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hhawks · 3 years ago

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in a world where you could just lie to me

✰ starring: asahi azumane x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: in which asahi tries to say sorry. set post timeskip, ceo of fashion brand azumane asahi hires you to sew for his fashion show. ✰ content: exes that fuck, canon compliant, lots of references to fashion and the fashion industry, bitter reflections on the past, depiction of new york by someone who has never been to new york, kinda angsty but also not quite, kiyoko n yachi are here! along with an oc bc i needed one more person for plot ✰ warnings: thigh riding, fingering, implied exhibitionism ✰ word count: 9.6k (holy fuck u guys) ✰ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASAHI the Best character in hq shut the fuck up if you disagree. i love you my anxious anxious man.

part one of red thread series.

“don’t tell me.”

your new intern looks at you, sweat practically pouring down her forehead. “boss, i’m not sure what to say—”

“then don’t speak. get kiyoko on the line.”

mitsuri shuts the door behind her, and you can hear the way she slumps against the door sighing. you don’t mean to be vicious, overbearing. but this is one thing that you can’t let just slide.

you pull your legs up, hoisting yourself up to sit cross legged in your office chair before picking up the phone. “boss, i—”

“you wanna explain to me what you just did? why i just had to hear what i just heard?” you spit down the line. “mitsuri near pissed her pants telling me.”

“look, i think it’d be a great opportunity. for you and the company.” her voice is sweet, as it’s always been since high school. “he’s not the devil. you can work with him for one season, can’t you?”

you scoff, twisting around in your chair. “you want me to work with him? i can barely stand to even look at his name, let alone sew for him for his entire show.”

“boss, he requested you.” the line strikes a chord in your heart, and it pangs against the confines of your sternum. you wish you hadn’t heard that. “he wants you. look, i don’t know where you guys stand now, but think of us. think of the brand. you work with one runway brand and you’ll be a fashion week regular. it won’t just be his brand asking to work with you.”

“kiyoko—”

“think about it.” you hear her sigh. “it’s all up to you, in the end. but i think you’d benefit a great deal from it.”

a beat of silence. you hear mitsuri chattering outside your office door. the squeak of your chair as you lean back. “fine.” you say finally. “i’ll think about it. when do we have to get back to him?”

“he didn’t say, but out of courtesy i’m gonna need an answer by friday.”

friday. you look at your calendar— wednesday now. “okay. you’re really a stick up my ass.”

“just lookin’ out for you,” she laughs. there’s a chord of graciousness in your sternum that beats louder than your fear. “i’m coming in soon. want a coffee?”

it stares you in the face every time you so much as glance at the contract. kiyoko’d laid it on your table, as gently as her slender hands could, almost trying to comfort the worsening wound in your side. it’s not that you didn’t want to take the offer.

it’s that even his name made your heart pound.

asahi azumane. how long had it been since you even heard it uttered? when mitsuri briefed you about it this morning you choked on your spit, thumping your chest to regain control. “what did you just say?” you spat.

it wasn’t her fault. you groan, making a mental note to apologise to her later. but you thought that you could go the rest of your life without meeting him again. that was the plan, wasn’t it? that’s what he said, wasn’t it?

you kick back in your chair, gazing upon the piles and piles of intricate fabric, of reams of satin. kiyoko said that his designs were in the folder— so you pick it up, hands threatening to tremble, and start to flip through.

the drawings— the sketches, the delicate pencil lines, the bold strokes, the light shading, it’s all him. you can’t think of anything else, can’t look past the little asahi’s in the corners of each sketch, his signature to copyright them, can’t stop your fingers from trailing over every line. it’s all him. they’re all reminiscent of his style, extravagantly simple, silks and velvets and leather. everything you remember working with him on.

you don’t realise you’re crying until a tear smudges a corner of a sketch. “fuck,” you mutter, stretching out to grab a tissue from your desk and dabbing it gently so the graphite doesn’t run. they’re beautiful, his designs. always had a knack for being the most creative person in the room.

“asahi,” you test his name on your tongue. it feels awkward, unfamiliar. like you haven’t uttered it in years. you probably haven’t. but somehow the more you say it the more it feels— not natural, but comfortable.

(like a home made by hand, burying deep in your mouth.)

you thumb through the designs. it feels like the first time he designed, you in his lap, making suggestions and talking him through what works with what fabric. the two of you were a duo; went everywhere together, worked together, loved together. his designs now are different, but you can see the little details that you taught him.

fine. you think. we’ll see how this goes.

“kiyoko?” you call loudly. the walls of your office are thin, so you hear her footsteps padding along until she pushes the handle down.

she smiles. “hey boss. what is it?”

your hand moves before your brain does, grabbing a pen from your mug-turned-pen holder, darting to sign big and loud on the contract. “tell azumane i said yes.”

new york is dreadful. you’ve known this from the day you first stepped into rat-infested subway stations, walking down garbage-lined streets. no matter how many times you encounter a cockroach you will always jump and squeal before stomping on it with your shoe.

but for some reason, life always finds a reason to drag you back here. you breathe in the first gust of putrid perfume concoctions and the unmistakable fried food, and you feel the same you did all those years ago. hopeful, filled with some sort of determination. now just without the man who brought you here, your scarf around his neck, his hand in yours.

“he really has god-like faith in you, huh?” hitoka comments when you step off the plane, sewing machines and sergers in hand. “fashion week is in less than a month.”

you hum. “i’ve never really known him to make important decisions well. he works best under pressure.” kiyoko snorts. “anyway, as long as he’s paying us well i don’t mind working long hours. i hope you guys don’t either.”

“‘f course not.” kiyoko heaves the machine against her hip, and hitoka stretches out her hand in an offer to help. she shakes her head. “i mean, we practically already do that with every client collab.”

“when are we meeting mr. azumane?” mitsuri asks, shouldering the duffel bag of necessities.

“you don’t need to call him that,” you murmur. “he hates being called that.”

“tomorrow morning,” kiyoko answers. “and yeah. he much prefers just being called azumane.”

or just asahi, you think. there’s something about that thought that sticks in your head, burrows itself deep into your subconscious. something menacing, yet sweet. you don’t know if you’re dreading seeing him or if you want to sleep now so you don’t have to be awake without him anymore.

he’d scheduled private hire cars for the four of you, kiyoko tells you, to shuttle you from the airport to the hotel that’d you’d be staying at. it takes a while— new york traffic is as bad as you remember— and hitoka falls asleep on your right shoulder, mitsuri on your left.

“they’re exhausted,” you comment to kiyoko, who’s sitting up front. “i haven’t seen them this knocked out since the day after tokyo fashion week.”

“you would be too if it was your first time flying 13 hours non stop,” she hums gently. “they were all cramped up with the machines.”

“poor girls,” you pat their knees softly, watching as the dim orange glow of the streetlamps illuminated their faces with every stretch forward. you’d forgotten what new york night life was like; how rowdy it is, how lively it is. you’d forgotten how tired just being in the city made you.

you’d forgotten that the only reason you’d ever come here was for him.

the hotel is nice. kiyoko tells you his manager was the one who booked it for a couple of nights while you look at other places with enough studio space to make a hundred different pieces. god, he’s really pushing you for time, isn’t he? “what time is the—”

“the office is about a block away, and the meeting’s at eight,” kiyoko says, letting down her hair, black cascading around her shoulders. she’s still the beauty she’s always been, even after a thirteen-hour flight. “so we sleep now so we’re not late, got it?”

and that’s exactly what the four of you don’t do. the japan-america time zone difference is brutal on your body, tossing and turning in your bed until the ungodly hours in the morning. it doesn’t help that your tummy’s churning with the dread of seeing him again, for the first time in what feels like forever. you wonder if his hair’s still the same length, if he’s changed his glasses. you wonder if he’s seeing anyone. god, you don’t know whether it’s better if he is or isn’t.

you lie there, awake, staring at the ceiling. you count the flowers in the wallpaper, you lean on your side and watch the clouds inch by slowly. there’s nothing to rock you to sleep. you wonder if it would be better if he were here, next to you, tucking you into his chest. “fuck,” you mutter, clutching the sheets between your fingers. “fuck you, fuck this. why am i here?”

you’re not sure when today becomes yesterday, when night turns into day. all you know is that eventually slumber overcomes you, and you tuck yourself under the covers for a good hour and a half before the kiyoko-mandated morning wake up call rings, sharp and shrill, from the hotel landline. you groan, twisting over to pick up the receiver.

“hello?”

“good morning, miss!” the voice is way too chipper for— you glance at the clock— 6 in the morning. “this is your morning wake up call. have a wonderful day.”

“you too,” you grumble, slamming the receiver down before stretching out of bed. god, you’re tired. your shoulders are aching and your chest feels heavy, but the new york outside is starting to wake up and you can’t help but shiver from the anticipation of the city. the sun is pulling horizons of pink and orange behind her, taking her place in the sky.

there’s a knock at the door. “boss? you awake?” it’s hitoka, voice small and muffled by a yawn. “we’re going down for breakfast. want us to wait for you?”

you hum, darting across to your bga for your sweater. “i’ll be out in a sec,” you call, and you hear her grunt in affirmation. the sweater is warm, and you pull it over your head and settle into your sneakers. you’d have to wait till later for a shower. pushing down on the handle, cold metal icy in your hands, you’re greeted by three other sleepy girls, eye bags tightly drawn under their eyes, kiyoko’s glasses pushed over her forehead to keep her hair back.

“jet lag, huh?” she mutters, and you all giggle a little.

breakfast is a quiet affair. it’s your typical breakfast buffet, and mitsuri and hitoka pile their plates with pancakes and whipped cream and make fun of kiyoko eating cereal? you have all these fresh cut fruit and meat and you chose cereal?

“it’s healthy.” kiyoko shrugs. “and plus i don’t feel like eating anything else so early in the morning.”

honestly, neither can you. you push around the food in your plate, eventually opting for just sipping the orange juice hitoka so kindly brought for you. there’s something eating away at you that you can’t quite place. is it him? is it the new city? you’ve never seen so many people talk so loudly this time of the morning.

you think about it more when you shower. you can’t help it; it’s all that consumes your mind. what he looks like, who he’s with. you want to see him again, no matter how much you deny it outwardly. there’s a little excitement, a little flame that burns in your palms. you start to remember the way he touched you, how soft his hands are, the tips of his fingers constantly bruised from volleyball. you remember sitting with him every night, applying ointments and wrapping his fingers and kissing them one by one.

“fuckin’,” you spit, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “stop thinking about that. stop it.” the shower water beats down, scalding and hissing on your back, rivulets of memories and tears staining your skin. stars explode behind your eyelids, and you let go. your vision is blurry, and perhaps it is best that way.

his office is big. that’s the first thing you think when you walk down the block to the building that kiyoko’s leading you all to. he’s definitely upgraded from the small studio space the two of you had rented when you had first moved to new york, cramped and crowded with your piles of fabric and his stashes of messy sketches.

but you two made it work. fit a small bed in the corner and held each other’s hands as you dozed off to sleep. now you stand at the foot of his building and your heart is in your throat, threatening to spill into words that you can never let see the light of day. but you brave it all, shoulder the past and its vicious tongue and walk inside.

the three of them can practically see the tension rolling off your shoulders as you step into the lobby. your sneakers made contact with unforgiving marble, walking up to the reception. “i’m here to see azumane,” you murmur, and she gives you a look. you can’t tell what it says. you decide you don’t care.

she picks up a phone, mumbling something into the receiver before looking back at you. “he’s expecting you. floor 16.”

you nod graciously. floor 16. that’s high. or is it? you can’t really tell what the standard of new york offices are like; you’d only been here a handful of times, and you barely remember them, always buried nose deep in sewing that you don’t even notice the sun going down. you’re twiddling your thumbs when kiyoko whacks you on the shoulder.

“relax.” she says. “you’re practically vibrating.”

she’s not wrong. you’re shaking, trembling even, but as you enter the elevator and press a knuckle against the ridged button that says, 16, you breathe. you breathe and you calm yourself. you knock against racing tides of your thoughts, still whipping winds.

you’re fine. you’re fine.

when the doors open his name is the first thing you see. you almost scoff at the narcissism, but the company is named after him. you flip your sunglasses up to your hairline, heaving a small sigh.

“you got this,” kiyoko whispers.

you nod. “i know.”

and then you venture into what you’ve only ever dreamt about.

floor to ceiling windows. walls filled with rows and rows of model headshots, little sketches and notes hanging under them. sample pieces, headgear, jewelry. it’s your dream, to run a show like this, and now you’re the part it all hinges on.

people watch you as you walk in. whispers. murmurs. is that the tailor? is it only the four of them? we’re so royally fucked. but you ignore them, following behind your supposed tour guide into the main office.

“azumane-san’s been waiting for you,” she smiles gently, and it does nothing to calm your nerves. you pinch your thighs. “i’ve heard loads about you.”

“oh yeah?” you attempt to laugh, and it comes out in a weak exhalation. you come to a stop in front of a glass door, and inside you can see a wall lined with the same sketches you poured over the last few weeks. in front of it, a dark oak table littered with different fabrics, magazines, several accessories, and a gold-plated name plate.

asahi azumane.

he sees you before you see him. because you’re busy watching the people milling around the room, shifting the weight of your bag on your shoulder. you’re looking, looking, with that look on your face he’s always been so acquainted with. the look of awe, at passion and at activity, the flurry of happening that surrounds you. asahi’s known how much you love just being a part of something.

and then you see him. him, here, really in front of you. he looks tired, a little older, but his hair’s still pulled into the same low bun, long strands framing his face. he looks at you and you look at him, and you can’t begin to explain the calmness that overwhelms you. calm? how are calm? how do you look in the eyes of your haunting nightmares, the shadow that’s tacked to the end of your days and feel calm?

“azumane!” kiyoko and hitoka are moving before you do, rushing up to him. you’d told them to do that; take away the attention from your being there by talking to him first. “it’s been years. how’ve you been?”

sometimes you forget kiyoko and asahi are from the same year too. kiyoko takes his hands in hers, neck craning up to look at him. “you look the same. you’d think you would have gotten a haircut by now.”

he laughs. you forgot how light his laughter was, the way it fills the room. “it’s nice to see you too, shimizu.” his voice is the same, deep ochre spilling into the room, smooth as whiskey. “you too, hitoka.”

and then he looks at you.

“hey.” his eyes are soft. you want to gauge them out.

“hi.”

it’s silent for a while, deafening above the chatter of his subordinates. asahi clears his throat. “can i, uh,” he scratches the back of his neck. “can i talk to you privately? there’re some matters i need to run by you before you can start sewing.”

your blood goes cold. “yeah, sure.” you take a step forward, and he jerks his head to everyone else, a low command to “please take your leave, i’ll call everyone back in a bit.”

“it’s been a while, huh?” you start. you try to fit a small smile on your lips. “you must have been desperate if you called me.”

“the opposite, actually.” he takes a seat at his chair, motioning for you to sit next to him. “you were my first choice.” there’s a hesitance behind his voice, in the way his hand reaches for yours and then stops. he pulls a file towards you, flipping it open. “i take it you’ve already looked through the sketches?”

“yup,” is all you can say. your hands are paralysed by your sides. you don't know if you wish he’d just hold it. “they’re really good. your blazers especially.”

“you think so?” he thumbs through the pages, and you watch the way his hands flex and move. meadows of smooth porcelain, dotted with freckles and moles, silver rings adorning his fingers. your breath hitches in your throat.

he talks over his ideas, his intentions, the way he wants things done. “of course, i’d still love for your input on it,” he smiles. “you know best the way fabric works.”

you hum. “you have a lot of faith in the structure of velvet,” you comment, hand running over his dress sketches. “you might want to use a lighter fabric if you want this level of flow.”

“as i said,” his hand finds its place on the little of your back, and suddenly the two of you feel all too close, all too intimate. but even if he notices the way your body tenses, he doesn’t show it. “you know it best. what other revisions did you think of?” too close, too close. he smells the same, you realise. he’s using the same cologne, the one you first got for him the first christmas you really had money to blow on expensive presents. you were fresh out of high school then.

the hour goes by with the two of you making revisions to his sketches, going through colours and fabrics and “do you want it against the grain? i think the drape would look nicer that way.” asahi listens, nodding along as he always has. you’re his little genius; everything he’s ever done only ever went through you before coming to life. he watches you talk, making revisions in your signature pink pencil, sketching over his designs and making notes.

“i’m taking this home with me, by the way,” you mutter as you thumb through the pages. “you can have my blank copy. i need all the notes.”

he laughs. “thanks for clarifying now,” you pull out your copy from your bag, the one with all your little scribbles during your first revision, and hand it to him. “you haven’t changed a bit.”

what’s that supposed to mean? you grit your teeth, flipping through the pages one last time. “i wouldn’t put money on that assumption.”

it’s silent. he looks at you and you’re looking at your notes, studying the little indents in the paper. there are so many questions you want to ask, so many words you want to speak. so much you have to catch up on, so much skin to explore. you want to, you want to. so what’s stopping you?

“the team’s going out for dinner tonight,” he murmurs, and you can feel his breath against your skin. you shudder. “should i expect to see the four of you there?”

is this his attempt at making things better? is this his attempt at pretending everything’s normal, like he didn’t leave you for dead years ago? you look at him, and his eyes are soft, filled with mirth. curious brown.

“expect the three of them,” you say finally. “i’m going to look over studios so we can start sewing.”

kiyoko is adamant on staying with you that evening, no matter how much you tell her you’re fine alone. “you’re really gonna leave mitsuri and hitoka on their own? in the big city?” you squeal, laughing as she stands over you, refusing to budge.

“well, they can stay too! right? we can go get dinner downstairs.” she turns back to face the younger girls, who just smile sheepishly.

“actually, shimizu-san,” hitoka starts, her thumbs twiddling. “we actually did want to go for dinner.”

you gesture wildly at them, eyes wide at kiyoko. “you can’t deprive them! it’s their first time here.”

kiyoko groans. “i— fine. but we’ll be back right after to make sure you haven’t, i don’t know, died from neglect.”

“i’ll be fine for four hours,” you roll your eyes. “now get out. i have to rake through air bnb now.” the moment the lock clicks behind them you’re back on your computer, leg hitched up on the chair as you scroll through endless studio spaces. normally you’d work in the studio that the collaborator has, but you specifically requested to scout your own despite the price, just so you wouldn’t have to see him all hours of every day.

“isn’t that going to be expensive?” hitoka asked when you briefed them, hands planted by her sides as she sat cross-legged on the chair.

you waved a hand. “they said they’d pay for it. it’s the same if we got our own place than if we’d just used theirs.”

but the challenge comes with having to find a place. you scroll endlessly, looking for somewhere big enough to house four bodies and twice as many machines, piles and piles of fabric and the mannequins his secretary was nice enough to let you take. you gaze at your notes, the little scribbles he’d left you in black, ones you marked in pink. there’s a little inkling in your heart that tells you, maybe it’s different now. maybe he’s really trying to make amends.

this is a pretty expensive way to say i’m sorry, you think, resuming your scrolling on the site. you bookmark some that catch your eye, good hardwood floors, ample lighting, space enough for all of you. it looks like a bigger version of the first place you had rented when you came here, the same high ceilings, the same earthy undertone that you can never seem to find anywhere else.

you look out the window, back in the same state of mind that haunted you years ago, and again just last night, one that had you counting lit windows in the landscape to alleviate that sick sense of loneliness that consumes you. maybe you should have gone for that dinner.

but airbnb pulls you back into their spiral of overpriced studio spaces cloaked in the surrealism of owning property. you’re reminded that this time you’re not alone; you have your colleagues— no, friends who came with you. there’s a quirk in the corner of your lips when you think of them, wide-eyed and mystified as you were walking back from the office, twinkling lights reflecting off mitsuri and hitoka’s gazes. you remember what it was like your first time here.

you were probably the same warm-cheeked, curious girl they are now. your eyes are misty. when did that happen? you run a hand over your face and turn your attention back to the computer, scrolling endlessly. no more distractions. by the time the lock clicks and slowly opens, hushed whispers creaking forth from the gap in the door you’re pressing submit application and leaning back in your chair.

“found one, boss?” hitoka’s voice is small, slightly slurry. you turn to look at them, pink cheeked and smiley, a little dazed. they all are, even kiyoko who’s always been designated driver. so either they walked back, or someone—

“i had to make sure they got back okay.” you hear asahi before you see him, and suddenly you see his kind face loom over the girls. “mitsuri might have had a little too much,” he turns to the smaller girl, arm slung over his shoulder, looking faraway.

you can’t help the snort that escapes you. “jesus christ,” you stand, hurrying over to take mitsuri in your own arms. she grins at you, hair tucked messily into a bun that bumps against your chin. “i hope they weren’t too much to handle.” the girl in your arms shoots you a look of incredulity. you ignore it. “i’ll have to have a talk with these two. and you,” you shoot kiyoko a look. “you didnt monitor them at all?”

kiyoko raises her arms as if in surrender. “hey, i was busy catching up with my old friends.” something about that line makes your heart sting just a little. you wonder who was there, which friends who you cut off after you and asahi split. you think maybe nishi was there; you know he’d been travelling the world, but knowing his closeness to asahi during high school, he’d definitely be in town for the show.

so you shake your head and smile at them, and manage a hasty grin up at him. “thanks for walking them back,” you say, and it feels genuine.

“it’s no problem.” asahi scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “i wanted to come and— well, say hi to you too i guess.”

you blink slowly. “oh.” your tongue darts out of your mouth to wet your suddenly-dry lips and find words that have seemed to slip right through your teeth. “well, hi.”

he smiles. you wonder how many girls (and guys) he’s smiled at like that since you broke up. it’s annoying really, how much you think about things like that. almost like you’re still not over him, obsessing over every detail, every insinuation that he had any more of a life outside of his relationship with you.

