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gacha-incels · 10 days ago

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It was late at night, and Darim's animation studio had just finished designing a new look for a character in one of South Korea's most popular video games, MapleStory.

Darim was proud of her work. So, sitting alone on the floor of her small studio apartment, she posted the trailer on social media. Almost immediately, she was flooded with thousands of abusive messages, including death and rape threats.

Young male gamers had taken issue with a single frame in the trailer, in which the female character could be seen holding her thumb and forefinger close together.

They thought it resembled a hand gesture used by a radical online feminist community almost a decade ago to poke fun at the size of Korean men's penises.

"There were insults I'd never heard before, they were disgusting and inhumane," said Darim, which is not her real name. One read: "You've just sabotaged your job."

Messages then started piling into Darim's studio and the game developer claiming she was a feminist and demanding she be fired. Within hours, the company pulled the promotional video.

Darim had become the latest victim in a series of vicious online witch hunts, in which men in South Korea attack women they suspect of having feminist views. They bombard them with abuse and try to get them sacked.

This is part of a growing backlash to feminism, in which feminists have been branded man-haters who deserve to be punished. The witch hunts are having a chilling effect on women, with many now scared to admit they are feminists.

This is forcing the movement underground, in a country where gender discrimination is still deeply entrenched. South Korea has the largest gender pay gap in the OECD, a group of the world's rich countries.

The hunts are often spearheaded by young male video gamers, and target women who work in the industry, like Darim, though recently they have spread to other professions.

They look for anything that resembles what they term the 'finger-pinching gesture' and use it as proof that men-hating women are surreptitiously mocking them.

Once they spot a supposed sign, the hunt begins. "They decide that a dark, evil feminist is hiding in the company, and her life should be ruined," explained Minsung Kim, a 22-year-old male gamer who, concerned by these witch hunts, set up an organisation (KGCS)to support the victims.

The witch hunters track down all female employees at the company in question, and trawl their social media accounts, searching for any evidence of feminism. Way back on Darim's timeline, they found an 'offending' post.

Darim in fact had nothing to do with the disputed part of the animation, but her studio was rattled by the torrent of abuse – especially after Nexon, the gaming company, suddenly removed all the studio's artwork from their roster and issued an apology to customers.

"My company and CEO were in a panic," said Darim. "I thought I was going to be fired, and I'd never be able to work in animation again."

Then Minsung's organisation stepped in. They urged her studio to ignore the gamers and offered to pay Darim's legal fees so she could report the abuse. "We said these demands will never end, you need to nip this in the bud now," he said. The studio listened, and Darim kept her job.

But similar witch hunts have worked, in the gaming industry and beyond, and they are becoming more frequent. In one case, a young illustrator lost her job (Limbus Company incident)after a handful of disgruntled gamers stormed the company's office demanding she be removed.

And it is not just Korean companies that have capitulated. Last year, the international car maker Renault suspended one of its female employees after she was accused of making the finger-pinching gesture while moving her hands in a promotional presentation.

"These anti-feminists are getting more organised; their playbook is getting more specific," said Minsung. "By taking a hand gesture that everyone makes and turning it into a scarlet letter they can brand literally anyone an evil feminist," he said.

Because the companies are folding to these baseless accusations, the instigators of these hunts have become emboldened, he said. "They are confident now that when you accuse someone of feminism, you can ruin their career."

Minsung knows, because not long ago he was one of these men. He used to belong to the anti-feminist forums. "We are exposed to the uncensored internet unimaginably young," he said, having joined the forums aged nine.

It was only when Minsung traded video games for playing real-life games, including Dungeons and Dragons, that he met women, and his views shifted. He became, in his words, an "ardent feminist".

In South Korea, women commonly suffer discrimination and misogyny both at work and at home. But as they have fought to improve their rights, many young men have started to believe they are the ones being discriminated against.

The backlash began in the mid-2010s, following a surge of feminist activism. During this time, women took to the streets in protest at sexual violence and the widespread use of hidden cameras that secretly film women using toilets and changing rooms - around 5,000 to 6,000 cases are reported annually.

"Young men saw women becoming vocal and were threatened by their rise," said Myungji Yang, a professor of sociology at the University of Hawai'i Manoa, who has interviewed dozens of young Korean men. "They learn about feminism from online forums, which carry the most radical caricature of feminists," she said. "This has given them a distorted idea of what feminism is."

One of their grievances is the 18-month military service men must complete. Once they leave the military they often "feel entitled" to a good job, said Hyun Mee Kim, a professor of cultural anthropology at Yonsei University in Seoul, who studies feminism.

As more women have entered the workforce, and jobs have become harder to get, some men feel their opportunities are being unfairly taken away.

These feelings have been validated by South Korea's now disgraced and suspended President, Yoon Suk Yeol, who came to power in 2022 on an anti-feminist platform, claiming gender discrimination no longer existed, and has since tried to dismantle the government's gender equality ministry.

More surprising than these views themselves, is that the men who hold them have such power over major companies.

I travelled to Pangyo, the Silicon Valley of South Korea, to meet a woman who has worked in the gaming industry for 20 years. After Darim's case, her company started to edit all its games, removing the fingers from characters' hands, turning them into fists, to avoid complaints.

"It's exhausting and frustrating" to work like this, she said, speaking on the condition of anonymity. "The idea that a hand gesture can be seen as an attack on men is absurd and companies should be ignoring it."

When I asked why they were not, she told me that many developers share the gamers' anti-feminist views. "For all those outside yelling, there are those on the inside who also believe things are bad."

Then there is the financial cost. The men threaten to boycott the games unless the companies act.

"The gaming companies think the anti-feminists are the largest source of their revenue," said Minsung. After Darim's company, Studio Ppuri, was targeted, it said it lost nearly two thirds of its contracts with gaming companies.

Studio Ppuri, did not respond to our questions, but both Nexon, the game developer, and Renault Korea told us they stood against all forms of discrimination and prejudice.

There is evidence the authorities are also capitulating to the anti-feminists' demands. When Darim reported her abuse to the police, they refused to take her case.

They said because the finger-pinching gesture was taboo, it was "logical" that she, as a feminist, had been attacked. "I was astonished," she said. "Why would the authorities not protect me?"

Following outrage from feminist organisations, the police backtracked and are now investigating. In a statement, Seocho district police told the BBC their initial decision to close the case had been "insufficient" and they were "making all efforts to identify the suspects".

The case left Darim's lawyer, Yu-kyung Beom, dumbfounded. "If you want to say that you're a feminist in South Korea, you have to be very brave or insane," she said.

Beaten up for having short hair

In November 2023, the violence spilled offline and into real life. A young woman, who we are calling Jigu, was working alone in a convenience store late at night, when a man walked in and started attacking her.

"He said 'hey, you're a feminist, right? You look like a feminist with your short hair'," Jigu told me as she apprehensively recounted the night. The man pushed her to the ground and started kicking her. "I kept going in and out of consciousness. I thought I could die."

