#alas there are like no fanfictions out there ;.;

[courfee]

it's been exactly a year since the last chapter of Operation Walburga's Arbitrary No Kissing Ever Rule and I still miss it. This scene is probably one of my favourite things I've ever written and I've wanted to draw it for forever, so now seemed like an appropriate time

[yellowocaballero]

Obito shivered dramatically. “Puppets are so scary. Too many joints. Sasori-senpai can put bees or snakes or more bees or anything in their heads and you don’t even know .” 

Hidan sneered at Obito. “Jealous that the puppets have anything in their heads?”

“Does Hidan-chan like Sasori-senpai’s puppets?” Obito asked innocently. “Sasori-senpai will make Hidan-chan a lady friend if he asks. Oh! Just watch out for splinters.”

“I don’t do that,” Sasori said. 

“I wasn’t gonna fucking ask you to do that -”

In which Obito continues to find out after decades of fucking around, this time featuring The Practice Children.

Unfortunately after writing this I began to actually give shits about the Ame 3 so expect them to come up more again later in different works.

[coffeegnomee]

when will i stop thinking kab is doing 5 million things at once. her character has depth. not a million plans. she has proven over and over she just does what is in front of her. the simplest answer is always the right answer with kab.

[fanfoolishness]

a rain that sounds like home (3/8)

After the destruction of Tantiss, the Bad Batch is safe at last. As Crosshair begins to recover from his injuries, it becomes apparent that not all of his scars are physical, and that guilt and grief are wounds that cut deeper than any blade. His family is determined to be there for him -- if only he can let them in.

Canon-compliant, focusing on PTSD, amputation recovery, and sibling grief, with plenty of whump, hurt/comfort, and emotional catharsis. Set shortly after the return from Tantiss and my fic Breaching the Wall. 43,000 words total.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Chapter 3: Tradition. The siblings are about to move into their new home when Omega suggests a Pabu tradition. Crosshair struggles with accepting help. ~5800 words, Crosshair & Omega POV. (This incorporates part of a previous ficlet, but adjusted to fit within this story, just in case you think some parts seemed familiar!)

---

The days kept coming.  Omega seemed to be feeling better again, her regular sunny self once more, and she was buzzing with excitement about the new house.  There were only a few more days of work on the electronics and finishing touches, and then it’d be ready.�� Good.  None of them liked using the Imperial shuttle as their home, and even though it was bigger than the Marauder, they seemed to get on each other’s nerves more easily in here.  

Crosshair yawned.  He hadn’t slept well the night before, waking up several times and then sleeping long after the sun had risen.  Wrecker, Hunter and Omega were apparently already up, leaving him alone.  It was time to get up and get ready.  He shambled out of his bunk and into the ‘fresher.  

He stared into the military shuttle’s poor excuse for a mirror, frowning at what he saw in the dimly reflective gray metal.  The stubble on his face was slowly trying to turn into a beard, gray shot through with white, coarse hairs slightly curling.  The hair on most of his head was much the same, scruffy and wavy.  After their cadet years he had always kept his hair short, irritated by its curly texture and the maintenance needed to keep it from tangling.  After Bracca he’d gone even further, keeping it nearly fully shaved, and even on Tantiss they’d allowed him to keep it shorn close.

But now --

His left hand curled into a fist.  His stump hung uselessly at his side.

He knew Hunter or Wrecker would grab the clippers or razor they’d picked up from the market and cut his hair for him happily.  All he had to do was say the word.  It shouldn’t be so difficult, and yet…

Crosshair let out a long breath.  To hell with it.  He glanced around, looking for the clippers, but they weren’t in their usual spot.  His eyes landed on the razor instead and he hesitated.  Before he could think better of it, he splashed his face with water and lathered his patchy beard with soap, then picked up the razor with his left hand.

How hard could it be?

He set the razor down five minutes later, dropping it into the sink to let it wash clean.  Bloody water swirled into the drain, and he grimaced, wiping his face.  Multiple streaks of blood came away on the back of his hand.  Close enough.

He turned on the hot water in the shower.  He stripped off his nightclothes one-handed, fumbling with the shirt as usual,  and stepped beneath the water, his face stinging, his eyes burning.

---

”Cross?” 

“Hrm?” he muttered, toothpick wavering between his lips as he sat down on the gangway, where Wrecker was working on what remained of breakfast.  It seemed Hunter and Omega were out with Batcher.

“You, uh, you shaved,” said Wrecker, giving him an odd look over his mug of caf.  

Crosshair shrugged, looking at the bowl of fruit resting beside his brother.  He should probably eat some of it, though he wasn’t particularly hungry.

“Time for a change.”

”But you’re bleeding.”  Wrecker reached over, holding out a napkin, looking concerned.

Crosshair froze.  “Kriff,” he hissed beneath his breath.  He reluctantly accepted the napkin, dabbing it at his face and wincing.  

”You know, if you ever need a hand—” Wrecker began.  

He glared at his brother, suddenly needled.  The breath felt trapped in his lungs.  “Very funny.”

“I wouldn’t joke about that!”  Wrecker sighed, looking abashed and shaking his head.  “I didn’t mean --  You know what I was tryin’ to say.  If there’s somethin’ you need, you can bug me any time.”

Crosshair nodded.  He’d known Wrecker wouldn’t ever purposefully jab at him about something like this, but in the moment, it had surprised him how the casual phrase had stung.  He looked down, balling up the napkin in his fist.  “I… didn’t want to ask.”

”I get it.  Must be hard.”  He held out the bowl of fruit to Crosshair.  “You want some?”

”Sure.”  He tucked the napkin under his right arm, remembering to reach for the fruit with his left hand.  He grabbed a meiloorun, its flesh pleasantly firm in his grip, and sniffed it.  The aroma was sweet.  He took a bite, though chewing took more effort than it should, and the fruit didn’t taste as good as it had smelled.

“So… you gonna grow your hair out like Hunter?” Wrecker asked slyly.

”Don’t.  You.  Dare.”

Wrecker broke into peals of laughter.  “Just picture it!  We could get you a bandanna with a crosshair on it!  Red or black?”  

“Wrecker, I will end you myself,” Crosshair growled, before a grin stole over his face.  He chuckled, shaking his head.  “All right.  If my hair starts looking anything like Hunter’s, I’ll ask you to shave it immediately.”  

“Deal!”

“Well, now that that’s settled,” said Crosshair.  “Any caf around?”

“You work on the fruit, and I’ll get you some caf.”  Wrecker got to his feet to head back inside, then paused.  “You slept awful late today.”

Crosshair’s mouth quirked down at the edges.  “Happens now and then.”  It didn’t used to happen.  He’d always been an early riser after a lifetime of military training.  Now, though… “I can’t sleep in?”

“No, no, you can.  Just doesn’t seem like you, that’s all,” said Wrecker.  He gave Crosshair an appraising look, as if he could see right through him.  

He slept through the night, Crosshair told himself.  I would have noticed if I’d woken him up.  He had an unsettling feeling he might have talked in his sleep, though.  Flashes from the night seared his mind, an electric shock arcing through the calm summer morning --

His hand useless and shaking, losing its grip on the binoculars in the jungle -- the vibrosword’s blade lifting back up, his own screams in his ears, what did they do to him -- being dragged away in a trail of blood, staring helplessly at a small bundle limp and sodden in a lake of red, five half-curled fingers --

He shivered, then busied himself eating his fruit, turning away from Wrecker and gazing out on the colonnade with an effort.  He barely noticed how it tasted, distracting himself with watching the marketplace.  His eyes scanned the crowd carefully until half a klick away he spotted Hunter, Omega and Batcher, their silhouettes instantly recognizable.  They looked to be doing the day’s shopping in the market.  He tried to focus on small safe details, sunlight glinting off Omega’s hair, Batcher frisking around Hunter’s heels.  

A lake of red --

He huffed a deep breath.  No.  Don’t think about it.  

“Cross?”

Crosshair shook his head, giving Wrecker a faint smile.  “I must really need that caf.”

”All right, then.”  Wrecker headed back inside to the tiny galley.