(you’re not over him, you realise quickly.)

but then you smile back at him and it fills you with a strange feeling of calmness. a beat passes and you’re still looking at him, your eyes sketching over the fine lines of age and wisdom that he’s undertaken, the softness in his eyes akin to that of when you were in school. there are a lot of memories you subconsciously repressed when the two of you broke up. but one you never failed to remember was just how comforting it was to be looked at.

“have you found a place?” he asks, voice low. it shakes you out of your reverie and you blink twice before it registers in your mind what he said.

“oh— yeah. yeah i have. do you wanna see? i feel like i shoulda ran it past you before applying, but—” you shrug, a small smile daring on your lips. “i guess it’s too late now.”

he laughs with you, taking a tentative step into your hotel room. it feels like a line being pushed, a safe haven broken into, but you allow it to happen. you turn the laptop so it faces him, all the apartments you sent applications to in on the screen. “you know,” he starts. “the office studio is still open if you wanna use it.”

“i know,” you murmur.

it’s quiet between the two of you as he scrolls through the specs, nodding and muttering along. “i like this one,” he says, and you crane your head to look. “nice lighting. hardwood floors. it’s nice, kinda looks like a bigger version—”

“of our first apartment,” you chime in, a small smile tightening on your lips. “that’s exactly what i said when i saw it.”

asahi leaves not long after that. after he smiles at you, the smile soft quirk that tugs at the corner of his mouth and soft brown eyes that make you want to slap him, telling you that that apartment was perfect, and if you could get it just to send him the rent details. you both look at each other for just a beat too long before he shuts the door behind him, and you don’t realise how tense you are until you breathe.

your posture collapses, every huff of air in your body escaping. the chair creaks under your weight and you hear a stifled giggle behind you, and that’s when you remember you aren’t alone in your room.

“right,” hitoka begins in a botched british accent, swaying in her spot on your bed. “what’s all this then?”

the three of them rupture into giggles and you throw the nearest cushion you can reach at them. “i’ll kill you girls.” you murmur. “it’s your fault he even came here!”

“that was the plan,” mitsuri slurs, laying atop hitoka’s thighs, her skirt riding up just a little bit. “ wanted to see what you two would say if you saw each other.”

“the plan?”

“they asked azumane to walk them home,” kiyoko mumbles, half asleep on her side of your bed.

“you what?” you lurch forward onto the bed, collapsing on top of the two smaller girls, digging your fingertips into their flesh. there isn’t a hint of malice in your breath, none as you hover over their faces and huff, “you did what now?”

“it was hitoka’s idea!” mitsuri screeches through giggles. “not mine, i swear not mine, st-stop!” but you don’t listen, revelling in their laughter and kiyoko’s soft smile on the other end of the bed.

it’s moments like these that make you grateful for the people you work with. you’d been together as a small company for years now, but it was long haul trips and sharing the same bed that made it feel less like work and more like adventures. some kind of bliss behind every door you opened together, wrapped in twinkling night lights and the new york city skyline. you sit back on your haunches as their laughter dies down, and you watch them, teary eyed and red cheeked. i’m glad i’m here with you guys.

but you’ll never say it. instead you watch them doze off, make up still running down their cheeks. kiyoko’s half asleep too, so you shuffle to the bathroom for baby wipes and micellar water, cleaning their faces gently. hitoka’s black mascara and kiyoko’s red lip and mitsuri’s brown eyeliner, wiped and balled up in a wet tissue and thrown away.

and when you stand back and let that deep silence envelope you, there’s an inkling at the back of your neck you can’t quite qualm. one that calls you to a place you spent times just like these in; hours of the night in the suspension between real and fake, where you’re alone but not really. when all you can hear is people but none of them are talking to you. so you put on your jacket and you step out the door, letting it click behind you.

new york’s surprisingly gentle at night. maybe it’s where you’re staying, but as you walk, hands shoved in your pockets not because it’s cold but because it’s strangely comforting to be buried in thick fabric. in deep pockets that envelope you whole, that hold you steady in a country so familiar yet so foreign, places that look just slightly off, road signs you remember the words of but not where they are. something about stiff yet broken in denim, or soft corduroy makes you feel safe, a thick velvet or moleskin. it’s running through your head while you take the walk you’ve always walked, the pavements your heavy feet wear upon start to become familiar.

there was a park that you and asahi went to sometimes on your first trip here. by accident, the first time, and then deliberately every time following. you’d found it one night walking back to your home, ice cream in one hand and his hand in the other, giggling and tripping over your feet. it was your first time in new york, who could have blamed you for being in love?

the trees sway with the gentle breeze. it’s september, the end of summer, the beginning of a new end, when the heat dies down just enough that it warrants a jacket. you remember the first time you were here; it was colder, the early days of january, blowing out the candles on asahi’s cake before boarding the plane. it was such a stupid decision, really; one you hadn’t thought out as much as you should have, but it was alright. because all you had was two suitcases, a jacket, a machine and asahi next to you in the january cold. the leaves gather at your feet, illuminated by the hazy orange lamplight, little shadows dancing along pavements.

there was a bench— there is a bench, that the two of you found the first time. etched your names in the splintering oak and kissed messily under the silvery gusts of moonlight. just up ahead, you remember, shaded by foliage and mimosas in patches of eroded sand. you’re just about to round the corner that takes you there, plop yourself in the worn seat when you stop.

there’s somebody already there.

normally this would have been fine. you know, it’s a public park, a tuesday night in new york. public benches are free reign for anyone who wants them. but not this time. you recognise that jacket, that hair let loose over his shoulder, the soft voice humming a familiar tune. you recognise it all, and it burns deep in your stomach, acid coiling and curdling. confusion or excitement froths in your throat, and a part of you pushes forward, a part of you pulls back.

“how is she?”

and you freeze. nothing moves. it feels like time itself has stopped, the leaves have stopped shaking, the autumn night is still. all there is you, him, and that detached voice who sounds so groundbreakingly familiar. high pitched, energetic, just a smidge of reminiscent.

“she’s—” asahi sighs. sputters. “she’s just as much of a spitfire as she’s always been.” you can hear the smile curving into his mouth, head turned ever so slightly to face whoever he’s speaking to.

you don’t stay to find out who it is. you turn on your heel and you leave, a breath caught between its way in and its way out. your head swims, and the lights begin to blur together. pavements sewn into the soles of your feet take you back to the hotel, back into your bed where the three other girls have barely moved.

the night wastes away and you let it. because in your heart, your rotting heart, something has begun to bloom. and you don’t want it to. you wished new york would stay dead to you.

but you fell in love here once.

(and now you’re doing it again.)

ONE MONTH TO FASHION WEEK

“a hundred and four.”

“yup.”

“in like, twenty seven days.”

“mmhm.”

“and we’re getting paid, how much again?”

“about fifteen thousand dollars.”

hitoka sputters. “only?”

you laugh, hands fitted on your hips as you take one last look at the board, every piece of clothing due for fashion week pinned up and notes written. “actually, less than twenty seven days. we’ll be doing fittings as soon as we finish so we can get them altered. mitsuri,” you call over your shoulder, who shuffles up to you with a small grin on her face. “you’re in charge of the alterations once they come in. it should be small, button relocations, maybe a extra inch or two off a seam. as long as we keep to our schedule,” you breathe, the large calendar right next to the board pinpointing every single hour of every single day. “we should be fine.”

THREE WEEKS TO FASHION WEEK

asahi comes to visit every day.

he knows the schedule by now. every day you are finishing at least a piece and a half each. morning till night at the cutting board, rotary blades dulled and then replaced, hand cramping from the sheer amount of velvet you’ve had to cut, sewing machines oiled and gears cleaned.

mitsuri has each model come in a day for a fitting, taking measurements of what needs to be changed, a pair of thread snippers on her belt for loose threads someone’d forgotten to trim. then back to the chopping block in her own corner, the pile of fabric growing larger each day.

you’re on schedule. you make sure you are. kiyoko’s one of the most type-a people you know, but you’re the one picking up the slack when everyone else has gone to lunch.

and that’s when he comes in. with a to-go bowl of whatever he’s chosen for you, burrito bowl, poke, acai, ramen. and he sits with you, helping with small hand stitches as you handle the big renovations, making sure you eat and drink water.

“you shoulda asked me to start earlier, dumb fuck,” you murmur to him one day.

“i only had the designs finalised the day i sent them to you,” he laughs, threading maroon thread into a size 9 needle. your personal favourite was 10, but it didnt make much of a difference. “i asked you as early as i possibly could.”

“that’s bullshit,” you huff. “you have all year to plan fashion week and you finalise your designs a month and a half before the event?”

“well,” he leans in closer to you. “i work best under pressure.”

you swat him away, your cheeks burning. “yeah well, i don’t.” you lift your foot off the pedal, snipping the thread off the dress before holding it up with your hands. “what do you think?” holding it up in your hands, it falls elegantly down in ripples of crushed velvet, a sea of maroon draped just the way you like it. “number 34.”

“it’s perfect,” he looks at it, eyes wide and bright. “you’re a fuckin’ magician.”

you chuckle. “no, i’m just a seamstress.”

you don’t ask why he was at the park that night. you don’t ask who it was he was with. because it doesn’t matter. spitfire. spitfire. spitfire. that’s what you had been called your whole high school career— the feisty little girl with the ember tipped tongue, subdued by the gentle giant from the volleyball team. you’d died down since then, hadn’t you? just as much as she’s always been. have you?

but then you’re taking the dress to the racks and leaving it to be ironed, glancing at the pinboard again for the original design. your hands work magic on the machine, but it was from his mind, his ideas. they had never failed to leave you speechless, even just as tiny sketches.

“you bring them to life, you know?” his voice pierces through your reverie, and you drag your gaze from the board to him. “it may be my ideas, but they’re useless till they touch your hands.”

“well, i wouldn’t have anything to sew if it wasn’t for your ideas.”

“then we need each other, don’t we?” you don’t notice you’re gravitating back to him in small steps, like you’re levitating across the room. “i need your hands. you need my ideas.”

“that’s the way it’s always been.” you agree, no matter how much you choose to deny it. and then suddenly you’re in front of him, standing between his legs, neck craning down to look at him. “it’s always been you and me.”

asahi nods. asahi agrees. asahi looks at you like you hung the stars and carved the moon from the shell of the nebulas, and his hand, big and warm and lovely, comes up to cradle your cheek.

how do you find it in you to look back at him? how do you find it in yourself to let him touch you again, be so close to you in a room alone? why does this feel like years ago, when it was just the two of you in a shoebox apartment, the same set up of machines and sergers and pinboards against a wall?

and how do you find it in you to ask, “why did you leave me?”

asahi doesn’t answer. he looks at you, mirth melting in his dark eyes, and kisses you. reaches up and pulls you down and you let him, let him consume you and you consume him, stealing each other's breath and words and blood and minds. he’s warm, so warm, smells like his cologne, spicy, woody scent that you gave him, that you made for him. it feels like everything he’s ever been is made for you.

and by the way he’s holding you, you are made for him.

his hands fit in the nooks of your body, sidled by your hips and your waist as he pulls you onto his lap. “i never wanted to,” he says breathlessly. “i swear, i’ve never wanted to be away from you.” his lips attach to your neck, and you mewl, tilting your head for him.

“then why?” you murmur, hands tightening on his shoulders, knuckles white. “why did you?”

there is an answer that the both of you know deep down, in the recesses of your hearts. one that you’d agreed on all those years ago; the only thing you had agreed on in the middle of a screaming match, yelled in broken pitches and shards of dying sunlight.

we just don’t work.

but we do, you think now, from the way you’re rolling your hips onto his, and how he’s holding on to you like you’re a mirage, a dream that he needs to sink his claws into before you drift away. he needs you. asahi needs you.

and you need him. you do, you realise, after years of staring out windows counting lights and stars in the dusty skies. after callouses formed on your hands when you worked on dresses you never really had the heart for. asahi’s clothes are the only pieces that you put your whole heart into, a piece of you sewn onto the fabric with thin strands of your blood work. they’re the only clothes you will ever be proud of making.

and the marks he’s sucking into your skin are the only ones you’d be proud of showing.

you’d been with other people after your break up. men, women, they all came, stayed a night in your bed before you told them to leave, because none of them fit. none of them held you the way he’s holding you now, fingers digging into the plush flesh of your thighs as he rocks on over his thigh.

“you’ve needed this, haven’t you?” he whispers in your ear. “you have. i can feel it.”

there’s a really bold insinuation with the word need. you’ve never had a need for anything. not any amount of money, not any friends or colleagues. there is nothing in the world that would press you in a way that would make you need it.

but you can’t lie to asahi. you’ve never been able to. “i need you,” you beg, and it feels pathetic. it feels vulnerable. it feels right. “asahi, i- i need you, fuck.”

“yeah, you do,” his words are so close to you, like they’re in you, swimming in your head. voice low, timbre making you quiver in his grip. “and i need you just as much. always fuckin’ have.”

you question yourself and why. why what? you don’t know. why this is happening when you so intently promised yourself it wouldn’t, you wouldn’t fall for it again. but you did, you are, free falling dangerously as you shift your legs so slightly so your clit catches against the taut muscle of his thigh, even through layers of clothing. “fuck, say it again, please,” you beg, your hands coming up to wrap around his shoulders.

“say what?” his voice is so sweet but you can hear the teasing behind it. “that i need you?”

you nod, desperately. “yeah, yeah. am i— am i the only one?”

his hips tighten on your hips. “there’s never been anyone else,” he whispers, dragging your clothed cunt over his thigh. thank god you’re in a skirt today, because if you weren’t you don’t think you would have had the patience and good grace to shuck it off right now. you’re drooling over his dress pants, a dark stain over emerald green linen, mouthing at his neck as he grinds you up and down. “promise. you’re the only one.”

you keen. he’s always known what makes you tick, what makes you fawn. the friction on your cunt is delicious, the warm air making your head spin, and you just want him to touch you, bare skin on bare skin. but the responsible person in you remembers. the responsible person who you threw to the wind and left to fend for themselves in the dust of your fabric-laden floors.

“they’re gonna come back soon,” you gasp against his neck, your head tilting back to glimpse at the clock. 12:45. “they always come back at 1— fuck, that feels so good.”

“you think i can’t make you cum in fifteen minutes, baby?” your cunt pusles at the way it drops from his lips, the pet name you haven’t heard in years. you squeeze his shoulders tight, drawing your lip between your teeth. “i can make you cum twice.”

“but— you—” you’re cut off by one of his hands snaking between your bodies, slipping under your skirt. “asahi.”

“you’re dripping,” he whispers. “you’re staining my pants.”

“it’s your fucking fault,” you spit, angling so you can feel his fingers on you over your damp panties. “fuck, fuck— holy shit, your fingers,” the feeling of his fingertips on your clit make you jump, rough and calloused and warm. he coos in your ear, little sweet nothings melting like sugar from his lips. “wait. i can’t— wait.” you push yourself off of him for just a second, yanking your panties down your legs in a split second before climbing back onto his lap.

“desperate, huh?” he chuckles.

you slap his cheek. “shut up and make me cum.”

asahi smiles. you recognise his fondness. “that’s my girl.”

his fingers slip between your folds, covered in slick and taps your clit. you mewl softly, burying your face in his shoulder as he rubs at the sensitive bud, both your breathing growing shallow. “you’re still so fucking beautiful,” he coos in your ear. “that day when you first came to new york. you’re different. but you’re still beautiful.”

“shut up,” you grumble, rolling your hips unto his fingers, your cheeks heating up at his words. beautiful.

“it’s true,” he continues. “and nobody’s been spared the compliments i shower on you and your team. ask around. they’re sick of hearing me talk about you.”

the knot in your stomach is starting to build, starting to swell. the familiar sensation you’ve never been able to achieve so fast with yourself or anyone else as he draws circles on your clit with his thumb, aided by slick and spit. “you j-just haven’t met many good tail-lors then,” you choke out, biting back a moan. “asa— asahi, please.”

“i got you,” he whispers. “gonna make you cum all over me, yeah?” and he must have more brainpower than you do right now, dead and oozing and limp against him because he shoves away all your work and fabrics and threads with his free hand. “you better not spill a drop on any of your work.”

“who the fuck do you think i am,” you hiss between clenched teeth.

“the best seamstress in new york and japan,” he breathes, pinching your clit. you jerk in his arms, breath escaping you sharply. “the only girl i will ever want.”

“asahi,” you cry, the band in your navel beginning to break. “i’m gonna— please, please don’t stop, holy shit—”

and asahi speeds up, his fingers working tighter circles on your clit until you’re gushing, until he’s pushing you into blinding white, crashing down upon him like waves upon breakwaters. you’re gone, eyes squeezed shut as you let out a soft cry, cumming and cumming all over his fingers and pants. you feel his breath stutter as you come down slowly, and you open your eyes to meet his.

“another one,” he demands. “one more time, princess. said i was gonna make you cum twice. i need you to cum again, okay?” you don’t have a chance to reply before his fingers are back on your sensitive cunt, this time thick digits pressing at the seam of your slit.

“no, i—” you hiccup, “it’s s-sensitive, i—”

“yes you can,” he’s shaking his head, like he’s made the decision for you. (he has.) his fingers slip into your weeping mess of a pussy. “you’re my good girl, yes you can.”

and brainless as you are, you nod. “yes i can,” you murmur, leaning back slightly to grant him a better angle. “fuck, yeah, one more? one more f-finger?”

“three?” he asks softly, eyebrows pinched slightly. “you sure?”

you nod. “need it,” you promise. “need you.”

so he gives it to you. slips in one more finger beside the two already in you and pushes, thick calloused fingers reaching inside you where you could never yourself. he knows you, knows your sweet spots and your weaknesses better than you ever have. and hell if he’s not going to use that knowledge.

he’s fucking you on his fingers harshly, lewd, wet sounds of your pussy swallowing what he has to offer willingly cacophonous in your ears. you whine, thrash, drag your hips forwards and backwards in time with his thrusts to help him help you cum. “asahi,” you breathe.

“yeah, sweets?” he’s so kind. he’s looking at you like angel dust, like fairy wings. like you’re luminescent, glowing. like he loves you.

“i wanna m-make you cum too.”

he laughs dryly, allowing a single glance downward at his stained pants, his clothed erection straining against the fabric tautly. “don’t worry baby,” asahi kisses your cheek. “you can give me that another day. it’s about you now, okay?”

“nngh,” you manage to groan as he crooks his fingers inside you, prodding expertly at your gspot, jerking in his grip. “but— i want to—”

“get caught by your employees?” he whispers. “want them to walk in and see you getting fingered by the big ceo hm?” you clench (regrettably) at his words, and he all but lights up. “you do,” his voice is faraway, breathy. “you want them to see you.”

“no,” you let out, strangled, unconvincing. “i don’t— tha’s embarrassing—”

“you’re clenchin’ around me, princess,” he chuckles. “sick, sick little girl.”

you seal your mouth over his, swallowing his breath, his words. to shut him up, because you can’t deny the little truth in his statements. you press yourself against him, hips rolling forward onto his fingers, and a moan escapes your mouth. his lips are so soft, so warm against yours, almost comforting you about the fact that he’s three fingers knuckle deep in your pussy, stretching you out deliciously.

“gonna cum,” you mumble against him. “can feel it— can feel it in my tummy.”

“sweet girl,” his free hand drags against your clit, and you almost keel over. “sensitive, huh?”

you can’t answer him, not when you’re so close to cumming, so close to letting go all over him one more time. a whine leaves your lips, almost begging for him to make you finish.

“you know,” asahi starts, and you can tell by the small shake in his voice that he’s criminally affected by this too. “i wish it was my cock you were cumming around.”

and that does you in. that has you falling forward on his chest; not his fingers in you or on your clit, but his words, his sweet timbre, the quiver in his voice. you let go, cum for the second time all over his fingers, wet and slick and embarrassing but you don’t care, can’t care. there’s not a thought crossing behind your eyes anymore, just asahi, asahi, asahi.

he’s whispering in your ear when you come to comprehension again, little mumbles of, so good, such a good girl. so pretty when you cum. and you shiver, momentary weakness fading from the forefront of your mind. before you stands your ex boyfriend who’s just made you cum your brains out twice with just his fingers and his voice. your ex boyfriend who can read you like a book, no matter how much you wish to hide from him.

what have you done?

“baby?” his voice is small, tentative. “hey, what’s wrong?”

and then you’re up, backing away from him slowly. your senses return, your thoughts are loud, and you remember, you weren’t supposed to do this.

why did you do this?

“you should— you should go,” you say quietly. “before they come back. they’re,” you glance at the clock. 13:02. “you should…”

“don’t go back on me,” he steps forward but you step back. you try, try so hard to lift your gaze to meet his, but you can’t. “hey. hey. look at me.”

you can’t. so he makes you. he corners you by the wall and tilts your chin up with just enough force that says, listen to me. and so you look at him, his hair messy, his lips swollen red. his eyes are swimming with something you can’t quite read, something you can't recognise. worry? disgust?

“i meant what i said,” he whispers. “all of it. you’re the only girl i want.” why does it sting when he says that? why does your chest ache? “i don’t want to be without you anymore, okay?”

“i don’t understand,” you mumble.

“then i’ll help you,” his voice. it sounds so hurt. “please, baby. let me help you.”

“why did you—” you stop yourself, searching for the right word. leave doesn’t fit. “abandon me?”

there’s a moment in your lives that you always came back to. that morning in december when you woke up and he was gone. when you called him and he didn’t pick up. when you asked around, to everyone you both knew, and no one knew a thing. he abandoned you, in a foreign city, in a wasteland, in the rubble of the only relationship you ever cared about. your hands are trembling.

“i’m sorry,” he mumbles. “i’m so, so sorry.”

“you should go,” you tear your face away from his, shaking away the stern grip of his fingertips, your mouth moving faster than you can think. “i’ll— you can stop coming over. i’ll finish this, you pay me, and i leave. okay?”

silence. you don’t know what you want him to say. i don’t want to do that. okay, i’ll leave you alone forever. please, be with me. you don’t know why you said that.

but you know, in your heart of hearts, it’s for the best. you’ve asked him, asked him twice, and he hasn’t had an answer. asahi looks at you, and you don’t look back.

he leaves.

and you think new york has never felt this cold.

