continues to laugh wholeheartedly, holding onto his stomach for dear life. “He got you good, wow. So much for supporting his sister’s second date. I’m sure he just wants to make sure that you’re home before twelve.”

“HE COULD HAVE JUST PICKED ME UP HIMSELF! HELLO?” You throw your hands in the air, huffing. You swear to God, Minho’s dead meat to you tomorrow morning. Your brother knows your feelings for Changbin all too well and he’s just doing everything he can to kick Jaemin out of your love life but the irony here is Jaemin was never there in the first place. But, Minho’s an evil mad genius so he still succeeded in pushing you back to Changbin when you’re trying to avoid him the most. Props to him, you’re now stuck inside a house with your best friend because your parents are currently going on vacation in Bora Bora.

That wouldn’t be a problem unless you’re madly in love with him. But you are, and it sucks.

You exclaim, smacking Changbin’s arm, causing him to whine loudly. “Would you stop laughing? I was scared that you’re gonna get murdered!”

In a split second, he pulls you flushed against him, rocking you back and forth as he ruffles your hair. When the vibration of his chuckle emits from his chest just makes your heart skip a beat. Changbin’s never been the cheesy, romantic type like Hyunjin but sometimes he does these things that just messes up your heart more as if it’s not already all over the place.

“Come on, Beastie, go change your clothes. I wouldn’t wanna cuddle with a sick person.”

ten.

One shower and five minutes later, you’re on the sofa right beside Changbin with your head rested comfortably on his shoulder. The first episode of ‘The Umbrella Academy’ is blaring clamorously on your dad’s TV as your eyelids grow heavy, hanging on the edge of shutting before your favorite character even pops up.

Changbin notices your sleepiness and pulls the wool blanket closer to your body, high enough to cover the rest of your shoulders as you snuggle into the crook of his neck. He pouts at the box of pizza and two empty bottles of Henny before playing with your hair, braiding a small section of it in boredom. He’s definitely not the type to rewatch any shows but since you’re just so pumped for the second season, you insisted that you two should binge-watch season one all over again. Obviously, he doesn’t see the point because he already knows everything, how does rewatching it has anything to do with getting him ready for the next season? Besides, you’re already falling asleep when it’s only ten minutes into the episode.

But is Changbin gonna let you sleep in peace just like that after all those years of you waking him up at an ungodly hour? Nope.

“Hey,” He nudges you with his elbow. “They said there wouldn’t be a second season.”

You jolt up from your sleepy state, eyes shooting open in utter surprise and disappointment. “Wait what?! Why not?!” You cry out dramatically, hands batting in midair like a madwoman as if they’re looking for something to hold onto. Soon enough, you plop yourself back onto the couch in defeat, letting the alcohol take over your entire body. You can already feel it kicking in as your limbs grow lighter and so does your mind. Gosh, you just wish you weren’t so lightweight.

Changbin chuckles at you, caressing your hair softly. He pulls you closer to him by your shoulder and takes in your scent like it’s the last sense of comfort on Earth. “You’re so cute when you’re drunk, did you know that?” He studies your features closely, quickly realizing how much he must matter to you for you to show this vulnerable side to him so casually. Giddiness is an understatement for the way that his heart just beats ten times faster, the way his arms hold you close so gently but so tightly at the same time. In this cracked darkness with the insufficient source of light from the TV screen, you’re so beautiful it takes the breath right out of his lungs. You seem too serene to be true, eyes closed, lips slightly agape it makes him wonder how it feels to seal his with yours.

As if on cue, your favorite character appears on time and you swat the sleepiness away, pointing at the screen with half-open eyes. “Five! He’s so cute, can I adopt him, please?” You giggle and show him those infamous puppy eyes. Changbin can never resist it’s actually frustrating.

“Yes, you can adopt a serial killer who knows how to travel through time, absolutely.” Changbin facepalms himself. “Honestly, what do you even see in him?”

“He’s smart and funny, and a total badass. I like how he never sugarcoats things and stays true to himself. But, he also puts others before himself without expecting them to do the same thing back. His actions speak louder than his words because there are countless times where he saved his siblings although he talks to them as if he sees them as nothing more than a bunch of assholes. I admire him in so many ways although he’s just a fictional character. And you know why?” You cock your head sideways, leaning closer. “Because he kinda reminds me of you.”

Changbin tenses up at the last part. “W-What?”

The ‘sober Y/N’ would never be brave enough to tell him what you’re planning on saying next. “I love you, Bin. I know that I might not act like I give a fuck, but I genuinely care about you. You mean the world to me.” You blurt mindlessly, hiccuping into his ears. “I really do love you. I just never got the courage to say it.” You hum and toppling over his figure on top of the couch, your legs straddling his.

“We can’t.” Changbin places his index finger on your lips to stop you from decreasing the distance. “You’re not thinking straight right now.”

You pull back, frowning. “Why? Because I’m not sober? What do my feelings for you have anything to do with alcohol?” You’re not mad, but rather curious. Either way, you can’t seem to get mad at Changbin for more than ten seconds.

“I- I don’t wanna hurt you.” He stutters and stops as he sees the heartbroken look in your eyes. It hurts even more because deep down, the sober part in you knows that you’d never fathom enough courage to actually tell him how you feel. And you also know that you’ve just potentially fucked up more than ten years worth of friendship. Changbin’s warm brown eyes stare at you with nothing but pure sincerity. “It’s like I’m taking advantage of you in this kind of state. It’s not right. You don’t deserve to be treated like that.” He brushes your hair out of your face and sighs.

“Bin, you respect me like no one else does. You know it. I know it. We know it. You’re my best friend.”

“That’s the problem.” He pulls you closer while rubbing little circles on your back. “Promise me that we’ll never change, yeah?”

You wrap your hands around his neck, a tear threatening to fall from the corner of your eye. “Yeah..promise.”

“Y/N, you didn’t do anything wrong.” He reassures you as a confirmation, standing up from the couch that he’s been occupying for too long. You keep your gaze low, unable to meet his eyes as you’re ashamed of your own action. You shouldn’t have done that. What were you thinking for fuck’s sake?

Changbin turns off the TV before guiding you towards the stairs in the dark, holding onto your waist tightly enough so that you won’t slip. “Don’t blame yourself on this, okay?”

You voice quietly, almost a whisper. “Okay.”

“Come on, let’s go to bed.”

eleven.

That night, you held onto Changbin like he’s the last thing you’re ever gonna see although you knew too well that it’s meaningless. What’s the point anyways? He just slapped your confession away and that alone was enough for you to understand that he sees you as nothing more than a friend. However, it’s still better than being stuck in that weird gray area that just keeps messing with your mind. You wouldn’t want to get in his way either. So when Changbin tried to peel your hands away from his torso gently in the middle of the night, your eyes remained closed as you rolled on the other side of the bed.

When you woke up in the morning, he was already gone.

It’s like he’s never been there all of those years as if he’s just an illusion that your delusional self made up to comfort yourself when things get hard. All of his belongings were nowhere to be found, his bed in the guest room was neatly made, something that he’s never done before. Changbin left no traces, no notes, no messages, no nothing like it’s a natural implement for ‘Don’t bother looking for me, I’m not gonna come back’. But to you, it feels more like ‘You fucked up our friendship, Y/N. I will never speak to you again’.

Losing a best friend of a lifetime is way worse than going through a breakup. But it hurts more when you’ve unintentionally developed feelings for him when you know too well that it’s not right. It’s not right. And you seriously screwed up. You just hurt the one and only person that’s so incredibly close and special to your heart. Therefore, you’re distraught, unable to do anything right for some of the following days. Utterly destroyed, you can’t seem to stop blaming yourself for what happened.

Changbin’s done so much for you and you can’t be any more grateful to have him in your life. There was this time where you totally lashed out on him because you were just having a ‘bad day’. He didn’t even get mad at you, he never gets mad at you. Instead, Changbin let you lock yourself up in your room for an hour until he came back with a box of chocolate and flowers. Everything fell right back into its place again and you really don’t know what you did to deserve him. He always goes out of his way, prioritizing others’ benefits rather than his own. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone at all because, in your heart, you know that he can be hurt easily too.

So it’s no shocker that you’re madly in love with him. You like how he smiles and looks at you like you’re the only person that’s existing in this celestial sphere. You like the sound of his laughter because it reminds you of Spongebob sometimes, it’s ridiculously adorable in the best way possible. You also like how he clings onto you and lets you be the big spoon whenever he’s having a long day, you can’t stop smiling knowing that he finds comfort in your presence.

The only flaw about him is that he’s all about that healthy life, which is good for him but you’re not adapting that any time soon. And he doesn’t talk about himself enough as he’s always used to listening to others’ problems instead. He’s flawsome, but you’re willing to embrace it all. Yes, as cheesy as it sounds, you love all of him.

Just because he’s Seo Changbin.

You stay up for many days, thinking an awful amount and flashbacking to when you’re on top of him, staring at him so tenderly as those idiotic words slipped out of your lips. All of because of one single beer. You just wish you could take it all back. If so, maybe you wouldn’t have lost the person you care about the most.

“No, she won’t eat no matter what I say.” You can hear Yeji’s voice echoes from the living room as you throw an arm over your eyes. “I don’t think you should see her right now, not when she’s on the verge of breaking down every two seconds.” You don’t even have to look to know that your brother’s outside, probably worried sick about you. Minho might not be the type of person to show affections on a regular basis, but he genuinely cares about the people around him. He just doesn’t know how to express that he cares.

The front door closes with a small ‘click’, making you jolt up from your bed. Your roommate pushes the door to your bedroom open and runs a hand through her hair. She practically grimaces at the current state of your room : curtains closed, clothes scattered all over the place with you still in your PJs. It’s funny because normally, you’re the one who complains whenever she’s being messy, now Yeji has the perfect reason to pay back. “Jesus Christ,” She frowns when her hands open the beige-colored curtains. “Get yourself together, will you?”

“Leave-me-alone.” You hiss at her like a snake when the light comes flooding in, blinding your eyes in the process. “What do you want? Am I not depressed enough to be at peace?”

She shakes her head and sits down next to your reclined form on the bed, a hand finds its way to your back. “No, you’re just in denial.” Yeji pulls your figure closer, embracing you with as much sincerity that she can muster. She might as well have you scream at her for forgetting to do laundry and waking up late rather than seeing you barely alive like this. If this goes on for too long, you might end up in the ER. And she can care less about whatever you’re planning on doing next because clearly, you’re not emotionally stable enough to make your own decisions right now.

You look down. “About what?”

“About the fact that Seo Changbin likes you too.” She says softly. “Only a dumbass can’t see that he’s completely head over heels for you.”

You chuckle dryly. “He’s not, he probably hates me.”

“He never hated you, he never hates you, and he will never hate you.” Yeji sighs as you snuggle closer to her chest. “Why would you think that Changbin hates you?”

Your eyes widen in terror as the night before when he left replays in your head over and over again. The more you think about it, the more you wanna kick yourself for not controlling our own feelings. Three words and your best friend’s gone. He was right, you guys could never, you weren’t thinking straight. Even down to that moment, Changbin put you before him and treated you with nothing but respect. “Because I ruined our friendship. Things are never gonna be the same again. I shouldn’t have fallen for him, I’m so stupid.” You let out an audible groan and bury your face into your palms.

Yeji peels your hands away and forces you to look at her. “I don’t see why falling for Seo Changbin is considered stupid. You see things in him that no one else does, and you even had the courage to confess how you truly feel, even when it’s because of a bottle of Henny. Not everyone can accept that because people are cowards when it comes to commitment and their own feelings.” She keeps looking you dead in the eye as if she’s testing you. “Look, even if Changbin doesn’t feel the same way. He can never hate you.”

“And why should I believe you?”

Your roommate laughs in disbelief, shaking your shoulder forcefully. “Are you blind? Do you even hear yourself right now? Haven’t you seen the way that he looks at you, eyes sparkling like puppies and all? If that’s not love, then I don’t know what is. Even if it’s not the love that you wanted him to return, he still loves you as a friend. He just ran away because, well, he’s human too. He might need some time to himself and make up his mind.”

You stare into the distance this time, eyes empty. “True love doesn’t count if it’s not returned, don’t you agree?”

Yeji rolls her eyes at you, she looks like she’s about to personally drag your ass across the planet, straight to Italy just to make up with Changbin. “Oh-my-god, you’re impossible! Of course, it counts! So what, you’re telling me that your feelings for him after all these years would mean nothing if he doesn’t say those three words back? I know that you’re sad and angry about what happened, but I think it’s much better than bottling everything up all to yourself. You were brave for doing that, Y/N.”

Your lips stay sealed as you decide to listen to her lecture obediently like a child. “Do you think Changbin would want to see you like this? No, no one wants to see you all depressed and miserable. Do you have any idea how worried Minho is? Have you checked the notifications on your phone? It’s not like you can’t move on with life without Changbin, you can and you will if that’s what you have to do.”

“So..?”

“Are you gonna step up and get your life back again or what?”

You groan internally, because gosh, you hate it whenever she’s right.

twelve.

From then on, Changbin’s like a phantom in your life, not because he’s constantly popping out of nowhere to scare the living daylight out of you, but because he’s constantly on your mind. Everything feels a little bit emptier without him. You don’t have to worry about having cilantro in your daily meals because he’s not there to complain about it. And there’s no longer a random cup of chai tea in the fridge on Sunday mornings because he can’t buy you one anymore.

But at the same time, everything reminds you of him. Like how his pairs of designer shoes aren’t laying around at your front door, how his favorite hoodies aren’t being forgotten at your place intentionally, and how the Stitch stuffed animal he gave you last year still reeks off his significant scent. Everything gives you a hard time to finally let him go, but ultimately, you know that you’ll pull through. And you did.

You move on with a college degree waiting for you at the end of this dark, bumpy road. Changbin, on the other hand, you can’t say much because his SoundCloud account is currently empty. He deleted every single song, every mixtape, every demo possible as if he’s trying to wipe his existence out of your life completely. Which makes it more difficult for you to muster up some courage and reach out to him again.

It’s almost a year, and you wish he could have just given you a sign about whether he’s fine with being friends or not. But as always, leaving notes is definitely not his department. The thing is, you feel like you both didn’t just grow apart. You also grew up.

“Y/N, did you ask me to go to the movies just because you didn’t feel like studying for finals?” Jaemin nudges you with his elbow and you smack his arms in return. Okay, technically you did grow up but old habits die hard, and you’re still procrastinating. Nothing new, but the occasional non-dates with Jaemin somehow helped with the aching part in your heart. You can’t say that he’s your new best friend because gosh, no one could ever replace Changbin. But ever since you found out that you guys go to the same college, you kept running into him on campus. Hence, hanging out with him is practically unavoidable.

You laugh, letting him swing an arm around your shoulders. “Nope, it’s because I love hanging out with you.”

“Does that naturally imply as you love me?” He grins coyly before approaching your car at the very end of the parking lot. You’ve talked about this before. ‘Love’ is an overstatement for the love that you have for Jaemin. Of course, you love him, just not in a romantic way and he accepts that. Although he does sometimes pull you in as a stunt just to get a discount for buying a couples’ combo. You let him, only because you’re both broke college students who are dreading your own student’s loans.

“Sure, I just love you so much I can’t even bring myself to say it without doing this.” You slowly feed his ego and your right hand quickly grabs the right side of his ears, dragging him into the driver’s seat of your car. Jaemin stops wincing once you let him go, pouting when you enter through the back door. “Serves you right.” You scoff, throwing him the key to start the engine.

He rubs his now swollen, red ear in pain, whining out loud like a kid that’s not allowed to buy popcorn when their parents bring them to the movie theatre. “This is domestic violence, I’m suing.” He complains but still hits the gas and starts backing out of the overpacked parking lot. People go wild during the weekends. That’s why you’re letting him drive because you suck.

You smile satisfactorily. “Ah, enslaved child labor at its finest.” If looks could kill, Minho would probably find your corpse in the car, limbs spread wide open because Jaemin is occasionally tossing you dirty looks through the rear-view mirror as he finds a way to hide a body while driving towards your neighborhood.

When you get home, you politely offer Jaemin to stay for dinner but he said he’s got a date to catch up with so you just let him be. Yeji isn’t gonna be home until nine because of her shift at the café so you basically have the whole apartment to yourself until your roommate returns from work.

Exhausted from spending all day on campus and going to the movies after, you quickly get rid of your long coat and plop yourself onto the couch. You waste absolutely no time and automatically hang yourself upside down on the cushioned surface while scrolling through your feed in boredom. You like to change up your position every ten minutes so that you feel less like a potato while your blood circulation isn’t gonna get blocked anywhere.

The moment you’re about to accept a video call from Jisung, you’re interrupted with a rather strange notification. You decide to text him, saying that you’re busy with a presentation and open the email from an unknown email. The email doesn’t have any specific title and you don’t think it belongs to any of your classmates. However, there’s a file attached to it which makes you even more confused. Who’d send a random video to someone they don’t even know? What if this is some kind of trick that people use for human trafficking? Like once you tap on it, there’s an automatic tracker on your phone and soon enough, you’ll go missing.

“for_you.mp4”

It makes your heart skip a beat as realization hits you like a truck. Deep down, you know, you know who it belongs to and you’re even more terrified to watch it. But you have to, you have to watch it. With a sharp inhale, your index finger trembles until it comes in contact with your screen, opening the file.

“Is this thing on?”

You immediately burst into tears as soon as Changbin appears. You’re stupidly, foolishly crying as he awkwardly adjusts the camera angle, checking himself in the monitor and runs a hand through his hair. Changbin’s wearing that one fitted black t-shirt that he probably bought in big bulks, warm brown eyes peeking through his messy bangs. He’s never looked better to the point that you’re tongue-tied, unable to scream even when you have so many questions, so many things to say. Yet only tears come streaming down your face. You missed him dearly, and here he is finally.

“Y/N?” Changbin quirks a brow and smiles. God, you missed his smile too. “If you’re watching this video, don’t..post it on social media. It’s gonna be a real tearjerker.”

You chuckle, wiping your tears away with the sleeves of your hoodie. He didn’t change, at all. “I don’t know if you can still forgive me for what I’ve done, but I still owe you an apology. I’m sorry for running away. I’m sorry for hurting your feelings. I’m sorry for not treating you right. It’s just when you said that you loved me, it sparked so much skepticism inside my head that even I couldn’t understand what I was thinking. Next thing I know, I was out the door, straight to the airport. I was an asshole and I know that. I hope you’re taking good care of yourself right now because you did nothing wrong. In fact, there’s something that I’ve been wanting to tell you too. I can’t seem to be complete without you. You’re it. You’re my endgame.”

When Changbin takes in a deep breath, so do you. You nervously scratch onto the black nail polish that’s starting to chip off on your pinkie, waiting for him as he fiddles with his fingers. Suddenly, he looks straight into the camera and laughs. “Why are you still here? You didn’t see the notification, did you?”

What notification?

Your trains of thoughts are once again canceled when your phone buzzes. You’ve just got a notification from an app that you barely touched since Changbin left. “SpearB just posted a new track. Check it out!”

“Neverending Story ( Demo ).”

Faster than a tick of the clock, you start playing the track, fingers drumming impatiently on one of your throw pillows. “Be mine, yeah?” His raspy voice sounds ten thousand times more attractive because it’s been a while since you’ve heard it and chills run up your spine. Adrenaline is pumping through your veins, your heart hanging on the verge of exploding. The soft instrumental blends in with the piano in the background perfectly, drowning out every other sound in the entire world. But what throws you off is that Changbin starts singing. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sing and it’s truly breathtaking that you can do nothing more than sitting there with a hand over your mouth, letting the melody guide your mind.