Crosshair watched him go, then finished his fruit mechanically.  He reached up to wipe his face, wincing when the acidic fruit juice stung half a dozen tiny cuts from his shave job.  He’d have to figure something else out, or go for a beard after all.  

He gazed out sullenly at the marketplace, his mind empty, feeling cold despite the sunny day.

---

Omega steadied her breath, trying to keep her hope tempered.  Moving day could be as early as tomorrow.

Of course, the idea of “moving day” itself was silly.  Between the four of them and Batcher, their possessions were meager -- what remained of her brothers’ armor (no backpacks, no helmets, Wrecker’s chestplate nearly unusable), the two blasters they’d managed to make it off Tantiss with, the few sets of clothing they’d cobbled together with the help of the villagers, and a few other odds and ends.  Wrecker could easily carry it in a single load; even Omega could bring it all down from the ship with a cart.

But as they’d worked with the village to build their little house, Lyana had told her that moving days on Pabu were special.  They weren’t common, most people tending to live in the same home for their life on the island, but sometimes when a family grew or changed there would be a move, and there had been many moves after the sea surge.  It was a time for letting go and saying goodbye to the old, but also joyfully welcoming in the new.  

That sounded like something they all needed, but now she had to figure out how to get her brothers on board.  She found her opening at dinner.

It was Crosshair’s turn for dinner plans.  At first they’d told Crosshair he didn’t need to worry about the dinner rotation, he was still healing and getting used to doing things one-handed, but he’d just glowered as fiercely as ever, the angle of his toothpick sharp and aggressive.  “I’ve got it,” he’d said, eyes narrowing, and they’d backed off.  If he had it, he had it. 

Omega waited for dinner while playing with Batcher and Wrecker, Hunter sitting beneath the great weeping maya and watching them.  Wrecker and Hunter still weren’t fully back to their regular selves either.  Wrecker got tired more quickly, more easily out of breath than he used to, and Hunter was stiff in the back, with a slight limp.  Like Crosshair, they were both slowly improving; but also like Crosshair, they tried to pretend that they’d come back from Tantiss with nothing more than a few scratches.  She hated seeing them do it, but she understood, too.

After all, she hadn’t told any of them about the nightmares she kept having about the bridge.  

She shook her head.  They were here on Pabu.  They were safe.  She repeated it to herself.  We’re safe, we’re safe, we’re safe.

Batcher snuffled, running up to her and nearly knocking her over.  Omega laughed as her reverie broke, giving the hound a good scratch on the chin.  “Wrecker, do you have her ball?” she asked.

“Oi!  Batcher, over here!” Wrecker called, winding up and chucking the ball a good thirty feet past Omega.  Batcher shot off, her claws scrabbling on the stone as she galloped for the ball.  Omega turned back to Wrecker with a grin, but her smile faded when she saw him rubbing his chest, wincing.

“Maybe we’d better take a break, Wrecker,” she said.  “Besides, Crosshair’s probably ready with dinner soon.”  She wandered to where Hunter was sitting and took a seat beside him, and Wrecker followed a moment after.

“I hope it’s something good,” Wrecker said.  “I’m starving!”

Hunter chuckled, patting Wrecker on the shoulder.  “You’re always starving.  Don’t worry, everything here’s good.  Hard to go wrong with our basic plan of ‘trade for something from the market, put it together with something else from the market, eat.’”

“But the house should be ready tomorrow, right?” Omega asked.  “We’ll have a real kitchen.  We could learn how to really cook something!”

Hunter gave her a small smile.  “You want to learn to cook?  We can figure it out together.  Maybe there’s someone in the village we can ask to give us some pointers.  Your guess on how to cook anything is as good as mine.  Which is to say, terrible.”

She giggled.  A loud whistle came from the direction of the shuttle, and she looked up to see Batcher tearing off to meet Crosshair out front of the shuttle.  He leaned down to pat her with both arms, but Omega saw him glance to his right as he did so.  

“The forgetting must be so hard,” she said quietly to Hunter as they walked back to the shuttle.  “With his hand.”

“I know,” said Hunter.  “I see it too.”  His face darkened with a hint of sadness. “It took Echo a good while before that got better.”

Omega reached out, taking Hunter’s hand for a moment and squeezing it.  “I wonder when Echo will come back.  I think it’d be good for Crosshair if he was here.”

“I do too, but we talked it over before Echo left.  Crosshair insisted that if Echo was up to it, he should get back to the fight.  Especially with his work helping the other clones from Tantiss,” said Hunter.  “He didn’t want Echo to put that off for him.”

She sighed.  “That sounds like him.”

They reached the shuttle and followed Crosshair and Batcher inside.  Something smelled good, though the tiny galley was a mess, with tins piled on top of each other and splotches of sauce all over the slim counter.  Crosshair was normally exceptionally neat -- nothing like the chaos of Wrecker or Tech -- but Omega figured it’d be hard to keep things clean as he went in such a small space, with only his left hand.  

Besides, the mess mattered little.  The narrow collapsible table was pulled out with a tray of seaweed wraps, cooked fish, a large dish of rice, and an assortment of thin-cut vegetables of varying sizes.  There were so many tasty things there wasn’t room for their plates on the table, but eating with a plate on their knees had never stopped them before.  Omega grinned.  “Crosshair, this looks delicious!”  

He shrugged.  “Not like I did most of it.  I just asked around at the market for what went well together.  All I did was the rice and the vegetables.  I think it’ll be edible.”

“Looks great to me!” Wrecker said.  He doled out portions for each of them, then they sat down on the flight seats lining the walls, balancing their plates in their laps.  Omega rolled up rice, fish and vegetables with the seaweed and stuffed the whole thing into her mouth, grinning and flashing Crosshair a thumbs up.  He smiled slightly back at her.

“Well, the house is… done, I think,” said Hunter.  “We can pack up everything and sleep there tonight.”  He shook his head, taking a bite of a roll.  “Hard to believe we’ll have a house.  Us.”  

Omega looked up at him with wide eyes.  He looked so wistful, still half in disbelief even though they’d all been down in Lower Pabu working on the house all week.  “Actually, Hunter, I had an idea.”  She beamed at her brothers.

“Shoot,” said Crosshair.  He balanced his plate on his knees, keeping it pinned in place with his right wrist, and worked at trying to roll up food with his left hand.  Rice spilled out of the end of his wrap as he took a bite.

“What if we do moving day tomorrow?”

“Moving day?  It’ll take about an hour to walk back down there tonight with everything, and then we’ll be done,” Wrecker said with a hint of confusion.  “Why do you wanna wait?”

“Lyana told me about how people here make a big deal out of moving day.  It’s a tradition.  You say goodbye to your old home first, and thank it for what it did for you.  Then, you make a fresh start in the morning in your new home.  It’s a way to celebrate new beginnings!  And… that’s what I want.  A new beginning, with my brothers.”  She smiled, looking around at each of them hopefully.

Hunter looked touched, a soft smile on his face.  Wrecker wiped at his eyes, clearing his throat.  Crosshair nodded thoughtfully, setting down his half-eaten roll.  

“That sounds real nice, Omega,” Hunter said.  “All right, we’ll do things your way.”  He chuckled.  “Though this shuttle isn’t much to say goodbye to.  It’s… serviceable, and it got us where we needed to go.  But that’s about all I can say about it.”

“I know,” Omega said, wrinkling her nose.  “I don’t like it either.  But…”  She hesitated.  “Maybe we should say goodbye to the Marauder instead.  We lost her so suddenly.”  She folded her arms over her chest, squeezing herself in a slight hug before returning back to her food.

“Villagers said they hauled up a few more pieces of her, a few days ago,” said Wrecker.  “Nothin’ salvageable.”  He hung his head.  “It happened so fast.  I saw the detonator flash one, two -- I grabbed Gonky -- and I jumped --  That’s all I remember, ‘til I woke up.  And then you were gone.”  He reached out, tousling her hair and letting out a long breath.  “That was a rough night.”  

Gonky, charging in the corner, let out a soft, mournful warble.  “Yeah, we almost lost you, you pile of bolts,” Wrecker said.  Gonky gonked back at him, sounding much more chirpy.