Jigu did not consider herself a feminist. She just liked having short hair and thought it suited her. The attack has left her with permanent injuries. Her left ear is damaged, and she wears a hearing aid.

"I feel like I've become a completely different person," she said. "I don't smile as much. Some days it is agony just to stay alive, the memory of that day is still so clear."

Her assailant was sent to prison for three years, and for the first time a South Korean court ruled this was a misogynistically motivated crime: in effect, that Jigu had been attacked for looking like a feminist.

During the attack, the man said he belonged to an extreme anti-feminist group, New Men's Solidarity. Its leader, In-kyu Bae, has called on men to confront feminists. So, one evening, as he held a live-streaming event in Gangnam, a flashy neighbourhood in Seoul, I went to try to talk to him.

"I'm here to tell you these feminists are staining the country with hatred," he shouted from the roof of a black van kitted out with loudspeakers.

"That psychopath [who attacked Jigu] was not a member of our group. We don't have members, we are a YouTube channel," he told me as he simultaneously broadcast to thousands of subscribers. A small group of young men who had come to watch in person were cheering along.

"We've never encouraged anyone to use violence. In fact, the violent ones are the feminist groups. They're shaming men's genitals," he added.

Last year, Mr Bae and several of his supporters were convicted of defaming and insulting a feminist activist after harassing her for more than two years.

Anti-feminist views have become so widespread that Yuri Kim, the director of Korea Women's Trade Union, recently established a committee to track cases of what she describes as "feminism censorship". She found that some women have been questioned about their stance on feminism in job interviews, while at work women commonly face comments like "all feminists need to die".

According to Prof Kim, the feminism academic, men are using now feminist threats in the office as a way to harass and control their female colleagues - it is their way of saying 'we are watching you; you should behave yourself'.

Such harassment is proving effective. Last year, a pair of scholars coined the phrase "quiet feminism", to describe the impact of what they say is a "pervasive everyday backlash".

Gowoon Jung and Minyoung Moon found that although women held feminist beliefs they did not feel safe disclosing them in public. Women I spoke to said they were even afraid to cut their hair short, while others said feminism had become so synonymous with hating men they did not associate with the cause.

A 2024 IPSOS poll of 31 countries found only 24% of women in South Korea defined themselves as feminist, compared to an average of 45%, and down from 33% in 2019.

Prof Kim worries the consequences will be severe. By being forced to conceal their feminist values, she argues women are being stripped of their ability to fight against gender inequality, which penetrates workplaces, politics and public life.

Feminists are now busy brainstorming ways to put an end to the witch hunts. One clear answer is legal change. In South Korea there is no blanket anti-discrimination law to protect women and prevent them being fired for their views.

It has been repeatedly blocked by politicians, largely because it would support gay and transgender people, with anti-feminists, and even some trans-exclusionary feminists, now lobbying against it.

Minsung believes the only way to strip the witch hunters of their powers is for the companies and the authorities to stand up to them. They make up a small fraction of men in South Korea, they just have loud voices and a bizarrely oversized influence, he argues.

Since her attack, Jigu now proudly calls herself a feminist. "I want to reach out to other victims like me, and if even one woman has the strength to grab my hand, I want to help."

#South korea #feminist ideological verification #studio ppuri #nexon #limbus company #maplestory #bbc #english article #kgcs #korea game consumer society #Misogyny #violence against women #Jinju assault case #Korean feminism #renault

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en-thy-meme · 8 months ago

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oh how delicious the feeling of “this isn’t my problem” is

“i’m glad it’s not my problem” i thought to myself as i looked at the sponge caked in soggy food, remnants of meals past.

i’m leaving for home in 2 days. i’ll be home for three weeks. so as of right now, that sponge isn’t my concern. i’ll be gone.

and how delightful that relief was. to detach from responsibility of that sponge— deciding whether to clean or to throw it away, cleaning the sopping chunks, rising them down the drain, erasing a remnant— killing a ghost.

the ghost of accountability, a good thing in moderation but full capable of bombarding every moment with asking over and over again “how am i going to fix this?”

how can i take care of it? when can it fit in my schedule, on your list of things to do?

how can i make it work? where are the things i can use in my alchemy? my pension for making the clean dirty and the dirty clean again?

and i’m not, in truth, affecting permanent change if i clean the sponge. it will get dirty again; that’s just the way it works. and i could ask others to clean the chunks, but we all get busy and i’m sure i’ve had chunks they’ve picked up before

or is that rationalizing it?

can i not simply enjoy the gracious feeling of releasing possession of something as your duty?

there’s nothing to rationalize if the relationship is fictitious in the beginning.

the sponge is a communal use. a need we all share among each other; we are all effected.

so the burden i place on myself to upkeep the sponge is entirely undue. i don’t own more responsibility than another over the fate of this gross sponge.

so i can release the world from my shoulders. i can end my masquerade of Atlas, pretending my movements altered the tilt of everyone else’s world. like if i faltered i failed my duty as the foundation everything is built on.

because it’s not that. my shoulders bear no universal weight; i am as inconsequential as a blade of grass.

and what good is a blade of grass that cowers under itself, crouching in imagined agony having grabbed the world to place on my shoulders in self declaration.

it’s not real. and maybe the next answer is to hold that feeling of blissful detachment from playing Atlas. to find it, grasp it, emphasize it, make it grow in every imaginable angle, make the feeling fill your body.

differentiate what’s your problem and what’s not.

you’ll know if it’s your problem; you’ll know because you meet it in action. when you’re just living and run into a conflict, if you say to yourself “it’s not my problem” and you feel release, it really wasn’t your problem.

if you feel resistance, don’t force something that’s definitely your problem into a vacuum of apathetic disinterest.

there are extremes to these things but the balance comes out in silly little puzzles that you solve again and again, forgetting how much you loved it the first time.

the cathartic joy of learning, forgetting, and remembering is the core of humanity. in my eyes, it’s the purpose.

every time you remember a thing you forgot, that’s a new level of existence. you’ve grown into a new self, new experiences; you leveled up in the game.

the main goal is to level up as many times as possible until you hit hyper existisitential content, and then your job is to accept it.

and you learn to accept it, forget how you accepted it, and remember to accept it again.

and you progress.

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bffsoobin · 4 years ago

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This Time Around

➤ idol!yeonjun x non!idol/ex!girlfriend reader ft. same reader x jungkook (mostly platonic), fluff, angst, lots of messy feelings, other txt members make appearances/are mentioned

↳ weeks after your chance reconnection with Yeonjun, you book a flight to Seoul under his encouragement. When you arrive, you’re not only overwhelmed by the lifestyle of an idol, but the new people you meet. Will you and Yeonjun be able to hold on to each other this time around?

word count: 9k

requested?: yes! (thank you for this great idea, anon)

warnings: this is largely angst. crying, arguments, swearing, feelings of betrayal and confusion, Yeonjun is kind of an ass, self-doubt (in both Yeonjun and reader), messy feelings and relationships all around, this does NOT have a happy ending so don’t go in expecting one lmao also disclaimer (?) that I a) have no idea what the BH building looks like inside b) don’t think that either Yeonjun or Jungkook would act this way...we are here to write fiction, after all.