“Whenever you smile, whenever you struggle

I'll always protect you

For you,

I can even go against time

Just to appear in front of you

I believe, I believe

Even if the world changes

Can you promise that we won't?”

The first verse bleeds into the pre-chorus, then the chorus itself and Changbin starts rapping, spilling the feelings that he’s been struggling with saying out for you. Every word, every sound, every note hits differently and you feel like you’re already on cloud nine, drifting off into a daze. You can fully acknowledge and feel the ignited passion that he has for you even when he’s more than five thousand miles away, on the other side of the planet. But that’s all you need honestly because what more can you ask for?

As if on cue, the song ends and there’s a knock at your door.

Heat rushes up the bridge of your nose as you wobble towards the front door, head still slightly lightheaded from the mixture of emotions. You quickly fix your hair, straightening your hoodie and your toes curl from the nervousness. The moment you twist the doorknob, Changbin backs you up against the wall, shutting the door with his feet. He stares you down intensely, making you feel extremely small in comparison. But those eyes of his are filled with nothing but adoration for you and only you. “I’m in love with you, the same way that you meant it back then. I’ve been in love with you for even God doesn’t know how long. I booked a plane ticket and wrote the song as soon as that thought clicked in me. You’re all that I need. I want you to be my one and only. And I still want you back, so what do you say?”

Your lips curl upwards softly into a smile. “You’re really outdoing yourself, aren’t you? I confessed to you when I was drunk and not only did you film a video, but you also wrote a song for me?”

“Only for you, Beastie.” Changbin chuckles and pulls you closer, sealing the gap between your lips. He’s done it, he did what he’s been wanting to for his entire life : to know what being in love actually feels like. His kiss isn’t even somewhere near as those movie stars’ that you both used to make fun of every weekend. It’s one that steeped into a passion that flickers at the very pit of your stomach, one that makes you feel like home, like he’s your safe place. Changbin’s said everything that he wanted but he kisses you as a silent promise that he will do stupid things just to be with you, to have you right by his side for the rest of his life.

He’s the first to pull away, resting his forehead against yours as you both exchange shallow breaths. Smiling at you, Changbin can’t help himself but peppers small kisses all over your face from your forehead to the tip of your nose.

Life likes to toss you around and fuck you up sometimes but somehow, magically it always puts everything back in its place. The amount of tears that you’ve shed feels like payment for what you’re holding in your arms right now but there’s nothing that you won’t do to be here, in his embrace. Technically, Changbin didn’t have to say those three words back and he only did because he could, not because he needed to.

Even if he’s five thousand miles away, no one else is closer to your heart than he is. He loves you with all of the madness in his soul.

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kezibun · 4 years ago

Text

A storm of a hunt part 3

Part 1

You hesitantly tell him your name, maybe he was actually just being nice?

"Huh… cool name..." He mumbles.

A waft of coldness crawls over your skin, making goose bumps rise. You can't stop the shiver that follows it.

"Oh shoot." Papyrus sighs. "That damn heater."

He stands up, then kicks the little heater a few times and presses the button, but nothing happens. He seems to give up on the heater and you watch him as he walks over to the box labelled torture. Your whole body is tense but you keep you're eye on him as he rummages through the box. He's looking for something that you can be sure of.

After all this was he really going to hurt you? After what's been said? What will he find in there? What does he want? Maybe he's looking for something to tie you up with.

He's just playing some kind of sick game again, like everyone else in this hell hole. You shouldn't trust anyone, not even down here. You just can't especially since all you've been met with is manipulation, lies and treachery.

Maybe now you could try to escape, slip away while his back is turned. But as you try and sit up, a sharp pain burns in your side, there is no way you're going anywhere while you're in this agony. You sit back down and instinctively hold your injuries, not that it helps. Why does everything hurt worse once you've had a minute to rest?

Papyrus comes over with something. It looks like a big metal tin. How Is he going to hurt you with this?

He kneels on the floor, setting the tin down, he's filled it with wood and sticks. Then he snaps his fingers over it, an orange spark floats down settling on a twig, it fizzles briefly as it sets alight. The fire is slow to grow but it already feels warmer than the small space heater. The flames grow and dance as they cast an amber glow. You're mesmerised for a moment.

"Do your injuries still hurt?" His question snaps you out of it.

"Yeah, those traps did quite the number on me." You say with a nervous laugh.

"Let me check your HP."

"Wa-"

In that second the world around goes dark, an encounter? You feel fear creep over you, this wasn't good.

"-It…."

Damn is he going to fight you? Or just check you like he said? If this was going to be like any of the other monsters you'd encountered before? you're sure it won't be fun.

You look over to your HP. There's something weird about it, it doesn't seem right, and that makes your stomach churn with even more nerves. You don't know what's wrong but It can't be good.

He stares at you intently for a second.

'Papyrus cheeked your stats he doesn't seem happy with what he sees.'

It's your turn now. His name is yellow, you know what that means. You're tempted to take a peek at his stats but you really don't have the energy right now and you're pretty sure he won't appreciate it. You are definitely not up for a fight, so you choose mercy. Everything fades back to normal. That wasn't so bad.

He then just walks out, leaving you behind and alone. The only sounds that keep you company are the crackling fire in front of you and the howling wind outside.

You sigh and huddle up by said fire, pulling the jacket around you again as you wonder what on earth he saw that he didn't like. You hope whatever it was won't get you hurt. How did you ever end up in this situation? If only you could remember.

You feel the warmth of the fire almost wrap around you as it seeps in and you finally start to thaw. Your toes almost sting like pins and needles as the feeling starts coming back to them.

It wasn't long though until Papyrus was back, he entered silently like he'd just appeared in the room.

He holds a brown paper bag out to you, "Eat this."

You take the bag, inside is a donut with black icing and a purple cobweb design on top. You usually would have been suspicious of such a gift, just in case it was poisoned. But at this point you don't really care, you're just happy to get some food. All you can do now is sort of trust him right? as much as you might dislike it. What other choice do you have?

"Thanks."

You take a bite of the donut, the first flavour you get is sugar, it's very sweet, there also seems to be a bit of a spiced flavour then you taste the weirdest thing, you're hit with a faintly meaty flavour like chicken, mixed with a slightly fishy taste? and there's a dubious crunch to it. Then following it is a sandy texture that tastes smokey, but it's all then taken over by the alcoholic aftertaste that hits next. Despite the weirdness it's actually pretty good, better than snail pie to say the least, possibly the second best thing you've eaten since falling down here, the first being that candy that kept you alive through the ruins. You finish off the whole donut.

Wait. A sudden strange feeling washes over you, you feel the urge to check your stats. Did you just level up? That's kinda mysterious but cool, why would that have happened?

He then sits in front of you.

"What are you doing?" You ask.

"Your wound…How's it?"

"It um... feels a little better."

"Let me check it?" He asks.

You pause and take a moment to think. "I… don't know…" Is the only reply you could conjure up.

"It's ok."

He pulls the jacket off your shoulder.

"Hey don't." You grab his wrist.

He takes your hand and moves it off his wrist with a scowl. Then he pushes your ripped top up enough to see your wound.

You flinch as his cold phalanges brush against your skin.

"Sorry." He mutters, but he doesn't stop what he's doing, he looks over your badly wrapped wounds.

Now that he's so close you notice how his cheekbones seem to have a faint rusty glow to them, and he's actually pretty cute. No you can't be thinking like that. He's a skeleton monster that just hunted you down in a snowstorm, and scared you half to death. Not to mention you're now in his torture shed.

"The trap had some magic that stops it healing. I'm gonna to treat it. Can I… um...?" He gestures to your injuries and you fill in the gap.

You think for a minute… Is it smart to let him treat you? Probably not. But it might be your only chance, if anything he's saying is true.

"I did a pretty shoddy job with wrapping it up didn't I? Just be careful... I'd rather not die today you know…" You mumbled. Maybe that hint was a little too obvious, you feel like you basically just yelled please don't kill me. Would it be better to just beg for your life? Would that get you anywhere? Could you let go of what little pride you have left?

"You're lucky. I... can't have you dying yet." He takes his phone out and gets a first aid kit from his inventory. "Could ya hold your shirt up?"

You do as he asks and hold up your top, the cool air is sharp to your newly exposed skin, you can't help but shiver some more.

"You humans sure feel the cold don't ya?"

Is he trying to strike up a conversation? Or just making an oddball comment?

Either way you don't really answer him…

And with that he quickly warms his hands over the fire before he ever so carefully unwraps your bloody makeshift bandage. You watch his every move carefully, making sure there's no foul play. He then gets out a small round pot from the first aid kit, it's white with a green symbol on the lid.

"This'll sting but it'll help."

He applies the light green cream, it has a peculiar scent that can only be described as warm and kind, but it feels like he's just rubbed nettles over your flesh, that means it's working right? For you're benefit you hope. He then wraps your wound up, it's not too tight but definitely tighter then whatever you'd managed before. He pulls his jacket back around you.

"You should try and get some sleep." He pats your head before he sits down next to you.

"Are you staying?"

"Yeah. Rest. I'll stay guard."

"Why are you helping me?" You query.

"It's complicated." He huffs. "No more chit chat. Just sleep already." He pulls the hood over your face roughly.

"Ok." You yawn as you lean into the corner of the shed, the wooden wall is cold and hardly an ideal pillow but you are so tired it barely bothers you, you close your eyes and soon enough you're asleep.

. . .

"MUTT! have you lost your mind?"

"Hush M'lord, They're sleepin'."

"YES SLEEPING AND NOT DEAD."

"I can't kill em."

You open your eyes slightly, stirring awake from the commotion and loud voices.

You see Papyrus and the other skeleton, his brother?

"Then let me at the darn human." He snaps.

"M'lord you can't." Papyrus stops his brother from getting closer.

"AND WHY NOT!?"

"I told you. I need to figure it out. Trust me."

"You're going soft, don't forget your duty Papyrus! You have a week! NO THREE DAYS! Figure out whatever the heck you need to then get rid of that pest, that rodent." He starts walking off. "If Alphys finds out, I'm dead, this will be the end of my malevolent career. The Queen will have our heads for this! YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT?" He huffs as he storms out.

You're still so tired… your eyelids are too heavy to keep open… With this new silence you can't stay awake for even a second more.

#a storm of a hunt #rus #black #sf!papyrus #sf!sans #swapfell papyrus #swapfell sans #swapfell #sf papyrus x reader #x reader

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alitaimagines · 5 years ago

Text

request: “I’M ALIVEEE. This wasn’t requested, I just had some free time and wrote it. this is apart of my pregnancy series.”

character: toshinori yagi x fem! reader

fandom: my hero academia / boku no hero academia

semi-long note ahead: i don’t know when I’ll be back to taking requests but for the time being, enjoy my free write?

this imagine gave me leverage bc i’m in a sorority so if it’s anyone that knows how frat parties are, it’s me!

also, grammar/spelling mistakes! my next imagine will fall in the pregnancy realm BUT this time with a twist. it should be up tomorrow. maybe. it’s with my fucking husband Narumiya.

ALSO, I changed my URL. it’s now ALITAIMAGINES.

song recommendation: literally any American party song you could think of.

David knew that All Might wasn’t accustomed to the party life that America had. Nightclubs, bars, frat/sorority, house, etc. He knew this was something he had to introduce him too and being that Toshinori loved all things American, it wasn’t hard to convince the blond.

“so how are we getting into this party?” Toshi asked David. David gave Toshi a smile before parking the car on the side of the street, “you know my friend ( your name)? she’s in a sorority so all we do is say we know her and we’re in!” David said in a simplistic tone.

Toshi felt a blush creep on his face, you knew him and he knew you. There was a bit of awkward tension between the two of you. He thought you were the most beautiful girl he ever encountered. You were loud, smart, friendly, everything to make a great hero although that wasn’t what you were planning on being.

The reason why he even met you was because you were in a lot of David’s class. You also wanted to help heroes and their development for costumes so it wasn’t unusual when you were in his dorm, complaining about school work or something along those lines.

“see, we get to party and you get to hang out with ( your name ),” David emphasized as he knocked on the door, quite loudly. Toshi could hear the music blaring from outside the house as someone opened the door, “who are you? do you know anyone here?” the boy asked.

Toshi’s hands immediately moist as David gave the boy a look, “we’re here with ( your name), apart of the sorority also throwing the party,” David said with a bit sarcasm.

The nodded, closing the door before quickly yelling something. The door opened the door but this time with you, “DAVID! TOSHI!” You screamed as you shoved the boy aside and let the others in, “I DIDN’T THINK YOU’D MAKE IT!” You screamed again.

David chuckled as you grabbed Toshi by the arm, “you’re in for a hell of a ride, Yagi! c’mere, you need to try everything!” you exclaimed as you grabbed the buff man by the arm and dragged him to where one of the frat boys was making drinks.

Toshi stood to the side as he waited for the drink and awkwardly excused himself for being in the way, “this is your first frat party, right?” you asked as you took a sip from your own drink. Toshi gave you a nod as he analyzed you. you were wearing your sorority gear with black ripped jean skirt and neutral colored heels.

“Kyle, how long does it take to make a Long Island?” you emphasized as you tapped on the counter impatiently, Adam from what he guessed gave you the middle finger, “do you see all these people?” Adam replied. you shrugged as you snapped your fingers as he quickly shook the drink and poured it into an empty glass.

“try this, it’s the best!” you said shoving the drink to him, Toshi gave you a hesitant look as David came up to the both of you, “a Long Island? already? are you trying to get this poor man drunk so quickly?” you smirked, “I’m on my second one, you gotta keep up David!” you said as you yelled to Adam to make you another drink, this time being a tequila sunrise.

Toshi took a sip, the hard alcohol hitting him rather quickly. you and David laughed as he gave the two of you a look, “aww, don’t be mad! you’ll get used to it, trust me!” you told Toshi as he nodded.

after you got your drink, you brought him over to the table where flip cup was happening, “wanna play? the game is called flip cup,” you asked Toshi. he shrugged before explaining that he had no idea what the game even was, “watch, I’ll play a round with David and you can switch with him after you’ve seen,” you said as you brought David to the ping pong table.

Toshi watched as a boy poured beer into five red solo cups and filled them to the brim. two other people walked to the other side of the table and the boy did the same before he blew a whistle.

he watched as you and David immediately started chugging back the beer, a lot faster than the people across from you. after both of you finished, you started flipping the cups, trying to make them land on the other side. he felt nervousness as everyone watched intensely.

as soon as you flipped the last cup, the small crowd around you erupted into cheer. Toshi clapped as you gave him a wave to come over, “wanna try?” you asked again. Toshi nodded as this time, they added a sixth cup and filled it with two different beers.

as soon as David blew the whistle, you and Toshi started chugging them back. you had to admit, Toshi knew how to handle his alcohol and handled it well. he was chugging them back a lot faster than you were and admittedly, a lot faster than David. Toshi waited until you finished your cup before starting to flip them.

it didn’t take long before Toshi flipped the last one and David blew the whistle again, indicating that you both won. you jumped on him squealing as Toshi’s face went bright red.

“Daisy! you’re here!” you said as you noticed David’s girlfriend appearing from the crowd. she gave you a hug before waving to Toshi and making her way to David, “wanna sit? i’m pretty tired,” you mentioned to Toshi. he nodded as the two of you sat down on the brown busted up chair.

it was big enough to have you and Toshi fit on it with only being squished a bit. you watched as Daisy and David danced in the crowd, giving Daisy a supportive smile every time she looked over at you, “they’re amazing together. I can see them getting married after college,” you told Toshi as you looked over at him.

he nodded, giving David a look before turning over to you, “yeah, he really likes her,” he replied before taking another sip of the drink he was having. you smiled, “yeah, she really likes him back. by the way, are you and David crashing at our place after this? I can’t imagine either of you driving back, especially in the condition the four of us are in,” you said sternly.

“I think so, I don’t think David wants to drive back home drunk,” Toshi admitted. you nodded as you clipped your keys to your belt loop, “wanna grab another drink and dance a bit?” you asked. Toshi nodded as you grabbed his hand and led him to the bar again.

this time the bar was empty but before he could realize what was happening, you jumped over the counter and grabbed a few bottles of alcohol, making whatever your mind first thought of. a mai-tai was what you ended up making for yourself before making Toshi a concoction of Gatorade and Jaegermeister.

after you slid the drinks to Toshi, you jumped back over the counter and went to the dance floor. the song seemed to be slower as more couples went onto the floor.

you grabbed Toshi’s hand and put them on your waist as he stood there, awkwardly. you laughed as you went on your toes and got as close to his ears as you could, “everyone is too drunk to care how you dance, relax,” you said as he gave you a relieved look.

the night continued as you and Toshi got progressively drunker. Daisy and David had cut themselves off, knowing you and Toshi were getting way too drunk to even carry yourselves home.

“TOSHI OH MY GOD, IT’S MAMMIA MIA!” you screamed as you head ‘Lay All Your Love on Me’ start playing. he laughed as he watched you sing into the beer you were drinking, “DAISY, IT’S MAMMIA MIA!” you screamed to her as she gave David a nervous chuckle.

they both knew nothing good ever came out of having two drunk friends singing and drinking they way you were with Toshi. once they realized it was time to get the both of you home before the two of you ended up with alcohol poisoning.

the walk to your apartment was a fun experience to say the least. you and Toshi were loudly talking about random shit as David and Daisy continuously told the two of you to be quiet before the police got called.

once the trip to your apartment was a success, Daisy and David immediately shoved you into your room and forced you to sleep before you threw up. you on the other hand had other plans.

as soon as you realized that they both had fallen asleep, you crept to the living room where Toshi was still up and watching TV. you could tell he was just as awake as you were.

“Toshi, wanna grab a beer and head to the balcony?” you asked him excitedly, Toshi nodded his head, just as excitedly before you grabbed a bottle of wine for yourself and a few beers for Toshi before tiptoeing to the balcony.

you shut the door and popped open the wine as Toshi opened his beer, “this is the best night I’ve had in so long!” you slurred to Toshi as he chuckled, “you’re the best,” he replied as you giggled.

the conversation quickly ended as you slowly made your way onto Toshi’s lap. being that he was as drunk as he was, he didn’t actually get too nervous or scared.

“did I ever tell you how attractive you are?” you admitted as Toshi laughed confidently, “I might’ve heard that,” he playfully said as you rolled your eyes jokingly, “I could say the same,” Toshi replied.

you adjusted yourself as you wrapped your legs around his waist, “oh yeah, you think i’m cute?” you asked as Toshi nodded, “well I think you’re even cuter,” you replied as he waved you off, “no way,” was all he said before he went for a kiss.

you laughed into the kiss before returning it. the kiss quickly turned heated as you ran your fingers through his hair. Toshi’s fingers danced on your hip as you took of your shirt.

“we should move this to our room before we get caught,” you whispered as he did the two of you a favor and carried you to your bedroom.

you woke up the next morning with a pounding headache, the urge to throw everything you drank back up, and with a weight next to you. you quickly turned around, sighing as you remembered it was only Toshi.

Toshi brought you in closer, making you smile as you cuddled up against him. it wasn’t long before you heard your door open, “hey did Tosh leave last night-,” you heard Daisy say before David let out a laugh loud enough to wake Toshi up.

“THE TWO OF YOU SLEPT TOGETHER?”

you covered your ears, yelling at David to shut up before you chucked a shoe at him. Daisy and David started laughing as you covered your ears with your pillow, Toshi following what you did.