“I don’t think any of us like thinking about that night,” said Hunter.  He glanced at Crosshair, and Omega followed his gaze.  Crosshair had stopped messing with his food and sat there silently, his face somewhat paler than usual, his gaze lowered.

“We don’t have to talk about that part of it,” Omega said quickly.  “But… what about happy memories of the Marauder?  Like -- like the first time I ever saw hyperspace.”  A warm glow filled her chest, remembering Tech’s sure hands on the controls, Hunter’s encouragement, the starfield opening wide before her.  She’d never seen anything so beautiful, so thrilling, so alive with possibility.  The memory sparkled in her mind’s eye.  “The whole galaxy opened up for me the day we first left Kamino.  All those stars.  I’ll never forget that, not ever.”

Wrecker grinned at her.  “Aw, kid.  You shoulda seen your face.  You just lit up.  Never seen anyone so happy before.”

“That was special,” Hunter said fondly.  “Even with everything else going on --- that was a good moment.”  

Crosshair quietly rolled a clumsy wrap together, taking a bite and chewing slowly.

Omega frowned, trying to catch his eye and failing.  Sometimes it was hard to remember that that memory was tied up with their fleeing Kamino… leaving Crosshair behind.  She knew it hadn’t been his fault, it hadn’t really been him that day, and they’d had to leave.  She knew they’d all been moving past that, but it still stung if she let herself think about it.  

She tried a different tack.  “Well, what was it like for all of you?  The first time you saw space?”

Hunter gave her a quick look.  He’d picked up on what she was doing, and approved of it.  He pursed his lips together, deep in thought.  “Our first spaceflight as Clone Force 99…”  He laughed.  “We were itching to get out there.  Knew we were ready.  We’d had the training and then some.  The Kaminoans wanted to make sure we were… ah, worth the investment.”

“We couldn’t be as good as the regs.  We had to be ten times better,” Crosshair said at last.  “And we were.”

“Hell yeah we were!” Wrecker said.  “But they wouldn’t let us go out without those flight tests.  We each had to pass.”  He shook his head.  “Never liked flying.  I passed, but uh, it’s not my thing.”

“What about you, Crosshair?” Omega asked.  “You let me fly when we escaped.”

“I’m an adequate pilot,” he said, shrugging, his nose wrinkling.  “But up in vacuum without atmo, the light can be a little much.”

Omega tilted her head, puzzled.  All ships had treated viewfields to help protect their pilots’ eyes.  Shouldn’t that be enough to block out the radiation?

“Crosshair’s enhancement,” Hunter explained.  “He sees more of the spectrum than we do, but in space, it’s too much.  Gives you headaches sometimes, right?  Something about UV light and scatter?  Tech could explain it better.”

“Something like that,” Crosshair said.  “It’s better with a helmet.  Keeps things manageable.  But I prefer my stargazing from solid ground.”

“Well, Tech and I had fun with the test, at least,” Hunter said.  He grinned at the memory.  “The reg who was grading us did not approve of some of our maneuvers.  Something about not being regulation.  Tech just quoted back three pages of the flight manual to him and then pulled a Tech turn for good measure.  The reg almost failed him out of spite, but Wrecker cracked his knuckles at him, and that was that.”

Omega laughed brightly, hearing Hunter use her name for Tech’s most outlandish maneuver.  It made her miss Tech a little extra, but in a good way. 

“Good thing they didn’t bother with inspections after we passed,” Hunter said.  “They’d have had a heart attack with some of the modifications to the Marauder Tech made.  Some mods weren’t just against regulation, but I think they were technically illegal in many, many star systems.  Of course, that didn’t matter to Tech as long as he thought his ship flew better with them.”  He snorted.

Crosshair abruptly set his plate down on the seat beside him.  “Anyone want any more?  I’ll put the leftovers away if you’re done.”

“Oh no you don’t, I got cleanup!” said Wrecker.  His eyes fell on Crosshair’s plate, still mostly full of food.  “Wait, you aren’t gonna finish that?”

Crosshair shrugged.  His face looked pinched, his jaw set tighter than usual.  “Wasn’t that hungry.  You can take it.”  He got to his feet.  “Going to go take the hound for a walk.  So it’s settled?  We’ll ‘move’ tomorrow?”

“Uh -- yeah,” Wrecker said, giving Hunter and Omega an uncertain look.  “Come on, Cross, stay.  We can all take Batcher later.”

“She needs to go now,” said Crosshair, in a tense, strained voice.  “Save any leftovers for her.”  He hurried out of the shuttle and into the soft dark of the early evening, Batcher at his heels.

Omega, Hunter and Wrecker looked at each other.  “Was it somethin’ we said?” Wrecker asked.

“I don’t know,” said Omega, her good mood fading to be replaced by worry.  “I thought it was nice, talking about the Marauder.  And Tech.”  She glanced back at Crosshair’s mostly untouched plate, remembering how hard it had been for Crosshair to keep his plate steady and roll up his food.  “Maybe his hand is bothering him.”  She sighed.  “Do you think we’ll be able to find him a new one soon?”

Hunter smiled at her, but it didn’t reach his eyes.  “You’re always looking out for him, aren’t you?”

“All of you,” she said stubbornly.  “My little brothers.”  They chuckled, and Wrecker reached out to pat her on the back.  She stuck her tongue out at him playfully.

“Echo talked to him about a prosthesis,” Hunter said.  “It’s not as simple as just running out to the nearest marketplace.  One, they’re not always easy to find.  Two, the people who make and sell them might ask questions about clones looking for them.  It’s a… sensitive thing to acquire.”

“They’re expensive, too,” said Wrecker, taking a bite of the leftovers from Crosshair’s plate.    “Crosshair’s worth it!  But might take some time.”

Omega leaned back against her seat, remembering the credits she’d won off that Imperial officer.  Crosshair had almost been scandalized at how good she was, but she knew he’d been impressed, too.  Despite how dire the situation had been, it was still a good memory -- the two of them against the world.  

Her eyes narrowed.  They’d stuck together in tough times before.  She’d do everything she could to help him here, too.

---

His blood pounded in his ears, a dull roaring rush, his pulse jagged and skittery.  Crosshair rounded a bend in the stairs, descending them aimlessly, no clear idea where he was going.  Batcher followed him, looking up at him now and then with a soft whuff, but he kept onward.

Dinner should have been easy.  He should have gotten something premade, something he could have doled out of a tin one-handed onto their plates.  But the fresh fish had looked good, the villagers’ vegetables fresh and vibrant, and he’d wanted to show his family he could give them something decent.  He’d figured he should try.

It hadn’t been too bad, except for the chopping.  It had taken him the better part of an hour to cut up vegetables for four people.  The vegetables had come out all different sizes, and more than a few big hunks had dropped on the ground for Batcher to eat, but he’d gotten there eventually.  By the time he’d finished, he had thought he might have had this dinner thing down.

Except for failing to account for the fact that everyone else had two hands to roll their food up with, and he had one.  

But those little things didn’t matter.  He was starting to realize that there were just going to be obstacles now, things he couldn’t think of in the moment that would prove to be frustrating and difficult, and that truth was starting to settle into his bones, where he could expect it.  He didn’t like it, but it wasn’t exactly a surprise.

He jogged down the steps, the stone ringing under his feet, his breath coming quickly.  

Dinner would have been fine.  But why they’d had to start talking about --

He stopped, catching his breath, leaning on the short stone wall overlooking the moonlit sea.  He bent over the wall, breathing hard, his eyes screwed closed.

Batcher nudged his leg, whining.  He reached down absently with his left hand, patting her half-heartedly.  

“Sorry,” he muttered.  “You can go back to the ship, if you like.  Just needed -- to get out of there.”

They’d all sat around, trading stories, laughing, eating their dinner easily with both hands; and he’d sat there, getting quieter and quieter, tenser and tenser.  He didn’t understand why panic had started clawing at the inside of his chest, why it had gotten harder and harder to breathe as they kept going.

His breath seared.

He shook his head, nostrils flaring, biting his lip.  Focus.  He went perfectly still.  Then he balled up his left fist and smashed it into the wall.