A/N: This is a sequel to Just One Day! I won’t be making too many explicit references to the content of that fic but reading it first will help with storyline clarity! I also don’t explicitly state this but the reader in this case already knows Korean, she just has never been to the country before- it was simply easier for storytelling. I really hope y’all like this. I was very inspired by this request especially since I was in the mood to write both angst and a sequel to one of my older pieces! (also this gave me a good excuse to write about koo without feeling bad for straying from TXT content lmao) ALSO this is not proof read or edited, as usual for me :)

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:••:•.•

“I think it’s a good idea,” Yeonjun’s voice, velvety and heavy with sleep, seeps through the speakers of your phone. You glance at the time displayed on your computer and do the mental math which proves it’s a crisp 2 am in Korea.

“Go to bed, Junnie,” you half-scold, knowing that you wish for nothing more than for him to stay on the line until he eventually falls asleep in the middle of the conversation. He sighs through the phone, and you imagine him stretching his arms above his head to eliminate the fatigue creeping through him.

“Not till you promise me you’ll come,” he counters smartly. Your stomach flips wildly at the words. It had been almost three months since you spent the day with him, and not a single day had passed where he hadn’t been on your mind. Whether you spent your time talking to him or indulging yourself in your newfound kpop guilty pleasures, Yeonjun was almost always on your mind. Staying in touch proved to be harder than expected, due to both time zones and your equally packed schedules. Since he had flown back to Korea, you’d begun your first big girl job in a serious office that required constant business attire and piled the paperwork onto you, the newest and youngest hire.

“I’d love to, but you know how it is at work. I think my boss would combust if I told him I was taking a week’s vacation.” Talking about work made your head swim, as you recalled the stack of paperwork currently residing on your bedroom desk that needed to be finished before you showed up on Monday.

“That’s exactly why you deserve a vacation, Y/N. Look, if you fly into Seoul I promise I’ll make sure you don’t think about work for a second. I know you have time to take off, so take it. Come see me.” The line was quiet for a few seconds as you pondered, weighing your options carefully.

“I miss you,” Yeonjun’s voice came through loud and clear, crumbling the last remaining bit of your resolve. You missed him too, so much more than you ever thought you would, and your heartbeat kicks into high gear at the thought of seeing him again.

“Okay, I’ll file for my week off on Monday. I’ll see you soon, Yeonjun.”

----

When you finally arrive inside of the BigHit building, suitcase in tow and a huge visitor lanyard around your neck, your hands are sweating profusely. A kind staff member had picked you up from the airport and delivered you to the practice room that Yeonjun would presumably be inside of. The walls were soundproofed well, but you could hear the faint beat of bass through the heavy door as you hesitate in pushing it open. Another staff member passes behind you and eyes you closely until recognizing the badge hanging around your neck.

Feeling awkward for hesitating in the hallway after being seen, you push on the door until it swings open in a smooth motion. The wheels of your suitcase click over the seams of the floor, and the sound would have been enough to make you cringe if it weren’t for the pounding music.

A track you don’t recognize echos through the mirrored room as none other than Choi Yeonjun stares intently back at his own dancing reflection. You catch your own reflection; arms crossed in a protective latch over your chest.

His body moves fluidly, as if he had left all of his bones waiting for him at home, and a thrill of excited anxiety crawls through your chest. He was really there, mere feet away, and you were really here in the middle of the BigHit building, achieving the dreams of fans all over the world.

The music stops and your mouth runs dry. Yeonjun’s heaving breath is the only sound in the mirrored room and you try to drive away the thought of the last time you’d heard him pant like that; sweaty and shirtless overtop of you on your rickety secondhand couch.

“You made it.” He says, impressively able to control his voice even after the exertion.

“In one piece, at least.” You say. Your arms stay wound around your body, a protective cage against his stare and his touch. He eyes you carefully and you’re suddenly concerned that your airport-chic appearance is inadequate.

“You look pretty.” He whispers, stepping close enough that his heaving chest almost touches your crossed arms. His hands, fingers calloused and rough, wind around your wrists and tug gently, giving you plenty of time to pull back. But you let him unwind your arms and pull them to your sides. His hands are large and warm and press gently into your skin, grounding you into the room and the moment and the absurdity of the fact that you’re actually here with him in Korea.

“You bleached your hair.” You offer weakly, withering underneath his attention.

“I’m not supposed to tell, but I’m getting ready for pink.” He says. Sweat drips down his temples, meeting and rolling together in tracks down to his chin. He looks just as handsome as you remember him to be months before, but it’s hard to ignore the thinned frame of his face.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” You ask, finally finding courage to string together a meaningful sentence.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Yeonjun leans into you, supporting himself on the tips of his toes until he’s dangerously close to toppling you both over. He levels a heavy, constant gaze on you, eyes drifting down to the surprised pout of your lips and sliding back to your eyes. In a second you know that he wants to kiss you, and there is nothing more you’d like than for that to happen, so you close your eyes and lean into him; feel the warmth of his breath and you can almost taste the salt of his sweat, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Yeonjun startles and drops his hands from you, takes one huge step back and immediately bends into a deep bow.

Your back is still facing the door, but you catch a glimpse through the mirror. Jeon Jungkook stands just inside the door, dark wavy hair tied half up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats and rubbing fatigue from his eyes, but he’s somehow even more handsome in person. Your face flushes, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him through the mirror and knowing you failed as soon as he shoots you a small, toothy smile.

“Didn’t know you had company,” He says in lieu of a greeting as he steps just slightly closer to the two of you.

“We were just going.” Yeonjun bows again, grabs your wrist and tugs you in a persuasive manner.

“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook enthuses, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement at Yeonjun’s behavior and before you know it your face twists into a similar smile. It had been a long time since you’d seen Yeonjun so nervous, acting like he was attached to a live wire that kept him moving nonstop. “No need to rush out on my account.” Jungkook adds as Yeonjun tugs you again, leaving your suitcase abandoned in the spot you’d been standing. You open your mouth to protest.

“Wait! I don’t think that...” Jungkook looks at you pointedly as he rolls the suitcase back over to the two of you.

“Y/N.” You offer, hands sweating profusely as he passes over the luggage.

“I don’t think that Y/N would like to leave without her suitcase.” His eyes twinkle with something like an untold joke, an anecdote he wants to share but keeps in the back of his head for later. You thank him shortly, still starstruck and nervous as Yeonjun pulls you out of the door.

----

“I’m so sorry about that.” Yeonjun apologizes again as you arrive at a new door, this one in a whole new wing of the building that you would have gotten lost finding on your own.