#asahi x reader #asahi azumane x reader #asahi azumane #asahi smut #asahi azumane fluff #asahi thirst #asahi hq #asahi angst #asahi x fem reader #writing tag

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sebastianshaw · 2 years ago

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Hi there! It’s Munday and I have a few new mutuals, so I thought I’d take a minute to introduce myself and mention a few things about this blog that weren’t in my rules. Things I go by/that people call me here: RF (rodentfanatic), Rodent, Ratty, Ratmun, Ms. Rat, 90smun, 90s, Shawmun. I currently have two rats, two chinchillas, and five mice, all girls. I try not to let it overwhelm the blog but I do have a huge love for small animals/rodents so you’re gonna see quite a few OOC posts and reblogs of them. Please let me know if you have a phobia of them and need them tagged. I try to tag them with the animal name (mouse, rat, hamsters, etc) most of the time but I don’t always. Also, these animals are short-lived and prone to many health problems, so pet illness and pet death does occur on this blog, please understand how it may affect my posting when that happens. I’m going to be 33 soon. I joined Tumblr RP in 2015 but have been RPing online since I was 15. I like to think I’ve gotten decent. Prior to 2015 all my characters were OCs, usually at supernatural themed boards, but since joining Tumblr I’ve primarily/only writing Marvel comics canon characters. . .typically very obscure ones. Shaw’s probably the most prominent/well-known one I have a blog for. During the week, I work at a day center for adults with intellectual disabilities. I’m on here a lot during work, so if I just all of a sudden stop talking to you mid-conversation or something, it’s because I’m actually doing work. On weekends, I usually visit or volunteer at a wildlife sanctuary, but the second Saturday of every month I go to a vampire-themed LARP. Sometimes I post pictures from both. I’m often salty about current comics, especially how Shaw is written. I used to post a lot more about that, I’m trying to not care so much anymore (it helps that a certain writer is no longer writing him -Duggan is the devil on this blog, you guys) but sometimes that does come up. Sorry. Finally, I draw. Badly. But I am getting better! My art tag is creatively named “my art”

#out of shirt #munday

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laylamva · 3 years ago

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Miitopia Nuzlocke!

Okay, so I’d been doing a Miitopia Nuzlocke for a month and decided to chronicle it. Spoilers…I didn’t make it.

Rules

If a Mii falls in battle, they’re gone for good (Unless it’s the protagonist).

I will only use the Life Sprinkle on the protagonist.

If the whole party falls in the same battle, everyone will still be counted as alive.

If a Mii is resurrected by another party member, they will be counted as alive.

If the dead Miis cost us the final boss, only then will I go back to level them up.

When a Mii dies, I will change their hair color to white, their eye color to black, and rename them “Spooky Ghost” to keep track of who I’ve lost (and also to make me feel better about sentencing my beloveds to death).

I will draw random characters from Mii Maker for every major character and decide party jobs by spinning a wheel.

The Nuzlocke ends after the main story. I cannot bring myself to care about the post-game.

If the protagonist dies on their own, the Nuzlocke is aborted.

Sabrina Raincomprix is protag/safe gorl.

WALUIGI x TEMMIE OTP (they’re the lovey-dovey couple)

Sassy Child Elmo pretending to be a dragon foreshadows Dominic.

Lenny

Dark Lord Chloé Bourgeois is fun to voice

Sabrina’s a chef.

Simone Soleil! Male Pop Star.

Before you look him up, Simone’s an OC. I put an OC in here. Help.

Every time I have played this game with Spotpass on, the freaking blobfish Mii always weasels its way in! (It’s the Nintendo Fangirl)

Got the new Zelda amiibo. Wonder if it’ll give me a costume?

IT DID!

I changed Sabrina’s eyebrows to match the Zelda wig…she looks exactly like me.

Leon Kuwata, Ultimate Mage AU

AU where Genocider Syo is a good guy who unkills people

I almost lost the Danganronpa characters, but we lost the fight.

Simone’s dead. But it’s okay, because he’s a spooky ghost.

I actually made up a “Farm Upstate” story to make myself feel better about Miis dying. “They’re not dead, they just turned into ghosts because of a cosmic paradox and can’t leave the inn as a side effect!”

Leon is at war with the moles. And also Sabrina, apparently.

On a related note, Sabrina Raincomprix and Genocider Syo BroTP???

I made Teruteru Hanamura the King. If you’ve seen all his Free Time Events, the calming fruit mission hits different.

And Sonia Nevermind is the princess. Can you tell what my current hyperfocus is?

Why does the wheel keep giving me Pop Star things? Simone’s been dead for three sessions it’s time to move on—

General Sonia killed Leon and Syo. My entire first party is DEAD.

Sabrina’s a warrior now.

Maya Aida from Glitter Force Doki Doki is my Imp.

One time when I was playing this game, I tried making a Starlow Mii from scratch, but then I realized it looked like someone different. Someone better. And now it’s all come full circle as Tonker Bell joins us as the Airheaded Cat!

Sabrina just got the Bee Armor. Suck it, Chloé!

Genie of the Lamp The Master World’s End Club

Homura Akemi as the Dancing Guide? Imagine Homura being happy.

Steve from Blue’s Clues: The Kind Thief

Steve and Tonker Bell BroTP!

tonker bell just died.

If we’re going with the “Sabrina dumped Chloé” narrative, I feel like even with two kind party members, Sabrina would keep chanting until the genie was sealed again.

Crap I bought Tonker Bell something

I LOOK AWAY FOR ONE SECOND AND NOW MAYA’S DEAD OH GOD—

Steve’s the only one left.

Ugh, scratch that.

OK, Sabrina’s on her own. If she dies, game over.

Why am I listening to Dodie music while I’m doing this? It’s making this sadder.

WHY IS MY FIRST FIGHT ALONE AGAINST HOMURA???

AND SHE’S A PAINTING I’M BONED—

I lost. The Nuzlocke is over. RIP.

So…yeah. I plan on doing this again on the Switch later, but that’s gonna go on YouTube…as soon as I can figure out how my capture card works. BTW, “Spooky Ghost” didn’t fit in the text box for Mii names, so here’s what I named them instead:

Simone: Sun Ghost

Tonker Bell: Disbelief

Maya: AngelHeart

Steve: At College

Syo and Leon were taken away before I could give them ghost names, but if I did, they would’ve been called 11037 and Genocided. And I didn’t name Ghost Sabrina because the Nuzlocke ended. But, hypothetically…Vanisher.

#gaming #nuzlocke #miitopia

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artaxerxesthegreat · 3 years ago

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Playing with Fire: Part 11

A/N: Everyone in this story is 18+, if minors are mentioned they aren’t getting in any weird, sick, twisted situations with adults. I also use female pronouns for the reader and the reader may be a bit OC. I would also prefer that minors DO NOT interact with this at all. Thank you.

Warnings: Dream based, Actors mixed with characters, College AU!, Mixed universes, Raffey Cassidy stands in as Sprite, swearing, gaslighting, manipulation, cheating, mild violence (?), implied sexual content, mentions of bullying, college strife, MCU/X-Men/Spider-Man/Actors mashed in one universe, self- doubt, insecurities, depression, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, slow burn, family issues, mentions of disabilities, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of suicidal behavior/thoughts (Please let me know if I’ve missed something too.)

This chapter mentions being admitted to a mental hospital, and physical abuse and suicidal behavior/thoughts. Please DON’T read this if it’s triggering and find someone to talk to to help you. The world needs you.

I wish I had a link to add to this, if anyone does please attach it to this post.

Word count: 4K

I wanted to leave so badly, but my feet were glued to the ground, but I also wanted to run to him and hug and tell him I’m sorry; but his last words to me still ring in my ears.

“Don’t ever talk to me ever again. I want nothing to do with you, and if you ever show your face in front of me again you will want to make sure you aren’t alone.” I feel the color drain from my face and the air leave my lungs as I remember the part that keeps me up at night. I dread every waking moment I’m alone on campus; that very last part “‘Make sure you aren’t alone’…Alone. I- I’m alone!”

Putting all my strength and will into taking a step back, he takes one forward. My eyes widen at this and I feel my heart hammering in my chest again, trying to listen to my fight or flight response, I find that I can’t move again. Looking back at him, I see his lips are moving but I can’t hear him. I can’t hear anything except for the blood rushing to my ears and the thumping of my heart.

————————

He takes another step forward and I stumble backwards into someone, they place their hand on my waist and pull me closer to them. Looking up I see Warren staring down at me with concern, he glances up at Makarri and her ‘friend’. He leans down whispering to me, “Are you okay? Are they bothering you?” He sends them a hard glare, before looking back at me.

Finally finding my words I barely whisper out, “N- no, let’s just go back, please.”

Nodding his hand he grabs my hand, leading me back up the stairs, I tense at the feeling of eyes burning into my back. Not turning around I start running up the remaining steps, almost running past our friends.

Kitty stops me with a smile that soon falls as she takes in my panicked state. She looks at Warren who shrugs his shoulders, telling them about two people at the skating rink that we’re talking to me.

“Who was talking who?” Kate asks, smiling as she and Yelena walk up to us.

“The girl in red and that guy in the black overcoat, they’re right over there… I think he was talking to Y/N, but I’m not too sure. I came at the tail end of everything.” Warren points them out and Kitty starts freaking out drawing everyone’s attention,

“Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!”

Before the rest can really see or process what’s going on I quickly start walking away from them.

“Guys, um, I’m really tired from the flight. I’m gonna go back to my room.” I say over my shoulder bumping into people as I make a hasty escape, “S-sorry excuse me.” Bucky jogs over to me gently grabbing my arm, I let out a shaky whimper as he tries to get me to turn around.

“Hey, hey, Y/N just breathe okay. We’ll all go okay? The last thing we want is for you to walk around New York in this state.” He wipes away tears from my face that I didn’t know were there. Looking over his shoulder I see that everyone is ready to walk back with me to the hotel.

“But- but the memorial, the candles. Your plans.” I whine out new tears forming

“We’re gonna be here for 3 weeks, Y/N, there’s plenty of time to light the candles and do OUR plans.” Yelena says, emphasizing the ‘our’ as she links her arm with mine, “Hell, we could even light them in the hotel.”

“Actually you can’t do that.” Kate warns linking on my other arm, “Fire hazard.”

“Whhaaattt psssh, you Americans are so weak.” Yelena replies, shaking her head, “In Russia we light what we light, when we light it. Who’s going to stop us?”

“Welcome to America.” Kate smiles back at her as we start walking back to the hotel.

“I’m so sorry you guys. I really don’t mean to ruin this.” I sniffle looking at everyone.

“It isn’t your fault. It’s not like you knew they were going to be here.” Wanda adds in an annoyed tone looking behind her shoulder. She lets out a slew of curse in Sokovian as she ushers us into a random store, “In here in here in here in here, quickly!”

“Wanda, my love, what are you doing?” Vision asks warily as he wasn’t prepared to be pushed inside the store. She ignores him and keeps pushing us all deeper into the store watching through the giant glass windows like a madwoman.

“Yeah, you’re acting like someone was following us.” Yelena pecks over Wanda’s shoulder, and with wide eyes she says, “Oh. I get it now.”

“Vhat it is?” Yelena turns Kurt’s head to the window as Makarri and a man he’s never seen before walk by, “I’m still confused.”

“Whhhhat?” She tilts her head back looking at Kurt with a smirk, “You don’t know the story? Didn’t you two date?”

“Vell, da, but ve never talked about-” Kurt begins to get flustered glancing at an amused Warren and myself.

“I know you two dated babe, she literally introduced you as ‘Warren I’d like you to meet Kurt. My ex-boyfriend who just came out of the closet’.”

“Uh, da…” Kurt looks at the ground blushing with a bashful smile, causing Warren to kiss his cheek tenderly.

“Oh my god, stop being an adorable couple so I can explain this.” Yelena says exasperatedly. Taking a breath she starts, “Okay, so you saw that guy who was walking with that girl in red? So he broke her heart during Christmas break at her aunt’s house like… 10 years ago.” Sometimes she really does remind me of Natasha. She can be so blunt, but now isn’t the time to get into my horrible and traumatic past. Wanda picks up now and taps Yelena’s shoulder shaking her head. Nodding her head after looking at my face, Yelena drops the whole thing saying, “Forget it… I’ll tell you later.”

“So are we gonna stay here in- where are we? J.C. Penny’s like a bunch of weirdos or are we going to the hotel?” Clint points out the people watching us curiously as we all huddle around the jewelry section. A few employees scrutinize us as they whisper to each other and talk into their walkie-talkies.

“Well, someone should make sure they’re gone.” Kitty chimes looking up at her husband.

“I’ll go.” He’s about to walk forward when I stick my arm out stopping him.

“It’s fine guys, let's go before they think we’re trying to steal something.” I say weakly making my way to the doors, only to be stopped by a mall cop.

“Are you kidding me?”

“Excuse me ma’am, but I’m gonna have to ask you to empty out your pockets.”

“Why?”

“It’s just procedure ma’am, there’s a lot going on during the holidays.”

“Yeah right, ‘procedure’ my ass.” I snap back at him.

“Ma’am,” His voice gets stern and raises an octave higher drawing the attention of other shoppers, “I’m gonna have to ask you to empty out your pockets.”

“Is there a problem here?” I hear Colossus’ deep Russian voice behind me and the cop is about to snap at him, but as his eyes keep going up his voice is lost as he stares up at this behemoth of a man.

“I like him, I like your husband Kitty. He’s cool people.” I hear Yelenan’s voice in the background as the area grows quiet at the scene unfolding before them.

“Um- I was just…” He swallows thickly trying to find his words as he shrinks under Colossus’ gaze. He even still has his son sitting on his shoulders, and the child fixes the guard with his own glare, “I’m just doing my job, man. I got a call that some people were acting suspicious around the jewelry section.”

“That would be all of us.” Clint says, stepping next to Colossus with his arms folded. The rest of the men flank us holding their gaze on this one mall cop and I feel a bit bad, “And we weren’t being suspicious, we were just coming in from the cold. Have you been outside? It’s freakin’ cold.”

“Guys it’s not a big deal, can we just go.” I say waving the whole thing off.

“It actually is a big deal.” Sam states glaring at the mall cop, who avoids his gaze looking to the floor.

“We didn't steal anything, okay. Look,” I move to step past him to go to the RF alarms by the doors when he quickly moves to block my path.

“You can’t leave.”

“Then stand outside if you think I’m gonna run.” My tone is hard and even. His face falters a bit not expecting such a cold expression, agreeing he steps out into the cold as we one by one step outside without a single alarm going off.

“Sorry about the misunderstanding, thank you.” He says embarrassed as we glare at him.

“Not as sorry as you were gonna be.” Yelena threatens squaring up her shoulders, the cop looks at her almost amused until Kate casually asks Yelena when her next MMA tournament is, “Next month, and I practice everyday.”

“Crazy how you’re always in first place. Those dudes don’t stand a chance.” Kate drapes her arm over Yelena's shoulders tilting her head to the mall cop smiling, “And by ‘dudes’ I mean people with penis’.”

“Yup, I beat up all the penis-sissy’s. When’s your fencing tournament again?” Yelena folds her arms looking at Kate smiling.

Kate looks down at her, “Next year, but I too practice everyday.”

They turn their attention back to the mall cop with fake smiles, quickly moving back into the store he goes back to warmth of the store and avoiding the heat of our glares, quickly shuffling to the other employees who seem to be asking him if he’s okay.

Grateful that that is over, we start walking back to the hotel. All the way there I find myself looking left and right and behind myself surveying the area for any threats. It doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone, but they don’t say anything, I couldn't help the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach as the hotel came into view.

“Oh shit.”

My steps faltered for a moment at the sight of a man in a black overcoat, but on further inspection it was a man with shoulder length red hair with brown eyes walking with his family. Taking a deep breath as I walk inside, the warmth of the hotel makes my fingers and face tingle at the sudden change in temperature.

While everyone goes to the elevators I make my way to the stairs instead, “I’m gonna take the stairs guys.”

“Y/N.” Clint says my name in disbelief.

“I feel like walking.” I shrug and open the door to the stairs, “Plus we won’t all fit in there anyway.”

“That’s why they have more than one elevator, silly.” Yelena says pointing at the other three closed doors.

“Eh it’s fine, plus plus- that’s-”

“-Plus squared, we know.” They all reply at the same time, catching me off guard.

“Tsk, ignoring that rude interruption completely-” I hold a finger up at them giving them a sassy head roll before I continue, “Plus plus, there are a bunch of people here waiting for the elevator.”

“So?” Kate asks, confusion on her face.

“Plus plus plus- that’s plus cubed.” I giggle at their groans, “It’s good exercise.”

“Your room is on the 15th floor, Y/N.” Bucky deadpans.

“If I get tired I’ll just stop on one of the other floors and take it the rest of the way up.” I start slowly inching my way into the stairwell.

“I’ll come with you.” Sam offers as Bucky groans, “You can take the elevator Buck.”

“No, no. I need to walk off the 2 cups of hot chocolate anyway.” I giggle at them as they make their way over to me.

“See you at the top.” Yelena waves as the others step into the elevator.

While the three of us make our ascent on the stairs I can’t stop my mind from reliving that moment at my aunt’s house, or that moment at the skating rink. Both experiences had me feeling weak, helpless, broken and scared; I couldn’t move, I couldn’t speak, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t hear, and I couldn’t breathe. There was so much reeling in my mind that I still have a hard time processing it all; I know what he said to me 10 years ago, and how he sounded when he said it, but I still couldn’t hear.

When he left me on the living room floor, the quiet of the house was so deafening that I had to get out of there. Just like at the skating rink, there was no noise, no sound, just unending and unnerving quiet. I know that isn’t the case for either memory though; I know for a fact there was noise in my aunt’s house from the kids playing upstairs, and the chatter of people laughing and talking at the skating rink, but my brain I just canceled it all out, and I wish it didn’t. Then I wouldn’t have to focus on what was in front of me- a broken, hurt and angry man.

“Broken because of me, hurt because of me, angry because of-”

A broken sob escapes my lips as I grip the stair railing making sure I don’t lose my balance as my vision begins to blur. I feel a hand on my back rubbing small circles and being turned around to sit on the steps. Closing my eyes tightly I smell Sam’s cologne as he leans my head to his shoulder placing his chin on top of my head. I can’t stop the sobbing that wrecks my body as the weight of everything over the years finally hits me- actually hits me.

“This couldn’t have been a worse time, it’s Christmas for fucks sake and here I am, crying like a bitch, on the staircase in some hotel.”

“Don’t worry about it, everything’s gonna be fine. We won’t let you go.” Bucky’s voice cuts through my thoughts and it only makes me sob harder, and for once I’m not worried anymore. Slowly my sobbing turns to cries which turn into little sniffles, taking in a shaky breath I lift my head from Sam’s shoulder.

“I ruined your shirt.” I glare at the tears stains on his shirt making him laugh, as I start wiping away some tears.

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“When are you gonna start thinking of yourself for a change?” His tone is playful, and I can see Bucky tense at his question, but the look on his face tells me he wants to know too.

“…When I want to lose the people I care about again.” I say in a serious tone, he’s taken aback by this and remembers why everything happened the way it did.

“I don’t mean like that, and you know it.”

“… I know, I’d just rather not risk it. Not again,” I let out a shaky sigh, “I don’t want to be that person again.”

“Y/N, you never were that person, you were in a bad situation and coped with it the only way you knew how. I’m not justifying it, it was wrong, but no one taught you. No one tried to help you. You were alone and didn’t realize that you could have asked for help- actual help, I know the Loki’s thought they’d be helping but they might’ve made things worse.” I let out a breathy laugh nodding in agreement with his words, “You can’t keep blaming yourself for that.” He tries to reason with me, but that’s the one thing I can’t agree with. I can’t forgive myself, I just can’t- at least not yet.

“Yes I can.” I say truthfully, “I may not have asked for help, and thought I could handle whatever situation came at me at the time, but I knew better. I could’ve BEEN better! Yes, my ex was gaslighting me, lying to me, and making me feel like I was the crazy and irrational person in the relationship, but I did the same thing- to so many people! People I genuinely care about, I cut them out of my life little by little and didn’t listen to sound advice- advice that even the Loki’s gave me. I didn’t talk to anyone about my ex cheating on me or belittling me or the time he almost hit me- and no I’m not talking about what happened at my aunt’s house. Yeah, there’s still things I leave out, because I don’t want to deal with it. I’m so tired of being tired guys. But I can’t move on from that, I lost so much that year- do you know that my mom wanted to have me admitted?”

“Like, to a mental hospital?” Sam asks cautiously.

“Yes! I was so depressed that she thought I was doing drugs or something. I still haven’t told her about Ikaris,” There was so much venom in my tone as I said his name, as angry tears fold my vision once again, “I know I told everyone I was fine… and for a time I was, I had such an amazing recovery that I didn’t think I would fall back so hard. And I knew on one believed me- which is why you all kept asking me if I was really fine and I was for a time, but lately everything’s just been… Too much. Too much to handle, too much to think about… I’ve thought about ending it all.”

“Y/N.” They say in unison. They’re stressing out and I feel so bad now.

“I’m not going to guys, I was, but then I got the news about Natasha, Pietro and Tony I just couldn't do it. It was like I could see them standing in my room telling me not to, it felt like they were telling me to keep going and live my life the way I’m supposed to. I don’t fully know what that means, but I can’t figure it out if I’m dead.”

“Y/N, promise us that if you ever feel like that again that you’ll call us. Please, we can’t lose another friend, not now, not ever. Can you do that?” Bucky places his hands on my shoulders looking deep into my eyes.

“Yes, I can do that.” I say sincerely, they pull me in for a group hug and I begin another round of sniffling.

“I know you guys are tired of me saying ‘I’m sorry’ but this time I really am. I need to open up more about this. It’s just so hard.”