Pain instantly radiated out from his knuckles, despite the fact he’d pulled back at the last second.  He swore, shaking his hand out, then tucking it beneath his right arm and pressing it tightly to his chest.  

Stupid.  You only have one left, idiot.

He shook his head again with a growl, trembling slightly, breathing hard.  Batcher whimpered, nudging his leg again.  

“I said go!” he snarled.

Batcher sat down, looking up at him defiantly, her tongue lolling out of the side of her mouth.  She tilted her head and whined.

“Fine,” he relented.  He crouched down beside her, reaching out with his throbbing hand to pat her.  He scritched her on the chin, which she always loved, and he took a deep, shaky breath.  

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he muttered.  The hound just leaned into his hand, closing her eyes as he scratched her.  He scratched and scratched, until the throbbing in his hand went away, and the moon swung high above them.

---

Hunter was waiting for him.  He sat on the gangplank, a cup of caf in hand, watching Crosshair and Batcher cross the moonlit colonnade.  

Crosshair sighed.  He’d hoped that being gone so long might have meant the others had gotten to sleep.  He should have known better.  

Batcher galloped to Hunter for a good scratch, then went on inside the ship to go find Omega.  Crosshair closed the distance between him and Hunter much more slowly, at last stopping a few feet away.

“Evening,” he said awkwardly.

“It’s a nice night for one,” said Hunter, just as awkwardly.  He tried to crack a grin, but took a sip of his caf instead.  “That was some walk.”

Crosshair sighed.  “You didn’t need to wait up.  Don’t tell me I have a curfew.”

“No,” Hunter said.  “But I thought you might want to talk.  You left dinner in a hurry.”  He reached behind him, pulling out a closed food tin.  “Hungry now?”

Crosshair glared at him for a moment, then relented, sitting down and taking the proffered tin.  “...yes.”  He’d almost forgotten, he had been feeling so agitated, but his stomach gave a reminding rumble.  He struggled for a moment with the lid, batting away Hunter’s hand before he could lift it for him, and popped the top off.  Inside was a portion of dinner’s leftovers, except the food had already been assembled for him in easy-to-grab rolls.  

His shoulders sank.  Hunter must have noticed he’d been having a hard time at dinner.  He closed his eyes for a moment, torn between accepting the small kindness and telling Hunter just where he could shove it.  

He took a roll and crammed it in his mouth Wrecker-style, barely tasting it.  “Thanks,” he said with his mouth half-full.  He ate a few more pieces in silence, then glanced over at Hunter, who was watching him closely.

“So where’d you and Batcher head to?” 

Crosshair shrugged.  “Around.  Took the stairs for a few laps.  Needed to stretch my legs.”

Hunter nodded, apparently accepting the explanation.  But his eyes flicked down, then back up.  “Did you trip or something?”

“What?”

“Your knuckles.”

Crosshair swore to himself, picking up his left hand.  Scrapes adorned the knuckles, clear as day, and they were faintly swollen.  They didn’t really hurt anymore, but it had been careless of him.  “It doesn’t matter.”

Hunter sighed.  “You’re damn stubborn, Crosshair.  But you’re not subtle.  What happened at dinner?”  

“I don’t know,” Crosshair said honestly.  “But I had to leave.”  He stared down into the tin of food.  He’d been looking forward to sharing a meal with them. He’d wanted to stay.  But there’d been an emptiness gnawing at him the longer they’d talked.  “Felt like… the walls were closing in.  Needed the air.”

The simple admission took Hunter aback.  “Oh.  You’re actually telling me.”

Crosshair chuckled.  “It’s my new softer side.”

Hunter nearly choked on a stifled burst of laughter.  “You’re a shit sometimes, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

He finished his dinner, setting the tin down.  It had been far easier to eat like this, with a little help.  It galled him even as he appreciated it.

“Did the fresh air help?”

“I think so.  Hard to describe it.  I… wanted to stay.  But I couldn’t.”  He shook his head, frowning, breathing a little harder.  He rubbed his head with his left hand, his palm brushing against the short crop of hair stubbornly growing back.  “It’s nothing.  Just… adjusting.”

Hunter nodded, mouth pulling to one side with a bit of tension.  “If it stops being nothing, and starts being something… just remember, we’re here, Crosshair.”

“Since when did you get so warm and fuzzy?”

Hunter laughed, a sharp barking sound, and checked Crosshair with his shoulder.  “It’s my new softer side.”  Crosshair snorted, and for a moment they laughed together like they were cadets, their guard slipping.

“And how’s your hand?” Hunter asked.

“You mean the lack of it?”

“I -- yeah, I guess.  Sorry,” he said sheepishly.

Crosshair waved his wrist at him.  “Don’t be.  It’s awkward.  I’m still getting used to it.”  He gazed off into the strings of glow lamps adorning the colonnade and the surrounding buildings.  Their bright orange and white and yellow colors swirled together, a soft blush against the dark.  

“Is it still hurting?”

He thought of saying no.  It was certainly less painful than it had been, by several orders of magnitude.  But that didn’t mean it was fine.  “Yes.”

“When’s the last time you saw AZI?”

“Yesterday.  He still has me on pain pills.  I don’t need them often now.  But when I do, it’s --”  He scowled.  “And it’s random.  Hard to predict.”

Hunter nodded.  “You know, Echo pinged us while you were out.  He’s between missions for another rotation, wanted me to let you know in case… you know, you wanted to talk.  Left a message for you.”

He thought of Echo lightyears away, with Rex, Howzer, Gregor.  Good men, after everything.  He had no doubt Echo would continue to fight for a long while.  But talking to him — there was nothing new to say, especially over long-range comms.  Crosshair shrugged.  “Hm.  I’m good.”  He wondered what Echo’s message had been.  Maybe he’d check it out, after the others fell asleep.

Hunter cracked a half smile.  “Yeah, he figured as much.  He and Omega had a long chat, though.”  

“Mhm.  She misses him,” said Crosshair.  He wondered if that had been part of the reason she had seemed so off a few days ago.  

“I think she hoped he might stay with us with Tantiss gone.  But Echo’s followed his own path for a while now,” Hunter said.  He sat back, gazing up at the night sky.  “You were right back there.  On Tantiss.”

”About what?” Crosshair asked, giving Hunter a wary look.

”We’re not Clone Force 99 anymore,” Hunter said in a rough voice.  He held out his hands, bare instead of gloved, no plates or gauntlets on his arms.  They were the hands of a civilian, not a soldier.  “We can let it go.”  He let out a long sigh.  “Ahh, look at me getting — well, whatever this is.”

Crosshair closed his eyes.  Let it go.  It sounded so simple.  He was the one who’d thrown it out at his brothers like a grenade, a bomb to impress upon them the seriousness of what he was saying, something to jolt them into accepting his sacrifice.  And then they’d stepped up.  Told him they were in it together.  He believed it — then on Tantiss, and here on Pabu.

So why was it so hard to lean on them?

He didn’t have an answer.  He opened his eyes, meeting Hunter’s gaze.  “Letting go is easier than it sounds,” he said at last.  

“I think I know what you mean,” said Hunter.  He gave Crosshair a nod.  “Come on, it’s getting late.  And we’ve got the move tomorrow.  You left before Shep and Lyana came by with their announcement.  Guess moving day comes with a party.”

”Oh?” 

“They said the villagers will be stopping by with donations, food, drinks, little things to make the place feel like home.  I tried to tell him we were fine, they’ve already been too generous, but Shep’s as stubborn as you are.  And I could see Omega really wanted to do it.  Wrecker, too.  I mean, there’ll be food involved,” Hunter said.

”Goody,” said Crosshair.  It sounded like a kind enough gesture.  But a day of near-strangers in their new house, when all he felt like doing was being alone, sounded like… a lot.

His arm prickled with a sharp, arcing ache.  He hissed, rubbing it hard with his left hand, biting back a curse.

”Want me to grab your meds?” Hunter asked.

”No.  I got it,” said Crosshair.  He got to his feet, picking up the empty tin of food in his left hand.  He gave Hunter a long look.  “Thanks.  For this.”