“get the hell up and explain how that happened,” Daisy whisper-yelled as you gave her a cut it off hand motion, “give us a fucking minute, will you?” Toshi screamed as you chucked your croc at the both of them.

they finally realized that the two of you were being serious and quietly left the room. you stood up, quickly grabbing your robe as you handed Toshi his clothes. you didn’t find it awkward but you felt a bit embarrassed being so naked in front of him.

“want me to make you some coffee?” you asked Toshi. he nodded, bending over to your side and giving you a quick kiss before getting dress. you blushed as you walked out of the room and seen Daisy and David smirking at your walk of shame, “WALLK OF SHAME, YALL HEAR THAT, WALK OF SHAAAME!” Daisy sang/taunted.

you gave her a look before chucking a used Keurig cup at her, making her dodge it and hit David instead, “watch your mouth, Shield. I’m way too hungover to be hearing any shit right now,” you threatened as you grabbed two mugs.

they both giggled to themselves as Toshi walked out of your room and sat next to David. you walked into the small dining room and set Toshi’s coffee down as you immediately poured some instant espresso into your cup.

“how? we put both of you to bed?” David asked immediately. you put your head on the table, feeling way too hungover to explain how it happened, “ask Toshi, I feel like if I talk too much, I might vomit all over this table,” you managed to say before drinking some coffee.

a month and a half later:

“Daisy, what the fuck am I going to do?” you whispered as you looked down at the pregnancy test in your hands, “Is it Toshi’s?” she asked. you nodded knowing it was his.

“yeah, before Toshi, I didn’t have sex with someone in months. it’s his, for sure,” you said as you banged your head up against the bathroom counter, “do I tell him or should I just leave?” you asked, not really expecting an answer back.

she rubbed in a consoling way, “don’t you even dare tell David about this, he’ll end up telling Toshi and I don’t think I’m ready for that,” you begged her. she nodded as she grabbed the pregnancy test from your hand.

“give it a few days and do what feels right, if you want to hide it from him, I fully support you but if you want to tell him, I’m right there with you,” Daisy said as she gave you a supportive smile.

you were lucky enough to know that if your mother found out that you were pregnant, you would be scolded for a bit before getting excited and start rambling about baby clothes and baby necessities.

after a week of dodging Toshi and David, you realized it was best to not mention the baby to Toshi. his hero career looked extremely promising and you didn’t want a baby messing that up. you didn’t want Toshi to put his career on the back burner because of a one night mistake.

once you talked it over with your mother and Daisy, you realized that you would finish off the year online and move back in with her so you wouldn’t run into Toshi while you were pregnant.

“so she just moved out and left?” David asked as he gave Toshi a look of sadness. David knew that he was just starting to genuinely like you so with you just up and leaving without any prior warning, he couldn’t help but feel a bit sad for him, “did she say why?” he asked.

Daisy immediately was stunted into silence, “there was an emergency with her family. I’m not allowed to say who or what happened but she told me to tell the two of you that she’s okay and there’s nothing to worry about,” she explained as she gave Toshi’s hand a squeeze.

“don’t worry, when she’s ready, she’ll return to you.”

it had been a year since you left your college and moved back into your mothers house. the upside for the entire fiasco was that you had a beautiful baby boy and a start up company that was getting a lot attention.

being that you were extremely informed on the logistics of hero costumes and the scientific side of it, you were able to get the attention of heroes who wanted adjustments to their costumes for a decent price.

your Toshi was now a full fledged hero. you knew him as Toshinori but to the world, he was All Might. you would watch him save civilians with little to no effort and always come out with a smile on his face. you couldn’t lie, you missed seeing his smile every day and every so often you would regret not telling him about your son.

since your company was now some what affiliated with professional heroes, seeing invitations for different events wasn’t unusual. one particular event stood out. it was a family friendly event for those in the hero industry. it was to basically thank those behind the scenes who were helping the heroes with their costumes, defense tools, etc.

you RSVP’d to the event and bought your son an outfit for the event. it was a small tuxedo that would make even the most stoic hero smile. to the untrained eye, they wouldn’t know it was Toshi’s baby but to anyone who knew you and Toshi, it immediately recognizable.

Daisy would visit you whenever she got the chance. she told you how sad Toshi was when you left and how David proposed to her after they graduated. you felt a bit upset knowing you missed out on a bunch of milestones within the year you left everyone but you knew this was partially your fault. you were the one who pressured Toshi into drinking that night and partially persuaded him to get into bed with you.

the day of the event came and you were dressed in a simple summer dress and flats. after giving birth, your ankles were never the same so your days of wearing heels was completely thrown away.

the Los Angeles heat was something you got used too so the dress you wore was as lose fitting as it could possibly be. you straightened your hair and applied very natural make up on before getting your son dressed.

figuring that you wouldn’t be seeing anyone you knew, you weren’t too worried with how you were looking. the event was being held outside so everyone wouldn’t be sweating over their makeup or clothes.

after you dressed your son, you grabbed your things before heading the venue. you had a small picture of you and Toshi on your dashboard of your car. it was more of a comforting thing so every time you seen it, you couldn’t help but smile.

the venue was closed off to the general public so after they scanned your invitation, you walked towards the sitting area. you hadn’t realized that there was photographers taking photos as you walked in.

once you found your seat and sat your son on his blanket, you asked one of your coworkers to watch your son while you grabbed the both of you something to eat.

throughout the night, you sat down, enjoying the conversation you were having with your coworkers and some clients/heroes. it wasn’t until your son started getting restless when you realized that you had to change his diaper.

“do you think you could point me in the direction of the bathroom?” you asked one of the venue workers. she nodded before pointing inside the building.

you walked inside as you had your son strapped in a sling in front of you. he was making gurgling sounds as you gave him funny faces to try and calm him down.

before you could turn the corner, you accidentally bumped into someone, “I am so sorry!” you chirped as you quickly walked around the big man, not registering who it was and went towards the family bathroom.

it wasn’t until you finished changing your sons diaper when you realized who exactly you ran into. your heart immediately falling to your stomach as you felt yourself getting extremely nervous. you knew you had to leave the bathroom eventually and you were just hoping Toshi didn’t recognize it was you.

grabbing the knob, you opened the door slowly. upon opening widely, you realized Toshi was waiting. you gulped as he had full vision of your son, well, his son as well.

you couldn’t even hold the tears back anymore. he immediately embraced you, making sure not to hurt the baby in the process. your cry turned more into a sob as he brought you back into the bathroom.

“is he mine?” toshi asked as he studied the baby’s features. he knew it was his baby. the baby looked exactly like he did at his age, “yes, the baby is yours,” you whispered as you felt him take the baby out of the carrier.

“is that why you left,” you nodded again, “well, he’s beautiful, just like you,” Toshi whispered as you felt more tears come out. you were an idiot for leaving the man you liked and now you felt extremely shitty about Toshi being absent within the year that the baby was born.

“what’s his name?” you knew it was a sensitive topic to talk about and while you were pregnant, you battled about the name for months until you realized that you were going with what your heart wanted, “I named him after you but his middle name is David,” you confessed.

Toshi for the first time let a tear out as he cuddled the extremely small baby into his chest, “were you ever going to tell me?” he asked. you stayed silent, “damn it! were you?” he asked a little louder.

you jumped a bit as he sighed before grabbing your hand, “yeah, I was going to tell you when I found out but I didn’t feel like it was right. I was the reason why you got drunk that night and I was partially the persuader when we had sex. you’re an upcoming hero. you didn’t need the distraction of a child holding you back from your life’s dream,” you finally admitted.

Toshi sighed once again, “you can’t make a decision that big without my input. this is my child, my bloodline. do you know how this impacts me now? I’m a father, I have a son!” he exclaimed as he cuddled him even more now.

you nodded as you tried to stop your crying but before you could wipe anymore tears off, Toshi wiped them for you before giving you a long awaited kiss. you sighed into it as you returned it, this time a lot more soft.

“I need to ask you a question.” Toshi said suddenly. you gulped as you felt your heart racing again, “do you love me?” he asked.

you were stunted into silence. Toshi gave you a few minutes to process what he asked you. you knew you did. you’d be an idiot not to love him. not only love him because you actually loved him but you loved him bc he was the father of your son.

“yes, yes I do.”

Toshi gave you a wide smile before setting the baby back on your carrier, “I’m going back home to Japan. move with me?” he asked once again.

this time, you didn’t take as long to reply. you knew it was only in your best interest to follow Toshi and if that meant living Japan with Toshi than it meant just that. you knew it was one of two choices. moving and being with Toshi or remaining in Los Angeles and having Toshi live out his hero career in the states.

you felt like you had done everything you could in Los Angeles. whether it be with your career or for personal reasons, living in Japan brought new experiences and new clients.

“of course!” you managed to say as he grabbed you and lifted you off the ground, “Toshi, the baby,” you exclaimed. he immediately set you down and gave you a kiss before kissing Toshi Jr on the forehead.

“he has to meet David!” Toshi exclaimed as he ran out of the bathroom and to the nearest phone. you grabbed his hand and stopped him, “I think calling David can wait till tomorrow, for now, lets go back to my place and think of how we’re going to move our entire livelihoods to another country,” you stated.

Toshi waved you off, “don’t worry about that, leave that to me,” he said as he grabbed his son and gave him a small kiss on the forehead.

“I love you.”

you gave Toshi a look before giving him a quick kiss.

“I love you too.”

ALITA

144 notes · View notes

mrsalwayswrite · 5 years ago

Text

The Difference Between Champagne and Rum Part 4 (Alfie Solomons x OFC)

Thank you everyone for your patience with this. Finally!! Here is the next part! I am not sure when I will have Part 5 & 6 done but I promise they are already plotted out...just got to write them. So this takes place in Season 2, so we get to see our beloved Alfie in his gangster glory.

Warnings: Swearing, some racial slurs, mild sexual content, nothing major

Words: 10k

The Difference Between Champagne and Rum

Part 4- Chance Encounters and Necessary Libations

~1922~

“Fuckin’ Italians.” Alfie Solomons muttered as he pushed through the door of Darby Sabini’s club in London. The obnoxious mixture of perfume, cologne and cigarette smoke assailed his senses making his throat close up. For the briefest of moments his mind returned to the smoke-filled, blood-saturated fields in France, with that nauseating smell making his throat constantly feel like it would rather seal itself closed than force more of the poisonous air into his lungs. Bombs going off. Piss running through the trench, mixing with the fresh blood. Men, boys really, screaming for God or their mothers…or crying out for death. Quickly Alfie shook his head before the memories could escape the locked box in his mind that was reserved for them. No, he had a different kind of pain in the ass to deal with currently.

He moved just off to the side of the main entrance, eyeing the swarms of men with slicked-back hair, women in flapper dresses and pearls, and the workers hovering in the shadows waiting to assist the guests. Realistically, the pause was also to give his hip a moment’s respite before he had to pretend the pain radiating like a flare out of his right hip was nothing. He would rather suffer then give Sabini one hint of weakness. The man was a shark, sniffing blood in the water and attacking anything weaker than himself. He scanned the place, noting the gaudy décor, bold colors and the aura of alcohol and lust infused in the air seeking to corrupt the mind with every breath. This was definitely Sabini’s place. Alfie sent a silent prayer heavenward that he never had to cross this threshold again. This place was certainly far from kosher. After he left, he might have to repent of sins he had not even committed just to cleanse himself of the stench of this place.

“Fuckin’ hip.” He rubbed a hand over it for a moment before straightening. The sooner he met with Sabini, the sooner he could leave. “Let’s get this shit done.”

Black hat on, long black coat hanging off his wide shoulders, scowl on his face- he stepped out of the shadows and moved forward. The guests parted before him, like Moses parting the Red Sea. Not that he minded, he actually got a thrill out of seeing people’s reaction when in his presence. He could be the personification of intimidating when he chose to be. His cane tapped on the floor with each step, only taking some of his weight. It could be its own added force of intimidation. A solid strike with it had taught many people it could be used for more than just a handicap.

“Mr. Solomons!” One of Sabini’s men finally approached him. The pinstripe suit, slicked back hair and thin moustache were enough of a giveaway before the man even opened his mouth to speak in his thick accent. “Mr. Sabini informed me to meet you at the entrance.”

“Yeah? Kinda hard to do that when you got your fuckin’ tongue down that girl’s throat, eh?” Alfie pointed at a girl walking by in a cream-colored dress, attempting to adjust it back into place. “Where is Sabini? He said to meet him here.”

The man attempted to wipe the lipstick off his lips, causing some to smear on his cheek, never mind the few spots on his neck he seemed oblivious too. “Mr. Sabini had an important family meeting come up. Once that is finished, he would meet with you. It should not take long.”

Alfie grumbled, rubbing a hand over his mouth and jaw, his beard prickling the skin. The idea of waiting for Sabini sounded awfully boring and insulting. Yet he needed to have this meeting. If for nothing else then confirmation that his new alliance with those gypsies was still worth his time.

Somehow the man seemed to sense Alfie’s decision to stay and gestured for him to follow. They passed the dance floor, nearby tables being used for both alcohol and snow, and the band at the head of the room. There was a slightly elevated section that the wop led him too. Only a handful of others sat at the tables, too focused on their own conversations and drinks to pay any attention to Alfie.

“I’ll inform Mr. Sabini of your arrival, he will be out soon.” The man gestured to a table in which Alfie took a seat. “All drinks are on the house.”

Alfie watched the man scurry off before ordering a whiskey when a server approached. If Sabini had not shown his ugly face before Alfie finished his drink, he would leave. Fuck this waiting-power game Sabini was playing. The truce between the two of them wavered like a flickering flame, some moments stronger than others but this newest insult was too much. He was affecting Alfie’s business and that was something the Jewish gangster would not tolerate.

His thoughts turned to his schedule for tomorrow and what needed to get done. Ollie had been harping on him to get a secretary with how business and paperwork had been expanding and piling up. Each time Ollie tried to bring it up, Alfie’s glare would shut him down. He did not need nor want someone else sticking their nose in his books and affairs.

About halfway through his whiskey he heard footsteps approach from behind. They were not Sabini’s usual cocky stride. No, they were light and with a clip from high heels. Alfie internally rolled his eyes. He wondered if Sabini sent a whore to distract him, he would not put it past the arrogant wop to try that.

“Is this seat taken?”

Her soft, sweet voice swept over him, causing him to tighten his fingers around his glass. His plan to be rude or ignore her flew out of the window. Her voice was a siren’s call, a lingering song from his past that he had never truly forgotten.

The chair across from his slid out and she gracefully settled herself. Light caught and danced off all the silver beads on her sleeveless gray flapper dress. Long gray gloves covered her hands that held a flute of champagne. His eyes traced up her form to her red, plump lips and delicate features to stare into her hypnotic gaze with gemstone eyes. The biggest change was her shortened hair, a bob now, very fitting with the current style apparently but a part of him lamented the loss of her long, sleek, blonde hair.

The air froze between them. Time and space no longer mattered. Their eyes beheld one another as if a magnetic force refused to let them escape. Trapped in this disbelieving look. Trapped in this moment. Yet there was nowhere else Alfie would rather be. Even after all this time, even after all the shit he had seen and survived, even though it had years since he last saw her…she was still the most beautiful woman to him. He doubted that was something that would ever change.

“It is you.” She breathed out as if momentarily in awe.

“Angel?”

A small smile tilted her lips up. “Damn. Alfie Solomons in the flesh. This must be my lucky day.”

A sound between a snort and a laugh emerged from his own mouth but never once did his eyes come off of her…not did hers leave his. A bubble of silence encased them but it never felt uncomfortable. They just stared at one another as if seeing the moon for the first time. His mind struggled to convince itself that the woman sitting before him was the very same woman he had pinned after for so long. Eight years had passed since he last laid eyes on her. Eight years in which he went to war and returned to expand his empire and reputation. The year before the war ended, her letters stopped. One of the only sources of light and joy in that fucking war ceased and it hit him harder than the bomb blast that sent him to the hospital. All his hopes, dreams and promises of reuniting with her ended then. Yet here she sat in front of him now.

His brain finally decided to start functioning again and he asked the first thing that came to mind. “What are you doin’ here? Your last letter said you was in America.”

She tensed minutely, barely anyone would notice but his eyes were trained on her and did not miss her reaction. After taking a quick sip of her champagne, she answered him. “I have been. I am currently traveling for business.”

“Business?”

“Mmm…I am not sure if you have heard but over in America, this awful law was passed and now alcohol is illegal. Apparently, it is the root of all evil, if you listen to some of the old women.”

“And where does business come in?”

She shrugged casually, peering over the dance floor for a moment. “There are some people willing to pay for alcohol, especially those with money…they just lack the connections to grant them this great evil.”

“So that s’where you come in. You’re a supplier of an illegal substance.”

“I prefer to think of it as a supplier of the finer things in life and good times.”

He chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. Even after all these years, she still continued to surprise him. “So what you sayin’, yeah, s’you still a trouble maker.”

“My dear Alfie,” she gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her chest in mock horror, “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Yeah, yeah, you s’fuckin’ angel. What are you doin’ at this club?”

She rolled her eyes, glancing around quickly. “My business partner and I were supposed to meet with Mr. Sabini but we have been waiting over an hour already.”

“Why the fuck you meetin’ with the likes of him?” He narrowed his eyes at her. Something within him roared in anger at the idea of her meeting with scum like Sabini.

“My partner thinks he has connections we could use. I disagree. With what I have heard, he is not a man to trust easily.”

“Yeah, you s’right, love. Stay well away from ‘im. What kind of connections you lookin’ for? Maybe I can help.”

“I actually planned on calling on you next week. Between us, your reputation may have…frightened my partner. He does not want to utilize your resources. He says you are too volatile and unpredictable.”

“Fuck ‘im too.”

She laughed shamelessly, eyes crinkling as she tilted her head back.

Heaven above, that sound was like music to his ears. He could not help as his own lips turned up at her amusement. Every fiber in his body demanded he snatch her up and leave with her, never let her out of his sight again, beg her to smile and laugh for him because he had forgotten how it warmed him from the inside out. Although, if he somehow doubted that she would approve of his idea of kidnapping her. That idea made his smile broaden slightly. They both may have changed since they last saw one another but he doubted her independent streak had abated much.

“Come to me bakery tomorrow. Yeah, I’ll show you me bread and give you some names to check out.”

“I would like that.”

“Right! S’settled!” He clapped his hands together loudly, drawing the attention of the few other patrons sitting nearby. “Stop by in the mornin’. Mmm…yeah. I’ll have Mrs. Liebgott in the front expectin’ you.”

“If I may be so bold…” She gestured to his hands. Curious, he nodded and watched as she changed seats to sit next to him. Hesitantly she pulled his left hand closer and seemed to be examining it.

“S’you a gypsy now? Gonna read me palm for me fortune?”

A small smile appeared, the only indicator that she heard his tease. Now so close, her scent taunted him. That same lavender scent, even after all these years, still hung around her like a pleasant aura. As subtly as possible, he inhaled deeply, wishing to permanently brand his nostrils with her scent. Fucking hell, what was happening to him? He was starting to sound like some kind of miscreant stalker.

“Is that…from the necklace I gave you?”

He glanced down to see her finger gently touching one of his rings. “Yeah, the chain got damaged during…” he swallowed thickly, “…during a fuckin’ blast. Kept it in me pocket until I got back to London. Eventually had the gold melted from the chain to form the ring and had the star put on it.”

He wondered what she thought of it. The star was no longer perfect like when she had given it to him. There were dings and scratches on its surface. One of the star’s spikes was dramatically shorter than the others. Yet it still was the same star and same gold, just now a thick gold band encasing the simple gold northern star.

“I can’t… I am surprised you kept it.”