“It’s okay, Jun. I expect to run into...o-other people.” You stutter as he opens the door, facing the realization that you were probably about to meet Yeonjun’s members too. The dorm was simpler than you expected, opening up to a lightly furnished living room that looked like it had been hastily cleaned- you could see a stack of clothes had been clumsily shoved behind the couch.

The lack of instant greetings surprises you as you follow Yeonjun blindly into the room but you don’t say anything. You kind of wish that the other four boys would come bursting out, bombard you with questions and jokes and prodding fingers as Yeonjun lets you into his room. The air is still charged from your interrupted kiss, and your fingers curl around the handle of your suitcase as you recall Jungkook’s reaction. He had clearly found it amusing, but was he more interested in teasing Yeonjun or finding out exactly who you were?

In the moment you had found his attention comical although stressful, like a funny anecdote that Yeonjun might grumble about a few weeks later. Now, you replay it over and over again, worried that every chance interaction with another idol within the building would play out exactly the same. Maybe you weren’t quite cut out for this. Yeonjun had been speaking the whole time, rattling off words you don’t catch as he opens and closes drawers.

“-is that alright?” He asks, spinning on his socked heels to face you. You freeze, trying desperately to claw through your mind for any clues to what he’d said. Yeonjun smirks, closes in on you and raises a well-kept eyebrow.

“What did I just ask you?” He asks, voice level and cool despite the teasing nature of the question.

“I-I don’t know.” You admit, a blush rises on your cheeks as his smirk pulls even larger.

“I asked...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “if you wanted to share a bed. You could always sleep on the couch, but I-”

“No, I’ll sleep with you!” You slap a hand over your mouth as Yeonjun dissolves into giggles. “I mean, I mean, I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You try desperately to break through his laughter but it’s useless, so you succumb to the same fit of giggles. Yeonjun cups your cheeks sweetly, squishing them together in earnest before leaning in the same way he had just minutes prior. Your heart stutters at the knowledge that this kiss was finally happening after three months separated.

Your lips meet in soft, tentative passes against each other until you recall the feeling. Yeonjun is hesitant, hanging back until you surge forward, kissing him harder and wiggling your tongue between the seam of his lips until he opens them. His teeth rake your bottom lip and nibble hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you into the moment until Yeonjun pulls back, thumbs stroking the tops of your cheeks. He places another kiss to your nose, giggling against your skin as you shy away.

A loud crash sounds from just outside the door and you jump, eyes blowing wide when the sound of overlapping voices grows closer and closer. Yeonjun tells you that the rest of the boys must be back and ushers you out of the room before you can protest.

In the living room you’re faced with the four of them, all busying themselves with mundane tasks or scrolling through their phones until Yeonjun clears his throat. They look up simultaneously, synchronized enough that you would have laughed under a different circumstance.

“Everyone, this is, my uh, uh, Y/N.” Yeonjun awkwardly sweeps a hand your way and you flush, feeling small as the four boys you’d watched and laughed with and admired through a screen bowed to you.

“I really-it’s not...well, hi.” You sigh.

----

Introductions aside, the night slides by easily until the wear of your travel catches up with you so suddenly that you slump onto the nearest body. Yeonjun shakes you awake and it’s only then that you notice the shoulder you were leaning upon belonged to Beomgyu. You apologize to the boy as soon as you can get your tongue to work properly and are soon whisked away to Yeonjun’s bedroom. The short trip awoke you to an unpleasant degree, almost feeling as if you were suddenly too aware of your surroundings. The lights were too bright, the scent of fabric softener too strong in your nose, the sound of the remaining four people in the living room too loud. And of course, the presence of Yeonjun too much to handle.

You sit at the foot of the bed and pick at your nails while Yeonjun shuffles around the room, doing something you don’t bother to track closely.

“Are you going to get ready for bed?” He asks shortly, not even turning to face you. You now realize that he had pulled on pajamas of his own; a too-big graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. Frowning, you head for your own suitcase and dig through the carefully stacked clothes until you find some suitable options. You change quickly, keeping your back to him although you can feel his heavy stare at your back.

“Did you like them?” He asks. You sit back at the metal headboard and nod thoughtfully. His lips draw into a straight line as he settles beside you. “You and Beomgyu really...got along well.”

“Sure, I think we all got along well.” You offer, tucking yourself underneath his newly cleaned sheets. For a moment you wonder what he was going to do about the lights overhead, but they extinguish with a press of a button on his phone. Plunged in darkness, you can’t help but feel a bit bolder, indulging in the burn of defiance within you.

“Why? Are you jealous?” You ask. Yeonjun scoffs and you can feel the sheets pull as he flips underneath them. He says nothing but you can feel the air in the room shift. The bedding feels suffocating.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

----

When you wake, you’re uncharacteristically hot. You notice the sweat beading your neck and forehead as soon as you sit up, desperate to free yourself from the covers. You wonder if Yeonjun is suffering a similar fate, or if his body is used to the brutal heat of his bedroom. You turn to look for him, happy anxiety at the thought of seeing his sleeping form in real time brewing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d imagined this exact moment, wondered if he scrunched his face in his sleep or if he looked serene and peaceful, wondered if he snored or spoke or sighed in his sleep.

But all you saw was crumpled sheets and a small, bright green post-it note with bunched writing. It stuck to the bed sheets as you pulled it up, and you had to blink a few times before you finally understood the gist of the note. Yeonjun was gone, off to do his daily idol duties, and you are welcome to use their shower as none of the boys were home. You scan the note again for any sign of love or sincerity but find nothing more than cold and clinical facts, like a teacher giving instructions to a class.

Bitterness grows in your chest as you slip into the cramped shower and cool yourself off under a trickle of water. Theoretically, you know that Yeonjun would be busy while you were here. After all, you couldn’t expect the company to let him off of all responsibility just because you were around. Your skin was growing red under the scrub of your fingers. But he could have at least run it by you last night, warned you that he would probably be gone by the time you got up and given you some idea of when he’d be back. What were you supposed to do all day? You stepped out of the shower, flinging your wet hair away from your face. You could barely make it out of this building alone, but you’d be damned if all you did was sit here and wait for him to return. If he wasn’t going to be here, you’d make your own fun.

You were unfamiliar to Seoul, but after navigating yourself out of the BigHit building you felt as if you could conquer anything. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had passed by in your slumber until you stepped into the real world. Dusk had begun to fall over the sky, painting it a hazy purple-pink in anticipation of a sunset. People and cars and buses rushed by with purpose as you stand still and baffled at the city before you. The packed street before you is a little bit intimidating, but reminded you enough of the bustle of your hometown that you took a brave step forward anyway. Crossing so quickly that you almost run into a group of teenage girls, you finally reach some kind of a destination. To be fair, you had done zero planning on sight seeing before coming, so almost every building looked like a destination to you. A particularly cute looking café seemed to manifest itself out of thin air and beckon you in with sweet drinks and sugary snacks. You order and eat greedily with the realization that this is your first real meal since being on the plane yesterday, and the waitress laughs when you tell her that as you flag her down for another piece of cake.