“I know, I know.” Sam reassuringly rubs my back giving me another tight hug, “It’ll get better as long as you let it.”

“Alright, I’ll try.” I squeeze him back as hard as I can.

“We should probably-” Bucky starts but then gets cut off.

“ARE YOU DONE CRYING? WE’RE HUNGRY.” We turn our attention to the stairs above us at the sound of Yelena shouting down at us.

“Yeah, yeah I am.” I roll my eyes laughing as we stand up.

“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU, YOU LOOK LIKE ITTY-BITTY LITTLE ANTS.” We can see her stick her hand out over the railing, making a small and tiny squishy movement with her pointer and thumb.

“YEAH I AM!” I shout back wiping my face with a small smile.

“OKAY! WE’RE IN MY SUITE ORDERING CHINESE!” She opens the door and goes back with the others presumably.

“God, how long was she there?” I ask no one in particular.

“Long enough to know you were crying.” Bucky smirks.

“Well duh, the echo is ridiculous here.” I make a face at him wiping my face some more, “How long was I crying for?”

“A good 28 minutes.” Sam looks at his watch as we begin making our way up the steps.

“Ugh gross.” We pass the next floor and I do a double take at the stair number, “We’re only on the 4th floor?! I had a breakdown ON THE 4TH FLOOR?!”

The two try to hide their laughter and amusement and start pushing me forward, “Technically on the 3rd, but it’s fine.”

“Can we just take the elevator?”

“Nope.” Bucky states as he blocks my path to the door, “You wanted to walk.”

“UGH GROSS! She’s on the 20th floor!” I say loudly, throwing my head back and closing my eyes as I begin to rub them. Opening my eyes I see little stars due to the rubbing, and as they start to fade away slowly I swear I saw someone looking down at us from one of the floors above. Blinking quickly to clear my vision I don’t see anyone anymore, pointing up I look to my two companions, “Hey, did you see someone up there?”

They look up, shaking their heads, “No, there’s no one there.”

“I mean before.” I give them a flat look.

“Yelena?”

“No not Yelena, I thought I saw someone-” I stop talking at the sound of a door opening with a loud squeak. We turn our attention back up and stay quiet waiting to see or hear someone in the stairwell with us. Not hearing anything we look back at each other, “Can we take the eleva-”

“Yes!” The two don’t let me finish as we scramble back to the 4th floor door and run to the elevator. Sam repeatedly pushes the ‘up’ button as we send worried glances to the stairwell door. The hallway is so quiet that I can’t help but ask,

“…What if-”

“Don’t say it Y/N.” Bucky warns not taking his eyes off of the door.

“But, what if they-”

“Don’t.” His tone is dark as he glares at me.

“You guys watch too many horror movies.” Sam accuses as he shifts his weight on his feet.

“It’s True Crime and cop shows for your information.” We say sassing him. He shakes his head at us as the elevator gets closer to the 4th floor. I can feel my heartbeat picking up pace and my mouth moves before I can stop it,

“What if the person’s in the elevator?”

“Y/N!” Bucky snaps at me. Just then the elevator dings signaling that it’s reached our floor, with bated breath we watch as the doors slowly open to reveal an empty elevator.

“Look at that, empty.” I say sliding into the small faux gold plated space, “And you didn’t want me to say it.”

“Because you have shit luck.”

“Bucky!” Sam scolds Bucky for his snarky remark as they enter the elevator.

“…” I make a face at him before I say, “You right though.”

As we make our ascent to the 12th floor- where it stops- I can’t help the thought that pops in my head. I glance at Bucky who shakes his head at me warningly not to open my mouth. I bite the inside of my cheek so as not to say anything as the doors slowly open, my heart begins to pound in my ears as I hold my breath at the doors revealing an empty hallway. We stay still for a few seconds before I stutter in my steps moving forward.

As I walk to the open doors I hear Sam whisper my name harshly telling me to come back inside the elevator. Ignoring him I poke my head out looking left- nothing, and then looking right- something.

“AAAHHH!” I jump back at the small family rushing to the elevator from the stairs, “Oh my gosh I’m so sorry! Thought you were someone else.”

“It’s alright, thank you.” The mother says as she ushers her five children into the elevator. We squeeze together as the doors close and awkwardly smile at each other. The mother begins a conversation about how cold it is and she can’t wait to get back home. Not wanting to be rude I nod along and smile at her and glance at her teenage daughter who looks horrified at her mother’s actions, “They never grow out of it.” I whisper to her and she gives me a drained, “I know.”

“Are y’all going up or down.” She asks before pushing the button waiting for our response.

“We’re going up.” Bucky smiles at pointing at the illuminated 20 button. Scolding herself she pushes the main floor button.

“It’s not easy growing old.” She jokes causing us to chuckle at her and her kids groaning.

“Moooommmmmaaaahhhh!” They all whine wishing to be somewhere else.

“Oh hush, y’all will understand when you’re my age and have a little army of your own.”

I laugh as I look up at the red numbers on the screen as we continue to go up:

And then it stops, doors opening slowly on the 18th floor. Of course this time it isn’t as intense as the first time or second time, but there’s still a good amount of tension in my stomach as the doors open.

“Why do these doors open so slowly? Is this a movie or something?…I mean, rationally thinking, what ARE the chances that they booked the same hotel as us? It’s really slim. There are 670 hotels in New York City, and we’re at the Hilton, during Christmas, the chances of them- of HIM being here are like 1 out of-”

The doors fully open showing a man with short dark brown hair, blue eyes, a long nose and mouth set in a neutral line, he’s sporting a black leather jacket, with a black hoodie underneath that and dark gray jeans tucked in black combat boots. He briefly looks at the packed elevator not really looking at anyone in particular, and in an Irish accent he politely says,

“I’ll wait for the next one.”

The mother nods her head in understanding and apologizes before hitting the ‘close door’ button.

“It’s alright.” He replies, giving her a smirk while stepping back from the elevator. As the doors begin to close he looks in the elevator one last time letting his eyes roam around. When he sees Bucky and Sam he briefly lingers on them, dismissing them he looks at the mother and her kids before moving his eyes to the back corner where I am. Before the doors completely close his eyes land on me and he does a double take. I can see them widen in surprise, he opens his mouth but the doors shut completely cutting him off.

But I heard him. As clear as day.

“Y/N?”

——————————

I’m not gonna lie, the suspense is killing me and I’m the one writing this.

Tag list: @aquanova99 @tompetersebbuckyhazleo @treaclesquirrel

#druig #eternals #fanfiction #college au #druig x reader #druig x you #playing with fire #angst #marvel #enemies to friends to lovers #Christmas time fic #marvel x reader #Bucky x Sam #Kurt x warren #kitty x colossus #yelena mcu #Yelena and Kate #Kate bishop #playing with fire part 11

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excelsi-or · 4 years ago

Text

your type (pt. 6)

Hiiii friends, it’s only been like two weeks! Pretty good in terms of posting for me lol. I don’t know what it is about this story in particular, but I feel so self-conscious about posting new parts. But I’m also not someone who likes to leave things half finished.

I hope you’re all doing well :)

BIPOC recs: I actually have a few! Two books: Kim Jiyoung, Born 1982 - Cho Namjoo (basically follows a woman’s life in South Korea and all the micro-oppressive things that women face in their personal and career lives); Winners Take All - Anand Giridharadas (a non-fiction about how billionaires create such a disproportionate world for us all; I love listening to Anand’s talks about this subject. I find it fascinating). Music: Cross Country - Breland (excellent country song); Boyz II Men - Kirby (I love this woman’s energy)

w.c. 2.6k

pairing: jihoon x OC/reader

pt. 1; pt. 2; pt. 3; pt. 4; pt. 5

The summer semester has her in the research lab 8 hours a day. Luckily, Jihoon is also on campus for just as long. His professor got him a gig working on music for a few groups in various companies. It helps get his foot in the door, and while the deadlines are tight, he genuinely enjoys working.

They take their lunch breaks together, wandering the green or just wandering hallways if it’s too warm outside. But since he doesn’t have other classes, Jihoon’s been chatting with a few girls he’s met.

And he’s told her all about them, so she isn’t blindsided if someone else decides to share it with her.

“How was your date last night?” she asks at lunch.

Jihoon shrugs. The girl had come over since Seungcheol was at Jihyo’s. “She was whatever.”

She lifts an eyebrow, eating the sandwich that Seungkwan made for her lunch. She’s now taken to spending the night at Seungkwan and Hansol’s when Seungcheol visits.

Jihoon sighs. “Jiwoo was uninteresting.” When she has no response to this, he pouts. “She didn’t really have any opinions on anything, so we couldn’t find anything to talk about.”

“But you didn’t just go for dinner.”

“She was fine in bed.” Jihoon shrugs. “Didn’t really tell me what she liked, so hard to say how she felt about it.”

“Ahh.”

“What does that mean?”

She pops the rest of her sandwich in her mouth. “I don’t really know how to continue from that.”

Jihoon snorts. “Well, you’re the one who asked.”

She thinks for a minute. “Are you just saying she was uninteresting?” She kicks him lightly under the table. “Did you listen to her?”

“Of course I did!” Jihoon sips his coffee. “You said that I need to look at people more,” he makes a point of staring at her, “and to be aware of my body language because it comes off as standoffish.”

“And still?”

“All she talked about was her dog. I love talking about people’s dogs, but not for two hours.”

“Dinner was two hours?”

Jihoon shakes his head in frustration. “The kitchen kept getting the order wrong. Anyway, enough about my failed date, how’s your research going?” He pushes a napkin towards her.

She pulls out the pencil she was using to hold her hair up. Her hair cascades around her and she begins sketching out her reaction. While Jihoon hasn’t quite learned all the chemistry terminology, he recognizes various things, specifically the compounds she’s working on. She’d taught him some basics about catalytic testing, using drawings to help him follow along.

Multiple times she’s insisted that her research is really boring, especially for people who aren’t in science. But Jihoon likes listening to her talk, and her research lets her dominate the conversation. He asks questions and clarification, and she’s always great at simplifying things.

Jihoon has learned that her amazing attention to detail translates well to analyzing his songs. And she’s always very honest about the parts she likes and doesn’t like.

“I have some finished works I want your opinion on.” They start to clean up their table.

She glances up at him. “You don’t have a date tonight?”

Jihoon waits for her to fall into step with him. “I do, but I also have deadlines. So, if you’re not tired later, meet me in the studio?”

She waves goodbye to him. “I’ll let you know where I’m at.” She waits for him to exit the building before going to put her earphones in. As she’s heading to the stairs, she sees Seulgi heading towards her. They cross paths in the chemistry labs, but have never been on real speaking terms.

She smiles at Seulgi, about to go around her like normal, when the woman asks, “Are you and Jihoon dating?”

Despite her earphones in, she does hear the question. She turns. “Uhm, no.” She pauses and Seulgi says nothing. “Why?”

“I just…” Seulgi gives her a once over. “You seem too nice to be dating Jihoon.”

She’s taken aback by that observation. While Jihoon has given off the hot-cold vibe, player energy, and a slight lack of communication skills, she can’t say Jihoon’s ever warranted a comment like that. “We’re just…” She tries to come up with a word. “We’re just friends.”

“You’re smart.” Seulgi seems to mull something over. “But smart girls like you have fallen for his charm.”

“Like… you?”

“Once, but I’m not talking about me here. I’m talking about my friend.”

This piques her interest more than she wishes it did. Jihyo has warned her against listening to all these testimonials of women dating Jihoon.

“Maybe you just need to give the man a solid chance. If you’re gonna spend all your time with him anyway.”

Against Jihyo’s advice, she asks, “What happened to your friend?”

“Jihoon broke her heart. He doted on her and from the sounds of it, worshipped her, but then all of a sudden, he went cold. Stopped answering messages, stopped picking up the phone, avoiding her in the hallways. Then he said—”

“‘I’m ignoring you now, please leave me alone?’”

Seulgi tips her head. “Have you talked to Wendy?”

She runs her tongue along her bottom teeth. “No. I haven’t.”

“So how did you—?”

“I met another girl he’s dated. And… he’s a creature of habit, so… figured he’d say something similar.”

Seulgi hums. “Well, Wendy refuses to see any other man now. But she’s fine, mostly. We just can’t mention Jihoon around her. So, just…”

“Be careful?”

Seulgi chuckles. “So you’ve heard the warnings before?”

“A couple times.” Under her breath, she mutters, “Maybe I should heed them more.” She gives Seulgi a friendly nudge as she walks away. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Is everything okay?”

Jihoon received her text around 4:30, saying that she wasn’t feeling well and would go straight home after she was done in lab.

“Yeah, I’m just… I think I’m getting sick.”

She had seemed fine when he saw her.

“Okay, I’ll walk you home then.”

There’s a long pause. “I actually caught up with Taehyung, Jungkook’s boyfriend? He said he would walk me home.”

Jihoon turns in his chair at this odd development. “Oh. Okay. Well, I’ll… see you tomorrow then.”

“Bye.” Almost like an afterthought, she adds, “Sorry.”

Jihoon turns back to stare at the pieces of work he has open in the task bar that he wanted to show her. Instead, he closes them and goes back to work.

Time passes without him realizing. Before he knows it, it’s time for him to meet up with Ara. He glances at the clock, thinking.

Jihoon (19:14)

Meet me at the gym?

Jihoon (19:14)

Hey, don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight. Caught a cold.

Soonyoung (19:15)

Sure. See you in 10.

Mingyu (19:15)

I’m in.

Ara (19:15)

If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you have another woman in mind.

But okay.

Get well soon, babe.

True to their word, Mingyu and Soonyoung meet him at the gym near their homes. Soonyoung leads the way inside and they go stretch while Jihoon disappears to change.

When he reemerges, Mingyu asks him what’s wrong.

“She cancelled on me.”

“Who?” Soonyoung is stretching on his right.

Jihoon crosses his right arm across his body, feels the stretch in his upper delt and across his arm. He updates them on what’s happened in the last 7 hours, from lunch, to her saying she’s sick, to Ara.

Mingyu frowns. “I didn’t realize you two were still going on dates. I thought you’d already gotten to the… dating part of dating.”

“Wait,” Soonyoung seems to realize something, “are you seeing other women right now? We cannot win this bet unless you commit!”

Mingyu observes Jihoon in the mirror. He has a dazed look in his eye, as if he’s thinking hard about something. “You actually like her.” He turns to Jihoon. “You’re genuinely upset that she didn’t come to the studio.”

Jihoon wasn’t really frowning before, but he is now. “No. I’m not.”

“Wonwoo hyung said that he thought you were seeing other women again.” Mingyu turns back to the mirror. “I said that couldn’t be possible, because you don’t like to lose.”

“Can we just work out?” His tone is harsh, but his friends hear a small plea in there too. They exchange looks over Jihoon’s head and shrug.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Soonyoung nudges him towards the free weights.

It isn’t until after their gym session on their way home that Soonyoung and Mingyu begin grilling him.

“Are you seeing other women right now?” Mingyu asks.

“Well…” Jihoon adjusts his bag on his shoulder. “Yeah.”

Soonyoung and Mingyu’s jaws drop.

“Dude. The bet.” Soonyoung gives him a push. “What if she finds out?”

Jihoon watches his feet move beneath him. “She already knows.”

“She knows? And she still goes out with you?” Mingyu demands. “Are you guys just friends?”

Soonyoung groans in frustration. “Seriously, Jihoon, bets are serious business. We went all in on this bet. You can’t just let Seokmin win a bet like this.”

“What happened, hyung?”

The question seems to release something in Jihoon. He throws his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know. I really don’t. She just… holds herself at a distance from me. I can’t seem to…” He makes grabbing motions in the air. “Get anything out of her.” He shakes his head. “Maybe we should just give up here. I don’t know if I can win this bet.”

“Yah!” Soonyoung throws an arm around his shoulders. He squeezes his arm. “I am not losing to Seokmin and Seungkwan on a bet that I know that we can win. You are the best at this.”

“She’s just as good at keeping me at a distance. And apparently she’s also had men castrated before.”

Mingyu and Soonyoung blink in surprise at the sudden information.

“Okay, well, we’re not going to let that happen to you,” Mingyu states.

Soonyoung agrees. “But you’re going to have to start pulling out al your moves. You—”

Jihoon shakes his head. “Listen to me. I have been at this since February. The girl won’t even let me kiss her.”

Mingyu scoffs. “You haven’t even kissed her yet? You guys are just friends.”

Soonyoung holds a hand up in Mingyu’s face. “You are not being encouraging.” He readjusts his grip around Jihoon. “Look. We’ll help you then. Lee Jihoon doesn’t tap out like this.”

“You said she canceled on you.” Mingyu tips his chin in Jihoon’s direction. “Why?”

“She said she was sick and found someone else to walk her home.”

Soonyoung’s eyes widen. He releases his grip on Jihoon to get a better look at his face. “That’s it?”

Jihoon scowls. “Did I not tell you that I haven’t even kissed her yet? I eat lunch with her every day and then I walk her home.”

“Are we in the 1700s? What the fuck?” Mingyu demands.

“I can’t work out what makes her tick. She tells me stuff about herself, but nothing I can use. All I’ve learned is that she’s one of the smartest people I know, reads a lot, paints, and can give me actual feedback on my music.”

“Oh, come on, that can’t be all you’ve learned.”

Jihoon sighs, racking his brain for more information. There are obviously little things he’s noticed, like that she drinks a shit ton of water; that when she thinks something’s amusing, she lets out a little breath of laughter; or that she presses down on her fingers with her thumbs when she’s nervous. But he can’t share these things. They aren’t useful.

“I’ve learned she hasn’t really dated anyone since Byunggu. That she doesn’t even count that guy as a boyfriend so Jungkook is the last man she dated.”

“Byunggu… why do I know that name?” Soonyoung looks to Mingyu.

“Because he’s the guy who’s either been threatened, murdered or castrated,” Jihoon grumbles.

Soonyoung waves him off. “No.” He reaches behind Jihoon to hit Mingyu’s arm. “Isn’t he that guy who debuted last year?”

Mingyu’s brow furrows.

“He stopped coming to parties because he was filming some show or something, remember?” He pushes Mingyu, as if that will jog his memory. “He was one of your girls’ friends. Remember? She wouldn’t stop talking about him? That’s why you dumped her?”

“Oh! Yeah!” Mingyu pulls his phone out and looks something up. When he turns the phone to Jihoon, Jihoon squints at an article about this man who is currently doing small roles in various dramas. He doesn’t recognize the face. But until this point, he’d never seen any photos of this elusive ex. A debut would explain why he disappeared into thin air.

“What am I supposed to do with this information?” Jihoon pushes the phone away. “She clams up as soon as he comes up.”

“Okay, okay. Forget trying to replicate the men of the past.” Soonyoung says. “Just… be you.”

Jihoon stares at him in disbelief. “She doesn’t like me.”

“She must, because she’s spent a lot of time with you, hyung.” Mingyu sips from his water bottle. “Noona only gives certain people her time, if you haven’t noticed. Her girls, Hansol, Seungkwan, Wonwoo hyung these days.” He shrugs. “If you’re spending so much time with her, she likes you at least a little bit.”

Jihoon bites his tongue, annoyed that they’re right. “I’m only going to give this another month. If I can’t get this girl into my bed, then there’s no way she’s going to say ‘I love you’ first.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?” Jihyo asks.

The two roommates are having a night in, watching a movie but talking the entire time with take out on the table.

She came home looking preoccupied, so Jihyo forced her to put on her pajamas, pick what sort of take out they would eat, and to bundle up on the couch. Then she forced her roommate to tell her what was wrong.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s a sign that two different women have told me I should be careful?” She pouts. “I don’t want to feel like I need to tread carefully.”

“I don’t know what Jihoon was like with those other girls, but he likes you. I know what a guy looks like when all he wants is to get you into his bed. That look on Jihoon’s face when he sees you is pure adoration.”

She carefully breaks apart a cookie before popping a piece into her mouth. “If anything, Jihoon’s just a friend.”

“A friend who adores you. Who you also seem to like.” Jihyo nudges her with the back of her hand. “You can’t go around thinking every boy is going to hurt you like Byunggu.”

“I don’t think that. Why would I think that if I don’t even give them a chance to try?”

Jihyo snorts, both amused and frustrated. “Jihoon is putting in the effort with you. You didn’t even give him your number for like a month and a half. And he still made it work.”

“I did that to keep him away from me.” She rolls her eyes, a slight smile on her face. “So, thanks for helping him out with that.”

“You still hang out with him.”

“You know, he’s seeing other girls now.”

Jihyo pauses. “Really?”

“He tells me about them. He had a date yesterday. He has one tonight.” She shakes her head. “I think it’s just better for me if we stay friends.” She notices Jihyo on her phone. “What are you doing now?”

“Asking Cheollie if Jihoon’s home.” Jihyo turns her phone her way, grinning. Seungcheol had sent a picture of Jihoon next to him on the couch. The two seem to be playing video games. “Give the man a chance. You don’t know what kind of boyfriend he can be if you don’t.”

#woozi #woozi imagines #woozi scenarios #Lee Jihoon #lee jihoon scenarios #Seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #svt

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mrsbarnes107 · 4 years ago

Text

Secret of the Widow

-part eight-

Summary: Post Endgame time period. The team is healing, trying to navigate this new normal they’ve found themselves in when Bucky and Sam bring home a stray with an attitude and a secret. Will the broken team take her in? Or is it too much to bare?

Warnings: language, *eventual* violence and smut, death, fluff, angst

Pairings: Bucky x OC

Disclaimer: this is posted to Wattpad as well and it WILL HAVE PLOT. I’m a Bucky hoe so there will be smut and romancy stuff but this is a series, so plot plot plot and slow burn.

*Bucky POV*

I've finally gotten away from Wilson and his incessant blabbering, and am now making my way to the training room to find Ali.

Ever since she got here, there's been this ache in the back of my mind. It feels a lot like the first time I saw Steve all those years ago. A dull tug, trying to pull something forward.