Unsure if those were really tears in her eyes or just a reflection off the club lights, he placed his other hand over hers. Her hands were now sandwiched between his.

“Course I kept it. It was the company’s fuckin’ good luck charm, given to me by me angel, yeah? Why the hell would I get rid of it?”

A genuine smile appeared as she squeezed his hand. “I am glad it brought you luck. From what your reputation says, even the devil himself could not have taken you down, Mr. Solomons.”

“Fuckin’ hell, he tried a few times. I had a promise to keep though. An angel told me I wasn’t allowed to die.”

“You certainly are a man of your word.”

“Mmm…yeah, yeah. That s’me.” His thoughts seemed to move sluggishly when he realized how close they were. Hands clasped between the two of them, bodies leaning forward. It felt surreal. She was truly here…in the flesh. All he wanted to do was pull her into his lap, wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Yet it had been eight years. He had changed, and he suspected she had too. Did she still want him like he wanted her? Could she? Or was this all a dream sent to torment him?

A voice destroyed their peaceful moment. A figure coming to stand near them. “Sarah, I think it’s time we leave.”

“Of course, Hector.” Sarah squeezed Alfie’s hands one last time before releasing him and standing up.

Alfie stared at the man who helped Sarah slip on her fur-lined coat. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the man kept his hand on her lower back.

“Who is your friend here?” The man asked, his American accent easily recognizable. His blue eyes peered through his thin-rimmed spectacles, an intelligence there that was undeniable.

“Yes, my apologies. Hector, this is Alfie Solomons. Alfie, this is Hector Richardson, my business partner.”

Hector nodded slightly. “You seem to know each other well for how long you were talking.”

“We s’old friends, yeah. Haven’t seen her in years.” Alfie said, drumming his fingers on his cane.

“Old friends.” Hector repeated slowly. “Well pleasure to meet you, Mr. Solomons, but as I stated earlier, Sarah and I need to leave.”

Alfie grumbled, an unintelligent consent, wishing for this Hector to find himself at the bottom of the Thames. He did not like the look of him. He could not be much older than himself but this American carried himself like somehow Alife had insulted his mother. He had a handsome enough face, minus the slightly hooked nose and thin lips pursed in annoyance. What bothered Alfie the most was the possessive touch he had on Sarah. The idea to do some digging into this- Hector Richardson- sounded worthwhile.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Angel?”

“Yes, I promise.” She winked at him, furthering the scowl on Hector’s face. The two walked away, getting lost in the midst of the crowded club.

Her heady scent of lavender lingered behind like a pleasant memory. The feel of her hands in his brought a warmth to his soul that had been cold for a long time. In all reality, he knew he was overreacting to her reappearance. It had been eight years since he last seen her and truthfully at any moment she could vanish once again. Yet the irrational piece of his brain he usually silenced chirped that it felt like a missing piece was back in his life.

Grumbling to himself, he rubbed his hand over his mouth and jaw, thoughts now turning to tomorrow and their meeting. He could not help but smirk at the knowledge that she was getting into the illegal liquor business. Even after all these years, the girl who should have been a princess and high above the rest of the peasants was still rolling in the mud with them. Even if she still carried a dignity and grace about her that made others turn heads and take notice. She may be in the mud with the peasants but she was a queen, no one could deny that.

“Mr. Solomons.”

Alfie turned to the wop from earlier who approached, now cleansed of lipstick.

“Mr. Sabini can see you now.”

Quickly Alfie slammed the rest of his whiskey back, that familiar burn bringing him back to the present and this god-forsaken meeting.

“A’right, lets get this done, mate.”

*****

-The next day-

“So you see sir…that’s…that’s what ‘appened. Just an accident.” The young man stood quaking under Alfie’s gaze, eyes darting around as if any of the other bakers would step in and help him.

Alfie grunted, turning to stare at the large spill of rum soaking into the floor. All he could see was money wasted, laying on the ground. Sure the other lads had managed to save most of the rum in the broken barrel but that did not alleviate one of the newest bakers from learning to be careful with the goods. Normally the foreman on the floor would be dealing with this mess but unfortunately Ishmael was out checking a new batch of cane sugar from Jamaica before bringing it back to the bakery. So that left dealing with this imbecile to the boss.

“Clean this fuckin’ mess up.” He demanded, paused a moment to see the young man nod erratically then turned to head back to this office. The shit that needed to get done today kept piling up without any signs of a reprieve in the future for him. This was something he really did not need to happen today. A shipment was supposed to go out tonight that he wanted to look over once more then there was that pub owner he needed to address for his late payments along with…

“I’m sorry, sir… I won’t spill no more rum. Thank you, sir…”

Before the young man finished uttering his sentence, Alfie turned around to tower over the lad. He glared, summoning all his repressed anger and intimidation, then poured it like hot oil over the lad.

“May I remind you…that the distinction between bread and rum, yeah…IS NOT DISCUSSED!” Alfie ended roaring into the quivering lad’s face. “GET IT THROUGH THAT THICK SKULL OR I’LL FUCKIN’ CRACK IT OPEN!” Without waiting for a response, he turned and started towards his office. If the smell of piss was any indicator, he guessed he would not have any troubles again with that one.

Back in his office, he slammed the door shut, startling Cyril from his nap on his bed on the floor. The bull mastiff looked up at his master before laying his head back on his front paws, watching the muttering man, unaffected by his foul mood.

Shuffling around his cluttered desk, Alfie checked his pocket watch and groaned. It was only 9am and already he wished for the day to be over. He dropped down onto his seat to stare at the paperwork before him. It was an unending pile that he seemed unable to escape no matter the number of late nights or early mornings. Slipping his halfmoon spectacles on, he started again on the notice he had been reading earlier. Someone must have dropped it by late last night. It was from one of the police officers on his payroll, saying how they were getting a new captain and a few new recruits with a list of names. Alfie made a mental note to have the captain checked out, see if he could be of use before Sabini got to him.

A gentle knocking brought Alfie out of his thoughts but kept his eyes glued to the paper before him. “Oi! What s’want, Ollie?”

The creaking of his door alerted him to Ollie’s entrance.

“This better be good, yeah, or you can just fuck right off now.”

“Would you prefer for me to come another time?”

The teasing, sweet, feminine voice had Alfie almost giving himself whiplash with how fast his head jerked up. Ollie stood just inside the office, keeping the door open, meanwhile Sarah stood in the doorway looking like a vision as usual, a mischievous smirk on her lips.

“I like the spectacles by the way. They make you look…scholarly.”

Alfie snorted, taking the glasses off before rising. “Fuckin’ hell, love. I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“I said I would. I always follow through with my promises.” She stepped further in, her heels clicking on the wood paneled floor. “I can come back another day if you are busy.”

“No, no. S’fine.”

“Ollie,” she turned back to smile at the man, “perhaps that pot of tea and scones would be beneficial right now.” She started to peel her fur-lined coat off, the same from the prior night if Alfie was not mistaken. Ollie immediately jumped to her aid, taking her coat and hanging it up on the hooks near the door. Sometimes Alfie wondered at the true intelligence of his assistant but the lad was certainly raised well in how to treat female guests. Probably due to his mother who was a tyrant when she wanted to be but would tear down governments for anyone she cared for.

“Of course, Mrs. Bondurant. Anything else I can do, Alfie?”

“No, just that.” He leaned on the edge of his desk, running a hand over his mouth and jaw. “Then we aren’t to be disturbed, yeah? When Ishmael returns, he can leave the papers with you for now.”

“Yes, sir.” Ollie gave one quick nod, his shaggy hair shaking with the movement before closing the door behind him.

“Mrs. Bondurant, eh? You married?”

She smiled slyly before taking time to look over his office. “Would it change things if I was?”

“Well that means I’ve been having inappropriate thoughts about a married woman, yeah, very inappropriate.” He watched her, wishing he could read her mind. He wondered what she thought of his office. It was cluttered with bookshelves and files. A fireplace sat abandoned in one corner, only used on the rarest of occasions in the dead of winter. There were a map London on one wall and a couple drawings from an local artist he admired. He also did not mind admiring her in the cream calf-length skirt and plum blouse, a very sophisticated and modern look. She looked ready to take on the world, especially in those heels that made her legs look like a divine treat but were sharp enough to stab someone with. He wondered if she wore them because of how they looked or as a weapon. Probably with her, both reasons.

Slowly, she moved from where she had been admiring a drawing to stand before him. “And if I am not? If I am simply Sarah?”

“You ain’t never been just Sarah to me.”

Her lips twitched as her eyes trailed over his face and eyes, reading and weighing out his words. One of her hands came up to brush through his bristly beard, her thumb rubbing across the scar just above his jaw.

“France.” He answered her unspoken question. “Shrapnel from a bomb.”

“I heard you were made a captain.”

“Not noteworthy, love.”

“I disagree, I like the sound of Captain Solomons.”

There was that teasing, mischievous look back in her gemstone eyes that he remembered so well. Standing so close, even in her heels, her eyes were level with his chin. A strange realization that so much had changed since they last saw one another except for this. She was still the perfect height in his opinion. Her hand on his cheek, he drew his own hand over her cheekbone before running through her shortened hair.

“Why you cut your hair?”

“Are you not aware? It is the latest fashion.” She batted her eyelashes and pouted her lips, the perfect image of a spoiled aristocrat.

He chuckled, running his hand through more slowly this time. At least it did not feel full of product like some women wore their hair. “Sure it is. Never guessed you’d be one to follow the rules.”

“Maybe I will grow it back out. It does help me not to stand out.”

“Love, you are a beautiful angel. Anyone who don’t see that is a fuckin’ fool.”

“I see you still have that charmer’s tongue and honeyed words.”

“I am a man of many talents.”

“Mmm…I seem to recall a few of those talents, especially involving that tongue of yours.”

“Only a few? S’shame, yeah, gonna need to fix that, yeah.” His hands landed on her hips, holding her close. Their gazes remained locked, a heat spilling out between them to fill the air. This teasing, flirtatious banter they so easily fell into felt different this time. Maybe it was because they were different people now. Maybe it was because the time spent apart. Yet Alfie guessed it was because they no longer were hindered by her family and his limited time before the war. No, now they were free. He hoped.

“Please tell me you s’unmarried, I don’t need to be fightin’ no angry husband later.”

“Afraid you will lose?”

“No, Angel, its cos if I kiss you, I ain’t lettin’ you go again, damn your husband.”

“How do I know you are not married?”

“Been too busy.” He dragged his lips over the shell of her ear, loving the way her hands gripped the front of his shirt like a safety line. “Now answer me question, love.”

“No, I am not married.”

“Mmm…good, good.”

“What now, Captain Solomons?” One of her hands reached down to gently cup his growing erection. “I thought I was here to talk business and see your bakery.”

He suppressed a groan, trying to keep his thoughts in line. It was hard to think beyond this bubble of lust they were creating. The lock on the office door had been replaced lately, so being disturbed was not an issue. There was nowhere to lay her down though. If memory served him correctly, she did not mind being pinned against a wall (although his hip may protest). He wondered how she would feel about utilizing his desk. It was very sturdy. His hands slipped down to cup her ass, pulling her closer as he lightly kissed a trail down her neck. “It ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

And of course that was the moment Ollie chose to reenter with the tray of tea and biscuits. Opening the door, his eyes fixated on the two, his mouth gaping slightly. In all honesty, he probably did not expect to see his boss caressing this strange woman as one of her hands cupped his cock, her other tangled in his hair, pulling his head closer. That would give anyone a shock.

“Ah, um…I can come…”

“That is alright, Ollie.” Sarah stepped away from Alfie, somehow disentangling herself with ease and speed that astounded him. Probably did not help all the blood had rushed from his brain down to his cock. “Tea sounds delightful. I have been missing a good pot of English tea. Soothes the soul.” She peeked over her shoulder at Alfie, who had a scowl on his face. “Business before pleasure, sweetheart.”

Ollie almost dropped the tray on Alfie’s desk with that last comment.

Grumbling, Alfie tried to subtly adjust himself and get his mind off the feeling of how good her body felt under his hands. God, it was like the best wet dream and a nightmare simultaneously; having her so close and ready, yet then it being ripped away suddenly.

“Oh? And who is this handsome boy?”

Alfie straightened, fear coursing through him. So lost in her he had forgotten about the dog. “Sarah, wait-“

It was too late, she knelt down on the other side of Alfie’s desk near Cyril’s bed. Even Ollie momentarily looked horrified. Alfie expected to hear a cry or a growl, yet the immediate sound that greeted him was her cooing and a tail thumping. Coming around to the other side of his desk, shocked did not even begin to describe how he felt at the scene before him. There lay his massive dog that had torn men to shreds in protection of Alfie, who normally disliked strangers and even then was choosy about who he let touch him….now lay on his back, legs sprawled, tongue lolling as he got his belly and chest scratched. Sarah knelt on the floor, facing him, her voice low and cooing at him like he was the sweetest puppy. It would have been comical if Alfie could wrap his head around what his eyes were seeing. Exchanging a look with Ollie only mirrored his own surprise.

“Didn’t know you s’dog person.”

She looked back at Alfie, the widest, genuine smile on her face he had ever seen. “I love dogs. They are the most loyal companions and great for cuddling.”

“Mmm…” Alfie muttered, rubbing a hand over his face and jaw. He watched a second longer, transfixed by the sight in front of him. Glancing to his side, he suddenly remembered Ollie standing there, who now was staring at her with a dreamy look. “Oi! Keep those eyes in your head, boy. Now fuck off!”

He did not have to be asked twice, most likely knowing Alfie was pissed at him already for interrupting…whatever was happening before he arrived with the tray. Ollie stumbled an apology, along with a parting before scurrying out of the office, closing the door behind him.

“Are you always so harsh with him?”

“Didn’t like ‘im starin’ at you.” He reached a hand out to help her back to her feet, much to Cyril’s dismay. Rolling her eyes, she allowed him to pull her to her feet. Before he could get his hands fully back on her, she evaded him to glide over to the tray.

“Now, tell me the tale of how Alfie Solomons became a distiller of rum and owner of such a fine bakery. I must confess I tried one of those honeyed scones with Mrs. Liebgott, who is a delight herself, and it was delectable. I may have to come back just for that.” Sarah poured herself a cup of tea while she spoke then sat to blow gently on the steaming liquid. At her last comment, a soft whine came from around the side of Alfie’s desk. “Precious boy, I will come back and see you too. Oh! What is his name?”

“Cyril.” Alfie shook his head at the strangeness of this encounter, but then again, when had him and Sarah ever met like normal people. He rounded his desk to sit in his seat, shuffling some papers out of the way to not spill tea on. “Why you askin’ ‘bout me business?”

“Curiosity…perhaps I am impressed and am trying to see how the young man I once knew with bloody fists has now become such a successful businessman.”

“You forgot to mention dangerous gangster.”

“You would not be the first of those I have encountered.”

He squinted his eyes at her, disliking that comment. Gangsters were not to be trusted. Who else around here besides Sabini had she ‘encountered’? Had she somehow met the Shelbys? The fuckin’ Russians? Why could she not stay out of trouble?

As if reading his thoughts, she waved a hand dismissively. “In America. Apparently it is a growing trend. Now, I am still waiting for my story.”

“A’right. First,” he pointed a finger at her, “where this ‘Mrs. Bondurant’ business start? Then you’ll get your fuckin’ story.”

Several silent moments passed, her holding her tea cup against her lips as she stared off to the side. Softly, just above a whisper, she finally spoke. “My father disowned me, said I was a disgrace to our family name. I never fit into the mold that he wanted. Do not look at me with that pity, it truthfully was not a surprise to anyone. Once he realized I refused to be married off to benefit his business and position, he no longer had a need for me. Besides, he had my brother who was beginning to follow in his footsteps. So I went back to stay with some distant family in America…”

“That’s why your letters came from there. The men thought I had me an American sweetheart.”

She chuckled. “I remember you mentioning that. Ishmael wrote me a letter about how you got into a fight when one of the men called me a ‘whore’ or something. Still defending my honor even in the middle of a war.”

“Fuckin’ hell…he did?”

She nodded slowly, smile growing on her face.

Grumbling about useless friends under his breath, he motioned for her to continue her story.

“I traveled around some, New York City, Chicago, Charleston. I have some cousins who got into the liquor business of distribution to places willing to pay for the stuff even though it is illegal now. Apparently I have a good mind for business and numbers so they convinced me to help them.”

“That man last night…”

“He is a distant cousin, a business partner. Him and his brother are the ones I work with.”

He shook his head, secretly pleased the man was not a suitor. “Why the fuck he so possessive of you?”

“We have had a few encounters with gangsters who…who wanted me to be part of the deal. They have become a bit protective of me since. And also his wife is one of my good friends. Before we left to come here, she told him if anything happened to me, she would cut his cock off.”

He laughed, not expecting that.

“He has a valid reason to be afraid. You do not mess with Southern women, they are usually sweet and kind but they can be brutal if they want too. Anyway, after an…incident, I had to lay low for a while. Hector had me stay with some friends in Virginia who are moonshiners. Actually one of them reminded me of you. It was uncanny. His name was Forrest Bondurant. I guess at one point while I was resting, some men came to the house asking questions about me. Forrest told them I was his wife…and it just stuck. It certainly kept the men in the area from trying anything. It is not like I wanted to go by Sarah Byron anymore.”

“Mmm…what was this incident?”

She shook her head. “No, I answered your question. Now I get my story.”

Fiddling with the rings on his hands, he found himself pouring out about life after the war. Only two women in his life had been able to boss him around, his mum and the angel staring at him with eyes of interest and affection. He talked about how coming back he noticed how many men could not get work, their families forced onto the streets. Plus while he was gone, his mother started to get sick. Without proper care, because she could not afford it, she began to deteriorate. Seeing this, he began to figure out ways to make money to pay for her care. Thus the rum business began. He still had all his prior connections, memories of how everything worked and now the man power to make it a business. The idea of the bakery had actually been inspired by his mum who complained that he always came home smelling of molasses and rum. He managed to afford her the best care until she passed two years ago. Now his life consisted of his business. He still “ran” Camden, giving protection to those willing to pay for it and trying to keep the wops off his turf. He dabbled with races some but that was more Sabini’s territory. With the growing popularity of his nephew, he was thinking about getting into boxing matches more instead of it just being recreational. He was unsure how long he spoke for, her asking questions along the way. The tea and scones were long gone. Cyril had gotten up at some point and sat next to Sarah, laying his head on her knee so she could pet him absent-mindedly as she listened to Alfie.

Dramatically, the office door opened. Ishmael entered, a surprised and smug look on his face.

“What the fuck, mate?” Alfie demanded.

Ishmael glanced at his boss and friend before turning back to Sarah. His eyes scanned over her like she was a new species he had discovered. “Damn, Ollie was right.”

“Ishmael?” Her eyebrows rose as her mind seemed to connect his face to her memories.

“Yeah, love. It’s me. What you doin’ here?”

“Just talking history and business.”

Ishmael leaned against Alfie’s desk, ignoring the glare being sent his way by Alfie, focusing on her. “You comin’ down to the floor to see the bakery? I’d give you a tour.”

“Oi! You got somethin’ important cos if not then fuck off, yeah?”

“Seein’ the lovely woman who holds me friend’s heart is important.” Ishmael winked at Sarah before looking over his shoulder at Alfie, a shit-eating grin on his face. “And I came to tell you that one of our lads got in a fight with one of them Pikey boys and now that big fella, the red-head, is demandin’ to speak to you.”