The café certainly lives up to the hype you make for it, but you notice the employees begin to clean and close things down, so you leave and thank them on the way out. You finally check your phone, hoping that Yeonjun might have sent you an apology or an update, but you see nothing aside from email notifications. Emblazoned by his actions, you continue on your exploration, opening the doors to a clothing shop with so much force that other patrons cringe. Inside, you buy way too many things to fit in your suitcase before traipsing yourself-weighed down by bags- into a nearby restaurant. Something about being in Korea had elevated your appetite to an extreme level, so your stomach growls as soon as you cross over the threshold. The place is crowded, almost packed wall to wall as patrons and employees alike bustle between one another.

The cute wooden sign reads “seat yourself” so you dodge and weave until you find a tiny table, just big enough for your party of one, hidden in a more private corner of the restaurant. An employee spots you and yells out that he’s going to go get a menu, so you content yourself with people watching in the meantime. At the table diagonal to you, you spot a woman who looks just about the same age as you. Her hair is carefully waved; a deep, shiny brown that flows just down to the top of her chest. Every feature you can spot is immaculate and it makes you feel sick. Her nails are perfectly manicured, not a single chip or hang nail in sight, while your own nailbeds are torn up and bloody as a result of nervous picking. A weird, unwelcome acidity crawls up the back of your throat and demands to be acknowledged, makes your eyes burn with envious tears as the waiter finally delivers a menu and you wonder why you can’t just look that put together and perfect. After you order you can no longer stand to look her way anymore, angry at the fact that you were so resentful of this stranger.

Your waiter drops your food and utensils with polite haste but you aren’t nearly as hungry as you were before. Noodles and broth swirl around your spoon as the steam rises into your face, paying more attention to the bustle of the open kitchen where you spot a fun streak of vibrant pink hair. Whoever is donning it must have had it done recently. There’s a few small patches of pink dye spotting the back of their neck and it’s quite endearing to think about until you remember- Yeonjun was supposed to be dying his hair pink soon, and that tall frame and broad back look suspiciously familiar, and he still hasn’t sent you any texts, and you think that maybe he was just getting some takeout and heading back home but then he turns away from the counter and heads to your corner of the building. Your mouth goes dry, all the air still and stale in your lungs as his eyes land on yours. He looks away and then looks back again, double taking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he hadn’t been the one to invite you out to Korea, as if you hadn’t shared a bed last night. And then he moves, finally, walks away from the counter and toward your table with a tray piled with food and your heart hammers against your ribs as he walks right by and settles into the seat across from the perfect girl. She smiles wide as he unloads the food and settles in.

There’s nothing you can do but stare and fight the sting of your eyes until your waiter comes back around, notices your untouched food and asks if you want a takeout container. You say yes loud enough for Yeonjun to hear, and you can see him flinch but you know he won’t turn around. Not in public, with all these people around. Not when he’s an idol and you’re just a normal girl- a fucking tourist- and not when Miss Perfect is giggling her perfect laugh at whatever he just said.

The air outside is cold and it stings. Your face is wet but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t know any of these people, and they will never see you again. They probably won’t even remember that you cried on the walk home, weighed down with bags of food and clothes and the knowledge that Yeonjun was lying.

When you return to the dorm Beomgyu, Soobin and Taehyun are hanging around the living room, watching something on the television.

“Hey- where’s Yeonjun? He said he was going to dinner, we assumed he was meeting you.” Soobin asks, his tone cautiously trying to hide his confusion.

“Well, I did go to dinner,” you lift up the bags on your arm, “and so did Yeonjun. At the same place.” Your voice clips and you take a moment wonder if you should go on until Beomgyu mutters a soft “oh”.

“Well, here’s some food.” The plastic bag thuds on the coffee table. “Not hungry.”

----

You don’t know what time it is when Yeonjun decides to come back, but you have no plans of acknowledging his presence. The room is dimmed, only a bedside lamp left to keep you out of total darkness. You are perfectly content to simmer in your own anger for the night, let him feel it radiate off of your back the whole time you sleep. Until he has the audacity to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You see red in the dark room. Your fingers clench into the pillow, making a victim out of the poor feathers and fabric as you contemplate throwing it at his head. His new hair looks even nicer in the low light; nearly fluorescent and falling in a perfectly styled arc around his face.

“Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know.” You spit. Yeonjun says nothing but he clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s about to make an argument, but you beat him to it.

“At least tell me who she is.” You try to hide the waver of your voice but it’s already there to stay.

“She’s no one! I’m not really supposed to tell anyone about it yet, the guys don’t even know-”

“They don’t know what? That you’re keeping two different girls in your pocket? Can’t even commit to one for a week long vacation? Jesus, Yeonjun, If you want to...cheat on me, at least wait until I’m not in the country. Fuck, I can’t even call it cheating because you don’t even want to date me! We only met up again a few months ago, and we spent one day together! And we fucked and it was nice and it was fun but what the fuck was it really? I texted you today, you know, to ask where the hell you were, and you never answered. I know that your life is busy, but a warning yesterday would have been nice.”

“I’m not cheating on you! She’s not- she’s just, someone I- that’s not the point, Y/N! And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but I was really busy, and I forgot to bring it up and I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to hang around all day?” You grit your teeth to stop an annoyed screech from hopping out.

“Of course not, Yeonjun. I’m not an idiot. What I expected was some fucking communication. I traveled across the world to come see you, maybe even try to figure out what we are, and so far all I’ve done is wander around the city alone. This isn’t what I wanted to do! I’m missing a week of work for this! I didn’t come out here just to be your little plaything once you get home!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Yeonjun stands up from the bed, rubbing his palms over the back of his neck. “I knew you would never understand. You can never understand how busy this lifestyle is, and I guess I was stupid for believing that you could understand, and that you wouldn’t be mad at me for having to go do my fucking job.”

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand your life? Will you ever just admit that you only like me because you can mold me around your shit? When I’m back home you can call me at any hour that works for you, and I’ll pick up. You can bitch about your job and your friends and your company and all the pain you have but whenever I call you you’re tired or sick or just don’t feel like it. Guess fucking what Yeonjun. I’m here now. And we share a room and a bed and a city so you can’t keep me miles away and at your beck and call whenever you so well please. I’m right in front of you now, and you need to own up to your shit. You ignored me. Now you’re lying about whoever the fuck that girl was. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re a famous idol.” Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. Sweat is beading on your forehead just like it did this morning and it makes you itch but you refuse to move a single muscle, hardened to the spot and staring Yeonjun down. You can’t even remember how the argument started, but all you know now is that you can’t stand to look at him any longer. His eyes are wide, bottom lip wobbling. Tears sting at your eyes and your nose burns and you’re ready to lay down or maybe chug a bottle of vodka.