She knows me. Knows me well apparently. And I feel deep in this little dark corner of myself, that I know her too. She unsettles me immensely, the thought of her risking herself so wantonly with the Winter Soldier, knowing my past and darkness. It's horrible. But shes also comforting. A type of comfort I haven't felt in a long while.

She's a wild card still. Unpredictable. And yet she peaked my curiosity.

I still can't get her teary blue eyes out of my mind. I'm thankful I heard her sneak past my room the night before. Otherwise I never would have followed her to the lab. Never would have seen her pain and loss so openly. Her cries were heartbreaking, sobs wrenched from deep inside.

I understand what it's like to feel utterly alone and confused. And I wish I could take that feeling from her.

Taking a quick left I stop at the door of the training room, hearing music and the dull thud of knife hitting Kevlar.

God help me I can't get the image of her dancing so carefree in my hoodie out of my head either. Walking into the kitchen to that view, well fuck me back to the 40s. A beautiful woman dancing and singing, a home cooked meal on the stove, and a blade twirling between delicate fingers. She's going to give me whiplash. Or death.

This need to protect and cherish her conflicts with the instinct to be wary and set clear distance and it's worse than the cyclone at Coney Island.

I just know this isn't a good idea.

***

*OC POV*

"You're letting go too soon Doll."

FUCKING BLOODY HELL I'm gonna kill this man.

I very much did NOT let out a tiny squeak for the second time today and launch ANOTHER knife straight at Buckys (admittedly handsome) stupid face.

Okay I did.

With a cocky flourish he catches it and give the blade a nice twirl. "See? Too soon. You're aim would be more accurate if you hold off a second or so before releasing. And the blade would slice through the air better. It's catching too much resistance from the angle."

"You have gotta stop sneaking up on me Sarge. Unlike yourself, I'm too young for heart failure."

Bucky sends me a scowl and scoops up the rest of the knives from the target then makes his way over.

"Sweetheart, I may have some years under my belt, but I'm a fully and exceptionally functioning man." I look down to see the tip of a knife gliding up my stomach and to my throat, pausing to move a lock of hair behind my ear.

Suddenly sweaty I clear my throat and swipe a knife from his metal hand. "I'll take your word for it Buckaroo. Now you wanna show me how exceptionally you can teach?"

At that he steps behind me, chest pressed against my back, hard muscle very much evident under his tight shirt. His hand gliding down my arm softly until he wraps his fingers around mine, now holding the knife together.

His (very beefy) leg presses between my thighs, allowing his foot to hook around mine and reposition my leg.

Hell in a handbasket its fucking hot in here. Jeez. My heart is going wild and I know for a fact Bucky can hear it.

His breath ghosts along my neck as he murmurs low against my ear.

"You're quick and underestimated because of your size. Use that more to your advantage and strike like a little viper. Fast and deadly."

He guides my hand as if drawing the knife from my thigh holster, making my hips shift back against his. As our arms make a slow, practiced arc Buckys metal hand squeezes my hip telling me when to release the knife.

With another light squeeze he steps back and nods for me to continue.

This man will undoubtedly be a distraction in the field if I don't get it together.

With a sigh I drop to a knee only to pounce back up in a spin while drawing the blade, letting it sail through the air in complete silence, slicing through it only to come to a halt with a smack that echoed through the room. In the blink of an eye it went from my fingertips to the mannequins skull a good twenty yards away.

He really didn't need an ego boost but damn if he isn't talented.

"Better. Now let's see how you do hand to hand."

I was suddenly back to the mat with a very heavy soldier pinning my body down, knife pressing into the hollow of my throat.

I let out a soft grunt as piercing blue eyes filled with concealed torment and a hint of playfulness met my own. "Well this brings back memories... for me at least."

Using his confused pause as an advantage, I run my foot along the inner seam of his sweatpants as the other slips from between his to hook around his thigh.

A startled grunt escapes open lips and the knife moves a fraction as his hold loosens. With considerable effort I had the hulking soldier underneath my straddling hips, knife now running up his chest, small cuts appearing along his shirt.

Large hands rest on my thighs, squeezing with every dip of the blade as it runs along the ridges of concealed muscle.

"Dirty move Doll."

With a small shrug his shirt gets cut open completely. "It can get dirtier Sarge."

I shift against his hips and his hands clamp down hard, keeping my legs in place, most definitely leaving Bucky shaped bruises.

"Are we ever gonna have that conversation you promised? Cause I feel like I'm missing some important pieces to our story."

"Huh, I thought this was a training session, not a slumber party." With another squirm against his crotch he lets out a low growl and I hop up, tossing the knife into the floor by his head. "Come and get me Barnes."

With that I took off down the hallway, thundering footsteps quickly catching up with mine. Damn super soldier speed.

As his arm wrapped around my waist I let out a giggle and ducked underneath it, landing a blow to his stomach. Which did little more than make him let out a grunt of air as I dropped to swipe his legs from beneath him.

With a roll Bucky jumped back up and caught my arm, spinning me against the wall.

His thigh pressed between mine as his metal hand locked my arms above my head, our chests heaving together despite the minimal effort of the chase.

The forgotten blade appeared in his other hand, the sharp tip trailing down my arm, dipping along the collarbone. Buckys head tilted as my heart beat went double time, a small smirk appearing on his lips.

With a smooth flick of his wrist a bead of blood trailed down my throat, stopping between the swells of my breast, Buckys eyes following the slow path returning to mine darkened and razor focused.

With a glimpse to the lip I trapped between my teeth he cocks his head with a suspicious glare. “Bringing back more memories Sweetheart?”

“I don’t know, is it Sarge?”

Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get your hopes up. Don’t get you-

Buckys hips press firmly into my own, his thick thigh shifting higher, now tight against the needy heat between my legs. A very noticeably large and stiff bulge pressed into my hip. How am I not on fire yet?

A small whimper escapes my lips as Bucky trails his mouth and nose along the length of my neck, beard scratching deliciously against heated skin. My hips bucked, wonderful friction meeting my clothed center, a moan escaping with a sigh as I repeated the action.

Bucky growled low in his throat as his hips snapped against mine, leg tensing against my soaked cunt. “I might not remember our past yet Doll, but I remember this feeling. Your warmth. First time I looked into those big blue eyes I knew you were gonna ruin me. Had no idea who you were, but fuck it all I knew you somehow.”

With a slight tug he released my arms, hands falling to my waist, tracing a path along my body.

I rested my palm against his heart, as the other cupped his cheek. Thumb tracing his red lips I looked into lust blown confused eyes. “Maybe one day you’ll remember our story, until then I’ll remember for the both of us.”

A rough thumb brushes over a hard nipple as his hips start to rock steadily into my own. A small moan escapes as my fingers tangle in Buckys thick hair. His mouth once again finding my neck, this time leaving hot kisses. His tongue traced along my ear, teeth nipping along the skin until he reached the spot on my neck that made me keen.

His lips kissed a smile into my skin as he sucked it into his mouth, leaving his mark on my body. My greedy hand began to make its way to the band of his sweats as he-

“Ms. Romanoff and Mr. Barnes, the team needs you in the conference room immediately.” Friday said from above us, damn near giving me a heart attack.

Cockblock. “Fucking hell.” I mutter as my head tilts back to rest against the wall, Buckys hot breath puffing against my chest from where his face is pressed into my shoulder. I run my fingers through his hair for a moment, relishing his warmth after so long being cold.

Bucky pressed a kiss to my collarbone as I clear my throat. “Well, duty calls soldier.”

As he backs away and releases my body, I rock onto my tiptoes and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth before swiftly walking to the conference room.

I’m almost certain these shorts are ruined. My sanity is not far off either.

#avengers #avengers fic #black widow #bucky barnes #bucky barns fanfiction #captain america #endgame #marvel #spiderman #sebastian stan #knife kink #winter solder #iron man #tony stark #steve rogers #tfatws #bucky x oc #bucky x reader #wanda maximoff

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mingot-studios · 3 years ago

Text

Things currently polluting my mind (will be added to as i think of things)

How bad the Star vs. Finale was, and weather i should even bother trying to watch the show again at this point

The fact that the next JoJolion chapter is coming out soon and I STILL haven’t read 107 with my mom even though I’ve already read it

Not being caught up on One Piece and having 0 IDEA of whats happening at this poin as well starting to flaws with the series (racism, transphobia, and homophobia) that i knew was there but chose to ignore and weather it should hinder my relationship with the series. Also wanting to murder Oda for demoting Franky to ‘Pervy Grandma’ (srsly wtf oda)

Upset Infinity Train was cancelled even though i never watched it, and wonder why the fans cry for it to come is suddenly not happening?

The fact i’m going to be returning to in person schooling which is my personal HELL

my brother leaving for college upstate (Me and my brother have never really been that close, we fight alot but I cant imagine life without him)

The fact that my procrastination has gotten so bad that I nearly had to retake PE, World History, and English

The Owl House coming back on the 12th but i had downloaded the first 2 episodes but haven’t watched them and debating if i should, also having a meltdown over Disney screwing the show over and having its third be 3 or 4 (i cant remember) 44-minute specials

The fact that me and brother STILL haven’t finished our Yume 2kki Let’s Play

I haven’t been watching anime regularly with my mom

I haven’t posted anything to my DeviantArt or YouTube in months

I have so much energy right now but no outlets

I still haven’t tried out my drawing pad i got for my birthday last year

I have so many drawing ideas but my spiral sketchpad is filled up and I have yet to get a new one

Ive many intricit and detailed story ideas that i know im gonna forget if i dont write them down bu due my procrastination i haven’t done so im prolly gonna lose everything

The fact Thurston Waffles hasn’t posted anything since late April as well as the fact that he’s got Kidney problems

So many ideas for videos but I only have WindowsMovieMaker and the HumbleBundle my mom got me idk YEARS ago won’t install

I’m gonna be 17 at the end of September, which i only have until next June before I graduate High school, have to give up my Chromebook, start thinking about college and getting a job, possibly moving out and living on my own, the knowledge that my parents are in their late 50′s and early 60′s so hey might be gone sooner than most parents and I dont know how to function without my parents doing everything for me

These weird tingles ive been getting in my body for he pas couple days

The fact that im not gonna a kid soon and im gonna have to grow and stop doing whatever i want whenever i want and i’m gonna never accomplish my dream of creating a successful cartoon and will probably end up at a dead end job I HATE just to make ends meet and eventually dying alone because I dont wanna be in a relationship or have kids

Everything is too overwhelming. The light, the sound, my thoughts, its all too much. I wanna curl up into a tiny ball and disappear from this awful experience called life

Capitalism

i hate being so passionately when i’m upset, everyone else is calm but i have meltdowns and freaks outs over things i shouldn’t even care about or are miniscule (Comes with being autistic i guess)

I have 0 patience and i hate it

I’m starting to regress back to being a childish brat after all the progress i’ve made

i’m constantly surrounded by either criticism or praise that contradict each other so i dont know what to believe about myself

the fact that i have so many great story ideas but i cant write a cohernt thought with proper grammer or sytax or spelling o save my life, nor the art skill or the patience or the tech to draw comics

i haven seen my therapist in days and i need help but i know im not actually gonna change

having gender panic

I have no in person friends and ive forgotten how to interact with people

ive become a noodle limbed nerd

Ive gotten super skinny

I want someone o break through my shell and help me change bu I know thats just a fantasy and im the only one who can do that but im too lazy to put effort into it

everything i used to enjoy suddenly feels tedious monotonous repetitive and uninteresting

I feel trapped and scraed

The fact after being bulied so much the only way i can really assert myself is to get violent and angry because they would want me breakdown and cry

I have this image in my head of who i want to be; And badass that people including adults, are scared of and know not to fuck with me or they’ll get hurt (Basically Jotaro, bu I’ve had this image since before i even knew what jojo was) And the fact I KNOW that i’s a pointless endever and that i only dig my own grave when i get mad but its like ingrained Branded into my my psyche so im always going to larp that vision of myself but not get anywhere and only regress further

I want to address my problems and change but I never do and stay static and regress

I cant take crticisim even though i know its true

The reason im so scared of writing fanfiction is because i know its gonna be a mess despite what i think is a great story and people will end up mocking it and what little self confidence i have will shatter

Star Vs wasted potential

the fact that I dont know where to take the whole “Rubi dies at the end of he first season but comes back o life except she’s not actually she’s just a walking meat sack containing an anchint eldritch god that will, sooner or later, burst out of her and destroy her body, and she’s fighting for control of her ow body due to Skarlotus trying to devor her soul and Data’s medience is only delaying the inevitable” storyline of my concept cartoon, The Crypto Club

I have an AMAZING idea for an Invader Zim storyline that has fascism, rascism, mass genocide, child soldiers, political intrigue, propaganda, baiscally space hitler and more (okay that came out sound REALLY bad, but NONE of it painted as good!) It also involves Zim and Dib coming together to stop an even bigger threat and there is a really ironic ending that brings my OC GA83′s story full circle

#the owl house #yume 2kki #thurston waffles #star vs the forces of evil #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojolion #one piece #vent #save infinity train #infinity train #amphibia #gravity falls #the crypto club #invader zim #Princess Ovilium Midorihato Metamorphosis Androma Serugi The First #Princess Ovil

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dynamightsfave · 4 years ago

Text

Hidden talent - Luke Patterson

(gif not mine! credits to owner)

AU: alive! luke patterson x oc

summary: in a world were none of the boys have died and instead live in the same timeline as julie, luke’s girlfriend has a hidden talent only her mother knows about

warnings: slight cursing, nothing much

a/n: this is the first thing that i publish, and i’m still trying to figure out how tumblr works, so if anyone reads this, please bear with me people

masterlist

***

Heather had been friends with Alex since they were in diapers. Every memory of her childhood she had, he was there too, since the beginning. The only ones she had he wasn’t in were the ones at family meetings. He was even there when she went to the dentist! That’s how tight these two were.

So it was kind of inevitable her meeting his band. Sunset Curve had been all he and Julie —her other best friend, along with Flynn— could talk about since they had started it. They had met the other members in the music program, something Heather had never even thought about joining, regardless of how many times her mother had told her she had an incredible voice and should definitely let the world listen to it. However, the raven haired girl preferred to keep her voice to herself, like her small little secret.

Meeting Luke and Reggie —she already knew Bobby— was easily one of the best things that could’ve happened to her. She hit it off with them instantly, as she had never really had any trouble with making friends —she was the sociable one out of the Heather-Alex duo, and the mom friend out of the “Triple Trouble” trio. Her and Flynn had denominated themselves as the band’s managers and marketing team, and the others had to admit, they were doing a pretty good job.

While Flynn took the social media part, promoting the band on every platform she could think of and posting stuff like teases of new songs, short rehearsal videos and performance dates and places; Heather had taken the people approach. She had recruited her cousin, Willie —who she suspected only wanted to help her because he had a massive crush on Alex, and not because he “wanted to help his favorite cousin”—, and they had both skated the streets of LA, putting up posters and throwing them around, telling people to “tell their friends!”, a catch phrase Reggie had come up with.

[...]

“I got us a night at The Hollywood Club!” Heather entered the Molina garage with a proud smile and arms on the air, getting immediate cheers “I know, I know, I’m awesome” she bowed.

“Hey, I was there too” Willie pushed her aside, leaving his skate on a corner and plopping on the piano seat “In fact, if it wasn’t for Caleb owing me one, you wouldn’t have gotten that gig. I’m his messenger boy”

“Okay, listen you little shit, it was me that had to offer herself to clean the place up after the show, so I don’t wanna hear any more lies coming out from you” she narrowed her eyes at her cousin, but the skater only rolled his eyes.

Luke, beaming, reached out to Heather’s arm, pulling her onto the couch with him. The two had been dating for nearly three months, and anyone that didn’t know that could’ve thought they’d been together for years, just by seeing how deeply they cared for each other. Alex had been a tad overprotective of the girl when Luke started to flirt with her, but Julie and Flynn made him realize that if anyone could match Heather’s adventurous and forward personality, it was Luke.

Heather came up with an idea, something to do, and most people —including Alex, who over the years earned experience in this kind of things— would disregard it immediately, because it sounded, and most likely was, crazy. Not Luke. Luke would just smile and do it with her. Hype her up even. They found in each other a safe to talk, the craziest ideas and dreams coming to life. Still, they knew when to draw the line, and realize that maybe cliff diving in the middle of November wasn’t the best thing to do.

Luke liked to get the things he planned, make them real, and with Heather he felt like it was possible. Sure, he had the band to make his music dreams come true, but —and this can come out as shocking— he wasn’t just music. There were so many other things he wanted, and Heather was the first person that encouraged him to let them all out, the first person that listened to all the things he wasn’t as good at but he still liked, and forced him to get out of the studio to do them.

They were basically perfect for each other.

“Besides,” Flynn had pointed out with a teasing smirk and a knowing look that was also in Julie’s eyes “you’re going to end up dating her cousin, so it’ll be fair in no time” Alex had left that conversation blushing like a fool and with his mind a little more at peace.

“You’re incredible, babe” the lead guitarist kissed her cheek “When is it?”

“This Friday night” she answered, making herself comfortable in his arms “That gives you two days to rehearse some songs, maybe even come up with a new one. How’s my musical genius doing with that, Jules?”

“We have a few lyrics left on Finally Free, but I’m sure that we can have it done and perfected by Friday” she smiled, showing her adorable tooth gap “I’m gonna need to borrow your boyfriend for that, though”

“Sure, two musical geniuses work better than one. Meanwhile, Reggie and I have a date”

“Huh?” Luke’s head turned so fast, Heather thought for a second it would snap from his neck.

“Yeah, we’re going to watch the last Star Wars movie. We told you guys to come and you didn’t wanna, so we’re going by ourselves” Reggie could barely contain his excitement, the smile on his face making it impossible for Heather not to copy him.

“Speaking of which... if we don’t leave now, we’ll be late. Let’s go!” the girl pecked her boyfriend as a goodbye, ruffling Bobby’s hair after and blew a kiss to both girls and her best friend.

“I don’t get a kiss?” Willie pouted, but Heather only kissed her middle finger and flipped him off “Love you too, cuz!” he called, but Reggie and her were already out and the only response he got was his light laugh.

[...]

The two friends were meeting Carrie Wilson at the theatre. Nobody would’ve guessed that the lead of Dirty Candy liked Star Wars, but Heather had known her since kindergarten, and she knew the girl.

They all technically knew her, being Bobby’s fraternal twin and all, but the boys didn’t consider her an actual friend until the girls started inviting her to their hang outs, seeing as they were all friends. Luke and her often had friendly bickering of which band was better, Reggie discovered that she could be a wonderful addition to the mischievous duo Heather and him had formed, and Alex found his perfect dance partner one night playing Just Dance. It was safe to say that she had been welcomed into the group.

“You guys are playing at The Hollywood Club?!” was the first thing he strawberry blond said when they arrived.

“Tell your friends!” Reggie winked, then turned to Heather “Damn, Flynn is fast. We have good managers”

“That you do, Reg” she passed her arm over his shoulders. It was a little awkward, because she stood on her tippy toes, but they made it work.

“Can you get me a performance too?” Carrie pouted and made puppy eyes “I need a marketing team like yours”

“C’mon Care, it’s literally my cousin and I in his skate and my roller skates and Flynn with a phone and Wi-Fi. You could do that too” Heather waved it off “Plus, you can have daddy make a call and you’ll be able to play at the Madison Square Garden. Shit, we could do that too, we have Bobby. Why am I putting so much effort into this?”

“You know I’m trying to earn my own spot, Heath. Being famous because my dad isn’t as satisfying as knowing I made a place sold out because they liked me and not the daughter of Trevor Wilson”

“You’re doing great, Carrie” Reggie encouraged “Your songs are good, and your dance moves are killer. People don’t just go to your shows to see if they can meet your dad”

“Thanks Reggie, but I’m pretty sure you only go to my shows to see Kayla” she smirked, and both girls watched their friend flush red.

“T-That’s not true!”

“Really? I guess I won’t give her your number then; she’ll be real disappointed”

“She asked for my number?”

But Carrie just chuckled and walked ahead with Heather by the arm, leaving the gaping boy behind for a few seconds before he snapped back into the real world and chased after them, asking the same question again.

“I’ll see what I can do for ya” Heather smiled “But you’ll have to fight Luke by yourself when he finds out I’m helping our rivals” she finished in a dark tone, laughing along with Carrie.

“Yes! You’re the best Heath!” she squeezed her in her arms.

[...]

Friday arrived sooner than planned, and that left Flynn and Heather to get the band’s asses to the place. Flynn was on the phone with Caleb, assuring him that they were just stuck in traffic and they’d be there soon. They were actually trying to calm Alex down.

“Hey, look at me. Bird, look at me” Heather had her hands on his shoulders, doing her best to get him to breathe with her “You’re the best drummer I know-”

“I’m the only drummer you know, Feathers!” the anxious boy stressed.

“You’re the best drummer I know!” she exclaimed over him “This isn’t any different from our other gigs. You’re gonna get up on that club’s stage, and you’re gonna kill it. I’m gonna be on the side of the stage like I always am, with Flynn. I’m there if you need anything, which you won’t because once you get into the song, you’ll be crazy amazing”

“Okay, I can do this” he nodded to himself, taking deep breaths along his best friend.

“Hell yeah you can” she laughed softly “You good?”

“Yeah, I think so”

“Great, then let’s go people! We have an audience to impress!” the others, behind them, cheered with her and started to go to Ray’s van, were the instruments were waiting.

“Hey” Alex took a hold of Heather’s wrist “Thanks, Feathers” he smiled at her, using the nickname he gave her when they were three.

“I’m always gonna be there for you, Alex. You know that. I’m the Feathers to your Bird, we’re a package deal” she smiled back, then wrapped her arms around him “I love you”

“I love you too”

[...]

Alex did amazing. Obviously.