“Fuck.” Alfie groaned, rolling his eyes skyward. He needed all the patience to deal with that particular man, who was good at his job but just continued to rub Alfie the wrong way constantly. Looking over at Sarah, he could read the amusement and understanding in her eyes. “Love, I’m sorry…”

“It is fine, Alfie. I am sure I have taken up more than enough of your time today. You do have a business to run.” She stood up, brushing out her skirt.

“Have dinner with me tonight.”

“What?”

He rose, coming around the desk to stand before her. A sudden desperation in him that he could not let her leave without knowing he would see her again soon. “Lemme take you out tonight. I’ll pick you up at eight. I still didn’t hear none of your time in America and we never talked business.”

She paused a moment, eyes scanning his face. “I would like that.”

“Mmm…good, yeah, good.” Before she could grab it, he reached over and snagged her coat, helping her into it. “Ollie! In ‘ere!”

Ollie stepped in, seeming to have been waiting just outside the door. Probably expecting to get chewed out for letting Ishmael in.

“Good. Take Mrs. Bondurant to the hotel she is staying. Use me car, yeah, have David drive you.”

“Alfie…” She started to argue, hand placed on his chest.

“No, that’s an order, yeah?”

She cupped his cheek, before pressing her lips to it. “Of course, Captain. See you tonight.”

He mumbled something unintelligent, brain suddenly on hiatus with the feeling of her lips on his skin.

Giving a brief smile to Ishmael, she followed Ollie down the walkway, looking like a goddess amongst the dim and dusty bakery.

Alfie shook his head, dragging his eyes away from the door to Ishmael to ask him a question. His foreman and friend just stared at him smirking. “What?”

“Gonna propose proper this time?”

“Ah, fuck off.”

Ishmael laughed, pushing off Alfie’s desk. “Bout time you married and started having a house full of babies. Me wife is sick of making dinners for you all the time.”

“I’m just waitin’ for you to finally die then Ruth knows I’ll marry her right after your ass is buried in the ground. ‘sides, your ankle biters like me more.”

“Well you be waitin’ around a while…don’t plan on dying yet.”

“Good, good. I need you still, you fuckin’ bastard. Now let’s go crack some heads, yeah? Cyril, c’mon boy.”

Ishmael clapped a hand to Alfie’s shoulder quick before walking out of the office. Straightening the rings on his fingers, he allowed his boss persona to rise to the surface. Alone with Ishmael, they could joke but out in the bakery, he was the boss you did not fuck with or your blood spilled on the ground. Cyril at his side, he strode out of his office, wanting to deal with this mess as quickly as possible. He had a pile of things he needed to do still but nothing would stop him from seeing his angel tonight. He cracked his knuckles. Like she said, first business then pleasure.

*****

Unfortunately business took longer than Alfie wanted. It was closer to nine that evening when his car pulled up in front of the hotel Sarah was staying at. A nice place with brick walls, banners and an attendant at the door to greet guests and provide information. Alfie let his driver go home claiming to need the drive to clear his head, when truthfully he just did not want to be around anyone. That afternoon had been exhausting from dealing with the Pikeys working in his bakery (damn Shelby for convincing him this was a good idea) and then trying to catch up on paperwork. Parking the car on the side of the street, he hopped out, almost getting hit by an erratic driver before heading towards the hotel.

“How can I be of service, sir?” The attendant politely asked when Alfie approached the double doors.

“Um, lookin’ for a friend. She s’stayin’ here.”

The attendant glanced him up and down quickly as if assessing Alfie’s worth of being allowed through his doors. Before Alfie could give him a piece of his mind, the man spoke up. “Would you, by chance, be a Mister Solomons?”

“Um…yeah.”

“Ah. A Mrs. Bondurant said she would be waiting for you at the bar, sir.”

Grumbling to himself, he nodded to the man before slipping past the double doors and heading off to the bar area on the right. His eyes shrewdly scanned over the patrons before landing on her. What should of brought elation only caused a shot of fiery anger to course dangerously through him. Sitting next to her at the bar was a man who was much too close and much too focused on her in Alfie’s opinion. He was fully turned facing her, holding a glass of amber liquid in one hand and the other draped across the back of her chair.

Sarah was only turned slightly towards him but one of her hands were carefully holding a wine glass and the other a lit cigarette. Her dress was a deep red, V-necked so her cleavage peeked out enticingly, and two strands of pearls hanging over her chest with black heels that were sharp. She looked positively beautiful and sinful at the same time.

The man brought his face closer to hers, whispering something before leaning back and chuckling about whatever it was. Sarah laughed along but it seemed fake to Alfie. To his growing rage, he witnessed the man place a hand on her thigh as he continued talking casually.

Without warning, Alfie stormed over and practically yanked the man out of his seat, causing him to spill his drink all over the counter. “Keep your fuckin’ hands and eyes off ‘er, yeah? Or I’ll cut ‘em off. Got it?” He growled into the man’s face.

“What the fuck?” The man scrambled to stand up straight, made impossible by the way Alfie was gripping the man’s suit jacket. His own voice rising to meet Alfie’s anger. “We were just talking. Who the fuck do you think you are? Get your bloody hands off me.”

Permission granted and uncaring of the amount of stares he was receiving, he pulled the man upright to get into his face. “I’m Alfie Solomons, that’s who the fuck I am.”

Alfie watched the lightbulb go off in the man’s eyes as his name sunk into his thick skull. Where there had been irritation and rising fury, now was doused away with the realization of who held him and pure fear at the unknown of Alfie’s actions.

“Good, good. Anymore questions? No? Then fuck off, mate.” He released the man, who stumbled back before righting himself. He opened his mouth as if to say something but with Alfie’s pointed glare, he clamped it shut and briskly walked away without even looking at Sarah.

Rubbing a hand over his eyes, Alfie turned back to Sarah. She had not moved, a single eyebrow raised as she took a sip of her wine.

“You look like you need a drink.”

He chuckled darkly. “More than one.”

Taking the man’s seat, he plopped down and ran a hand over his eyes. He signaled for a whiskey from the bartender, who quickly cleaned up the spilled drink. “Sorry, ‘m late, love, I had some unforeseen business…”

“Was that necessary?”

He stopped at her abrupt interruption. Turning slightly to face her, he eyed her. “What?”

Pursing her lips, she took a drag off her cigarette before speaking, the smoke dancing out of her lips and floating above her head. “Was it necessary to come after William like that?”

“William, eh? You two s’friends?”

“No, I just met him.”

“Then pardon me but what the fuck is the problem then? You didn’t seem to enjoy none of how close he was to you or was I readin’ that wrong? You tryin’ for his attention? Hopin’ to fuck him?”

With that, she turned to face him, emerald eyes glowing with unbridled rage. “You listen, Alfie Solomons,” she spat out, keeping her voice low but no less deadly. “I can talk to, spend time with and fuck whomever I want. I am not some innocent posh girl you need to protect anymore. Nor am I yours in any way. I am my own and I can do whatever the hell I want. If that affects us then you can be on your way and do not expect to hear from me. Am I making myself clear?”

Alfie’s own anger rose up instinctively. No one had talked to him like that in years and he remembered how much he hated it. His own blue eyes met her emerald, flames practically flickering between them with the surrounding air thick with tension. He did not flinch nor look away when the bartender hesitantly slide his drink in front of him. This battle of wills between them, staring purposefully into her heated gaze made him notice something. There was a darkness that lingered in the edges of those beautiful, gemstone eyes he had always loved so much that had not been there the times prior they had met. No, this was something new and it broke his heart. It was the same darkness that lingered in himself, in returned soldiers, in people who had seen far too much violence and their minds could not forget. She was haunted, just like him. Whatever anger he held crumbled like dust at this realization. All he could think of was pulling her into his arms to protect her from her own pain. What had happened since he had last seen her those eight years ago?

“A’right, love, a’right. You s’right. Just don’t want to see you hurt, yeah?”

After a long pause, he could see the tension drain from her posture. Slowly, she brought a hand up to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing over his scar. “Why do you still care? Why are you still looking out for me?”

“Cos you s’me angel. You deserve it.”

A hint of tears glistened in her eyes as she held his gaze once again, but with a very different emotion this time.

“Now, it’s been a fuckin’ long day after you left. Me temper may have gotten the best of me. Here we are and this mornin’ you promised to tell me your story…mmm…so…”

“Is that so?” She chuckled, pulling her hand back to grasp her glass, and there was that twinkle in her eye that meant trouble. “Perhaps I want to see if you will beg for it?”

He leaned forward, invading her space intimately, as he whispered in her ear. “There is only one reason I would beg…and we will both be naked before that happens.” Returning to an upright position, he witnessed her pupils dilated slightly and lick her lips subconsciously. A jolt of desire shot through him at her action.

“An interesting proposal, Mr. Solomons. There is one thing I have heard that I am most curious about.”

“Mmm?”

“Some new friends I have made informed me that at the Paradise you regularly pay more for blonde company.” She smirked, lifting the cigarette to her lips again.

“Fuckin’ hell, what are you doin’ at a whorehouse?”

“I told you, I thoroughly research those who I may be doing business with.”

“You s’still trouble, Miss Sarah. Fuck…what you learn ‘bout Sabini?”

Shaking her head, she laughed making a smile appear on his own face. The prior tension between them fully gone.

“When you start smokin’?” Not that it bothered him terribly. During the war, he had become used to the smell. It was one of the few ways a soldier could attempt to relax while in the trenches. He never acquired the taste for it personally, much to the amusement of some of his men.

She shrugged, “I cannot rightly say. It just happened.”

He nodded, taking a sip of the whiskey. Not terrible stuff, surprisingly. Opening his mouth to tease her about it, the words died on his tongue as a different voice called out to her.

“Sarah? Sarah Byron, is that you?”

The tightening of her hand around her glass was the only give away of emotions. Gracefully she turned to face the man now standing behind her. Alfie’s ire returned, especially with the look this man was giving her. In his crisp suit, cropped hair and smug smile, he looked the part of an arrogant aristocrat. He practically smelled of money from family inheritance.

“Yes…Joseph?”

He smiled broadly, eyes trailing over her body. Quickly he took that last step forward, plucked her hand and kissed the back of it. “My dear Sarah, it is a true pleasure to see you. I do believe your beauty has only grown since I last saw you. Unfortunately I have a brief meeting I must attend now but after, could I take you out for a drink or food? There is a splendid restaurant not far from here my driver could take us. It has been far too long since we were able to talk without any preconceived notions and expectations.”

“Sorry, mate, she s’busy tonight.”

For the first time, the man turned his focus on Alfie. Meeting his narrowed eyes, all Alfie could think of was a serpent.

“Oh? Is she? And who are you?”

“Alfie Solomons.”

The man’s eyebrows rose. “The gangster?” He looked back at Sarah. “Fascinating company you keep, my dear.”

“And who the fuck are you?” Everything in Alfie screamed at him to stand up and have this bastard’s face meet his fist…repeatedly.

“I am Joseph Coventry, Earl of Lancashire.” Keeping his sly gaze on Sarah, he pulled the single red rose out of his suit jacket’s pocket. He held it out for her, who took it somewhat reluctantly as he spoke again. “Truly a shame I must leave but I will call on you soon. Have a pleasant evening, Lady Sarah.” After a quick peck on her knuckles this time, he headed towards a far table already containing three men dressed similarly and with an air of high class.

“What the…”

Ignoring Alfie, she turned to the bartender. “Whiskey, a whole bottle, yes that one will do. Two glasses. Put it on my tab, please.” Snatching the glass bottle and glasses, she stabbed her cigarette out and left it on the ashtray before she got up and started towards the nearby stairs.

Alfie stared at the men a moment longer…this Joseph Coventry…an arrogant bastard if he had ever met one. It might be prudent to ask around about him. Alfie could usually get a good read on people, those that were trustworthy or not. Everything about this prick made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his hand to unconsciously twitch to grab the pistol under his jacket. There was something there…something dangerous and deadly just under the surface…and the man had his eyes on Sarah. No, Alfie would not tolerate that.

After taking that moment to memorize Coventry’s face, he followed after Sarah up the stairs. He had a few new questions for her and with her purchase of a whole whiskey bottle, he was unsure how much longer she would be sober for. Although the idea of seeing her drunk did amuse him slightly, he wondered if she would be the angry type or the giggly, excessively talking type. Personally he hoped for the cuddly type but he would never take advantage of a drunk woman. He may be a low life gangster with too much blood on his hands but he did have some morals.

He quickly caught up to her on the second floor as she opened the door to room number 16. Without a word or a look back at him, she walked through and into the hotel room, leaving the door wide open. He followed, closing and locking the door behind him before scanning the place. The room certainly had an upscale feel with its floral wallpaper, wood accents and gaudy still life paintings. There were only two other doors, one he guessed led to the washroom and the other to the bedroom. His focus though turned to the woman who had collapsed onto the couch, her high heels kicked to the side, and pouring two fingers worth of whiskey. Within moments after pouring it, she slammed it down and poured another. So many questions resided on his lips but he kept them closed. Moving around the room, he tossed his coat onto a nearby wingback chair and joined her on the couch. He sat on the opposite end, allowing her space. To his surprise, she poured him a glass and wordlessly handed it to him. After pouring herself another glass, she leaned back and closed her eyes. He could not help his wandering gaze, eyes drifting to those sleek legs with more skin exposed as her dress had ridden up with her unladylike posture, and the swell of her breast, straining against her dress.

“Do you remember…” she stopped, licking her lips as of to encourage the words to come out, “…last time we saw each other. I told you I was back because I was supposed to be getting married.”

“Yeah.” Then it clicked and his eyes widened momentarily. “That…that bastard? That s’who?”

She took a tentative sip of her drink this time, still leaning back and keeping her eyes closed.

“Fuck, love, think you dodged a bullet with that one.”

A snort escaped her but it was her eyes opening and turning to look at him that caused him to finally relax.

“Tell me, Sarah.”

And so she did. He could tell she glossed over much of her story and skipped certain parts entirely. Yet he let her talk, sharing about her past eight years and things she had done. He sat mesmerized by her and her story. After the “insult” perceived by her father, he disowned her, kicking her out of the house no matter her mother begging for him to reconsider. More determined than ever to prove herself and to never let a man control her, she got on a boat and traveled back to her mother’s distant family in America. Finally America decided to join the Great War and many men were sent over to Europe. During this time she became more involved in that family’s business and proved herself to be an asset. Once the war was over, she continued with the work but settled more behind the scenes. Prohibition happened which only proved to make business a challenge she thrived in. Her brother died in France during the war and with the grief of losing her son and disownment of her daughter, her mother fell into a deep depression and eventually died. Her father died last year, the only reason she felt confident in returning to London after all this time.

Somehow during her retelling, their postures changed. Alfie had shifted to sit closer to her, feet still planted on the ground and a glass in his hand. Sarah laid stretched out on the couch, her legs over his lap with her head on the arm rest and a glass in her hand. Together, they were slowly working through the whiskey bottle while she spoke. His hand skimmed up and down her legs, the feeling of her stockings and skin under his hand was intoxicating.

When her story ended, he asked something that had been gnawing on him for years. “Why did your letters to me stop?”

She threw back the rest of her glass, turning to look at the large window they faced. “I did something stupid and got thrown in jail for a short time before family could get me out. The sheriff was not a fan of me.”

Something about the way she tensed and refused to look at him made him wonder what happened to her while in jail. Nothing good. The thought of this sheriff laying a hand on her made his blood boil and he wondered if the man was still alive so he could kill him himself. Slowly and painfully.

Reaching a hand over, he gripped her free hand and entwined their fingers. There was nothing he could say or do to take away the pain no matter how much he wanted to. He changed the subject, hoping to bring her out of the solemnness that she was wallowing in. “How long until you head back?”

“Two weeks? A month? Depends on if we decide to go to France and meet some connections there.”

“That s’it?”

He could not disguise the sadness nor longing in his voice. Emerald eyes turned to meet his, mirroring his emotions. Slowly she sat up, setting her glass down before placing one hand on his shoulder and another on his cheek.

“I will not leave unannounced. I can promise you that.”

“Is it selfish for me to want all your time while you’re here?”

She smirked, dragging her thumb across his lower lip. “Something particular in mind to occupy our time?”

“I’m sure I can get creative.”

“Promises, promises, Captain Solomons.”

In a heated rush, his lips claimed hers. Whatever slow building fire that burned between them suddenly turned into an inferno and Alfie swore he felt like his blood was aflame. Unexpectedly she moved to straddle him, hands tugging on the buttons on his shirt. His own hands fumbled between cupping her ass and undoing the buttons on her dress. He sipped on the sweet ambrosia that was her mouth, drowning in the taste of her tongue and the heat between her legs over his straining cock. It was heaven. It was torment. There was one thing he knew, he could not stop. Whatever self-control he had flew out the window once their lips touched. He was fully under her control and had no intentions of going anywhere else. In one last draw of strength, he pulled away to meet her lust filled eyes. They had been drinking and he did not want her to regret this come morning.

“Angel, you sure?”

Slowly, she blinked as if awakening from a fog. Then she pulled off his lap to stand before him. A piece of him died when she turned and started to walk away. Did she regret this? Had he pushed her too far? They were certainly different people and with everything she had shared tonight, perhaps this was not what she wanted.

His breath caught in this throat, hope and fear warring within him when she stopped at the bedroom door. Meeting his gaze, she reached back and undid the last few buttons on her dress. It slipped down to pool at her bare feet, leaving her standing there in a sheer shift that left nothing to the imagination. She looked like both the angel he called her and sin wrapped up in a body that begged to be worshipped and ravished until she could not move. His blonde, green-eyed siren regarded him, a smile growing on her lips as he stared.

“Coming, soldier?” Turning around she strolled into the darkness in her bedroom, the slip coming off and dropping onto the floor like a trail for him to follow.

He did not think he had ever scrambled off a couch so fast. His shirt fell onto her dress on the floor, symbolic of their owners just a few feet away.

The rest of the night was spent in a haze of lust, laughter and contentment. Neither brought up the new scars scattered along both of their bodies. Pleasure was the purpose of the night. Something they certainly succeeded at if how sore they both were come morning was any indicator.

*****

-The next day-

Alfie sat at his desk, massaging his sore hip. He had been forced to use his cane more than he cared for today but thinking of the prior night and the reason why…completely worth it.

A knocking on his door had him looking up. “Come in.”

One of his men came in, a fellow soldier from France and now a baker, when he was not needed as protection on the streets.

“John, good, good. C’mere.”

John shut the door behind him and took the indicated seat, the chair creaking slightly under the weight. John was a large man, muscular and thick with a bushy beard and watchful eyes. Although Alfie would never tell him out loud, John was one of the few he trusted most that worked for him and found him indispensable. But Alfie did not want to boost the man’s ego more than it was.

“I got a task for your lads.” Alfie rubbed his hand over his jaw and mouth for a moment before continuing, damn the consequences. “There’s someone I need your lads to keep an eye on for me. A Mrs. Sarah Bondurant. Don’t let ‘er know, yeah. Just report who she s’been meetin’ with and make sure no one harms her.”

“This the woman who came by yesterday?”

Alfie raised a single eyebrow.

John shrugged. “Ishmael been talkin’.”

“Fuckin’ hell, that ugly bastard. Yeah, yeah, it is. Think you can do it?”

“Course.”

“One last thing. See what you can find out about a Joseph Coventry.”

“The earl?” John asked, clearly surprised.

“Yeah, I gots me a bad feelin’ ‘bout him.”

“Yes, boss. I’ll stop by in two days. Should have somethin’ by then.”

“Good, good. Thanks, John.”