“I’m going to bed.” You pull the covers over you even though you’re sweltering, turn off the bedside lamp with the switch and clamp your eyes shut.

----

Your brain never shuts off. Even when you slam your eyes shut and start counting metaphorical sheep, you’re still replaying the argument on a relentless loop. Yeonjun had left the room moments after you tucked yourself in and you had yet to hear the door creak to announce his reappearance, so it was safe to assume that he was sleeping on the couch or holed up with another one of the boys. Or maybe he went crawling back to Miss Perfect.

The room is suffocating; heat simmers off of every surface even after you’ve thrown off the sheets and the white walls are annoying you. If you ever talk to Yeonjun again it will have to be about his piss poor decorating skills and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to hang up some pictures to break up the never ending white. Your phone says it’s just minutes shy of 2 am, but what does that really mean when you have no idea what time you laid down? Your legs move before your mind decides where you’re going, seemingly possessed by the idea of leaving the room as fast as possible. There’s just enough time to shrug on a crewneck and a pair of sneakers before you find yourself under the blinding fluorescents of the hall that remind you exactly where you are. Tall, sturdy black doors stand on both sides of you, metal accents gleaming and boasting their contents. There’s no easy way to understand the layout of the building, and you assume that’s for the protection of the idols, but it also means that you completely forget the only route you know for leaving the building.

Had you taken a left or a right? Did you pass by the hallway next to the ladies bathroom or go down it? Had there always been a potted plant next to that office, or did all of the doors just look similar? Somehow, you find yourself back in the place you had first been delivered to when you arrived. The doors were slightly different here, some made of thick wavy glass that was vaguely transparent and others made out of the same black you had become used to. A set of three rooms with the wavy glass were right next to one another, and if your suspicions were correct they were all practice rooms, presumably empty at the lack of music. The thought of the rooms, empty and clean and sporting just enough comfortable furniture in the corner for you to sprawl out on. There was no way that sleep was going to overcome you, but at least you could feel secure in your loneliness for a few hours.

The metal handle was cold, chilling your sweaty palm instantly, but you’re met with harsh resistance. It doesn’t budge forward no matter how hard you push downward and lean into the door. Out of anger you try one more time, grunting and digging your heels into the carpet of the hallway.

“You need a card to get in.” A voice calls from what must just be steps behind you, and you jump embarrassingly high before turning reluctantly. Surely some poor late-shift cleaner or intern had seen you struggling with the door and decided to take pity on you before someone really saw you making a fool of yourself. You could only imagine what they were thinking- how they would go home to their pets or family or friends and laugh about the girl they saw throwing her entire weight against a locked door.

But in the split second your neurons begin to fire anew, you know that you weren’t lucky enough to be discovered by another normal member of society. On this already annoyingly unlucky night you come face to face with- once again- Jeon Jungkook. You flush immediately and pull at the hem of your shorts until they do a better job at covering your thighs. You’re still sweaty, strands of hair matted to the back of your neck and your forehead, and the fact that it’s sometime past 2 am and you’ve yelled and cried and tossed and turned and cursed everything that led you to this moment only makes you look worse.

And, of course, even though it’s sometime past 2 am and maybe Jungkook had also been sweating and tossing and turning and cursing everything too...he still manages to look like an angel. His hair is unruly, all loose and wavy and sticking up in some places. His outfit is almost identical to what you first saw him in, but this it was black instead of gray, and his sleeves are bunched at the elbow, only affording you half a look at his lithe muscles and tattoos. His lips split in the same toothy grin as he gestures a small plastic card your way. How dare he look so handsome no matter the circumstance. He’s so much closer than he had been before, merely a foot away from you in the narrow hallway. Up this close you can see how perfect his skin is, as smooth and pore less as Yeonjun’s and Miss Perfect’s.

“No, I don’t need it.” You dismiss his hand with a small wave, sour after reminding yourself why you were here to begin with.

“Seems like you do?” Jungkook’s voice was oddly small too. He retracts his hand halfway, making sure you could still take it from him if you want to.

“No, what I need is a new boyfriend.” You spit the words before your conscious can review them, before you can remember that Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend, that he isn’t technically anything except a rekindled flame you traveled across the world for. Jungkook pulls his arm all the way back and his face softens. You know he puts the pieces together quickly and you can feel the sympathy pass through the hall. “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re busy, or need to pass by or- yeah, sorry.” You stand aside, press against the wall and wait for him to walk away, but he stays grounded and levels his soft but deadly gaze on you. It’s an unwelcome reminder that he’s one of the most famous idols in the world and you’re standing in the middle of his company building; tired and teary.

“Did you fight? Is that why you’re wondering through our part of the building alone?” He gestures at one of the doors further down the hallway, a solid black one, and you can make out a shiny plaque with his name on it and some cute little decorations taped on the wall.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t find my way around this place- I just couldn’t sleep so I wandered and I guess I ended up in...your part of the building.” You can feel the heat radiate off of your face as he smiles again, nose scrunching at your panic.

“Cute.” His nose wiggles one more time before he schools his features as if the word didn’t nearly knock you on your ass. Cute. Cute! He has the audacity to stand here in the middle of the night and call you cute. “Seriously, if you need somewhere to sit down or sleep, there’s a couch in my studio, it’s clean in there, you can-”

“Oh, no! Jungkook,” you blush stupidly at using his name, “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just circle back to Yeonjun’s and sleep it off.” The thought makes your stomach churn, the idea of trying to fall asleep in the exact room your almost relationship fell to pieces. Surely the carpet couldn’t be too uncomfortable-

“No, please, I’m offering. You look tired, and if you fought...well, I know how awkward it can be in the morning. Come on.” He walks away before you can protest and some other worldly sense makes you follow him. You never expected to be in this position, but you also never thought that Yeonjun would disappoint you so much. Inside of the partially padded studio is a surprisingly large sofa with a charming patchwork blanket draped over the back. Jungkook stands awkwardly next to his desk and picks at his fingernails as you sit down. You sink in to the couch and instantly feel more comfortable than you have in days, the soft scent of lavender and the warm yellow lights bring you as close to relaxation as you can get.

“I saw him with another girl.” You lose your filter again and Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “He says it wasn’t a date, but he also won’t tell me who she was, and the rest of them all thought he was with me so he’s obviously lying. We aren’t technically dating, so can I even be mad? He’s lying no matter what, and he didn’t even tell me he would be out all day or text me during it. But I also still have three more days to stick out here.” A few hot tears are slipping down your face and you can’t help but feel insecure about them.

Jungkook says nothing of the tears but chews thoughtfully on his thumbnail. He leans his hip against his desk, intimidating and sharp yet soft and handsome and sweet for letting you stay here and spill your anger into his studio. His socked foot taps on the floor in a rhythm unknown to you, and you can’t help but wonder how many people would kill to be in your exact spot. You notice a day-by-day calendar that’s quite a few days behind on his desk, and it makes you smile until he’s moving, lowering himself to the floor just a few inches away from your feet.