The whole band was incredible, and the people in the club absolutely loved them. Heather had stayed at the side of the stage like she promised, but from where she stood she could spot Flynn with Carrie, Willie, Nick and Kayla all jamming and moving their bodies along to the song in their chairs. She clapped and hollered once the show was over, a huge smile adorning her face.

“You were right” the man himself, Caleb, clapped next to her “They are really good”

“I told you, dude. Any chance we’re able to play here again?”

“I’ll call you” he offered, and Heather didn’t think it twice before shaking hands with him “I’m closing in half an hour, and I want this place spotless for tomorrow” he smirked.

“I thought you were joking! You have people for that”

“A deal is a deal” and he left. Heather groaned and threw her head back.

“Why the frown, Princess?” at the voice of her boyfriend, the smile was back on her face.

Luke was a sweaty mess, not that she cared. She took a couple of seconds to admire his “after show” glow. Because yes, he was glowing —both literally, because sweat, and figuratively. After every performance, there was a glow to all of them, pure happiness radiating from them. You could see it in their smiles and heavy breaths, but Heather liked to see how their eyes glinted with the ecstasy of doing what they loved. It appeared while they were on stage, and it stayed for some time after performing in front of an audience. When they were rehearsing or jamming in the studio it was more relaxed, content, but on a show it was almost magical.

“What are you looking at?” Luke laughed after drinking some water, with his eyes squinting as he smiled out of pure glee.

Heather too his sweaty face in her hands and planted a firm kiss on his lips. She had never cared if the boy was sweaty and therefore by hugging or kissing him she’d get all dirty and smelly. If she wanted to show him affection, then she would.

“You guys killed it up there” she told him after a moment with a proud smile “Amazing, baby”

“Thanks, Heaths. Sang that solo for you” he added with a smirk, hand slipping around her waist.

“I saw” she answered as she passed her arms over his shoulders and around his neck “You looked really good while doing it too” the smirk widened and the hold tightened, bringing her closer to him to kiss her again.

“Take your lovey dovey acts somewhere else!” Bobby booed, nearing his friends.

“Hey, just because your sorry ass is alone doesn’t mean you have to hate on us” the raven haired girl replied with a teasing smile.

The boy scrunched his face and mocked her, which went back and forth between the two until Heather’s teasing and playful smile turned to a excited one.

“Wait! Oh, she’s looking again!” confused, the rhythm guitarist went to look behind him, but Heather shot her hand to stop him “Don’t look! Not yet... Okay now. See that pretty blond? She’s been eyeing you all night, dude!”

“For real? You think I should go talk to her?”

“Are you stupid? Of course you should go talk to her, did you not hear what I just said? Wait, here, clean some of this sweat” she took a towel and dabbed it over him, then pushed him forward when he didn’t move “Move, Bobs!”

“Thanks Heaths!”

The couple watched their friend jog over to the girl and introduce himself, saying something that she found funny. “I’m an amazing wing woman”

[...]

The club was officially closed. After a couple of Caleb’s songs, that Heather had danced to with Flynn —more like they made a fool of themselves, but at least they had fun— and then she helped them put their instruments back in the van. Now, she held a mope in her hands, swinging aimlessly from side to side, humming to the band’s songs.

“I believe, I believe that we’re just one dream...” she picked up the pace of the song, closing her eyes as she jumped on top of a chair, spinning on her spot and using the mope as a micro “And we’re standing on the edge of great!”

The girl continued to sing her heart out, unaware of the pair of eyes that followed her very movement, watching the private show she put up for herself. When she finished the song, she let out a content sigh and a small chuckle.

“Woah” the word escaped Luke’s mouth before he could stop himself, causing Heather to jump and turn around.

The boy stood just by the entrance, an awestruck expression on his face. Red flushed Heather’s face, and she opened her mouth to stutter out something, but Luke didn’t let her, taking long strides to her.

“Heather, that was incredible! Why didn’t you tell us you could sing like that?”

“I usually like to keep the singing to myself, when I jam with you guys it’s quiet”

“Babe, you could be the lead singer of Sunset Curve! I’ll retire if that means you get to show everyone your voice”

“No” she quickly dismissed “Do not give up your dreams, Luke Patterson, you’re not allowed to do that. Not for me, not for anyone”

“But, Heath, your voice!” Luke was making big gestures, trying to get his point through.

He couldn’t understand how his girlfriend didn’t let anyone know of her huge talent. When he walked inside of the club again to help her, he couldn’t have imagined the scene that was playing in front of him, how she looked so carefree. She sounded like a goddess. It was a pleasant surprise, to say the least.

“I don’t like to be in the spotlight, Luke” she explained “You guys were born to perform in front of people, but I like to keep it behind closed doors. You understand that, right?” she took his hands, looking up at him through her lashes. He sighed and nodded.

“Yeah, I get it. But I really hope it’s not the last time I hear you sing” Heather laughed and shook his head, as Luke’s face lit up with an idea “Oh! You could perform for all of us in the studio! You’re cool with that, right?”

“I’ll sing with you and perform with you at the studio” she agreed, squealing when he picked her up and twirled her around “But you have to promise that if you guys record it, it won’t end up on social media”

“Of course, anything you need” he nodded quickly, bringing her lips to his “If I get to hear that voice again, I’ll even sell my guitar”

“I told you not to joke with that!” she chastised, hitting him on the chest and getting out of his hold. She rolled her eyes at his laughter and smirked to herself, handing him a piece of cloth “Make yourself useful and clean those tables, Rockstar”

Luke frowned, but complied.

He made her sing along with him in his car all the way back to his house, and suddenly realized that he had been an idiot for a long time. Why hadn’t he made her sing with him before? It was his new favorite thing to do.

#jatp #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #julie molina #willie jatp #carrie wilson #sunset curve #willex #charlie gillespie #owen joyner #jeremy shada #netflix #au #julie and the phantoms imagine #julie and the phantoms #luke patterson imagine #madison reyes

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rurifangirl · 3 years ago

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aight. here somes the ask lore thingie

tw for ppl readin: mention of mental illness, father mention

firstly, how did rui end up meetin the rest of the gang? did they all have sum sort of run in? did they just happen to meet on exident?

also is the father a villain? i remember ya mention him, and was wonderin

and do they have a specific place where they stay? like in a dormstory, a single house, do they live in a single town, or in completly different places?

do any of them suffer from mental/physical illnesses? if they do, how does it affect their life/relationships w others?

Aight, so here we go, be ready cuz shit's long.

(1st part - The Rui n the gang meeting; The Shou meeting) No Tw

Honestly, I also kinda wanted to do this for quite a long time, so I'm gonna firstly talk about how the gang (w/o really mentioning the others name's since they're gonna get introduced soon) met itself and decided to form, and then I'll individually do It in Lyva's and Shou's case, specifically Shou's since i mentioned that his meetin was somethin id have to take care of in another post, so i will rn.

First things first, w the whole gang. Now It wasn't really casually, mainly because Lyva n Rui did meet up, but It was during a special occasion still, that being a really important manifestation in one of the main regions in my oc universe. (They don't have name's yet so pls don't bash me🤡) Them being primarly the Forest, where Rui eventually lives in after all of his past shit, the near-countryside part, where Lyva was living, a pretty much city living on water, where Shou's currently living, and many more, as such the dunes with which I'll introduce Qiran (hopefully tomorrow/today),The sea itself, some High up places and as I said many, many other more. Other than this brief intro, they meet up where Lyva used to live, but mainly because of problems and out of conviniance.

Everyone had something to take back from, so they agreed to help eachother to reach that end, so it's all really planned. Now i won't really go w Lyva, cuz i explained how she met Rui the first time n how they helped her, so I don't need to ramble more on this. Now I'm gonna go w Shou's part though.

This Is more of a note i wanted y'all to know first, cuz i really like how Lyva n Rui met him the first time (cuz the second time was when the gang then all agreed to form n all that jazz.). Basically, Rui n Lyva were out, n visiting new places as such, to prepare themselves further and to try and search for more weapons, cuz they both knew that they'd eventually get in trouble, and even though they still are good, they wouldn't stand much a chance, n since Shou's Place is known for its production they decided to go. N fun fact, there's many funny shit that happends, for example Rui tries to touch a fish, but gets SLAPPED by It. They're still mad >:[. Ajkskdj anyways, some other stuff happends n they just, lose themselves. They had a map ofc but still managed to do so. But Rui was usin It so, I don't really blame em for gettin lost.

Shit happends n they find themselves pratically in front of his shrine/palace. Shou's servitors (cuz he saw everything happend from afar n gave them the okay) brought em in, but rather than makin em idk some tea n just making them recouver, Shou rather put them under some "tests" w/o tellin em, to see if they were any use.

For example he brought them some cups of tea, but before drinking them Rui noticed somethin unusual in the water, so they gave Lyva a sign to not drink It, n as Shou asked as a reason why they just replied that they weren't thirsthy, leavin Shou in a kind of defeated state. Bitch if i love this part honestly, there's so much fun to seein all of their reactions, but I'm gonna go brief rn. So other of this tests pass later n Shou eventually gets upset cuz they're all winnin n seemingly makin fun of him, lettin him in a weaket standpoint, n a fight happends. Even though it's a 2v1 situation he can still manage pretty well, so It ends in a draw. They get to talk after this and get to understand that they don't have to necesseraly be on the opposite side, though Shou Is still unsure whether to belive in that or not.

After they leave him, pratically almost alone w only a bunch of servitors helpin him. He admits defeat n won't show up until the event and yadayada. (Also it's during this weak time of his he'll meet Qiran which i already have plans w so it's all goin to be said bout their relationship in their post.)

(2nd part, the father mention.) Tw:father mention

So it's true that w Shou i did mention his father, but I'm not entirely sure bout his involvment honestly. In theory he kind of is a villain itself, even because of his devilish nature, so it's true, but im not sure whether to make him an independent villain or part of a group of them. But rather than that yes, i do want to make him some sort of villain in the end, because that's also part of Shou's agreement to be part of the group. I will make concept art for him so he'll definetly be involved. Not gonna lie, mabye that bastards also involved w Rui's cult too in a way or another but im givin in too many details holy shit I'll never get outta this fuck

(3rd part- where do they live) No Tw

They live in their own homes honestly, but It would be no surprise if they'd all decide to sleep over someone in specifical, though they have their own place. I made some concepts for Rui's intern home, which here It Is 😤 (forgive me for the bad quality but it's 2 am rn 🤡) I made this a while ago but only did Rui's, so I'll do Lyva's, Shou's n the other one's too. They live in different places, for the exception of, atm, Qiran, since I'm gonna say that they're more of a traveller n don't have a stable home.

(4th part- the mental/physical ilnesses) Tw: Self harm and Mental ilness mention

Well, this Is gonna be a ride. They all suffer from Ptsd, which Rui n Shou suffering from It the most. It still affects them all, though in different occasions, so Imma just do them in specifical. (Also because i gotta add some shit to shou that i didn't wanna add because i thought It was too much honestly)

Rui-

It affects them really much. They use crystals n gems to avoid anything going w their past or anything remotely related It, as whenever they feel awful about havin those flashbacks when they still were a child. They never want to talk about what happened, n during their moments It gets really, really bad. Both emotionally and physically, as their body sometimes cannot handle anything so it completely shuts down. They never really got any help for It as Rui's too scared to share bout their experience, both because of trauma itself that doesn't make them say anything even if they wanted to and because of the cults influence, so either way they've got to handle It by their own.

Lyva-

Other than havin to deal w mornin sickness, which Is the least for her, she has to deal w her neglectful childood and how desperate she's always been for litteraly anythin, whether it's related about love,friendship, food, toys, anything. She tried to seek for help and semi found It, but as of now she can't keep up w It and has better things to take care of. It's still really bad overall, but she's hoping for things to get better. Spoiler It really won't.

Shou-

⭕Tw for sh⭕

It's... really fucking bad. I'm gonna get outta this w saying something i didn't want to add because it's really triggerin, but im gonna do It now. So basically, I've mentioned them acting feminenly for his own mother, but i didn't say what would've happened if he displeased her. She would just stare down at him and whispering some awful shit or names. This would happen especially whenever he'd slip off that mask of his or revealed even a tiny bit of his devilish essence. Note that he's still a child here. So, best thing he could to was to "punish" himself, which basically consists of him scratching his arms too much and, i don't really want to continue this, forgive me but it's kind of triggering even for me. But...you can guess what he's doing, since he even to this day still keeps sharp nails. I'm sorry for putting this, but it's another way to show how his mother fucked him up and now suffering from this.

I'm sorry for rushin the last part but i'm not personally vibing w it.

Tags undercut

@a-chaotic-dumbass @spoopy-fish-writes @dopesaladlady @damnfoxx (I'm really unsure bout taggin ya in this ;-;)

If you want your tag removed, dm me cuz it's 3 am at the moment n i may have messed em up. (I'm not gonna recheck tomorrow so that's why)

#whdkkwkwkdk honestly I've written so fucjing much n for what😭😭#ruruasks #rurusocs #ruruslore #oc #ocs #my ocs stuff #rui #Lyva #shou #oc lore #i hope this shit doesn't flop cuz I've written so much n im just goinwbdjlwkdjdowodijqowodjdjoaodjdjdj #asks

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years ago

Text

Between Bars (Spencer Reid x OC)

Summary: Spencer is wrongfully arrested for murder and placed in Millburn Correctional Facility awaiting trial. While he attempts to survive until his friends can prove his innocence, his cellmate Oscar has an unexpected effect on Spencer during their time inside together.

AN: Thank you to @april-14-blog, @zhuzhubii, and @imagining-in-the-margins for your unwavering attention and support while writing this.

I’m writing another post-prison Spencer fic but idk when it’s coming out. I’m still caring for my dad and prepping for my nan’s funeral.

To the anon who asked for an Emily Prentiss x Trans!Male reader smut, it’s in the works I promise!!

Word count: 11k words

Content warning: Usual criminal minds violence, character death, spoilers for season 12, threats of violence, stabbing, PTSD, mentions of battery, mentions of panic attacks. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Masterlist // AO3 Link

“My last roommate got shanked.”

Spencer struggled for a second to keep his composure. The cell door slid shut with a loud buzzer and a clank of hollow metal.

His cellmate, in that identical grey jumpsuit, was tucked up on the bottom bunk with a book in one hand and a green crayon in the other. He was underlining something. Once he was done, his eye lifted off the page. They just as devoid of emotion as his opener was. That scared Spencer more, that this man had clearly spent a long time in here being dehumanised to the point where he held about the emotional range of a mannequin.

But at least he wasn’t violent. Yet.

Spencer approached the foot of his bed. His hands, one of them still sore from the cut on the palm, placed his belongings there. A tremble ran through them when his cellmate moved out of his line of sight; the sudden thought of being stabbed through the underside of his bunk kept him standing for now.

“I’m not gonna shank you.”

Spencer’s shoulders squared, “Ok.”

“Name’s Oscar.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Welcome to hell, Spencer Reid.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His chore was laundry. It was somewhere without sharp objects, which meant inmates brought their own. Spencer was doing his best to walk the balance between standing his ground and not making himself a target. But apparently there was no such line to follow and no help from his cellmate, sifting through his own cart of laundry on the other side of the room.

That was until the inmates began taunting Spencer over his belongings.

“Excuse me.”

The crowd immediately parted to make way for Oscar, whose unflinching gaze pushed them further back.

“Thank you,” he said in the same empty tone. His very deliberate stare landed on Spencer as he passed and collected a pile of towels from the table at the room’s centre. The group around them dispersed and remained so even as Oscar returned to his station.

Oscar’s hands weren’t shaking before then. Now, certainly, as he stuffed bedsheets into the giant machine, a tremble ran through his arms and stuck in his wrists.

Spencer didn’t comment, not even that evening as he climbed onto his bunk, his back pressed hard against the wall. His knees pulled close acted as a desk for his journal. His pen scribbled away long after lights out, putting down his thoughts, his innocence, trapping his worries onto the paper. It was too long until his next evaluation. His notebook was his only confidant now.

A creak beneath him stilled his hand, and he felt himself freeze as the shadow of Oscar rose up from his bunk. One of his hands was behind his back. Spencer’s feet dug into the mattress and forced him hard against the concrete. His eyes flinched shut as Oscar brought his hand out. But they opened as soon as they were closed and they were met with surprise.

In Oscar’s palm sat a red crayon.

“You’ll wanna swap to this,” He said with such a softness that Spencer spent the next ten seconds processing it. His incessant blinking did nothing to clear up what was happening.

Eventually he said an equally quiet voice, “Why?”

Oscar’s shoulders shrugged an inch, the tension he held in them inflexible, “Worst you can get from this is a bruise.”

Slowly, Spencer accepted the crayon with his left hand and rolled the pencil around in the right. “What should I do with this?”

“Hide it.” And Oscar disappeared from view.

Spencer ran his finger over the tip of the crayon before he dragged it across the paper. It would suffice for now. Maybe he could ask one of his friends to send some his way in their next letter. If they weren’t too busy trying to solve his case.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

JJ’s presence was the most welcomed part of Spencer’s life here. But he almost hated it.

Opposite him, always several inches between them as well as a divider, JJ holding up one of Henry’s drawings but unable to hand it over to him, it drove him insane. The constant reminders on the walls – and often barked by guards – not to touch coated their conversation. JJ didn’t ask about the bruises from his most recent beating. She answered Spencer’s queries, updating him on his case.

Spencer tried very hard not to sound so eager about getting out. His hopes were already dashed to pieces; the fragments were just holding on. He needed that hope to survive but if it grew too strong, it would destroy him.

For half a second, his attention was drawn out of the goodbye to see Oscar nearby. He was standing before another visitor’s table and a young woman who had the same nose as him on the other side.

He missed JJ’s hugs. He longed for one long after she had disappeared from view, shuffling along with the rest of them towards the refectory.

A commotion erupted up ahead. Spencer watched with masked reverence and the rest of the line as Oscar remained unflinching in the volume of the guard’s shouting. Even when he got right up in Oscar’s face, Oscar was stoic as spittle sprayed across his face. Moment after the guard walked away, Oscar wiped his face clean, a terrifyingly neutral expression held together.

Once lunch was done, Spencer re-joined with his new friend Luis in the laundry room, who was still not over Spencer’s injuries. There was something else that Spencer wanted to talk about.

“Do you know much about…” Spencer dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “Oscar?”

Luis looked at Oscar with the subtlety of an elephant seal then back to Spencer to deliver his answer, “He’s gone after people in the prison, but nothing ever gets tied to him.”

And Luis proved his point when Oscar pressed his hands against the stab wound in Luis’ neck, a futile attempt to save his life after Frazier and Duerson’s failed recruiting of Spencer. Oscar fled the scene without consequence, leaving Spencer in the pool of blood, and he never once tripped on his alibi or took off his armour. Not even when Spencer spoke at him about it before lights out.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

But Spencer found a chink in the armour.

Oscar’s sleeping problems were apparent throughout the night. If his offering of a crayon earlier hadn’t been enough evidence, the yawning and tossing about the bottom bunk. Spencer knew why Oscar was awake too. He wasn’t the type to stay awake to ensure his continued survival. Insomnia was a symptom that Spencer was starting to show too. He had been struggling to rest while he gathered the aforementioned evidence. For some reason, it brought him a slither of comfort, because it made Oscar more human.

Another was the letters he had in his pillow case – the most obvious place to hide something, therefore the least obvious? Reverse psychology aside, some nights featured the rustling of paper

Work in the laundry room continued as if there wasn’t a man murdered in it just days before. Oscar was reinforcing the contrast between yesterday and now with a faint hum. He was clearly a little more comfortable since it was just him and Spencer in the room.

Spencer’s mind pulled up Howl’s Moving Castle which he watched with Penelope. Oh, Penelope. With her bright colours and optimism. It was not a film he pictured Oscar to be a fan of. But he hardly knew him, and he wanted to.

“What song is that?”

Oscar shrugged. A huff forced itself out of his nose. “Don’t remember.”

“It sounds nice.”

He huffed again, clearly closing the conversation. Spencer counted in items he tossed into the machine, flinching still at the marks on the bedsheets. His eye avoided them but landed on the dark patch of concrete where Luis had bled out.

“Oscar, why did you defend me last week?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know.” The irritable edge in his voice prevailed the more he spoke, “But you owe me so consider this: don’t be a mule for them.”

It was an almost anger that Spencer felt at this request. Surely Oscar would understand, of all people, after being in here that:

“They’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Oscar sighed and turned his back to Spencer, no longer humming. Spencer felt a twang in his gut pluck away at his rage. But he also felt satisfaction in the fact that he had gotten Oscar to crack again. Not in a malevolent way, he felt like he was getting Oscar to open up more and more.

“I’m doing what I need to survive,” Spencer added. For his sake, maybe, but he knew it was a little more reassurance for Oscar.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

“I am innocent.”

“You’re gonna get killed if you keep saying that so loud.”

Spencer stopped speaking, but he kept moving about the floor space of the cell. The worst part was the walk up to the bars. But, with his notebook confiscated, he had no other outlet and he made sure that Oscar knew this as well.

“It keeps me grounded, reminds me of who I am.”

Oscar didn’t say anything about Spencer’s incessant pacing, simply turning a page in his new book, “That must be nice.”

With a deep breath of stale prison air, Spencer’s speed grew erratic until he very nearly kicked at the bars in frustration. He stopped himself just as the instruction reached the surgery scars on his knee. It stung as he jumped up into his bunk and squeezed his knees to his chest, his arms shaking with the pressure he put on them.

“How many years do you have to go?” He said quietly.

“Half a year until an appeal, six years if I serve the rest of my sentence. You?”

“My trial has been postponed. I was offered a plea deal. But-” Spencer stopped to swallow, a pitiful attempt against the absolute Sahara that was his mouth “- But I didn’t do it.”

His hand pushed the heel of his palm into his eye. The other screwed itself shut as his mind zeroed in on his actions. When Spencer’s hand lifted away, Oscar was standing up in front of him. His white shirt was on show, the top half of his jumpsuit rolled down with the arms tied around his waist. He was stretching his arms up, and his head was tilted a few inches to the left as he watched Spencer with a blank face.