”We’ll be more mindful of your hand,” said Hunter.  “Should’ve helped you from the start.”

Crosshair shook his head.  “I have to figure this out on my own.  It’s the only way.”  He hurried back inside to get his medication, his arm tingling in waves, and nearly missed Hunter’s retort.

”It doesn’t have to be on your own.”

[bishonenspit]

reading from eroica with love looking at dorian red gloria and thinking wow he should be at the club

[syncopatedid]

Not to be dramatic but I just snuck a read of Run with the Wind: The Novel prologue chapter and let me just say, I don't think my feelings can survive reading this in English free from the burden of language proficiency. It's like reading this novel with my training weights removed. The limiters are OFF!!! Like whoa, I want to block an entire day of my existence just to read this without pause.

[allylikethecat]

“nightmares again?”

as an unfortunate sufferer of them often, i would love to hear your thoughts on this and pretend i have someone like one of the boys to comfort me 😪

The way I was like HELL YEAH I'm chipping away at these prompts! 🎉 Then I promptly reblogged another list and got more (which I am very excited about and will also get to eventually I promise) On that note, thank you so much for sending this in! I'm not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for, but alas here it is! Thank you for your patience as I took twelve thousand years to fill this prompt, I hope you like it! (If anyone else wants to submit a prompt from the late night prompts list, it can be found HERE I make no promises on WHEN I will be fill it, just that it will be filled eventually) Thank you again for sending this my way!! I hope you had a lovely day and that you have a wonderful week!

❤️Ally

WARNINGS: Nightmares, references made to drug use/ abuse / overdose, discussions of character death even though there is NOT any character death in this fic

“nightmares again?”

Matty frowned, pushing the blankets off his chest to sit up, reaching over the bedside table and turning on his reading lamp. His frown deepened when he realized that he was alone in the king size bed, George’s side of the mattress cool to the touch. He sighed, rubbing at his eyes groggily, before groping near blindly for his glasses. He slipped them onto his nose, and swallowed a yawn. 

He shivered as his bare feet hit the cement floor, and he shuffled in the dim light until he found his slippers. He felt like the old man in a horror movie, gray hair and all, trudging through his darkened home, wrapped in the red and blue plaid flannel robe that Louis had gotten him for Christmas the year before.

“Hey,” said Matty softly, not wanting to startle George, but accidentally doing so anyway. He looked up sharply from where he sat at the kitchen table, a cup of tea, long since gone cold sitting in front of him. Matty yawned and hobbled over to the stove, intending to make them both a fresh cup, his knee protesting stiffly after spending the last few hours in bed. 

“What are you doing up?” George asked softly, tracking Matty’s movements as he stood on his tiptoes, reaching to retrieve two fresh mugs from the top cabinet. His robe fell open as he stretched giving George a lovely view of his tattooed chest and toned stomach. 

“Could ask you the same question,” said Matty, setting the mugs down on the counter. George looked down at the wooden surface, his cheeks pink.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said at last, “and I didn’t want to wake you up with my tossing and turning.” 

“You know I can’t sleep without you anyway,” Matty said, coming up behind George and wrapping his arms around the younger man’s broad shoulders. He pressed a kiss to his cheek savoring the warmth of George’s back as it pressed against Matty’s chest. 

George just hummed in response, taking one of Matty’s hands in his own, holding tight, swiping his thumb back and forth against Matty’s palm as if trying to memorize the divots of his lifelines. 

“Nightmares again?” Matty whispered, hesitating to break the calm that had settled over the kitchen, but needing to know. George nodded, giving Matty’s hand a squeeze. 

“Yeah,” said George, his voice hoarse, “yeah.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Matty asked softly, sometimes George wanted to talk about his nightmares, other times he just wanted Matty near. George sniffled, and Matty’s heart broke. 

“You were dead,” he said quietly, “you ODed and I was too late,” he let go of Matty’s hand to swipe at his eyes and Matty took advantage of the shift in position to drop down onto the bench next to George, wrapping his arms around George’s hulking frame as he curled into himself, then into Matty’s chest. 

“It was just a nightmare,” said Matty, “I’m alright, I’m right here.” He took George’s hand maneuvering it to press it against his bare skin, letting George feel the rise and fall of his chest. The steady beat of his heart. 

“I know,” said George wetly, “I know, but it's just,” he took a shaky breath, “it was so real, and, and it could have been real. If I had been a few minutes later—”

“No,” said Matty, pressing harder on George’s hand. “No, stop that, I’m right here.” He took a deep breath George hand moving out then in with his lungs as he exhaled. “I’m alright,” he said, his own words growing watery as silent tears streamed down George’s cheeks. 

“I know,” said George, leaning forward to bury his face in George’s shoulder. “But, but if I had been just a little later, if I planned on stopping for coffee but it was raining and I was lazy, if I had stopped it would have been too late and you would be gone, I would have had to find your body.” George hiccuped wetly, his breath hot against Matty’s skin. 

“But you didn’t,” said Matty, rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles against George’s back. “And that was a long time ago, I’m okay, I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere as long as you’ll have me.” 

“It just,” said George, “it felt so real.” 

“Fuck,” said Matty taking a shaky breath of his own, “fuck, I’m so sorry for putting you through all of that, I was selfish, and it’s keeping you awake even years later, and I’m so sorry.” 

“No,” said George, “no, you don’t have to be sorry, it wasn’t your fault, you were sick, I should be over it by now—”

The tea kettle whistled, and Matty apologized, detangling himself from George and quickly pouring the piping hot water into the mugs, then adding a drizzle of honey before bringing them back over and setting them on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” Matty said quietly, nudging the mug towards George. “I’m sorry that I put you through that, and that it’s haunting you even now.”

George gave Matty a watery smile. “As long as you’re still here to haunt me in person.” 

Matty chuckled, and leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss to George’s dry lips. “Forever and always.” 

[kijosakka]

i am so perfectly timed as always

[transingthoseformers]

And, oh is it for the first time (at least for the fics)? TFP Arachnid has appeared! Iicr, she has quite the fun part to play in this menagerie. And was vlooped into the ocean, don't question my choice of onomatopoeia, and it's interesting to see how suddenly unsettled she is at this moment

[waffliesinyoface]

*shaking the FMA-tag on Ao3* cmon, I know you have good content in there somewhere for me, where is it. show it to me!!!

[gallusrostromegalus]

Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God.  He taught himself how to use his smartphone.  Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity. 

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.”  Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid.  My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution:  He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose.  While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada.  He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her. 

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System.  It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”.  He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room.  It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds.  Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled. 

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan.  With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted.  The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone. 

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.  

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape.  She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times.  Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System.  It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy!  My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year.  I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image.  A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair.  Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing). 

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked  car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[badolmen]

See when someone makes fanart based on someone else’s writing that’s awesome and badass but writing something based on someone else’s art makes me feel like I’m mischaracterizing everything and disappointing them gd and my father.

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[kisses4reid]

red tissues | ·˚ ༘ aaron hotchner ,,

summary - you get nose bleeds regularly, the alarming increase in their appearances gets aaron’s attention, especially when you wake up one day to blood covering your entire face for aaron to see.

genre - hotch x fem!reader, fluff

warnings - lots of mentions of blood, nose bleeds, mentions of being over worked, sickness

a/n - i’m going to open a permanent taglist for anyone who wants to be tagged in every criminal minds fanfiction i write, so either comment on this or make a request that you’re interested! ❤️

The office was buzzing with the sound of typing and chatting, pens being passed and chairs being adjusted. The night was surely coming, sun setting against the window panes to cast shadows onto piles of files. Your desk was dark and your pile was unfortunately much taller than everyone else’s. Funny how shooting a criminal earns punishment through 10 more files to fill out. 

But right now, all you cared about was filling your Snoopy mug with something. The coffee machine was broken by a certain muscly man, so some tea bags delivered that day were your only solace. Chamomile. Sounded tranquil enough. 

As you waited for your beverage to brew, you glanced back to your desk and then to your teammates. You should’ve taken Spencer and Emily’s offers to take some files off you, but being a perfectionist and selfless, you kindly declined. Shoulder’s slumping, you pulled the mug close to your nose and took a long smell, closing your eyes in relief. 