His fists clench- subtle enough that you wouldn’t even notice if the room didn’t feel so charged- and as he looks up at you, you see that a look somewhere between anger and pity paints his face. It’s embarrassing to sit here like this, so clearly under his scrutiny with nothing but your pajamas to cover you.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks again and shakes his head so much that a few ebony pieces of hair slip into his eyes in a near-perfect arc. You shrug. “Really, Y/N. I’m sorry. That’s an asshole move, no matter who the other girl is. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and after all the trouble you put in to come out here and see him-he’s lucky we don’t cross paths often.” He sighs and suddenly he’s sitting next to you on the couch, the weight and heat of his body making the situation that much more real and that much more odd. You must still have unshed tears lining your eyes when you find the courage to look up at him because he frowns. “Please, don’t cry! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a girl in here, and well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if she spends the whole time crying.”

A shit eating grin sprouts on his face as soon as he sees your lips upturn with laughter. It’s hard not to be grateful for the joke, so you laugh and thank him for trying to make you feel better.

“And thanks again, for the place to sleep. Or, try.” You have a feeling that sleep will evade you all night, no matter how cozy the room makes you.

“If you don’t think you’re going to sleep-” Jungkook stands suddenly and rushes over to his desk. When he gets there, he turns his wide desktop computer until it faces the couch and logs in. “Then at least watch some movies! Here,” he puts a wireless keyboard in your lap- “whatever you wanna watch, I have it all.” You hesitate for just a moment and then type in the title of one of your favorite films with seconds to spare before Jungkook throws the patchwork blanket over both of your laps. He sinks back into the couch and you follow his lead, careful to keep a good few inches of space between the two of you because holy shit, you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and holy shit he’s watching a movie with you, and holy shit he just saw you cry and he looks so handsome from the side.

You pay more attention to Jungkook than you do the movie. It’s funny to watch someone who feels so extraordinary do something as normal as watching a movie and realize that he really is human. And the way he crinkles his nose and widens his doe-eyes makes your heart stutter with attraction and then guilt at the thought of Yeonjun, who still makes your palms sweat and your heart shake with anticipation of his touch despite your argument.

But here’s Jungkook, being kind and open and raw and willing to stay up with you on this random sleepless night although you only met by chance mere hours ago. And his kind eyes widen and narrow and crinkle when he laughs at the movie, and he offers you a second blanket and a throw pillow when your eyes get too heavy for you to focus, and you don’t think that you’re imagining things as you feel gentle fingers comb through your hair.

----

Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you wake up, confusion soaks your senses as you piece together where you are and how you got there and who’s lap your head is laying in. As if he could read your thoughts, Jungkook lets out a long and loud groan from above you. Clearly he had fallen asleep where he is now, head lolled against the back of the couch and a throw pillow folded between his arms.

“Good morning.” He drawls, voice still deep and thick from slumber. Out of all the things you never thought you would do, waking up to Jungkook is near to the top.

“M-morning.” You manage to call back as you run your hands over your face, hoping to absolve yourself of any evidence of shock. Jungkook’s studio is just as welcoming as it had been to you last night, but now a deep sense of guilt creeps through you. Yeonjun might have woken up by now, maybe he was ready to talk and try to make things better, maybe he’s been calling and texting you and you haven’t seen any of it. Your phone is nowhere to be found as you dig around in the blanket, a noise of distress clawing up the back of your throat. Heart pounding, you put a hand underneath the couch and slide it back and forth until your fingers graze over the cold, hard mass that must be your phone. As soon as it’s in your grasp you can see that the time is just a few minutes past 8am, and that you indeed do have a few texts waiting from Yeonjun.

“Oh, Jungkook, thank you again for-y-you know, but I have to go, do you mind showing me which way to go?” Poor sense of direction had landed you here to begin with, and you wouldn’t let it make this problem any bigger again. Thankfully he doesn’t protest; just waits by the door as you straighten out your pajamas. Out in the hallway, the lights are bright and imposing and you recognize a headache from the late night is starting to creep up behind your eyes. No one really seems to be around to see the two of you, and you are nothing short of grateful for that when Jungkook makes a quick stop and you barrel into his back, face burning with embarrassment. He laughs as you sputter apologizes and wave for him to keep leading the way, but he insists on stopping and turning to face you. His face is puffy with sleep, eyes still scrunching against the lights, but they’re still clear and gentle and it’s hard to miss the teasing twitch of his full lips in such close proximity.

A wave of admiration crashes through you, followed quickly by a sickening feeling of guilt. Yeonjun was probably waiting for you to come talk things out, and here you were drooling over a different boy. “I’m okay, lets keep going.” Urging him on with a gentle push to his muscled back is the most you can do since you still don’t notice anything distinctive to lead you back to the correct dorm. Just a few more steps down the hallway and you can hear voices, overlapping shouts, and one voice you would recognize anywhere coming from the way you were about to turn. Before you even had time to open your mouth to voice your concern to Jungkook, Yeonjun is stomping down the hallway, a panicked looking Taehyun in tow.

His face is draw, sharp features heightened by either confusion or anger- it’s hard to tell- as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. The two boys are fairly evenly matched in height but Yeonjun still squares up, lifting his shoulders higher and craning his neck. You know he knows you’re there; you shared a moment of eye contact in the seconds before he leveled a glare at Jungkook.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yeonjun spits, anger shaking the fists at his sides. Jungkook is shocked, you can tell even from behind him, the way he recoils just slightly and scoffs as if he can’t believe his ears.

“Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I was just helping Y/N get back to your dorm.” You’re amazed at how well he controls his anger, especially after seeing the anger he held back against Yeonjun the night before. You take this as a queue to step out from behind Jungkook’s frame, allowing Yeonjun a better look at you.

“Oh, before or after she spent the night in your studio? Just couldn’t resist giving her a place to stay. Someone to sleep with?” Anger flares in your stomach, lighting a fire underneath your skin.

“What the fuck, Yeonjun? Do you really think that I would-”

“Sleep with him? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? Look at the state of you two, don’t tell me you didn’t fuck.” There was simply no believing what was coming out of his mouth, and his words only made you wish that you had acted on the feelings you felt brewing last night.

“What if I did? You certainly don’t want me! I’m sorry I went looking for companionship somewhere else!” It’s much too quiet in the hallway after that, the only evidence that the world hadn’t stopped turning is Jungkook’s hand that comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“So you did.” Yeonjun rubs his chin, taking a step backwards in what you assume is disbelief. Tears creep into the corners of your eyes, stubbornly burning and forcing you to blink until your vision is blurry. Jungkook says something you don’t quite catch through the static buzzing in your ears. You feel exhausted, weak at the knees with disbelief at just how awful this interaction was going; so lost that it takes Jungkook shaking your shoulder to bring you back to reality.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this here. Yeonjun, let’s go, please.” You beg, walking toward him before he even responds. The idea of being caught in this odd trifecta made you sweat. Jungkook protests but you wave him off quickly, assuring that there was nothing else he could do. As upset as Yeonjun was, you knew that he would calm down substantially once the older boy was gone.