No, not blank.

Open.

Then his stoicism clouded over and Oscar dropped his arms. “Nice rehearsal for the jury.”

Spencer’s irritation became inflamed, “That kind of attitude might get you a badge of honour here-”

“This kind of attitude,” Oscar interrupted, and immediately Spencer regretted his words, “Has helped me survive here. I suggest you stop running your mouth if you wanna do the same.”

The burst of anger fizzled out fast like a firework, and Spencer watched Oscar disappear out of sight with a dull thud on his mattress. But before he could, Spencer had noticed that Oscar’s hands were shaking again, just like he hadn’t seen since the fight in the laundry room – the first one.

Spencer’s hands gripping his shins, he worried that he had lost another… friend? Ally? He didn’t really know what to use as a description for their relationship but Spencer knew what he wanted. Least of all, he wanted Oscar to be upset with him.

“Oscar?”

Nothing. Spencer slipped off the bed and pressed his back against the wall, sinking down until he was on the ground. His eyes were on Oscar, who was staring without seeing Spencer opposite him. Nevertheless, Spencer stayed in his sight and asked a tentative question.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when you get out?”

Oscar blinked and his gaze shifted a millimetre to Spencer and his peace offering. Then Spencer saw it. A quiver of Oscar’s bottom lip, then it shifted and Spencer noticed that Oscar was biting the inside to stop his reaction taking over any more of himself.

When his mouth opened, it released a sigh before he spoke. “Hug my mom.”

Spencer nodded, the stuffiness of his throat returning as he fought to keep back tears, “Me too.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was an attempt to get Frazier and Duerson off Spencer’s back. Maybe to stop him from taking the drugs himself. The temptation was certainly lingering stronger, with the promise of a temporary respite.

But now the prison was locked down. Shaw, along with four other inmates, were isolated in the infirmary. These were far from innocent men but God that didn’t mean what he had done was right.

He’d done it to survive, but it was still all his fault.

“What’s up with you?”

The gate to their cell sliding shut behind Oscar. He stared at Spencer sat in the bottom bunk, his head in his hands. Footsteps echoed down the corridor before another buzzer and another gate opened then shut again. They were far from alone, the concrete providing an illusion that there wasn’t an endless tunnel with two men per cage.

“Spencer.”

He stood up, dropping the grip from his hair. His ears tuned into the noise from other prisoners. What he wouldn’t give for some silence right now.

“The poisonings were my fault.”

All air sucked from Spencer’s lungs as Oscar was suddenly upon him. He was smacked against the wall, Oscar’s hand over his mouth, his forearm pinning him into place. Spencer let out a cross between a gulp and a sob, caught into his throat as Oscar harshly shushed him. Spencer’s eyes looked around Oscar terrified, he struggled against him.

Oscar’s voice rasped with a spitting disgust, “You’re really fucking stupid!”

And he slammed his weight against Spencer again, his breathing heavy, his pupils dilated, “Don’t you fucking dare repeat that to anyone.”

Spencer’s head knocked against the resolute wall when Oscar shoved him once more, stepping back and creating distance between them. With the ache at the back of his skull, Spencer stared dazedly at his cellmate.

Oscar’s voice matched his haggard appearance when he said, “You’re a dead man, Spencer.”

The intimacy of his name striking right at his heart, Spencer worried that he would join Oscar in tears. But there was no time; a guard rattled his baton against the bars.

“What’s going on in there?” He bellowed into the cell.

Oscar clenched his jaw, “Nothing.”

Then he reclaimed his bunk and faced the wall.

“Into bed, inmate!”

Sparing a glance to the vulnerable position Oscar was laying in, unable to receive the look of gratitude, Spencer got into his bunk. The silence he wished for enveloped him and he longed for it to vanish.

He pressed his palm against his lips. It wasn’t the same as when Oscar did it.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

His second meeting with Dr. Tara Lewis revealed that Spencer had manufactured his own memory and that he had been coerced. But the BAU needed proof of his innocence, and Spencer resumed his waiting game in the yard.

Oscar was taking a new route around the edge of the wire fencing as opposed to spending his free time in the gym. His shoes scuffed in the dirt, no doubt rubbing a blister into his heel (based on his gait), and his step weaved around the groups to avoid interacting with anyone. Wordlessly, Spencer joined him. Oscar looked at him but didn’t speak.

Spencer’s session with Tara had brought forward a question he had considered asking before. Tara had spoken about his mother, how life was before prison. Spencer missed being known, knowing someone. The rawness of that need hung off his frame with his jumpsuit. Oscar was probably still pissed off with him. But God, Spencer needed to cease this withdrawal from human contact more than anything.

“What did you do, Oscar?” He asked under his breath, “To get into prison?”

“I knew a guy; he was the worst kind of person to get caught up with. He did some things to me. So I beat him up, and I cut his pecker off.”

It all sounded so very rehearsed, and Spencer wondered if Oscar had been planning what to say since they first met. The two men continued to walk in step until eventually Oscar broke the silence.

“Yours isn’t on my to-do list.” The left corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke

Spencer lifted his stare from Oscar’s mouth, hoping the heat around them would mask his blush, “Did he die?”

“No,” Oscar ironed his lips back into a straight line, “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t regret it.”

“No.”

“Thank you for not telling the guard what I did.”

“What did I say about repeating it?”

Spencer pressed his chin into his chest, forcing his mouth shut. It naturally deflected the glares that were aimed in his direction from other prisoners as he and Oscar sat down at an empty table.

“It seems I only give you grief.”

But Spencer’s pity was cut short by that touch of a smile on Oscar’s face returning, “Your company somewhat makes up for it.”

The distractions ended. Spencer was once again aware that there was very little he could do in this place. He restrained his yearning to hold Oscar’s hand across the table, to feel his tender palm again, until he was back in his bunk with an entire night to think about what it might be like in a situation where Oscar wasn’t threatening him into silence.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It was going to be another sleepless night.

Spencer reached his arm out of his foetal position and over the edge of his bunk. Oscar was likely still awake; Spencer was hoping that Oscar would ask him about what was up, like he usually did. Like he already had after Spencer’s mother had visited with her new care assistant.

As he waited, Spencer sniffed back his tears. He didn’t want anyone to see him cry, even if tears were supposed to be good for the skin – God knows his skin needed it after all that Dial soap. The red eyes were already hard enough to hide without the addition of damp cheeks. Grief weighed down his eyelids, but fear kept opening them – just in case.

Then five calloused fingertips touched the back of his hand. Spencer gripped the air, his wrist bringing his hand an inch in. But as the fingertips spread across his skin, he allowed them to continue. Oscar’s mattress groaned below him and his fingers linked with Spencer’s. The thumb wrapped around to press into Spencer’s palm.

Spencer almost whined when Oscar snatched his hand away, but a split second later his stomach dropped at the sound of a clatter down the hall.

Minutes passed like hours before the bottom bunk let out a familiar creak of Oscar rising from it. He rested his forearms against Spencer’s mattress, right beside Spencer’s outstretched arm. Goosebumps rose and the hairs stood on end, coaxing Oscar closer.

With a quick glance at the bars, Oscar whispered, “Your friends will get you out. They’ll help your mom.”

Spencer sniffed, “What happened to being a dead man?”

“I don’t think you – or your friends - are going to let that happen.”

“What about you?”

“I guess I could fall under ‘ally’ for once.”

“What if I wanted you to be something else?” Spencer’s arm shifted and his hand brushed their knuckles against Oscar’s stubbly cheek.

Oscar hinted at tilting his head against him, and Spencer couldn’t help but press a little firmer as Oscar said, “You should sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Oscar’s finger stretching out to brush the crook of Spencer’s elbow, “Me neither.”

Nevertheless, Oscar let Spencer go and got back down into his bunk just moments later.

Both men pretended to sleep until the fantasy became real. The whole time, Spencer was thinking about how hearing faith in his team from someone who had never met them – or even displayed an ounce of hope within his entire relationship with him – meant so much.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer had a new wall to force his back against. His left leg was not in a state to keep him taut against it, the throbbing ache a poor disturbance from his thoughts. Time, time, all he had was time to think and do nothing else.

About how his occupation in the government was leaked to what felt like the entire prison population.

How the note with the promise of invading solitary confinement lay screwed up by the door.

How Shaw had threatened him before bawling like a baby when the guards tackled him for stabbing Spencer.

How Oscar, with his jaw slack and eyes glassy, was outlined in Spencer’s blurring vision.

Oh, Oscar. Shoved back by inmates in the scuffle before he disappeared from view. He was only there because Shaw had made the first move. Spencer had seen Oscar reach into his pocket as he crept behind Shaw. No regard for his own safety. That was when Spencer grabbed Shaw’s hand and manipulated it into plunging his shiv into his leg and arm.

The night before, Oscar had been quiet, and Spencer figured that he had learnt that Spencer was an FBI agent. No chat before bed, Oscar just curled up under his blanket and read until lights out.

Spencer was patient. He waited long into the night before bringing out his toothbrush. There was no time for resting now; he scrapped the end of the brush against the edge of the bunk frame. Flakes of plastic snowed down onto the concrete floor, but he didn’t get out to sweep them beneath the beds just yet. That was a job for the morning – if it came.

Suddenly Oscar popped into his field of view.

“It’s better if you do it like this,” He said, taking Spencer’s hand in his and demonstrating the direction with which to carve his shiv, “And make sure you – never mind.”

“What?”

“Forget it. You’re a fed. They probably trained you with this shit.”

He took himself away and Spencer swallowed hard, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m not. Means you’re learning to protect yourself. I’m more grateful for that.”

Spencer’s hand still tingled from the way Oscar held it. The simplest of touches grounded him, and it was almost as if Oscar knew that. When they were called to lunch by the alarm, filing out of the laundry room, Oscar had gone out of his way to walk by Spencer and brush their hands together. Not a single break in his stride, the touch was brief but it breathed a sigh of courage into Spencer’s lungs and he went into the refectory calmer.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing away the stinging of tears with his head leaning back against the wall.

His palms flattened against his legs as he heard the key turn in the door. His eyes watched it creak open, revealing a guard

“Get up.”

Wincing, Spencer moved off the pathetic excuse for a bed, “Where am I going?”

No answer.

Spencer shuffled through the hallway with dread weighing each step down. The last fragment of hope was waning, but he clung to it as he was shoved into an empty room. Even as the guard closed the door behind him and his ever-vigilant eye was stuck on the glass of the window, Spencer held that hope close as he waited for someone to come in. While not necessarily a believer, he called to anyone - who might hear a sinner’s prayer - that he could touch Oscar once more before he was killed.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

It had been a long time since Spencer had sat on this side of the table. On the job, visiting a suspect or informant in a case, but now his entire perspective had shifted.

He wondered if any of the guards recognised him now that he had a suit, a visitor’s badge, and a few extra pounds around his middle.

An instinct, he flinched at the buzzer. The memory had tormented him for weeks and hearing it fresh and raw against his eardrums was worse. Steps sloped into the room in a dull out-of-sync march. The prisoners found their allotted tables one by one, some with enthusiasm and others without.

Oscar dragged the chair across the floor before taking his place opposite Spencer.

“Hello.”

Spencer was completely torn between smiling at his presence – his voice – and keeping a composure so as not to draw attention from other prisoners. “Hello.”

Oscar wrapped his arms in each other, elbows pointed on the table, “Did you get to hug your mom?”

It was hard to forget the grip on Diana’s frail body, the relief seeping through Spencer’s body at her safe recovery.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good. I’m glad she’s ok.”

“She’s in a facility now, being taken care of full time. Did you get my letters?”

“I did, thank you. And did you get mine?”

“Yes. How is your new cellmate?”

“Some dipshit in for possession. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s fingers tapped on the table, and Spencer could see them trembling still. He nodded; his mouth pressed into a line. He couldn’t think of what else to say despite his many rehearsals beforehand. It felt wrong to talk about being out of prison, like dangling a bit of bacon in front of a dog before popping it into one’s mouth.

So he went straight for the jugular, “I’m getting you out, Oscar.”

Oscar frowned, looking almost offended. “Don’t say that.”

But Spencer continued, “I’ve spoken with your lawyer, Zoe; she’s got all this stuff ready for your appeal.”

“Spencer.”

“Your family completely support what we’re doing. I’ve spoken to them over the phone.”

“They wanna meet with me and your lawyer, properly coordinate. We can do this!”

“Spencer, stop!”

Said person stopped relaying his grand plans for the future. Oscar had barely raised his voice but he caught the attention of the nearby guards, already reaching for their belts. Oscar’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, his eyes not even crossing the threshold that separated him from Spencer.

His voice caught in his throat, “Stop it now. Don’t give me hope.”

Spencer blinked. A second time, a third, then he frowned right back at Oscar bewildered.

“Why won’t you let me fight for you?”

He didn’t get an answer immediately, so he kept talking.

“You fought for me, Oscar. You kept me alive in here. Let me do the same, get you out. You can’t stay here!”

It started subtle. But Spencer saw Oscar shaking his head at his words. He refused Spencer any more eye contact, not even when Spencer begged Oscar to look at him so that they could talk more about the upcoming appeal.

The buzzer sounded again and Spencer began to panic as Oscar rose from his seat. No way was their time up already. An urge to reach across, grab Oscar’s hand, make him stay, shot through him. It only stopped because he didn’t want some desperate grab to be the last touch between them. He tried to call after him, but his voice stuck in his throat at the sight of a baton being used to force Oscar into the queue.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer had walked the paths of the bullpen thrice now: once to get coffee, second to “get the right form”, and the last time he didn’t say why to his curious colleagues. Clearly none of those were the true reason but they left him alone. That was their problem. They never spoke to each other about what was wrong until it was too late.

The second his phone rang, he lunged for it. His slim fingers scrabbled to slide across the answer button and bring it up to his ear.

“Hello!” Instantaneously, his shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sorry for shouting. Look, I’m waiting on an important call, can I ring you back?”

Before the caller had time to respond, Spencer slammed the phone face down and began his route again, leaving it on the desk so that he wasn’t constantly checking the screen.

“Have you ever seen him so attached to a piece of technology?” Luke grinned at JJ.

“Never.”

“This con must be something.”

The phone went off again when Spencer was getting another mug of coffee. Its ringtone was loud but not loud enough to reach the break room.

Simmons raised his voice ever so slightly, “Spencer! Phone!”

A ceramic clashed with a sideboard, and Spencer appeared, his hip clipping Luke’s desk on the way over. In his frenzy, he found the wherewithal to check the caller ID before he answered, “Tony?”

Spencer had already begun powerwalking out of the bullpen, but he stopped when he heard a cry from Eliza in the background.

His friends and co-workers watched his expression falter from focus to frustration.

“I’m sorry.” His voice failed him, clearing it, “I’m sorry, Tony, for you and your family. Can I call you back?”

This time, he waited for confirmation and he stayed on the phone for half a minute longer to reassure the Dunnagan family on the other end that he would not give up. Once the call dropped, the phone did too – against the desk. Spencer folded his arms in on himself. His fingers were bent into claws, digging into the creases of his elbows. Upon realising what they were doing, he covered his face as if to weep, but there were no tears.

“Spencer.” JJ touched his shoulder

“The appeal didn’t even have the chance to be unsuccessful,” He dragged his hands across his face into prayer, “Oscar cancelled the hearing this morning without telling us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, “I don’t think I can be alone right now. Can I stay at yours and Will’s tonight?”

“Of course,” JJ’s hand smoothed out a wrinkle on his suit jacket.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Upon entering the attorney’s office, Spencer was embraced by Dakota. Eliza kissed both his cheeks, Tony shook his hand, and Zoe gestured for him to sit in the final empty chair.

Together, they discussed the plan for the appeal. It was to be fool proof. There was the added benefit of a recent sessions with a therapist; Spencer was still willing to go and talk about how Oscar had saved his life in prison. But Spencer was also fighting this disgusting urge to say that “none of that matters because an appeal panel won’t see him at all if Oscar keeps withdrawing”. He kept pushing it down to simmer in his stomach, away from his vocal chords.

He was almost glad when his phone began ringing, “Excuse me, it’s my boss.” Stepping out of the office, Spencer narrowly avoided another lawyer walking along the stripes of the carpet. “Hey Emily.”

“Hey. I know it’s one of your days off. I just wanted to see how you’re doing?”

“We’re just going over Oscar’s appeal.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Wow, he really walked into that one.

“I just keep thinking about how he sabotaged himself. I mean, doesn’t he want to get out? Why doesn’t he want to get out and be with me?!” Spencer swallowed back the lump in his throat, “And I know none of the team approve of him.”

“Spencer,” Emily had her parent voice on. An expert voice for someone who didn’t even have kids yet.

But Spencer just carried on in spite of it, “He’s a convicted batterer, not exactly the best option for a boyfriend and especially for an FBI agent, but do any of you know why he did it?”

His agitation was muzzled when Zoe poked her head around the door and Spencer softened his tone to apologise, to assure he would be back inside shortly. He waited until the door closed before he spoke again.

“Emily, Oscar is the only person who knows what I’m going through right now. He’s a good man, I truly believe that, or else he wouldn’t have helped me. And I need him to get out. I can’t stand knowing he’s in there for why he did what he did. Knowing he’s not getting the help he needs.”

It was then that Spencer realised, even as they were interrupted, that Emily had been waiting patiently for him to finish. She was now letting his words sit between the phone lines, likely mulling over what to say next. Spencer really fucking hated waiting.

Thankfully his patience did not need to wear itself thin, this one time:

“I do know why he did it. I had Garcia pull up his file when you went to visit him for the first time. Spencer, I’m glad this man has you on his side. Let me know how the meeting goes.”

“Thanks, Emily.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

As Oscar placed himself down opposite Spencer, he flinched in the plastic chair. Spencer fought his own wince at the sight of so much swelling, so many bruises, so many cuts, littering his face.

But he gave the tiniest of smiles in spite of the state of his face, “How did you know, Spencer?”

“Your mom told me. She’s a lovely woman.” Spencer flexed his fingers before linking them again, “I wish I had a proper gift to give you, but I was scared the guards would just confiscate it.”

“The card was more than enough.”

A bright blue card with balloons on it was tucked into Oscar’s pillowcase. Inside were as many notes on what he needed to say for the appeal as Spencer could fit around the “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” already printed into the card.

“I forwarded them and the rest onto your lawyer. She should go through it with you.”

Oscar’s smile tainted by hesitation as it crawled off his face, “I don’t know.”

Spencer could see him withdrawing, hiding in his jumpsuit. But even then, Oscar’s expression wore his melancholy like a veil. It blocked out any semblance of neutrality from when he had first met Spencer. The state his protection was in, he wouldn’t last long at all.

“Before prison, I was really sensitive to touch, germs. But now-” Spencer stopped, his voice so quiet he nearly couldn’t hear himself as he finished, “I can’t wait to touch you again.”

Oscar shivered. His eyes screwed shut as if to protect him from what was being said. But Spencer persisted.

“What would you like to do for your birthday? If you could do anything.”

“Picnic in the park,” said Oscar after some thought, “Uh, a real big Cuban sandwich, with roast pork, Swiss cheese, lettuce, pickles, and ham. And chocolate covered strawberries.”

“What, in the sandwich as well?”

“Yes.” Oscar rolled his eyes, misty and threatening to spill, and Spencer felt a rush of panic. More emotion was only good for him. Oscar, left behind in his cell, this could be disastrous. But he couldn’t get enough of it, and he selfishly persevered.

“When you get out, would you let me hold you?” The buzzer went off, but Spencer spoke over it as he stood, “Please, Oscar, consider this appeal.”

“Ok, Spencer.”

From his place at the table, Spencer watched Oscar try to cover his emotions, but there was still a glimmer of a tear retreating as he joined the queue of prisoners heading back to their cells.

Before he stepped out the prison, Spencer slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes to hide how red they were from the guards.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Stood in the shallow shade of Eliza’s range rover, Spencer switched the bouquet of sage flowers from one hand to the other. Dakota had suggested them; she said her brother liked the colour most. Spencer wiped his free hand down his trousers before checking the time. He’d done that four times already. He hoped no one was giving him odd looks from the other side of the fence.

Utter relief was not usually how he would describe hearing that buzzer. But for the first and last time, he did feel a sense of respite knowing he would likely never be coming back here for such a taxing visit.

Then he remembered what that sound actually meant. His back straightened right up; his hand brushed through his hair and checked his breath once more.

Tony led the way out of the prison. He was clearly trying to remain casual but the glee seeping out of his body was just palpable. He had an arm around Dakota, kissing his daughter’s head so vigorously that her half-up hair was messed up. Clearly Dakota didn’t care though. Her hand was behind her and she turned to see the person holding it.

It was Oscar, arm looped with Eliza who clung to him like a crutch. Their eyes matched each other, shining brown like horse chestnuts.

Spencer found that he could no longer look away from Oscar. A breeze rustled through his hair. His face was alive with tear tracks and a grin that ached on his rosy cheeks. An old suit, one clearly meant for court and court alone, slouched on his shoulders. But for that short moment where he breathed fresh air and leaned his head on his mother’s, there was no weight to him.

Then Oscar found Spencer, fidgeting with his tie and his grip slacking on the bouquet, and all the emotion he had repressed for five years in prison custody were exploding into a supernova.

Oscar forgot Eliza’s arm, dashing around his family to run for Spencer. Spencer found himself matching the pace and the destination. His feet carried him quick until he and Oscar collided. A fierce hug crushed them. Oscar’s hand was constantly adjusting its grip on the back of Spencer’s head, and Spencer’s free one fisted at Oscar’s suit jacket, trying to bury themselves in his ribcage. Neither missed Oscar’s shaking, his sobbing. Spencer curled into Oscar, wrestling with his instinct to pull away. Lindsey and Cat, they ruined so much for him already; they couldn’t take Oscar too.