After John left, Alfie toyed with the gold star ring on his left hand, lost in thought. After hearing everything from Sarah and seeing some of her scars, it only increased his desire to protect her. She would certainly be livid with him if she knew he had men looking out for her. He both loved and hated that independent streak in her. For now though, he needed to focus on work. He had managed that morning to draw a promise to see her again tonight, and this time he planned to take her out proper…maybe go back to his place after? He smiled at the thought of her writhing beneath his sheets. Maybe they should just go straight to his house?

A loud bang sounded from outside his door drew his attention back to the present and a scowl formed on his face. No rest for the wicked.

“Oi! The fuck is goin’ on out there?!”

#Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders fiction #peaky blinder fanfic #Alfie Solomons #alfie solomons x oc #mzwrites

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agentmarymargaretskitz · 4 years ago

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with all my thoughts and all my faults

Happy birthday to @somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds!!! I’m lucky to share my birthday with another amazing creator (if you haven’t read her stuff, go do it now and review it because she deserves it!). I hope you enjoy this fluff after last night’s....everything.

AO3

It started out as drinks at first. A beer and a shot of whiskey each at Gary’s apartment as thanks for helping him and Ava get to the Waverider. John was never one to turn down free alcohol when it was offered. Besides, Gary seemed to be a pretty decent guy. A little naïve and shy, but he was brilliant thinking up that plan to track down Sara. It was also a bonus that he happened to be cute in an attractive, office drone sort of way.

Then came the knock at the door, and Gary nearly spit out his beer. “Oh jeez!”

“Expecting a guest?” John inquired, ready to cut and run down the fire escape if necessary. It wouldn’t be his first time.

“Uh, guests actually,” Gary coughed, pulling his Bureau pin off his jacket and shoving it in a drawer. “I agreed to host my D&D group here tonight. I totally forgot to get everything set up. Ava called me in to help find the Waverider and then we ended up at your place and then I asked about the beer and now I’m screwed.”

He looked like he was about to start hyperventilating, but John stood up and placed his hands on his shoulders. Slowly, Gary’s breathing start to slow down as a second knock came on the door.

“You with me, squire?” John asked.

Gary nodded.

“I can help you set up what you need. Hell, I’ll even stick around.”

The Time Bureau agent looked at him with his big brown eyes. “You’d stay? I mean, you don’t have to. And there’s no need for you to help set up. I should have done that after work before Ava called me back in.”

John chuckled. “I don’t mind staying if you’ll have me. I’ve always been curious about the game.”

That set Gary off blushing. “I’m happy to show you the ropes. And I have a spare set of dice you can use for tonight.”

“Sounds like a date. Go get the door for your friends, I’ll start getting things set up.”

Gary nodded, stumbling as he hurried over to the door to let his guests in. John found a bunch of candles stashed in a cabinet and started to light them while Gary apologized for not being ready and that they’d have another player joining them tonight. Thankfully, his group seemed to be pretty forgiving and accommodating to him. If anything, they seemed happy to have another person around in their little circle of nerds.

After deciding on his character and rolling the dice for his stats, John started to pick up on the game quick. It also helped that Gary and the other members of the group were happy to explain things along the way. During the game, John played a few parlor tricks with the group. A breeze too cool to be the air conditioning. A creaking noise above them. Something hitting the window just before the party faced something menacing. They all ate it up while Gary shared a knowing smile with him.

Within a few hours, they’d reached a stopping point in the campaign. Gary’s guests said their goodbyes and left. John stayed to tidy the mess with Gary. At some point, their hands brushed together while grabbing for the same pillow and all thoughts of cleaning up fell away. Gary moved first this time, pressing his lips against John’s. John didn’t make any move to stop him or himself from letting hands roam to pull off their coats (or cloak in Gary’s case) as they stumbled towards Gary’s bedroom.

The next morning, John woke up with his head resting in Gary’s shoulder. He could have run like he had done so many times to so many different lovers. This time, he didn’t.

~~~

A unicorn bit his nipple off.

Gary was still shaken from everything that had gone down in the past couple hours. He had expected another mundane day at the Time Bureau filled with filing and longing for the weekend to go work with John. Instead, John had strolled in and found him, Sara on his heels. They’d asked him to come help with a mission to lure out a unicorn. Apparently, unicorns really were drawn to virgins, which he did not realize he still was.

He also didn’t realize that unicorns were not the happy creatures that were painted in children’s fairytales. This one was a monstrous, terrifying beasts who looked ready to gobble him up. Gary had nearly been dragged though John’s portal to Hell with it before the Legends pulled him back in time. But it didn’t stop the unicorn from taking a piece of him with it. He didn’t even realize it until it was pointed out to him and shock gave way to pain.

But John had been there, an arm around his shoulder. He had told Gary that his soul was heading there, that his nipple had just beaten it there first. Together, they walked back to the Waverider and to the med bay. Gideon probably could have healed the bleeding patch of skin where his nipple had once been, except John didn’t let her. He got out some supplies from a drawer after some rummaging and patched Gary up himself.

“It’s the least I can do,” John told him, taping the gauze pad over the wound. “You were great out there, squire.”

Gary smiled. “That might have been the most terrifying moment of my life.”

“And here I thought that was when you faced the dragon.”

“I nearly didn’t get dragged to Hell by a dragon.”

It came out worse than he meant it, but John still froze, a second piece of tape dangling from his finger.

Gary gulped. “That…didn’t come out right.”

John shook his head. “No, you’re right. I set you up and I could have lost you. But I would never let you be dragged down to Hell, okay? I can’t…”

He trailed off and Gary knew he was lost in some broken memory of where that had happened. Reaching out, he took the piece of tape and put it on the other end of the gauze pad. Then he shrugged on his shirt and climbed off the seat. John didn’t even get a chance to protest before Gary wrapped his arms around him.

“Gary-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” he told him.

Something felt wet on his shoulder. John’s arms shifted to hug him back after a few more moments. Together, they stood just like that. Just taking comfort in the other being there right now. As soon as they let go, it would be over. Gary wasn’t sure he wanted to let go and John’s fingers digging into his shoulder blades made him wonder if he felt the same.

“I don’t want to ruin you, Gary,” he whispered in his ear. “I don’t want to break you.”

Gary wasn’t sure how to respond to that. How could you tell someone who made you whole that you’d already been broken?

~~~

Neron was gone, Ray was back, and the world have been saved through James Taylor. John felt for the first time like he could breath in months. For so long, he had been running from the demon, dragging the Legends into his fight and hurting them along the way. Now it was time to go back to the pattern he’d fallen in before this particular strain of madness. A travelling exorcist, wandering from place to place to offer his services.

Gary had found him sulking in the library about leaving the Legends behind and joined him. He had come to apologize properly to him for his role in everything. John listened to every word the Time Bureau agent told him and saw that he truly regretted what he’d done. So much rejection and disregard had broken him, and John knew he had been the straw to break the camel’s back. It was exactly the thing he feared of doing, why he’d broken things off before it happened. Yet he had been the very reason it came to pass.

“I told you I didn’t want to ruin you,” John murmured once Gary had finished his long apology. “I’m sorry I broke you.”

Gary shook his head. “I was already broken long before you, Conny.”

Despite the heavy words, the nickname brought a smile to John’s face. They spent the rest of the night, talking about everything and nothing. Gary admitted he didn’t know how to break his connection with Nora, that it wasn’t fair she was bound to him. John had told him Nora needed to fulfill his greatest desire and she would be released.

“It wouldn’t be fair though. I want to be close to you, but that’s not right.”

“You’re talking to the man who’s found more loopholes than he’s cared to count. What if…you became my apprentice?”

“Apprentice?”

“Wish for that. You told me once you wanted to learn magic. I can teach you and you get to be close to me.”

“Decided if I’m really worth your time once and for all,” echoed in his head as Gary’s face broke out into a smile.

The wish was made a few days later, and Nora made Gary his apprentice. John offered to find a way to release her from the curse she’d become trapped it, but she refused because she’d grown to love working with children. She encouraged him to just go and make sure to not break Gary’s heart again. So John brought Gary with him on his travels and taught him the art of magic. Gary had the knowledge, but his execution needed the most work.

They had their fights and squabbles but made up in the end. Together, they traveled around the country, saving people from demons and other nasty things. At one point, they took a day to go scavenge for mushrooms that could be used for different spells in a forest. Gary had made the same mistake John had when he was first learning about the collection process. Both had inhaled the spores and started feeling fuzzy and warm before their minds stopped processing what had happened.

When John came to, the sun was setting, Gary was waking up on his chest, and both were wearing significantly less clothing than they had before inhaling the spores.

“I’m sorry about that,” Gary apologized as they started picking up their clothing. “I really screwed that up.”

“Eh, not the worst way I’ve woken up,” John said as he threw on Gary’s shirt while Gary wrapped himself up in his trench coat.

If anything, it was in the top five best ways he had woken up.

~~~

The moment Gary realized that John had drunk poison on purpose nearly made his heart stop. In the hours since John had collapsed and Gideon had given the terminal diagnosis, Gary had felt the clock hanging above both their heads. He remembered the months leading up to losing his mother, an incredible burden on such a small child. But knowing he barely had a day with John felt worse because there was so little time.

He’d done everything that he could. They’d tried Gideon and spells and Nora, but nothing had been successful. John kept on coughing up blood and becoming even more sickly. Gary had wanted to save him and fought to do it, but John had snapped at him and Ray. He drowned his sorrows in wine, hoping that it would numb the pain of the inevitable. Instead, it made everything hurt even more.

As John dropped to the table, Gary had so desperately wanted him to lift his head back up and laugh, like it was all a stupid joke. When he didn’t, he started sobbing as Ray gaped in horror at John’s actions. The house and everything in it that John had left him was not what Gary wanted. He just wanted John back, for this stupid magic to reverse itself and bring back the man he loved.

“John…” he sniffled, reaching his hand out to close over the other man’s.

Ray shook his head, his own eyes starting to become red. “He’s gone, Gary.”

“No,” Gary shook his head, feeling so much like the little boy who had cried himself to sleep for weeks after he found out his mom was gone forever. “Ray, he can’t be.”

He took John’s hand in his own and got on his knees. The limb was already starting to feel chilly, or was that his mind overreacting?

“Come back to me,” he pleaded. “Please, please, come back to me, John.”

“Gary, let him go,” Ray extracted John’s hand from his. “It hurts more when you hold on. Trust me on that.”

Gary got back on his feet. “What do we do now?”

The next few moments blurred together when he looked back on them in the future, but he was pretty sure Ray had been talking. Then John miraculously sat up with a gasp, scaring the hell of them. Astra had reconsidered and given him more time, taking the cancer away from his body. He looked so happy, hugging Ray, running around the room with the cane he’d relied on earlier, and then…his hands were on Gary’s shoulders. He had kissed him soundly before wondering why he’d been about to leave his house to Gary.

Gary didn’t mind the sting of it. John was back. He had come back to him and that was all that mattered.

Ray went to go and out away the leftovers a little later. It had just been him and John together in the dining room. Neither of them said a word to each other for a minute, the silence filled by the opening and closing of cabinet doors from the kitchen. Then John had reached out and taken Gary’s hand, interlacing his fingers with Gary’s. Gary remembered holding that same hand minutes ago and how cold it had felt when its warmth now bled into his own palm.

“I felt it down there,” was all John said. “I know it was yours.”

Gary rubbed under his glasses with his free hand, wiping away the tears that threatened to spill over again. “I really hated that this happened.”

“I’m back now, Gary,” John squeezed his hand. “I’m not going out again. You don’t have to cry over me anymore.”

He nodded, wishing he had a tissue nearby. “Okay, I’ve been crying so much today and now I’m exhausted after everything.”

“Then let’s go to bed.”

Gary felt guilty about letting Ray clean up the mess, but the scientist called that they could go since he’d made most of the dinner. John lead him up the stairs to the bedroom. The two of them just laid with each other, hands still connected. Gary shuffled over so he could hear the steady beat of John’s heart. Each thump was a reassurance that John was still there. That he was still alive after everything they had both gone through that day.

Gary didn’t know that John had his finger on his pulse and was using it as an anchor for his turbulent mind. A reminder for him that he had survived this latest ordeal and he wasn’t truly dead. Hell was not that through.

~~~

John trusted the girls to leave his house in shambles when he agreed to let them use it as a front for the sorority. He could have stuck around, but Nate was already on the hunt for the chalice. Mick had dipped out to go accompany his daughter on a college tour. There wasn’t much else to go. Thankfully, he already had a prior engagement.

Once he reached the building Gary told him he’d be waiting by, he could see him sitting on a bench, staring off into space. “I’m not late, am I?”

The question caught Gary by surprise as he startled and looked towards John. “You came?”

“You really thought I was going to stand you up?” John teased.

“I mean, I let a hellhound onto the ship and it nearly got you and Ava and Mick killed.”

John waved it away. “They survived it, it’s back in Hell, no one got their throat ripped out. Now, what were you thinking for tonight?”

“Well, all the bars are crowded this weekend from what I’ve seen,” Gary told him. “But I was looking on TripAdvisor and there’s this Malaysian place off campus that gets really good reviews. If you don’t want that, there’s a bunch of other places we can go to instead.”

“Honestly, I’m happy wherever you want to go.”

They ended up taking their time, walking through the campus and past students who were coming out of late classes or running to the library. John had never been to college and had been fine without it. But it was nice to hear Gary recall some happier stories about his time in undergrad on their way. He hadn’t gone to Hudson, but he had visited it when deciding on where he wanted to go to school.

The Malaysian place wasn’t crowded, but there were enough people inside to convince them it was a decent place for food. They spent so long inside at their table, talking just like they had after Heyworld. John knew as soon as the ladies had the chalice, this moment would be over, and they’d have to get back to bringing back Behrad and Natalie. But right now, he could just relax in the booth with Gary across from him, munching on hawker rolls and laksa, and ever so briefly imagine a life without worries about looms or Fates.

There was still no word from the Legends when they finally paid and left the restaurant. So they walked down the streets some more before coming back to the campus. Gary had picked up a pamphlet from somewhere that mentioned things to do on the campus, one of which was stargazing. There was a hill that was supposedly good for looking up at the night sky and picking out constellations.

It wasn’t so easy navigating the campus in the night, but they made it to the hill in the end. Lying down in the damp grass side by side, John stared up at the night sky with Gary. A cool breeze ran over the both of them, making John thankful he had his coat. Thankfully, the clouds were sparse that night and the stars could be seen even with the lights of the lamps at the base of the hill.

They searched for constellations in the sky, pointing out the ones they could see. Gary knew most of the names, but none of the stories. John was happy to share them all with him as Gary’s hand reached over and took his. He interlaced their fingers, just like John had done ages ago. Everything felt perfect, but perfect couldn’t last forever. It never did with him. Sooner or later, it would crumble away. But right now, John could bottle this moment in his mind and look back at it to remember a time of happiness.

Even if he wanted more, right now was more than enough of what he deserved.

#somebodyhelpthenotdeadfreds #legends of tomorrow #constangreen #gary green #john constantine #fanfiction #fluff #happy birthday

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if-you-built-yourself-a-myth · 5 years ago

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Heaven’s High - Chapter One

idea courtesy of @beaniebabyrobbe

A crazy night out with friends and a harmless little prank on a doctor come together to match soulmates.

Sander didn’t mean to get so wasted after work. He never did, really. He was more the kind of guy to go home and draw pictures of the view from his window, maybe watch some TV or something, and maybe prepare a late-night snack. There was a television program on Discovery channel, Naked and Afraid, that came on almost every night. The concept of survival in remote locations fascinated Sander. He liked to enjoy an episode or two most nights before going to bed around one.

Contradictory to his bad-boy exterior, Sander disliked parties. He wouldn’t have been in the bar at all had it not been for his friends (and coworkers, but that part wasn’t as much of a factor). Théo and Céleste both had to deal with nasty clients in the tattoo parlor that day, and had enlisted Cas as their designated driver so they could get fucked up. Cas said fuck that and called Sander. Sander, technically speaking, was not allowed to drink, so he should have been the perfect match for the needs of the group. How he ended up knocking back another shot of vodka while Théo chanted in the background, he’d never know.

He did know, however, that it felt fucking awesome. So awesome, in fact, that Théo texted Sander’s roommates, Skyler and Michaël, to join in on the fun. Céleste ordered them all another round, and another thing became clear: there was no way he’d be able to drive Théo’s beat-up station wagon back to the apartment complex where they lived. No way in hell. Too bad.

“If we’re going to have to walk home,” Cas slurred, waving around half a gin and tonic, “I’m going to fucking kill you. Do you understand that, Driesen?”

In one sense, yes, Sander understood. In another sense, he found himself obsessed with the way condensation beaded on the outside of the glass in tiny droplets. He picked one at random and rooted for it to win as it trickled downward. Shit. Lost twice.

“Do you hear me?”

Yes, in one sense, Sander heard.

“These are new shoes. Can’t be… walkin’ and shit.”

Wasn’t that the purpose of owning shoes, though? Like, they were invented so that people could walk and shit on top of nasty stuff that would hurt their feet without them. Sander didn’t think he would wear shoes at all if they weren’t necessary.

“We’re gonna walk,” he assured Cas. They both finished their drinks.

Sander gazed across the bar. Though his vision was shaky and unstable, he could tell Michaël was sitting near the door. Things weren’t the same between them anymore, a reality he knew he would have to face at some point… but not today. Michaël spotted him staring and nodded; clearly, he wasn’t as drunk as Sander. Sander liked being drunk. It made him into more of himself than he got to be when his medication was stable. It allowed him to think about things that he actively pushed away when he was sober. Like Michaël.

Vodka recreated a picture of them underneath the strobing lights.

For every ten disjointed, garbled thoughts, he thought one thing coherently. The first coherent thought was: did I like him when I kissed him, or are all of my feelings fake? Without alcohol, the question would have killed him. With, he hardly noticed the sting.

Skyler gathered the group together with a wave of their hand. “I know another club. It’s getting boring here.”

Sander disagreed. The bar walls were full of paintings, photographs, and postcards, and the windowsills boasted a large array of antique beer bottles. There was plenty to stare at. He was coming up on the introspective stage of drinking where one calls their ex to ask what went wrong, and he didn’t want to waste it by walking to a club. The others overruled him.

“Hell yes!” Céleste yelled. “Train or bus?”

“Better not be a fucking dive bar,” said Théo.

What was wrong with dive bars? Besides the smell, and occasionally the food poisoning, Sander thought they were pretty great. He met his ex-girlfriend at a dive bar.

Michaël threw an arm over Cas’s shoulders. “So long as there’s dancing, I’m in.”

“New shoes!” Cas said, for no reason at all.

They scrambled out the front door. Sander concentrated everything into not tripping over his own feet as the world pitched and spun around him. The trees planted on the sidewalk swirled in technicolor circles. The stars streaked across the sky and mixed into the streetlights like running watercolor paints. It would make a really good photo.

He was unsure of the exact volume he’d consumed in the bar—the best estimate was a lot—and now it fought in his stomach to come back up. Skyler remedied this problem with a tiny flask they passed to the others. Sander managed to hold himself upright for a whole five blocks.

“So we’re headed to…?” prompted Céleste.

Skyler dismissed her with a wave of their hand. “It’s not much farther. All you drunks should be fine.”

“Debatable.” Cas looked at Sander.

Sander could feel the group’s eyes redirecting to him. At least that meant one of his senses was still intact. They all knew that he wasn’t allowed to be drinking, even though they were the ones passing him shots and flasks, and perhaps they felt guilty about it for a second. He didn’t so much care.

“I’m good,” he thought he said. He would later find that what came out of his mouth was closer to Tchaikovsky’s 1812 overture than an actual sentence.