Suddenly, right before you could take the much needed first sip, a pang hit your head and your eyes and eyebrows ached, causing you to clench them. When you opened your eyes, the light brownish-yellow of the tea was mixing with red.

Blood. Shit. 

You swiftly turn to grab some tissues as your boss, Aaron Hotchner, was grabbing his plain mug from the top shelf, you hadn’t even noticed him in your panic. He followed you with his eyes as he grabbed a green tea packet. The tissues held against your nose were turning red and soggy. And before he could ask what had happened, you had abandoned your mug and vanished from the room, heading for the bathrooms. 

Aaron furrowed his eyebrows and noticed the discolouration in your mug, before grabbing it and washing it out for you. 

A few days later, Morgan and Reid were sat in front of you, JJ leaning on your seat’s armrest as Aaron conversed with a lawyer over the phone. Prentiss covered the basic details of the case but all you could focus on was the slight pang in your heart when you heard Aaron chuckle at whoever was talking with him. Though your eyes didn’t leave the case files, your ears were suddenly attached to your boss’ voice. 

Which was much closer, after he sat down next to you. 

You felt stupid, being happier now that his attention wasn’t on some other woman, even though his attention still wasn’t on you. He sighed as he sat, a whiff of his strong cologne circling the group as they updated him on other details they had caught. You mentally scolded yourself for acting like a 14 year old girl crushing on her teacher, but alas, you would continue.

“We noticed all of the victims went to private religious schools, most of them went to church as well. Y/n pointed out how in all of their photos, they were dressed in a conservative way - which is a contrast when we look at their ages.” Spencer started before Rossi added,

“They’re all teenagers, nearly turning 20. They all had boyfriends, and we found that one of them was already engaged.” 

You listened carefully, looking at the faces of the victims that were spread on the table, “As well as the common religious commitments, they all had one other thing in common.” You squinted your eyes with a short breath, feeling a headache approaching before you pointed something out that nobody else had noticed, “Same initials, all of them.” 

Hotch nodded, “Amy Sanders, Alice Soo, Adriana Santiago and Alexa Smith. Nice work, Y/n.” 

But before you could reject the complement and internally squeal, a throb attacked your head, and your eyes scrunched to create wrinkles you would try to massage away that night, before you threw your hand under your chin to swiftly catch a drop of blood. It was like a 6th sense these days.

“Excuse me.” You croak, leaving the back of the plane with Prentiss close behind you. You bent your head back before the raven haired woman’s hand pushed it forward. “Don’t do that, the blood might go down your throat.” 

You followed her instructions and raised any eyebrow, pinching the bridge of your nose. “My niece used to have a lot of nose bleeds whenever she had a cold.” She promptly explained as she bent to pull out tissues from the white bathroom cabinets. 

Around 5 minutes later, you and Prentiss returned to your respective seats, no one but you noticing a strong stare following you. “Are you okay, L/n?” Spencer asks, squinting in curiosity. “Yeah, sorry, sensitive nose, that’s all,” you lied.

These weren’t the first times you’ve had nose bleeds at work or around the team. There was one on your third day of work, the second time you went to a bar with Garcia, and one time on the plane around 4 months ago. You had been lucky that all your other nosebleeds happened either on the way to work or in the comfort of your own apartment. These days, when each case was followed by a heavier one, and each road trip was followed by a 10 hour flight, you were starting to get exhausted. You’re body has decided nose bleeds was the indication for you to take a fucking break.

The next week, you had almost forgotten about your unfortunate trait until a certain tall man called you into his office. “I need those finger print files done by tonight, is that alright?” He asked, smooth voice cutting through your fatigue, leaning on the front of his desk only a metre away from you.

You glanced at him up and down. He was clad in a smoke grey suit, perfectly fitted to his muscles and wide shoulders, tie loose enough to show the amount of work he had been through that morning. He smelt amazing, like wood and petichor, like metal and… “Yeah of course, sorry. I put the victims confirmed profiles on Spencer’s desk to check over before I could finalise the um…” Shit. Why did this have to happen right now?

But before you could even excuse yourself or hold a hand to your nose, a soft hand was cupped under your chin, careful not to touch you but close enough to catch droplets. Heat was radiating from the near contact, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the eye contact you were putting yourself through, or the blood that was currently pooling down your chin and into his palm. Aaron had appeared so swiftly, you wondered how he knew. “We should really get you checked out.” He said, recalling back to your third day on the job. 

“You can check- You’re right I should get… your hand is getting blood on it.” He broke your eye contact and glanced down at his palm, before taking a breath and nodding. “Right, let’s get you cleaned up.” 

His other, clean, hand is hovering over your lower back, and everyone’s eyes are hovering over the two of you, following you into the closest bathroom available. You can feel your cheeks heat up. As you pass the kitchenette, he picks up the box of tissues and you try to grab some from his hand, but instead of allowing you, he takes your wrists and holds one to your nose himself. His grip is soft, but restricting, warm. And you can’t help but look at him as he searches for an empty bathroom.

In the bathroom, he guides you to lean over the sink, washing his hands in a sink beside yours while watching you carefully. You look at him through the mirror, and you’re so distracted you almost don’t hear him tell you, “Lean forward more, don’t pinch your nose too hard.” 

You comply and he crosses his arms and leans adjacent to you. “Do you know what’s causing all these nose bleeds?” 

You thought back to shorter than 5 minutes ago and bit your lip, feeling your cheeks heat up once again. “Um, I think it was your cologne.” You glance over to him finding he was already looking into your eyes. You were embarrassed, he was your boss and you were basically insulting him. “You smell great, don’t get me wrong. My nose and I obviously have different… opinions.” 

Aaron nods with a small smirk, compelling you to look away before you say anything more. 

Thankfully, saving you from any more embarrassment, your nose stopped painting the porcelain sink reddish-orange. “Thank you for helping me, Hotch.”

Aaron returned to his computer and opened a tab, searching ‘Common causes for frequent nose bleeds’, and, ‘Ways to avoid nose bleeds’.

And the next morning, Aaron walked into the office to get his coffee (the machine had been promptly fixed after your nose bleed situation) before Morgan spoke up, “New cologne, Hotch?” 

Hotch nodded, and turned back to his coffee, pocketing some chamomile satchels to dispose of later. The comment reassured Aaron.

He wanted to be someone you could be around without risking anymore red tissues. 

Aaron placed himself next to you on the plane, the team had gone over the case six times already, and the plane flight was long. It’s always been long. You opened your mouth to greet him before he cut you off, “We can provide a doctor for you, if these nose bleeds keep happening.” 

You blink in surprise, “I’m sorry they’re inconvenient but there’s not much I can do about it.” You bit the inside of your lip, unaware that your bleeds had caused anything negative other than a decrease in tissue supplies and unwanted attention (not including Aaron’s).

“I’m not saying it’s an inconvenience to me,” he shakes his head, “They’re an inconvenience to you. I’m worried it’s because you’re overworked.” 

Oh. 

You cleared your throat and avoided eye contact.

He continues, “You get to work the earliest, stay the latest, you’re always the one travelling the furthest when we have to split up.”

A smirk appears on your face as you finally look back up at the stoic man, “Sounds like someone I know.” 

“I make time, Y/n.” 

You wrung your hands in your lap and sighed, “I’ve had this problem since I was a kid, Hotch. My longest record between nose bleeds was three months, that's only because I finally found some medication.” Aaron raised an eyebrow. “They had terrible side effects, it wasn’t worth saving some tissues. I can deal, is what I’m saying.” 

He nods and looks away in thought, that's when you allow yourself to look over his chest and arms, his posture and his… smell?

“You smell different.” “I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday.” 

You couldn’t stop thinking about Aaron Hotchner since what he said on that plane a little over five days ago. He changed his cologne, he offered to find a doctor, he listened to your reasoning. You thought he was being friendly. You wanted him to be a little bit more than that.