When they heard the footsteps of the Dunnagan family stop nearby, the men drew apart – only about a foot or so. Oscar’s cheeks were wet behind his wide smile and Spencer saw that one of his front two teeth was a little crooked.

Spencer then presented his gift in the small space between them, “For you.”

Oscar gently clasped the bouquet on the white ribbon that wrapped around the stalks, “No one’s got me flowers before.”

Spencer then vowed to buy flowers as often as he could for Oscar, and especially sage. He looked so good with purple.

The ride to Danny’s Food Truck had Oscar sat in the little middle seat, his sister on one side, Spencer on the other, and he held both their hands. His bouquet was cradled in his lap. The wet ends of the stalks dripped twice onto his suit trousers, just before his bouncing knee.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Once again, Spencer had lost himself in his work. When he was interrupted just an hour before, Oscar was there. He had waved a hand into Spencer’s peripherals but Spencer still jumped at it. He hated that his skittish behaviour was still prevalent, returning just as Oscar had started appearing in his personal life. In his apartment.

“Sorry, Spencer,” Oscar had said in a gravelly voice, “I just wanted to ask if you were ok with Randy’s for dinner tonight.”

It was two hours before they were due to have dinner.

“Of course, it’s your turn.”

“How’s the work going?”

“It’s good,” and Spencer showed him the notes he’d written so far.

Oscar had taken them into his hands and read over them. Meanwhile Spencer watched his micro expressions. The huff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth wriggling about as if to smile before flattening themselves out, all seemed positive as Oscar offered the papers back.

“Nice joke!”

“Right, joke…” Spencer accepted his notes back, “Where?”

“There,” Oscar leant over Spencer’s shoulder and tapped the second line of the first paragraph. Spencer noted that he smelt nice. So much better now the Dial soap was out of their care routine.

And it was now that Spencer found himself missing that smell. It was a nice distraction. Burying himself in his work was not a good distraction anymore.

He stood away from his desk and took his mug out to the kitchen sink. Despite trying not to look at the pieces of a vase half-wrapped in newspaper, Oscar’s wailing at the very start of their day together punctured its way into Spencer’s head. One particular thought posited that Spencer should keep one of those jagged pieces – just in case. Just in case of what?

Shaking his head, Spencer went and found the source of his chills: his living room windows were wide open, the curtains lifting gracefully in the breeze. Rain pattered against the world outside, some of its drops reaching the carpet. The smell of the rain was light in the room. It was almost drowned out by the sound.

He found Oscar passed out on the couch, his bare feet poking out from under the throw. His head was resting between his folded arms, one hand under the pillow. His headphones askew and playing “The Flower Garden (Extended Version)” by Joe Hisaishi.

Kneeling next to Oscar, Spencer touched his arm, “Do you want me to order for you?”

Oscar nodded, stretched out, then promptly fell back asleep. He would have trouble later tonight. But Spencer was glad that he finally found some respite. His seemingly endless apologies for breaking the bowl were over.

That was where the good news ended though. Spencer looked closer at Oscar’s hand, now unmasked. A medium piece from the broken vase rested in his loose grip. After some moments deliberating, Spencer eased it out and placed it with the rest of the vase. Then he went to his phone and dialled.

“Hey JJ. I hope it’s not too late, but,” Spencer tapped his nails against the plastic handset, “Would you mind coming over? Oscar is here, but I don’t know if he’s ready to help me through this.”

He smiled at the flowers he’d bought that day standing awkwardly in a jug before hanging up. He and Oscar really should move in together. Or at least he should invest in a sofa bed.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door, and Oscar was up on his feet. The sofa’s throw clung to him.

“I invited someone over,” Spencer said quickly, “Sorry I should have told you, but I didn’t want to wake you again. Do you want to wait in my room?”

Oscar stayed in place and shook his head, so Spencer went ahead to open his front door.

Two days apart was far too long. JJ embraced Spencer tight, rubbing his back as she rested her chin on his shoulder. She gave the best hugs. Maybe rivalled by Oscar, but Spencer would never tell her that.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A coffee would be great,” JJ shrugged off her jacket

He pivoted in a half circle, “Oscar?”

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

Spencer wasn’t really sure what happened in his absence – besides his stomach turning itself over and over. When he returned with two mugs, the only information he could garner was that Oscar had dropped the throw back onto the sofa that stood between them and JJ had inched a little closer

“Here!”

Oscar twitched at Spencer’s loud entrance, visibly relaxing by the time JJ had her mug of coffee in her hands. He adjusted the throw until it was back to its original position then crept towards the door.

Spencer frowned, ruining the quiet exit as he said, “Where are you going?”

Oscar thumbed in his direction of travel. “Bathroom.”

“Oh,” Spencer felt his cheeks heat up, “Good luck.”

He saw Oscar rolling his eyes but there was a flash of a grin and a tiny wave to JJ before he disappeared from view. Spencer’s stomach steadied itself, busying itself with sloshing his coffee about instead. His grip around his mug adjusted as he turned to JJ.

“He’s not what I was expecting,” JJ said. There was nothing malicious in her tone. In fact, if there was anything, she seemed pleased that Oscar had subverted her anticipations.

Spencer nodded, his mouth turning up a little smile, “That’s what I thought too. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“It’s ok, anytime.”

They sat together on the sofa, leaving the armchair free just in case Oscar wanted to join them again.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Moving in together was supposed to solve everything.

Neither Spencer nor Oscar explicitly said or thought that. But when their triggers persisted and their behaviour shifted dramatically still, they couldn’t help but be a little disappointed.

Spencer had another nightmare last night and woke Oscar up at around half past three. They couldn’t cuddle each other, but their hands would brush and the two men would avoid looking at the matching scars on their thighs – and Oscar’s on his stomach, Spencer’s on his arm.

“Would you have killed Shaw, if I hadn’t done anything?”

“Yes.” “Does that scare you?”

In the dark, he could hear the fear in Oscar’s voice

“No, because I think I would have done the same.”

Carried on as if he hadn’t heard, still scared of himself, “I wouldn’t do something like that now.”

Oscar spent the rest of the night on the couch, so he wouldn’t touch Spencer in his sleep. Words of his therapist spun around his head: “Prison twists and warps people until they’re worse than they were before. We can’t speak now for what we would have done then.”

It was a quiet day as a result of the restless night. Quiet was nice sometimes; it was something new for them to experience together. Spencer and Oscar had breakfast together, washed and dressed, before they went down to the communal laundrette together. Washing and drying clothes was too big a task to do alone, even now, and Oscar needed his shirt to be clean for his job interview in a few days. The nightmare Spencer had faded into the background as he tried to focus on something else.

Without realising, he said aloud to Oscar, “I wanted to kiss you in the laundry room.”

Oscar stopped stretching his damp pyjama shirt out, and it was clear that he had joined Spencer in reminiscing about their job in prison.

“Which time?”

“Every time.”

Spencer watched as Oscar let out a quiet “heh”, a shy smile playing on his lips. But Oscar cut it off quick before either of them could enjoy it, and he reset his expression to blank. The silence that followed swallowed them both whole.

“Oscar,” Spencer moved next to Oscar and, in clear view, touched him on the arm, “It’s ok. You can laugh.”

“I know.”

“You can smile if you want to,”

“I can smile,” Oscar repeated, his words grounding him next to Spencer, his hands flattened atop the dryer as it rumbled into life. His lungs took in a few more breaths to spread a thin layer of calm over him and he looked back at Spencer, “I can also kiss you if I want to, if you want.”

Checking the laundrette door, Spencer’s hand moved from Oscar’s arm to Oscar’s cheek, guiding him home. Their lips met in messy perfection. Short and sweet, with a sigh shared between them, Spencer was pleased to see the smile returned to Oscar by the time they separated. As tense as Oscar felt in his arms, even with the smile soon fading, Spencer could feel the tiniest slack in his shoulders now.

With the most burdensome chore out of the way, the two men returned to the flat. Spencer helped Oscar compose another covering letter to ship off to another job opening before they called Oscar’s family for lunch.

Facetiming was always a trip when they were calling the Dunnagans. Tony had a similar understanding of “technology” as Spencer, so when he answered the call, it was a close up of a nostril or a frowning muted face that greeted Oscar and Spencer on the laptop screen. Eventually Eliza saved them from an eternal farce. She brought them into her kitchen, bringing Dakota and her partner Ellis in on the call when it was time to prep for lunch.

Dakota led the way with a recipe from her restaurant, “If any of you dare share this with anyone, I’ll knock you out.”

Her laugh only sang one note before she slapped her hand over it and looked down at her screen with a face full of guilt. Oscar laughed it off, maybe a little forced, then he swiped at the nearest conversation topic – the world’s hottest pepper.

“Maybe you could stick in in your next recipe. Do a competition where if you eat all the spicy stuff, you get your name on the wall and get half off or something.”

And the call continued for a little longer.

Spencer was just testing out the new spices acquired in their online shop – because according to Dakota there was nothing is worse than being able to actually taste the chicken – when the screen froze. A tiny widget popped up to inform the men that the signal was too poor to continue the call.

Oscar wiggled the mouse, “Oh, God, your connection’s gone again. You mind if I try and find us a better provider?”

“Go for it.”

They clinked their wine glasses together, sipping with questionable responses to it. Oscar dared another sip while Spencer was satisfied with just the one, deciding instead to check on the chicken.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Oscar placed his wine down. “Are we boyfriends?”

In all their time together, Spencer realised they never once spoke about their relationship status. They just sort of… moved in together, shared a bed, held hands and kissed occasionally – without discussing what was going on.

He said with relative boldness, “I’d like to be.”

“I’d like to be too,” Oscar bit his lip, the smile distorting but still charming as ever. His arms swayed a little. “Can I hug you please?”

With a renewed sense of vigour, Spencer said, “Yes please.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Spencer’s mind needed a rest; perhaps returning to the geographic profile after some time apart would garner a new connection. This case was driving everyone nuts, not just him, and it was only the third day in. he plucked his mug and headed over to the coffee pot for a top-up.

Whilst pouring his third cup of the morning, Spencer took note of his phone’s weight in his trouser pocket. He decided to lessen it, his hand reaching in and dialling for Oscar.

The call clicked after three rings then a boisterous laugh erupted from the speaker.

“Sorry, Spencer! This little one keeps jumping up at me! She barely reaches my knees!” Oscar’s voice was playful. Little claws clicked on a hard floor followed by a tiny yet indignant yip that was echoed by several much deeper barks. Spencer assumed this little one was a ring leader at the dog kennel, the one Oscar was trying to sweet talk.

“That’s ok. You sound like you’re having a good time.”

“It’s brilliant! They let me take four dogs out on a walk at a time!”

The ache in Spencer’s left shoulder from sleeping in an odd position alleviated just a touch. “Yeah?”

“I think I might try to get my licence back, so I can maybe drive them out to the countryside.”

“That’s brilliant news.”

“How’s the case?”

“I’m just taking a break.” Spencer sipped his coffee, burning the back of his throat. As he flinched, he caught sight of Luke’s hand, waving him back over to the conference room. “Sorry, Oscar, I have to get back to the profile.”

“I really like how you say ‘Oscar’.”

“I’m just saying your name.”

“I know,” and Spencer could very clearly hear Oscar’s smile in his voice – even over the constant din from the dogs he was caring for.

“I like how you say my name. See you later?”

“Hopefully. Take care of yourself.”

What a delight to see Oscar, after a rush of evidence flooding in and the pieces slotting together in a now-obvious profile. That evening in fact, Spencer made it back to his apartment at the same time as Oscar. He was carrying a plastic bag to mirror Spencer’s satchel. He didn’t feel like cooking and knew that Spencer wouldn’t be in the mood either; it was a few microwaved meals from the local store in his bag.

They ate dinner in the sitting room on trays - as a treat – and they partook in a very one-sided conversation about Star Trek. Oscar didn’t seem to mind, and honestly Spencer liked the freedom that came with talking here. It was like a hint of who he was before was bleeding through. Every so often though, Oscar would remind him that his food was going to get cold. Spencer would take a moment to eat before the next interesting factoid was inspired from the episode on the TV.

At the start of the next episode, his plate empty, Spencer noticed that Oscar’s gaze was a little restless as he finished his dinner.

“Is something bothering you?” He asked, adjusting his position on the sofa.

Oscar shrugged as he put his cushioned lap tray onto the carpet, “Not bothering me. I’m just curious about something.”

Naturally, Spencer said, “Ask me.” Maybe it was the difference between Vulcans and Romulans again.

“When you stabbed yourself while looking at me, before you got out, was that a substitution for sex?”

Spencer blinked several times. He could feel pinstripes forming on his forehead. He cleared his throat, took a sip of his water, cleared his throat again.

“No, no. I… um.”

Then he stopped because he realised he didn’t quite have an answer yet. His mind was busy straying back to that moment: the flare of pain in his leg and arm, the roaring of inmates around his head, and Oscar - an island of frozen calm amidst the chaos of Spencer’s actions. Eventually, Spencer found a semblance of a reply and he delivered it.

“I was just looking around, and I found you. I think I was looking for comfort.”

Seemingly accepting of this, Oscar’s attention moved back to the TV. His hands occupied themselves with each other. However, Spencer was not quite ready to let the subject go; he’d been thinking about this a lot lately.

“I’m sorry we haven’t…”

Oscar picked up what he was putting down, “Don’t be sorry, Spencer. Don’t ever, ever be sorry for that. I didn’t ask to guilt you. It was in the lesson you taught last week. I listened to it on my break today.”

The image of his Dictaphone on the desk at college - and another of it hanging out of Oscar’s rucksack’s front pocket – recalled itself in Spencer’s head.

“I probably could have asked you a bit nicer,” Oscar altered his position on the couch to bring his knees up to his chest.

“Probably.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Could you tell me more about the Romulans please?”

As Spencer restarted his speech, albeit with less enthusiasm than before, Oscar brought out his notepad from his backpack. His fingers pinched around the blue crayon as he scrawled Spencer’s facts, putting the differences into a roughly drawn table.

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

Seeing Oscar standing in the bullpen with a visitor’s badge was not what Spencer expected to see today. He certainly didn’t expect to see him sipping tea with Penelope and chatting away at Spencer’s empty desk. Oscar had clearly just arrived, still bundled up in his coat. The flowers Oscar had sent to the office that morning stood gorgeously arranged beside his oft-neglected computer desktop.

“Hi!” Spencer power-walked up to them, almost reaching a jog. Oscar met him halfway, but his pace decreased the closer he got to Spencer. It was the sound of the team drawing through the glass double doors that told Spencer what was going through his head.

He turned to his family, already gesturing behind him where Oscar stood, “Everyone, this is my boyfriend Oscar.”

Waving, Oscar had his other hand stuck deep in his pocket as he spoke, “Penelope gave me the rundown of your names. Nice to meet you.”

The team was rather tired from the case and obviously a little caught off guard by the fact that the felon Spencer had fallen for was just hanging around in their bullpen. But Spencer was relieved when they all greeted Oscar with a fairly warm manner, wished Spencer "happy birthday" again, before they shuffled off to their respective desks and offices. Penelope bid her farewell to Oscar with the promise of a movie night some time in the future. Then she hugged her Boy Wonder and returned to her batcave.

“Sorry,” Oscar said quietly, “I wanted to travel home with you. Kinda forgot that I would be running into your whole team.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, I wanted you to meet them.”

Spencer’s hand stayed in Oscar’s for the entire walk back to Oscar’s new car in the lot. While they parted momentarily en route, they found each other again when Oscar had to pull over during the drive home. The car that had swerved and cut in front of them became two red lights in the far distance, the sound of its engine and screeching tires muted by Oscar’s heavy breathing.

Oscar released the steering wheel and clung to Spencer’s hand, but Spencer could feel that Oscar was holding back, trying not to crush his fingers. He rubbed over Oscar’s knuckles.

“In, two, three, four,” Spencer counted, “Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

He repeated this five times and Oscar leant back in his seat.

“I was doing so well,” He said, his voice cracking in its quietness.

“You still are. We both are.” Spencer kissed the back of Oscar’s hand, “Come on, I’ll drive us the rest of the way.”

Two blocks later and they were about to enter their apartment.

Oscar stopped them though, just before Spencer’s key met the lock, “Could you wait out here? Just for a minute, please?”

Spencer complied, a countdown in his head clicking off the seconds as soon as his front door was closed to him. A smile crept onto his face as he heard Oscar clattering about the apartment. He wasn’t exactly being subtle; Spencer wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once Spencer was finally allowed in, he was greeted by a low-lit scene. Oscar was holding a match to the last candle at the table. He’d taken off his long coat to revealing a freshly ironed floral pattern. The stereo speakers were already humming Mozart. The crumpled takeaway paper bag by the pedal bin didn’t go unnoticed, but Spencer decided to focus instead on how the food was arranged on the plates - either side of a delightful floral arrangement.

“Oh Oscar, you already got me so much this morning,” Spencer said sheepishly, with the knowledge that he had avoided looking up the prices of his gifts so he could calculate just how much of Oscar’s third paycheque went into his birthday.

“I know, but I wanted your birthday to be perfect,” Oscar opened up one of the tubs, a wave of steam lifting gently with the lid, “It’s from the new Thai place down the road.”

Spencer hung up his satchel on his its hook, “I suppose I have been wanting to try their green curry for a while now.”

Once he had changed into something more comfortable (plus a hint of smartness), Spencer sat down with Oscar for dinner. Both men found that he was not immune to the romanticism of a candlelit dinner with his boyfriend, and Spencer more so. The effort behind it, the aroma of the lavender candle with the spiced food, the glow around his Oscar’s face as he went over the day behind them, it was all getting to him.

Of course, Oscar offered to clean up once they were done eating and talking – for now at least. Spencer still helped though. Any time with Oscar was time well spent. Even loading the dishwasher. Except now Oscar was staring at Spencer’s face, gaze fidgeting between his eyes and his mouth, and Spencer was worrying about it.

Christ, what was he meant to do to let Oscar know he wanted to kiss him without saying so? Pout?

“Are you ok?” Oscar’s brow creased.

Fuck.

“Yes,” Spencer said, quickly removing the pout from his lips, “I’m good.”

“Good.” Oscar swung their linked hands between them thrice. Then he let go of one to thumb across the corner of Spencer’s jaw and he closed the gap between them. Spencer felt Oscar’s recently applied lip balm on his chapped lips, those stupid lips that Spencer spent too much time thinking about. They felt so much better against Spencer’s and smiling with reckless abandon. So reckless, in fact, that the smile grew into a laugh, buzzing against Spencer and tickling him more than his facial hair.

Oscar pulled away, still giggling and apologising, “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you.”

“I know you’re not. You’d never laugh at me.”

---> ---> ---> ---> --->

A chorus of “hello!” harmonised in the doorway as the Dunnagans’ entered Spencer and Oscar’s apartment. Laden with gifts and food offerings, Tony, Eliza, and Dakota kissed and hugged their way into the sitting room.

Oscar and Dakota were the ones in charge, everyone else on some kind of prep duty while they ordered them about in the politest manner. Spencer was trying to be a good prep boy but Eliza was just better and faster, so he stuck to cleaning as they went. Oscar kissed his cheek while passing by; Tony had hung up a sprig of mistletoe just over their heads. Ducking away to avoid kissing his potential father-in-law, Spencer chased the sound of his phone ringing. He even ducked under it as if lowering his torso would avoid the mistletoe above him.

All five swayed ever so slightly out of sync as they bellowed the classics and groaned over the pop renditions. Spencer’s new watch hugged his wrist and ticked away each pleasant second.

“No, don’t hide your hair!” Eliza ripped off the Santa hat Spencer’s head and pulled up flattened tufts of his hair until it resumed its usual messy state.

“There! Never get a haircut, you’re too handsome for that.” She patted his cheek before taking another swig of her red wine – the same shade as her Christmas jumper and Spencer’s cheeks. Spencer looked to Oscar, not to protest but to see if he had Oscar witnessed this.

Oscar merely shrugged, “I mean she’s not wrong.” He finished off peeling the sprouts, handing them over to Tony for chopping, “I have to admit, it was one of the things that drew me to you when we met.”

“Really?”

Another nod in response, Oscar drew nearer, closing the conversation to everyone but Spencer, “You and your Bambi eyes and your hair and your perfect mouth.”

Spencer suddenly found himself unable to look directly at Oscar, as if he were the sun. An outsider looking in might infer that it was the gaudy red of his horrendous Christmas jumper that made his cheeks seem so pink. They would be wrong.

Spencer burst out, “It was Rossi on the phone. He wants to know if you’re still coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m not backing out. If I start to, I need you behind me and pushing me through the door.” Oscar’s shoulders twitched with his laugh.

“I don’t know, feels like you could toss me over your shoulder if you wanted.”

“I could. Technically.”

Spencer’s cheeks went scarlet at the thought of Oscar carrying him down Rossi’s driveway in such a way. But before he could ask Oscar to slow the flow of compliments, Dakota called to them across the room: “Aw, Oscar, you’ve got your own stocking?”

“Yeah, Spencer bought it for me, early gift!” It hung proudly on the bookshelf beside Spencer’s.

The table had already been set for the family. Dakota brought her own crackers, informing them that the snap had been removed. Terrible paper crown and horrendous jokes were passed around the five people before they dished up their Christmas dinner. Comically small in his hands, Oscar cradled the box of the primary coloured crayons in his palm and frisbeed the ruler with the shapes cut out over to Eliza.

The pigs in blankets were a little burnt, the nut roast barely touched, and there was so much left over that they would be eating ham and turkey sandwiches for days to come.

Spencer was so full of food and joy that it would be impossible to be carried on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He settled instead for being held in Oscar’s lap as they squished into the armchair, the rest of the family on the couch to watch the garbage Christmas specials. Dozing on his shoulder with a close-lipped smile, Oscar looked content. His yellow paper crown was crushed near the front, slipping down his left temple.

Oh, Spencer was grateful for his dedicated memory. He could match and topple all those memories of them in prison with times like these forever – and he planned on doing just that.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x oc #my writing #r: male #wc: 10k+

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