The last thing Sander remembered from their night out was Skyler beside him, hand on his shoulder, asking, “Doesn’t lithium make you get drunk really, really quickly?” to which Sander replied, “Yes, it does.” After that, his memory faded into pretty much nothing. That was his favorite part.

He was in a curtained-off room, surrounded by Cas, Céleste, Théo, Michaël, and Skyler. His body felt like someone had filled it with cement, specifically his head. Prolonged ringing overtook his right ear before dissolving into a thrum in the back of his consciousness. He blinked a couple times. The sound dampened and disappeared.

Théo stood the closest to his bed. There was blood on his hands and in his dark, curly hair, worked into the spirals like hair gel. It would be stiff to the touch. Cas, Céleste, and Michaël engaged in a game of Uno on the floor, not that Sander could see the cards. When Théo saw Sander’s eyes were open, he laughed and clapped a hand on his bed railing… when did Sander get into a bed? Why did it have rails?

“Good morning, sleeping prince! I thought they were gonna have me for manslaughter.” It wasn’t a funny thing to say, but he appeared to think it hilarious. Still drunk, most likely. “No need to worry, we did your paperwork.” Everyone else snickered.

Footsteps sounded from close by. Cas whispered, “Oh fuck, you’re just in time, here he comes…”

A man entered through the curtains (considering the context, a doctor). To Sander, it hit like a slap in the face. He had never seen anyone so striking or memorable. This scene was what he pictured before he drew portraits of people he didn’t know and the feeling he felt when he painted places he’d never seen. The emotion hit him too fast to be real, he thought. He was around sixty percent sure that Théo was covered in blood because Théo had committed his murder and the man before his eyes was God Himself. That, or whatever the fuck he drank at the bar before had given him some serious rose-colored glasses. There was no way this man could be a real person.

He wasn’t ready to see something like that so soon after waking.

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor, immediately pulling a one-eighty to leave Sander’s curtained section. “Wrong room.”

Théo snickered. “Who are you looking for?”

“I’m not allowed to give names.”

“Could it be…” Théo dragged the reveal out like a drumroll. “…Sander Driesen?”

The doctor halted five steps away and turned back. His looks mesmerized Sander. He had short brown hair, messy in a sort of endearing way, concealed almost completely by a bandana covered in teddy bears holding lollipops. He wore pink scrubs patterned with the dogs from the hit children’s show Paw Patrol. Sander had spent enough time channel-surfing to know the dominant motif was Skye, the cockapoo. The earlier thought needed amending: he was ninety percent sure he was hallucinating.

“Is this…?” The doctor walked back through the curtain. He crossed to the bed and looked down at Sander’s bleeding forehead and the fresh-blossoming bruise. “Are you Sander Driesen?”

Sander, ever the romantic, could think of only one response. “You’re gorgeous.”

The doctor blushed slightly, but he didn’t let it stop him from launching into his speech. “Hello, Mr. Driesen. I’m Dr. Robbe Ijzermans. I am the pediatrician on call tonight, here to see if your brain is doing okay.” He said it all slowly, which was alright for Sander, who didn’t understand a word of it anyway. “Although, judging by this little stunt, I have determined you might not have one. You don’t look like a six-year-old.”

Skyler burst out laughing. They stopped when Céleste shot them a pointed look.

“I suppose you didn’t do the paperwork.”

Skyler stifled their giggles again.

“So,” Robbe continued, “Can you tell me where you are?”

Sander’s mind was a blank slate. All he could process was the fact that Robbe was now coming closer to him with a penlight ready to shine into his eyes. The doctor had brown eyes. There were freckles, faint as hell but definitely there, clustered close to the bridge of his nose. Sander’s vision blurred, cut in and out. He wondered how he could even hold a picture of Robbe’s face in his mind. And a burger would taste really good right now.

“Big white room,” said Sander.

“Where is this room located?”

Sander scanned the room, the bright lights overhead, and the cute guy in pink scrubs standing in front of him. “Heaven?” He made eye contact with Robbe. “Are you an angel?”

Now the rest of Sander’s coworkers dissolved into hysterics. Cas almost fell over, grabbing an IV pole for support. When it rolled, he went down with it. If Céleste had wanted to shut them up this time, a look would not have done it. Michaël, the least inebriated of the group, gave Robbe an apologetic shrug.

“You’re in the hospital,” Robbe said. His voice remained steady, though he’d blushed even deeper red. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

“Huh?”

“I kicked you in the head,” Théo supplied from the floor beside Cas, “and then you threw up and passed out on the sidewalk.”

What the fuck?

Robbe glowered at Théo. “You kicked him in the head?”

“We were at a bar.” Théo shrugged. “He fell over while dancing and I kicked him in the head.”

Now that they mentioned it, Sander’s head retained a ghost of an image. Michaël, under strobe lights again. Head connecting to concrete. In this lens, though, it all seemed like a caricature.

Robbe put his hands to his temples as if he’d never experienced stupidity at such a magnitude before. “Then he threw up on the sidewalk?”

“Yep.”

“And he passed out?”

“Yep.”

“Is that where the blood on your head came from?”

Théo brushed his fingertips over the scarlet crust adorning his forehead. “Oh, yeah. I leaned down to check if he was breathing, y’know?”

Huh, suddenly Sander felt nauseous… no, tired, really tired… time to take a little nap…

“Mr. Driesen,” said Robbe, jarring Sander back. “Do you remember any of that?”

Sander decided to intact some subtle flirting so the angel would let him sleep. “I’m in love with you.” Nailed it.

“No, Mr. Driesen, do you remember being kicked in the head?”

“Your eyes are pretty.”

“Mr. Driesen?”

Céleste held onto Sander’s bed railings to keep herself upright. “He’s not gonna know.” She pantomimed tilting a beer back.

“You use conditioner, don’t you?” said Sander, because it seemed like the natural direction of conversation.

“It’s not really my job to do this.” Robbe shined the light into Sander’s eyes. “Please follow the light for me with your eyes not your head.”

Sander stared him down and didn’t move an inch. “You don’t?”

“How does your tummy feel?” He was talking like he would with little children, going through the motions, Sander guessed. It was a good guess. He could be a very good guesser once the alcohol started to wear off. “Does your stomach hurt?”

Sander was too busy thinking about his guessing prowess to answer the question. The alcohol was not, in fact, wearing off.

Robbe took a step away from the bed, as if considering another test to determine the extent of injury. He thought better of it. “This isn’t my job. I’ll refer him through to the specialist. And you—” He stared daggers at Théo. “—should put the correct age on paperwork. Are we clear?”

“He acts like he’s six,” Théo offered.

“If something more pressing was wrong, mislabeling his age could lead to the hospital being under-prepared to treat the ailment.” Robbe’s eyes returned to meet Sander’s. Sander felt sparks travel through his fingertips… or maybe he was just cold. “Some symptoms mean more when in children than in adults, and you could have panicked an entire ward over a lesser problem.”

“If it was so bad,” Cas protested, “The guy at the nurses’ station would have shut us down! He let it through.”

Robbe, while maybe a little flushed, had kept everything together until that point. As soon as the words exited Cas’s mouth, he made a face like a key in his head had turned and everything had clicked. Without another word to Sander or his friends, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the hospital room.

“Jens!” Sander heard him yell. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Sander’s coworkers burst into crazed laughter for the umpteenth time that night. When they recovered though, there was a wordless agreement that it was time to head back home and leave Sander with Michaël for the remainder of the tests, since they were roommates. He was glad for it; everything in his body wanted him to lay very still for the next three hundred and fifty years. The blankets were soft. His eyelids were heavy. There was blood on his face and a gash that someone would have to wake him up later to stitch. He had earned a good night’s rest by now.

One by one, they filed past the curtains. Sander was concussed, and maybe a little drunk, and the least credible source for information on body language. That said, he could have sworn that Michaël took his hand at some point when the new doctor came in.

No need to care about that. When he drifted off, he imagined kissing Robbe under strobe lights, even though he knew the infatuation would dissipate before morning.

#wtfock #sobbe #sobbe fic #sobbe au #robbe ijzermans #sander driesen #be nice because i'll be back to make edits tomorrow

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crysj88 · 4 years ago

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Ch. 6 Start of Something Good

As their jet carried them back across the Atlantic, Bennett’s mind spun. There were so many things that didn’t add up, variables that didn’t make sense. Tony was acting strange. It had developed slowly over a couple of weeks. He was withdrawn, secretive. He offered only forced smiles and laughs. His voice was colder. He didn't speak to Pepper unless they were fighting and that was far more often than usual. He didn't seek out Happy just to share a stupid joke. While he still talked to Bennett if the topic was turned to him he found an excuse to leave.

The newest problem was this Vanko character. She needed to run an extensive background search and discover all she could about his family and connections to Tony.

And last but certainly not least, Natalie Rushman. Who is she?

To solve the "Tony Problem" she would have to get him to talk. Which would more than likely require alcohol, lots of alcohol. She didn’t have to worry about getting drunk herself. As long as she didn’t down full bottles like shots she would be fine. Her body treated alcohol like a poison, diluting it as quickly as possible to keep it from damaging anything internal. That had it's good sides and drawbacks. Those issues wouldn't be resolved on the plane so she pushed them back.

The other two she could solve on her own. All she needed was a high speed internet connection, her laptop, and privacy. BOBbie would make that process faster and easier. A laptop and internet connection were easy enough. The privacy though...Tony and Pepper sat across the cabin after their last fight they refused to speak to each other but also refused to move. A stalemate. Happy was in the back of the cabin snoring loud enough to wake the dead so that wasn’t an option. The only other spot was the cockpit. When she had gone to check on the pilot earlier she had found Natalie there as well. They had been talking and laughing. Bennett had been a millisecond from making her presence known when she heard the pilot asking if Natalie wanted to go out some time. She didn’t care to hear the answer.

So there would be no answers, no solutions until they got back home.

She reached in her bag and pulled out a case with a pair of aviators with mirrored lenses. These were Tony’s answer to VR. When the next generation of virtual reality headsets were released Bennett had been excited and impressed with the new technology. Tony said they were subpar. The conversation ended with Tony determined to prove he was right and Stark tech was still the best.

So now Bennett had a fully immersive virtual reality experience packed in simple aviator sunglasses. A complete 3 dimensional experience with any video game, movie, or tv show you could want. Realistic graphics and a full 360 degree view. His system allowed you to view the movie from any angle. A “Stark original” software program filled in the blanks and built the single screen image into an immersive landscape. Action movies were so much better when you were fully surrounded by the action. Advance wireless earbuds gave personal surround sound, Tony’s attempt to beat out the competition in yet another area.

Over all the build, while functional and impressive, was far too expensive to mass produce.

Bennett relaxed into her seat as the opening credits began to roll across the lenses. She was just reaching the climax of the movie when her glasses were gently pulled off her eyes. Natalie smiled down at her, “hey.”

“Hey,” Bennett blinked several times allowing her eyes to adjust to the light.

“Nice nap,” Natalie questioned.

Bennett let out a soft chuckle, “actually I was just enjoying a movie.” Natalie looked between Bennett and the sunglasses. “Here,” Bennett pulled Natalie into the seat beside her before taking the glasses and carefully sliding them into place for Natalie. Bennett reached over tapping the earpiece on the right side of the glasses. She heard the movie start up again through the earbuds.

Natalie’s sceptical expression changed as the pictures flicked to life. Her jaw dropped slightly as she turned her head in Bennett’s direction. Instead of the picture simply staying fixed to the lenses the camera seemed to pan with her taking in the rest of the scene as she turned. She watched for a minute before handing them back to Bennett. “A present from Tony?”

“Yeah,” she replied as Natalie handed the glasses back. “How far out are we?” She wrestled her backpack out from under her seat and dug through it, finally pulling out a glasses case and a tablet.

“Not quite halfway across the Atlantic,” she sat straight backed in her seat. Bennett studied her closely. She always sat so still, unnaturally still. “Mr. Stark said he wanted to stop in New York before heading back to Malibu. So we have a few more hours.” She gave Bennett a soft smile. “I have some paperwork I have to finish so I’ll leave you to your movie.” She gracefully pushed herself from the chair.

“You don’t have enough paperwork.”

The odd statement stopped the redhead.

“Still a couple hours from Malibu and Tony and Pepper have already fought twice.” She offered as explanation. At Natalie’s blank expression she continued. “With that much time, Tony is bound to get in another “disagreement” with Pepper,” she dug through the bag again. “If you are available he will drag you into it. I know from experience. So the best policy is to make sure you are busy.” She finally pulled a small cylindrical case out of the bag with a triumphant smile. She offered it to Natalie before turning back to the tablet, pulling up the movie she had previously been watching. “So headphones and a movie with me or you can fake sleeping like Happy.”

Natalie tried to hand back the earbuds. “Really I think I will be okay.”

“Humor me,” she nudged the buds back into Natalie’s hand. “You work too hard. Take a break, just this once.”

Natalie considered her options. Her eyes seem to have an extra sparkle to them before her lips crept up into a smile. She slipped the buds in and scooted a little closer to Bennett to share the screen.

Bennett noticed the spark before the smile. It happened every time. She wanted to see it again but knew they came few and far between. “Pick your poison,” she slid up the screen with the list of movies so Natalie could choose.

They were finishing their third movie, as they neared Malibu, or almost finishing. There was a good twenty minutes of screen time left when Bennett shut the movie down.

Natalie looked from the screen to her, “what happened?”

“What?” Bennett looked genuinely puzzled.

“The movie wasn’t over.”

“I always stop it there.” A slight blush crept up her neck as she began. “Some movies the characters just don’t get the ending they deserve.”

“Why not just not watch the movie?” Natalie asked.

She nodded to the screen indicating the movie they had just watched. “Man on Fire is an amazing movie but Crease deserved a better ending. I have two or three other movies that I do the same thing. I think they deserve better.”

“So you just rewrite the ending.”

“Yup,” she let the word draw out slightly.

Natallie just shook her head, amused at the thought.

“Wheels down in 20,” Tony called and Bennett began to pack her things back into her bag.

There was a long list of things that needed to be done in preparation for Tony’s birthday party in three days, but not enough to bleed too far into Bennett’s evenings. So during the day she checked security plans and helped Pepper as much as possible. As soon as the night shift was in position she retired to her room.

BOBbie connect us to the Shadow Server. With the help of BOBbie and JARVIS, Bennett had secured a private server that not even Tony could access. They also lent a hand in procuring the information she needed. All three nights she searched the same things. Ivan Vanko and Natalie Rushman.

On Ivan Vanko she traced his family history first. His father, Anton, had worked for Stark industries alongside Tony’s father. He worked with Mr. Stark on the original arc reactor but was not the sole designer. As Ivan had insinuated.

On paper Ivan appeared to be as smart if not smarter than his father. He was an accomplished physicist and a talented engineer. His reproduction of the reactor in Monaco was enough evidence to back up the academic claims attributed to him.

His father was deported from the U.S. having been caught selling the arc reactor blueprints on the black market. The U.S.S.R. demanded he develop an arc reactor for them as well. When he failed he was shipped to Siberia. Anton lived in squalor. He became an alcoholic and abusive to his son.

Ivan had an impressive rap sheet as well. Imprisoned for 15 for selling plutonium. He had been suspect in several other illegal weapons deals but there was never enough evidence to make it stick. A couple of assassinations that were credited to him but not proven. Another thing the father and son had in common was they were both dead. A death certificate for Ivan Vanko was dated less than 24 hours after they left Monaco. Information on Vanko was easy enough to find as most of it was public knowledge.

Natalie Rushman however was a completely different story. Hours of searching pulled up the same results over and over. There were only a handful of documents for Natalie Aleece Rushman that matched the woman she knew. A standard background check and simple files that would pass for an employers search. The files were extensive enough to pass even Tony’s extensive searches, even though she was sure he stopped searching as soon as he found the modeling photos.

Combing through a little deeper, with assistance, revealed the date the documents were created. Four months. The files had only been active for four months. Which meant that Natalie was not who she claimed to be.

The woman had to come from somewhere so Bennett, BOBbie, and JARVIS widened the search. Bennett found only vague traces of personas that might be Natalie. Tatiana Sokolova. Irina Zlataryova. Laura Mathers. Nadie Roman. Natalia Shostakova. All of those names though revealed no more than Natalie Rushman did. The woman was a ghost. Bennett needed to clear her head. Nothing did that better than a little engine grease.

Down in the garage Tony heard a loud crash followed by broken curses. He followed the sound to find Bennett holding her right hand. The ratchet on the floor beside her bike explained her predicament. She busted her knuckles taking apart the transmission on one of her bikes.

So the question was why was she taking it apart? Boredom? Stress relief? She was working out a problem. Had to be. Something she couldn’t just think through.

“Hey kid, what’s up?” He threw her a shop towel.

She caught it, wrapping it around her hand. “The transmission was sticking.” She sent a glare at the bike.

“Really? That’s the one you are rebuilding for your dad right?” She nodded. He hopped up on the work table nearest her. “You rebuilt that transmission two weeks ago and it was perfect. What’s really going on?”

“Too many things. But nothing for you to worry about, Boss.” She picked up the pieces of the transmission she had dropped. She moved it to the worktable and began to break it down.

Tony grabbed one of the bolts she had just pulled and tossed it in the air, catching it before repeating the process. “Girl troubles?”

“You could say that.” The nut she was turning gave a loud squeak as she broke it loose. “But it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Is it your redhead?”

“Nothing to worry about.” She repeated. “Don’t you have a party to get ready for? Tomorrow’s the big day.”

Tony let out a long breath. “Don’t remind me. So...bucket list. What would you cross off it, if you knew you only had a month left?”

Bennett looked over to him. “Left of what?”

“Your life. This is your chance to fulfill one last dream, tie up loose ends, and go out with a bang.”

She thought before answering. “Finish dad’s bike and take it to him. Write down every bit of advice I could think of for Zach because I would miss his graduation. Visit Nora. Try and patch things with Leo. Spend the rest of my time here with you guys. Probably plan a bit of mischief. Break a few of Pepper’s rules, nothing too big though. Steal one of your suits for a day. Few harmless pranks on Happy, lego in his shoe or cutting a few stitches on the seam of his pants so when he sits they split. Leave as many good memories as I could.” Her smile grew at the end of her list.

“Nothing with Rushman?” Tony asked.

“The way I see it, if I leave things as they are then she mourns a coworker and if I am lucky a friend. If I try something more it may fail and destroy what we have currently. If it works and we have that connection, then I am possibly the worst human on the planet. Starting a relationship knowing I would hurt her sooner than later.” She shook her head, “I couldn’t do that. What about you?”

“I have no idea,” he chuckled. “You want some help with this.” He nodded toward the transmission splayed across the worktable.

“Sure,” she shared his smile before they began their work. They had developed a rhythm over the last year and worked together fluidly. They talked, sharing stories they rarely told anyone. Laughter came easily and their individual worries seemed to drift away if only for that few minutes.

The world could be falling apart at the seams but this always felt right, it was their safe place. As the question piled from the past few days began to fall, Tony would be her rock, and she would be his. Between the two of them they would set the world right again.

Phylax Masterlist

#Black Widow #phylax #tony stark #original female character #The Avengers #ironman #natasha romanoff #avengers imagine #marvel imagines #black widow imagines

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multishipperlove · 5 years ago

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series), Cinderbrush (Web Video) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jamie Wrenly/Aff Flowers/Cameron Solomon/Sasha Murasaki Characters: Jamie Wrenly, Aff Flowers, Sasha Murasaki, Cameron Solomon Additional Tags: Truth or Dare, Kissing, Mentions of past injury, Childhood Trauma, Nothing explicit but it's discussed, Werewolf Turning, Polyamory Summary:

A game of Truth or Dare causes a distressing realisation for Aff. Luckily, their group is there for them though.