The plush seats and convenient seating arrangement that put you next to Aaron didn’t offer any comfort against the dry and hot weather of Nevada. If a place was your enemy, this was it. You had already concealed a small bleed in the drive over, Spencer not giving you a second look when you pretended to sneeze into a tissue. With the increased frequency, she didn’t want any useless worry. You weren’t going to take a break, so you needed to hide any signs of exhaustion as best you could. Even when the sheriff opened every window in the temporary office, JJ continued waving herself with a file, Morgan had already chugged three plastic bottles of water. Even Hotch only had a dark blue dress shirt on and damn did he look hotter than the sun. 

But even with your best techniques and play-pretends (never looking down for too long, staying hydrated, avoiding the hotter places in the precinct), an unfortunate pang hit the front of your head and travelled to your nose. Your eyes shuddered, and you started to look for a tissue, before one appeared at the bottom of your chin before blood even trickled down your top lip. 

It was Aaron holding it there, eyes on the case. 

You looked at him in surprise and awe, before you took the tissue off him and excused yourself, getting a worried look from the old sheriff. 

The tall man had learnt when you were about to get a nosebleed, a sudden stop in motion, scrunched eyebrows and eyes, stopped breathing. And as you left his line of vision, he tried not to worry about the amount of blood you would lose in this weather, and it motivated to close this case even more. 

Everyone around the table glanced at Hotch and then at each other, putting on blank faces when Hotch looked up. 

It wasn’t much better in the hotel rooms you had been given. They had aircon, and free water, but small windows, and broken fridges.

It was a relief to be able to sit on something that wasn’t covered in someone else’s sweat, even if it would be covered soon by your own. You had the coldest shower you think you’ve ever had, put on a larger t-shirt and a small pair of basketball shorts to fight against the heat during the night.

It came a surprise to you when you were blood free the entire afternoon and you counted it as good luck for the flight home, forgetting to place tissues or water on your bedside table. After denying an invitation to poker, you threw yourself onto the bed with crisp white sheets and soft pillow cases, in the direct shot of the air conditioning and only window in the room, and passed out.

There was a frantic knocking on your door, or maybe a pounding in your head. You couldn’t tell, and when you tried to investigate, you felt like your eyelids were sewn shut.

You were able to peak them open and lift yourself weakly, when suddenly a figure appeared in front of you with long blonde hair and soft hands on your shoulders.

“JJ?” Your lips felt tight.

“Jeez, Y/n. How long have you been sick?” Her voice was muffled, but as your vision became clearer so did your hearing. Hotch stopped in your open doorway, already dressed and bags dropped in the hallway, before walking in.

For a second you were going to try and stand to clean your room, realising how late it was. But as soon as you tried to stand, everything went hazy, and you could taste metal on your tongue.

“Y/n, we need to get you cleaned up.” JJ said sweetly, as if you were a child. She took your heavy arms and pulled them to the bathroom, light making your headache into a migraine.

You lifted a hand to the bone between your eyebrows, and when you took it off, it had dried blood on it. As JJ grabbed your body towel from last night and wet a corner of it, you stole a sight of your face. Your mouth and nose was covered in dry blood, some of it had travelled to your left cheek, and between your eyebrows. There was fresher blood on your chin and some even on your next.

You had a delirious thought that you had been stabbed, or you had stabbed someone, but when you looked out into the bedroom and saw Aaron taking the pillow case off of the pillow you were using, you wondered if you caused it to go from white to red overnight.

“What happened?” JJ asked, carefully placing her fingertips on the bottom of your jaw while her other hand dabbed softly at your face. You couldn’t answer, even though you had a fairly good guess. Aaron appeared in the mirror to hand JJ some pain killers, for you.

Swallowing was painful, but as your blonde friend wiped off the last bit of blood from your top lip, you looked worse than your throat felt.

“I’m sorry JJ, I could’ve cleaned myself up.”

“Don’t apologise Y/n. You worried me. You weren’t responding to your texts, not even Hotch’s,” she put the towel down and looked into your eyes with a motherly concern. “I think you need to listen to Hotch when he offers you a doctor again.”

And you nod, because she was right.

JJ left the room with a hug, leaving you with a very cross Aaron Hotchner.

“I’m-“

“You could’ve choked, or suffocated, or passed out- Actually I think you did.” He motioned towards your alarm clock that had been running since 5 a.m. “Y/n…” He looked confused, worried, sad? Your eyes hadn’t 100% cleared yet, a headache slowly throbbing, knees still slightly buckling. You wanted to lay down and be thrown into an ice bath.

“How was I supposed to know this would happen?” You croaked out.

“You’ve got one window open, cold and dry aircon on, and no water bottle on your bedside table. You should’ve asked to sleep in the same room as someone, in the same room as me.”

You looked down to your feet, only noticing now that Aaron had packed all of your things for you.

“I thought you had been…” He raked a hand through his hair and paced before placing his hands on your upper arms, “I’m going to get you to a doctor, and you can’t say no. That’s an order.”

His grip tighten only slightly, before he turned around and left with your luggage, heart beating fast in his chest.

You were back home, thank god. The air was cooler and clearer, and you didn’t feel like you needed to moisturise every two minutes. You stretched your arms above your head, squishing your eyes closed for some relief to the sting from the computer screen. Your chest expanded deeply, and your nose finally cleared. 

And when you opened your eyes, you glanced over to your boss’ office windows to see if he was still working. But he was already out of his door, looking at you. 

Butterflies played tag with each other in your stomach, a blush crossing your face and you both shot your gazes away. 

His shoes were nearly silent against the floor, but when you quickly stood to pack your shoulder bag and take the sweater off the back of your chair, Aaron was there to greet you when you turned around.

“Let me walk you out?” He asked, as if the last words he said to you weren’t full of unprofessional emotions.

You were silent for at least 3 seconds, Aaron getting worried for a second before you stumbled over your words, “Y-Yes plea- Yeah. Sure.” 

He smiled, a genuine smile. 

Side by side, his briefcase touching your shoulder bag, you made your way towards the elevator. Aaron fiddled with his fingers and felt unfamiliarly nervous, heart thumping a little harder than when he walked out of his office. 

“Thank you for everything. Caring, catching my blood. I would ask how you knew, but you are a profiler after all.” You smile softly, and he nods. “I’m glad you noticed.” He presses on the car park level in the elevator, hands coming to discreetly fidget once again. 

And you can’t take the silence, “You still smell good.” 

“You always do.” Aaron looks as surprised that he said that as you do, looking away quickly before looking up and sighing, “Tomorrow is Saturday.” 

“Yeah.”

“Do you have any plans?” 

“I have a movie I want to watch, maybe a recipe I wanna try,” you reply oblivious, shuddering at the sudden change of temperature when you both exit the elevator. Suddenly a thicker layer of fabric was draped over your shoulders, one that smelt like new cologne. You blushed, looking up at him. 

The cold breeze was pushing his hair out of place slightly, making his nose a little redder, his eyes clearer. He looked like the word handsome humanised. 

“I think that you should watch that movie and try that recipe at… my place.” 

You widened your eyes chasing any regret or embarrassment in his eyes, but all you got was nervousness, something you had rarely seen in him before. 

He is so handsome, I can’t believe this is happening, I have to tell Garcia- Can I tell Garcia? He’s my boss after all- I mean this doesn’t mean it had to be a date or anything- 

Some blood dripped onto the jacket draped over his shoulders. 

“You could’ve just said no.” He joked as you pinched your nose, smiling against the small headache. It must’ve been the last bit of blood from that morning. “No, I wanna go, I do- Just, could you get a tissue from my glovebox? I don’t want to get anymore blood on your coat.” You reply, nasally and carefully. 

“We’re definitely getting you to a doctor.” 

“Sounds like a fun first date.” 

[mesanthropi]

see, i was supposed to just ramble in the tags. but. this happened, so... enjoy.

your misunderstanding.

"yeah, i'd probably get like... angel or something," you thought aloud. "i have the voice for her, but that depends, really. i mean- what's to expect in this show, y'know?" shrugging your shoulders, you then turned to the shortest of you three, smiling with interest and curiosity. "what about you, who do you think you'll get in the play?"

luke looked between you and 'wei' (or that's what you remember of xir name), before pointing at himself. "me? uh, dunno. maybe spoons. you know, the character you hate?" he laughed at the groan you let out. "come on, do you actually hate the guy- because he's pretty funny, just like me. ain't that just a no-brainer for the casting?"

the nudges to your arm went ignored as you rolled your eyes, before directing them to wei. you couldn't help but notice how xe'd just kept staring at you the whole time, it prompted some doubt that xe was even listening. but pushing that aside and looking on the bright side, you waved a hand. "what about you, wei? is that your name?"

"... weiiiiiiiss?" luke waved his own hand in front of xir face, as if he were trying to snap xem out of a trance. "this is theatre, a.k.a your big highschool phase coming to bite you in the ass, i thought you'd like it." he paused though, before looking to you. silence fell over the space you'd all taken, a little awkard for you (because seriously, why are they just staring at you-?) until-

"what the fuck-" the other student let out the profanity upon getting xir shoe stepped on. the brunette boy chuckled, shaking his head before putting a hand on xir head. "edelweiss went to la-la-land," he joked after dodging a jab to the side. "but i do remember talking about that with 'em once, ain't that right, pal?"

weiss only grumbled something in response, not enough for you to hear though. but apparently, enough for luke, who nodded in acknowledgement (as far as you could tell anyway). while the two talked and you half-listened, there was bitterness starting to make itself at home within your feelings pool. you couldn't help the subtle sulk in your expression; was xe deliberately ignoring you? did you say something wrong? did xe have anything against you? goddamn. all that staring and awkwardness just to find out that xe could talk to luke just fine.

rude... your thoughts could be seen on your face. whatever.

what really happened.

as [name] spoke, xe was half-listening, if xe was being honest. there absolutely was no way that the conversation could be processed, not like this! especially with such a nice-looking and nice-sounding person in front of xem, god no. despite the particularly amusing thoughts from earlier ('okay, get it, david tennant!'), it had been replaced with high-key simping.

maybe not really simping, but- you know. admiration. but what was there to ignore, especially when it was right in front of you? 'oh, how gorgeous they were, words falling out at a steady trickling like niagra falls!'

if xe wasn't such a sappy asshole who was often knee-deep in delusions, this wouldn't be happening.

but... it was probably the way [name] was so easy to get along with. at least with what xe had seen, as far as xe could remember from being quite the starer. they spoke to others no problem, went around problems with unique solutions- and did xe mention that they were really fucking pretty? no? then alright. [name] [surname] looked fucking amazing, even for a private school.

maybe they'd be friends if xe trie- "what the fuck-" and that was when luke had jabbed his heel into xir toes, which wasn't the most pleasant feeling. poor weiss would have cussed him out, putangina and all that vulgar stuff, but they had face to keep. and they would never do that in front of them, xe'd never hear the end of it.

"edelweiss went to la-la-land," luke joked after dodging a jab to the side, much to xir dismay. "but i do remember talking about that with 'em once, ain't that right, pal?"

"this horacio is going to kill you, luke," xe grumbled, brows furrowing as xe crossed their arms. hopefully they didn't... uh, notice. the thought was a tad too late though, as we all know. hoooooooo boy, i probably fucked up, look at their face. that's the face of disappointment and all that. fuck. fuck. fuck. fuck you, luke.

nevermind, xe can be aware of these kinds of things sometimes.

yes, my 'full name' is edelweiss. no, i'm not german and i'm not white, lmao. anywayz!! please obliterate me

Moot game asks 👀 Count me in on that stuff, I absolutely love them.

We've had crimes so far, but what would your mutuals be as meet-ugly tropes, rather than meet-cute? To shake things up a little.

(🧚 anon, possibly?)

ohh cool!! and yes ofc you can be 🧚‍♀️ anon ^^

@wheeboo sees you as you're destroying a tombstone in the cemetery while she's with her friend to pay their respects at their grandmother's grave. you're destroying the tombstone bc it belongs to some ancestor of yours who was an ass/ dealt with the devil/ did some fucked-up shit that led you to have a horrible fate or curse, but of course rania doesn't know that, so now she has you branded as a grave-vandaliser and speaks to you so coldly when she sees you next, before reluctantly having to partner with you to save the world from some cursed/ crazed lunatics who were just like your ancestor

@slytherinshua is in the middle of a breakdown in the campus library when you meet her, and honestly you feel bad for telling her to leave, bc you know how stressful midterms can be so you try to tell her as nicely as possible that she needs to leave. but she's so stressed that she blows up on you, before blinking in surprise at her own outburst and promptly scrambling out of the library, taking her laptop but leaving her textbooks. you meet her in the library again, as she awkwardly apologises and asks if you have her books, and you give both the textbooks and your number to her at the same time

@weird-bookworm trips over her own feet and slams right into you during your first meeting. she's horribly late to her class, so she doesn't even turn around to apologize before speeding off, leaving you disoriented and pissed. and weirdly, you two keep meeting, where she runs into you and then runs off bc she's always late for something, causing you to view her as this impolite clutz until one day, she catches your hand as you're about to fall down the stairs, and then gives you such a relieved grin that you think- oh. well, that's new.

@rubywonu borrows a pen from you and then never gives it back. she'd tapped you on the shoulder and asked for it so sweetly, but then at the end of the class she simply zoomed out of the door with your favourite pen, never to be seen again. you don't see her until a few months later, and turns out she's a friend of a friend so you reluctantly get close and eventually realise she's a rlly cool person, deciding to forgive her for the pen. you bring it up one day, though, and her eyes widen bc she totally forgot too, and the next day she brings you a whole pack of that same exact pen that she'd bought just for you

@etherealyoungk hnnjg it's hard to think of meet-uglies for skye but,,, the first time she sees you, it's when you're cursing out your ex in public while dramatically breaking up with him. your ex played up the role of an innocent victim, even though they were definitely in the wrong, and you'd looked like an utter bitch to the public. but then she sees you again, as the barista in a cafe she decided to go to one day, and all she can think of is that you look so sad, not like a crazy bitch. one day, while she's sitting in the cafe (because yes, she's now a regular customer) your ex storms in and starts tearing you apart in the near-empty cafe, and without even thinking about it, skye jumps in to defend you

@mesanthropi is so mesmerised when xe first sees you that xe just . just blanks you. you're trying to ask what role xe'd most likely to get in the school play, but xe's just blinking, totally straight-faced, so your friend has to be the one to talk to xem instead. you're thinking 'wow, rude', without realizing that xe was just so in awe of how pretty you are and short-circuited. as the play rehearsals go on, with you and your friend as co-directors, you see weiss relax around u and deliver stellar performances and slowly, you start to become friends. and who knows? maybe you'll fall in love too.

@blue-jisungs meets you for the first time when she's walking her dog (idk if u actually have a dog but PRETEND YOU DO) and you've recently lost your dog, who looks an awful like axe's..... so you accost her in the middle of the street and demand that she gives your dog back, even though it's hers, and everything is all just a bit too chaotic and confusing for axe on a sunday morning, so she tells you to go away and ushers her dog away from the crazy stranger. then, she passes a missing dog sign on her way back from work that looks a lot like hers, and realises you were telling the truth. she dials the number, tells you that she's the person you saw the other day, and asks that maybe, if you're willing... she could help you look for your dog?

@wonwoonlight is yelling down the phone at her desk when you first meet her, and that has you being terrified of your colleague for all of six months after you meet her. you're a new addition to their department, with khione as your team leader, and she's so frustrated with some idiot when you first see her in the office, basically (justifiably) tearing them a new one for their incompetence, but after that, you're always seeing her as this strict, horrible person until one day she takes care of you during a corporate dinner while you're not feeling your best, scolding you gently for coming when you feel ill and calling a cab to take you home early

@icyminghao is someone you know from childhood, and honestly, you can't remember your first ever meeting. but you do have an early memory of her playing 'got your nose' with you and making you cry, and ever since then, she's been a nuisance in your life. that is, until some school project has you being forced to truly work together, and after you put aside your annoyance, your irritation melts away into something akin to fondness, finding her cheerinees something adorable rather than annoying