They were all currently spread out on the floor of Jamie's living room, lazily passing a bottle of cheap wine around while a movie ran in the background. None of them were really paying attention to that though, more caught up with each other than anything that was going on around them.

When Aff passed the bottle over to Sasha again, with quite a bit left, she emptied it without a second thought. Cameron gave a low whistle at that. “I thought you didn't roll at parties?” he asked teasingly, as she placed the bottle in the middle of their little circle. So far, she'd been the one who'd had the least alcohol between them. Now, Cam wasn't so sure anymore.

“Well I'm not at a party, am I,” she shot back, and the smile forming on her lips already told them she had a plan. “It's not like I need to keep my guard up when it's just you losers being around.”

“Thanks, we love you too,” Jamie interrupted, quite pleased when his lame comment got a giggle out of Aff at least. Stupidly adorable.

Sasha just rolled her eyes though, not rising to take the bait. “Whatever. Anyway, now that we got this,” saying that, she picked up the bottle again, giving it a slight shake to get their attention, “let's make this evening a little bit more interesting.”

“Not that I'm opposed to it, but do we really need a game of spin the bottle to make out with each other?” Cam asked amused, though he was already more alert, definitely interested. “I kinda thought we were beyond that stage.”

“Let's make it truth or dare then, maybe that makes things more interesting,” she suggested.

Jamie looked sceptic at first, and couldn't help but take a look around the room again. “Fine,” they agreed then. “But if you break anything we can't cover up, you're the one explaining it to my mom.”

“Oh hush, we're not that stupid,” Sasha sighed, before finally turning to Aff, the only one in their group who hadn't voiced an opinion yet.

“Yeah, sure, I'm up for anything,” they agreed quickly, giving the group a smile that seemed slightly tipsy but definitely excited. “I mean, I've never played spin the bottle before, so-”

“How have you never played spin the bottle before?” Cam asked incredulously, before Aff had a chance to start to ramble. “It's like, the game you play as a teen. Or pre-teen, you know, because we were all young at stupid at some point.”

Jamie's sceptical “were?” was easily drowned out in Aff's laughter, which sounded a bit too self-conscious for their friends taste though. “I dunno, I was never really invited to any parties, you know. I just never got the chance, I guess.”They didn't mention that it was mostly because no one wanted to invite the girl who broke her classmate's nose just for calling her that, but the uncomfortable shift in posture was enough to tell everyone that the question had hit a bit too close for comfort.

So before the tension could get awkward, Sasha spoke up again. “Good thing we're here to remedy that then. Would you like to start?”

Aff shrugged at first but then nodded, reaching for the bottle in her hand as they all started to form a proper circle. It felt more exciting than it probably should at their age, as everyone waited with baited breath for the first person to be chosen.

Naturally, it landed on on Cam. Who immediately started waggling his eyebrows at Aff with a suggestive smile. “Dare.”

Aff bit their lip, almost looking nervous if the others couldn't see them fighting a smirk that badly, as they briefly looked between Cam and the others. Jamie groaned. “Oh please, just kiss him already.”

And they did.

As expected, the first few rounds of the game were spend with almost nothing but smooching each other. It was fun, but after a while they actually started to throw in some other challenges as well. Some embarrassing questions here and there, daring each other to take silly photos, or to eat something gross.

When Aff ended up almost tossing their cookies because they insisted on finishing the sandwich that Cam had slapped together (consisting of three different condiments, a thin slice of raw beef, half a marshmallow, three gummy worms, and a spoonful of the mystery leftovers from the fridge), they all finally decided to take a break though.

They ended up in a pile on the couch again, Aff stretched out over Sasha's and Jamie's laps, and their head in Cam's. The boy was trying to make up for the stupid food challenge by running his hands through Aff's hair and gently scratching his nails over their scalp, just the way they liked it.

“If you get food poisoning because of this I'm going to kick your ass,” he muttered, gently flicking Aff's nose when they started to grin again.

“Yeah, I think it's a bit late for that,” Jamie chuckled, while Sasha rolled her eyes again and snuggled closer to them. “But if it gets worse, I can whip something up that should help.”

Aff just shook their head, eyes still gleefully closed as they enjoyed their partners' undivided attention. “Nah, I'm good. Actually, if this is the way you guys react, I might try this more often.”

“I think I'm with Cam on this one,” Sasha spoke up. “You only get to choose truth from now on, and it's your own fault.”

Aff made a disgruntled noise, mostly because it had been their first time being able to play at all and apparently they'd immediately managed to get themselves banned from part of it. But then again. “That's fine, truth is fun,” they muttered eventually, nuzzling a bit closer to Cam again.

“Of course it is, everyone likes talking about themselves,” Jamie said, and surprisingly, it didn't come out as snarky as it could have. “Especially if you give people an excuse to spill their secrets.”

“Well, some secrets,” Sasha interrupted. “Some things you keep to yourself. It's a fun way to start rumours though.”

“Isn't that like, against the rules?”

She chuckled softly and reached over, gently cupping Aff's face for a moment. “Darling, I got so much to teach you.”

Jamie grinned and pressed a kiss to Sasha's temple. “Maybe wait a bit longer before you corrupt them as well, I quite like them like this.”

“Oh, oh no, corrupt me all you want,” Aff said quickly, effectively getting the other's attention again. “I mean, if you want to. It sounds fun.”

The others couldn't help but laugh at that, and it soon turned into a fully blown laughing fit for all four of them, continuously egging each other on and relapsing back into it before anyone had the chance to get themselves under control again. When they did finally calm down again, still letting out the occasional giggle, Cam was the first to speak up again.

“Alright, anyway, does anyone wanna continue playing?” he asked, wiping at his face to get rid of the tear tracks. They hadn't laughed like this in a while, especially not for such a ridiculous reason. Maybe that was the alcohol speaking, though he felt almost sober again by now.

“I would, but I'm also, like, really comfortable right now,” Aff sighed. “Can we do this without moving?” As if to prove their point, they wrapped their arms around Cam's waist, refusing to leave their spot.

Cam chuckled softly. “I guess we could settle on just asking each other weird questions, if that's what you want.” Aff didn't protest at least, and Jamie and Sasha seemed satisfied enough with that solution as well. It was as good a way to pass the time as any, especially when they were all starting to get tired.

“Alright, I'll start,” Sasha said finally, when no one else made any move to do it. “Everyone's first kiss. Go.” Aff and Cam shared a look and started giggling again, and even Jamie had to bite their lip to not join in once more. Sasha looked predictably confused. “What, what did I miss?” she asked.

“Canoe kiss,” Jamie told her, and as understanding dawned on her face, Cameron hit their shoulder in fake outrage.

“You said you wouldn't tell anyone!”

“Not unless offered the right information in return, so don't act surprised,” they chuckled, leaning in a bit to kiss the pout off his face, which worked maybe a little bit too well.

But Sasha interrupted them before they could get lost completely, gently tugging on Jamie's sleeve. “So who was your first kiss then? You didn't answer yet.” Jamie pulled back from Cam again with a sigh, reaching out with one hand though to intertwine their fingers. Cameron appreciated it, gently starting to rub his thumb over the soft skin of the back of their palm.

“Well, this is going to be embarrassing, but- I don't remember,” Jamie told them. At Sasha's unbelieving look, they tried to wave it off. “I know, I know. But there's a reason I have a policy about taking my own products now, at least when I'm working.”

“You really don't remember your first kiss? Isn't that a bit sad?” Aff asked. And if it had been anyone else asking the question, Jamie probably would have taken offence, but they knew that Aff was just like that sometimes. They probably hadn't meant it in a judgemental way.

“Some people would probably profit from not remembering their first kiss, so I'm not too hung up about it,” they admitted with a shrug. “As far as I'm concerned, as long as there is no proof that can be used against me in any way, it doesn't matter. I would much rather focus on who I'm kissing now.”

“That's fair,” Sasha agreed, though she still moved a bit closer and laid an arm around their shoulder. Jamie leaned into it, maybe not needing the comfort but enjoying it anyway. It was really not a huge deal for them, but they were well aware that most people put more significance on this kind of thing.

“So who was yours then?” Cam asked after a few more seconds of silence, looking to Sasha for an answer. “The one who asks has to answer, too. Anything else wouldn't be fair.”

“Fine,” she muttered back, though the blush rising on her cheeks gave away she didn't quite like the new rule. “It was you, doofus.”

“Wait, what?” Cameron thought he'd misheard her at first. “No way, you told me you'd already done it all when we started dating! Didn't you have a thing with Jason once, too?”

“No, I made that up,” she admitted, almost sheepishly. “I didn't want anyone to think I was inexperienced, and Jason certainly didn't mind. It's always been surprisingly easy to get the rumour mill going in my favour, so I figured, why not for that, too?”

“Huh. I guess that makes sense,” Cam muttered, though he was obviously still a bit shaken by the new revelation. “I can't believe I was both yours and Aff's first kiss. That's crazy.”

“Maybe you were Jamie's, too!” Aff piped up, a wide smile on their face. “And neither of you remembers!”

“I could live with that,” Jamie replied immediately, before Cameron could deny it, and prompting another round of laughter. “Sure, let's go with that. Cameron's been my first kiss, then our group is even.”

Cameron shook his head slightly but agreed easily enough. “Sure, that works. Always happy to be of service.”

“And for your sacrifice, you're allowed to choose the next question.”

He wasn't sure if that was actually a reward, but accepted it anyway. After a moment of thinking about it, he nodded again. “Hmm, alright. What's the worst childhood injury you had?”

It wasn't a question Sasha had expected, but she was the first with an answer. “Oh, easy,” she huffed. “Nothing. Maybe a sprained ankle or something, but my parents never really let me do anything fun, and I spend most of my time inside.”

“That's tragic,” Jamie replied with a frown. “I think mine would be the time I cut my hand while looking for herbs, because that's the only thing my mother panicked enough about to actually take me to the hospital.”

“Did it need stitches?” Aff asked, sounding maybe a bit more interested than they should have.

“Yeah, a few. But it wasn't as bad as it looked, really. What about you?”

Aff pondered it for a moment as well, and then got a weird look on their face. “I got bitten by a dog once. But does it count if I don't really remember it?”

“If you don't remember it, how do you know it was your worst?” Cam asked, confused.

“My parents have told me about it a lot and I guess I went to therapy for it for a while?”

That definitely made the others pause, and the sudden silence in the room combined with their stares made Aff uncomfortable enough to start squirming. They finally sat up properly again, sitting down on the arm of the couch beside Cam, who quickly reached out to hold their hand.

“I mean, you don't have to tell us if it's like a really bad memory or something,” the boy quickly assured them, feeling bad now for not thinking about something else.

But Aff just shrugged. “Not really? As I said, I don't remember it. It's kind of a funny story, actually, I don't mind telling.”

“Okay, so what happened?” Sasha asked, not able to hide her curiosity now.

“Yeah, so basically,” Aff started, trying their best to tell the story in a way that actually made sense and not start rambling again halfway through. “I think I was like six, maybe seven years old. And back then we lived in a house that had this open backyard that would just lead into the woods, you know, and I do remember that I was there all the time.”

True to their words, they didn't seem to get more agitated or nervous while speaking, but the other three still kept a close eye on their body language as they went on. Cam gently tugged them a bit closer as well, missing the intimacy from just a few minutes ago when Aff had been spread out over their laps.

“Your parents just let you roam the woods by yourself? When you were six?” Sasha asked in disbelief, and before Aff could continue.

“Well, yeah,” they replied. “It wasn't all that big, and I was, like, really small. So if I went back now it would probably seem really small, too. Anyway. So one day I went out after lunch, and apparently I was gone a lot longer than usual. My dad was about to go out looking for me when I finally showed up again, and whenever he tells me about this he still gets really pale when he remembers that part. Because he opened the door and I was just covered in blood.”

Everyone's eyes went wide at that, even Jamie looked shocked behind their red tinted sunglasses. Aff gave a nervous laugh, as if they didn't know how else to react, and quickly continued.

“He said he didn't even ask me what happened, he and mom just packed me in the car and drove me to the hospital. He also said it took me like an hour to start talking again at all, and that I didn't remember anything back then, either. But yeah, I had a bunch of bitemarks on my legs and like, upper torso? And tons of scratches. And most were really shallow, but some have left scars and stuff.”

Cam remembered seeing them, now that they were talking about it. A few white lines and dots criss crossing over most of Aff's back, marks that no one had ever really spoken or asked questions about. They'd had better things to do at summercamp back then. But the scars did resemble old bite marks, he'd just never bothered to think about were they might have come from.

He placed a gentle kiss on their shoulder, just as Sasha spoke up again, still looking concerned. “But, were you okay afterwards? I mean, that must have been a huge thing for you.”

Aff shrugged again, and finally leaned closer to Cam. “Not really? I'm missing a few days there, so all I remember if my mom taking care of the wounds afterwards. Apparently there was a whole police investigation about it too, because at first they weren't sure if maybe my parents had anything to do with the injuries, but the doctors insisted that dog attack was the only thing that made sense.” “Did they search the forest, or do anything else after that?”

“Oh, yeah, but they never found anything. There was a newspaper article and everything, but no one saw anything,” Aff told her. “But some people apparently collected money or something so I could go to therapy for a while? I don't really know the details, you'd have to ask my dad.”

“But you're not scared of dogs now,” Jamie stated, remembering that they'd seen Aff playing with dogs before. And enthusiastically, too, no sign of any fear.

“No, I never way,” Aff confirmed. “But my anger issues got like really really bad after that, so that's why they send me. Not that it helped much.”

The witch looked even more sceptical now, and raised an eyebrow at Aff. “And you've never considered that it might have been something else than a dog?”

“Why?”

God bless them, Jamie thought, but sometimes Aff could be dense as a brick wall. “Babe, you're a literal werewolf. And it's not like that's a trait that runs in your family.”

Aff was quiet for a moment, and then seemed to really process what Jamie was getting at. All they uttered was a very quiet “oh.”

“Yes, oh. That seriously never crossed your mind?” Jamie asked, incredulously, and getting louder as the were talking. “Not even when your anger issues got worse and you started shifting for the first time?”

“Hey, easy,” Cam interrupted, pulling Aff into his lap now and wrapping both arms around their waist to hold them close. “It's not their fault, they don't even remember the attack in the first place.”

Aff was frowning slightly, but felt like Jamie was right. It was weird that they had never put these two things together. They hadn't even really thought about the incident in years though, it had never even crossed their mind. “Well, I dunno,” they mumbled. “It seems kind of obvious now, I mean- I guess it's possible that that's where it came from?”

“Either way, I think it's a bit too late to say anything for certain now,” Sasha said gently, reaching over to lay a hand on their knee as well. “And it's not like it's all that important where it comes from, right? It's just important what you do with it.”

“But- if someone else lost it enough to attack me back then, does that mean that I could do the same to some other kid?” they asked, looking distraught now. Cam turned his head to glare at Jamie, mouthing over Aff's head 'Did you have to say that?'

Jamie gave a helpless shrug, but then focused on Aff again as well, reaching out to cup their face. “Hey, listen. Sasha's right, we can't know for certain that's what it was, and I'm sorry for implying otherwise. Second, if it really was another werewolf attacking you, who said they didn't have it under control? They might as well have done that to you on purpose, we don't know.” Aff clearly didn't like that idea any better, but they didn't look like they were about to go into a panic anymore either, so Jamie continued. “And lastly, beside the fact that you're already actively working on your control of this stuff, you're not alone. You have us, and we're all ready to help if you ever feel like you are loosing it.”

They nodded slowly, making an appreciative little sound when Cam started rubbing their back. “Yeah, yeah you're right,” they finally sighed. “I guess I'm not at that point yet. And-”

Sasha interrupted again. “And you never will be. You're better than that, Aff.”

Cam nodded, hoping that the conflicted look on their face wouldn't stay. They all fell silent again, still huddled up and hoping to comfort Aff however they could, while they themselves were trying to come to terms with the idea of being able to pass this on to someone else if they weren't careful enough. It wasn't a good feeling, but the others being there made it better.

“Okay, no more questions for tonight, huh?” Cam spoke up eventually, keeping his voice gentle. “Does anyone wanna go to bed yet or should we just- I dunno, watch another movie or something?”

“I'm fine with either,” Aff mumbled, admittedly still a bit more subdued than they usually were, but also feeling a little better again. Since no one else showed any preferences either they decided on watching another movie in bed, which was the superior choice in Aff's opinion anyway.

Along with Cam they called dibs on middle spoon, since Jamie's bed was actually the only one to fit all four of them more of less comfortably without them needing to pile two or more mattresses on the floor. They had gone over to doing that when they were all sleeping over at Aff's house instead, which happened more often, but everyone being able to sleep on the same bed for once was nice.

After a while, about halfway through the movie, Sasha and Jamie fell asleep, leaving Cameron and Aff awake by themselves. Cam was still holding on to Aff as well, having pretty much refused to let go since the whole werewolf conversation earlier.

Tucking a strand of their hair back, Cam leaned in a bit closer to whisper. “Hey, you doing okay? You're not still worried about what you said earlier, are you?”

Aff sighed softly and nudged close to him, and in the dim light of the laptop screen still running in front of them Cam could see their concerned expression. “I don't know. Kinda, I guess?” Their bit their lip again, and at first Cam though he's need to keep pushing. But then they continued. “Even if I don't remember the pain or anything, I know that it was a terrible experience for my parents, you know? And it's turned me into a werewolf, which is kind of cool, but also like really fucking scary. I don't wanna do that to anyone.”

“Hmm. You know, Jamie has a ton of books on all kinds of weird stuff, maybe we can find something about werewolves in there,” Cam suggested, actually having been thinking about this for a while. “And maybe we can find something that either makes it easier to keep your cool, or something that makes it impossible for you to pass it on? I mean, that kind of information has got to exist somewhere.”

“You think?” Aff asked, actually sounding hopeful. “That would be nice, yeah. I know it probably sounds stupid now, but I always thought being a werewolf is just something that happens to some people. That it's, like, random.”

“That's still a possibility, don't forget that,” Cam reminded them, closing his eyes now as he was getting more and more tired as well. “My thing was kinda random, right?”

“I don't know if it counts as random if something literally chose you,” Aff chuckled. “But I guess you're right. Or maybe it is a family thing, and it just skipped a few generations or something. That can happen, right?”

“Unlikely,” Cam muttered. “I still think you'd know, in that case. Sasha's thing is a family thing, right? And she knows, even though her parents are shitty and just left her to figure all the stuff out by herself.”

“Huh, I didn't know that,” Aff admitted, making Cam realize once more that they were still, in a sense, “the new kid”. They hadn't known the rest of them for years, like he, Jamie, and Sasha had. And while Aff probably knew some things about him the others didn't, just because of the anger management classes, the other three of them still knew more about each other just due to growing up in the same tiny city. And especially he and Sasha had been sharing secrets with each other way before the other two had joined the picture.

“Yeah, you know what, we should probably talk about that,” he said. “Like, all of us. Where we think our stuff comes from, and what we know for certain. That would probably be a good thing to know.”

“Probably,” Aff agreed, sounding like they were slowly starting to drop off as well.

“Tomorrow then?” Cam asked.

“Tomorrow,” came the sleepy reply, and it didn't take long after that before the two fell asleep as well, barely remembering to close the laptop before they did so.

#critical role #cinderbrush #cinderbrush oneshot #jamie wrenly #cameron solomon #aff flowers #sasha murasaki #cr fanfiction #fanfic #writing #mine

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