The walk to the dorm is thankfully short, and Taehyun tries his best at making small talk while Yeonjun trails behind like a petulant child. As soon as you cross into the dorm you feel awkward and hot all over like everyone is watching you even though Taehyun is already disappearing into his room and locking the door while Yeonjun breezes right past you.

“I’m not playing the silent game.” You follow Yeonjun into the kitchen where he has his head buried in the fridge, making a point to rattle every bottle and package inside of it.

“Alright, fine. Then you get to tell me the truth.” His voice is softer now, much less elevated and harsh than it was just minutes before. “Did you spend the night with him?” It rattles your bones to hear the edge of hurt in his voice.

“I was wandering around the building in the middle of the night, and he was too- so I told him what was going on and he offered for me to stay in his studio, on the couch. And I said yes-” Yeonjun’s face crumples. “We watched a movie and I fell asleep.”

“Why didn’t you just come back? I texted you, Y/N. We literally just argued about communication and the first thing you do is run to a different guy? If I’m not good enough for you, just admit it.”

“I could say the same exact thing to you. Why am I here? Should I just book a flight home tonight and call it quits? Do you even want to try this?” Yeonjun cracks open a bottle of water and drinks half in one go, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “And I did nothing with Jungkook. Because I respect you, and whatever the fuck this-” You gesture between the two of you, feet apart, “is. Or was.”

“Don’t say that.” Yeonjun’s voice cracks, reminiscent of the way he used to sound on the phone when he called you at the end of the day. “I- I don’t want to hear you say that. Please.” A tremor of hurt shakes your bones, creates an unpleasant lump in your throat that you try and fail to swallow. Yeonjun appears to you now as similar as he did in your teenage years; uncertain and small and his wide, glassy eyes latching on to you like a lifeline. And you can’t help but remember how you used to be too; devoted to him and naïve about where life was going to take you.

“I don’t want to say it either, Yeonjun. I hate saying it. But we aren’t the same people we were all those years ago. We’re in two different lives, and as much as I want to be able to fit into yours...it’s never going to happen.” Your body weight feels suddenly too much, like you’re being filled with lead and sunk to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. Yeonjun finally closes your perpetual gap in a slow gait that seemed like it would last forever. His eyes are red, puffy, rimmed with unshed tears. Dark circles ring his eyes and you know they’re because he probably didn’t sleep last night either. His lips are chapped and dry, pouting in an incurable sadness. Your fingers itch to cup his jaw and litter him with kisses until he finally grins.

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” If any other noise had happened at the same time he spoke, you wouldn’t have heard the question. A stake strikes through your heart at the words, scarring your soul for years to come.

“No, Junnie. I love you so much.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you gasp out a sob, “I just don’t think we’re going to work this time around. We’re both too busy, and on different tracks, and I think we just have to be more r-realistic.” You have to close your eyes, unable to watch the way tears begin to cascade down his own face. “I’m sorry.” You stand alone, still and cold and clamping your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

Yeonjun’s body molds around your form, tight and warm and shuddering slightly from his own tears. He smells like laundry detergent and musk and you shake with regret as his arms wind around your back and hold you as close to his frame as you think is humanly possible. Your tears soak his crewneck as the fabric scratches your skin. His heart beat is erratic, but you know yours isn’t fairing any better, and you can’t help but curse the universe for bringing you all this way with him just to shoot you back down.

“I’m sorry too. For not being enough.” His words rumble into your hair and you can’t even find the energy to refute them and instead just shake your head. Your head spins in wild circle as Yeonjun finally stops shaking underneath you in favor of cupping your face in tender hands, forcing you to open your eyes. His look felt more intimate than anything else you had shared before; a pure and expressive opening into his most vulnerable form and the knowledge that you were the reason he was feeling it.

“I think I should try to catch an earlier flight home.” You aren’t quite sure exactly why you say it, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised at the notion. After all, there would be nothing to stick around for. He still had to work and you had no relationship left to hang on to. You hadn’t even gotten around to unpacking your suitcase. Yeonjun nods sadly, wiping at a few more tears before clearing his throat. His voice is thick, the evidence of his emotion loud and clear and your heart breaks at the thought of truly walking away from him.

“I’ll miss you, Y/N.” There’s no telling if he would ever contact you after this, or if you would contact him. Maybe the two of you will live with odd shadows of one another in the back of your heads for the rest of your lives- a teenage romance rekindled years later only to explode and crackle and eventually fade into the dark.

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whump-town · 4 years ago

Text

The Unforgiving Tide

Today I got my first dose of the Covid vaccine so to celebrate I wrote Mortch h/c because I love it and I can't help it. It's also centered around one of my favorites-- Route 66 so enjoy the pain assholes

No warnings or anything just the normal stuff

Derek Morgan knows one thing for certain and that is that there is absolutely no way that anything about love is a choice. The absolute light of his life, the person who puts a pep in his step and gets him through the day is Penelope Garcia and that is who he would choose. Day in and day out, it is Penelope and he loves her to the ends of the Earth but love, as Derek has come to understand it, is very much so not about choices. Rarely is it ever the easiest and that’s, of course, the option Derek has been given. Because while Penelope fancies the worst type of men and the prettiest women Derek gets her polar opposite.

Which is strange because he knows he’s heard somewhere that love like his balances out in some ways-- that Aaron and Penelope should have more in common. But Aaron looks like if the Grim Reaper walked among them and Penelope as if one person could harness all that is the rainbow. Well… maybe that’s only for straight people and those not screwed by life into falling in love with brooding, silent idiots like Aaron Hotchner.

None of them say it, and he’s acutely aware that he’s mostly the reason why, but it feels strange without Hotch here with them. Dave unflinchingly keeps them moving on, doesn’t push at Derek’s coiling rattlesnake of a mood, but he keeps them in motion. The others need it because this is the part of the job that they stumble over. The part that requires they leave certain things behind. Today it’s Hotch not even an hour after seeing his limp form moved from the conference floor onto a stretcher. When they’d watched for seven and a half minutes as he lay on the floor unresponsive. Deaf to Dave frantically calling out his name, to JJ trying to squeeze his hand to make his fingers curl back around hers.

Derek had sat on the plane looking at all the signs he’d managed to miss. The WebMD page pulled up on his screen so he could flick back and forth between his messages with Aaron and the symptoms listed out on the page. Felt his stomach churn as each symptom made its way into their conversations from the week. How Aaron had known something was wrong but Derek hadn’t, he wasn’t even concerned. He’d let Aaron turn food away and didn’t press on that like he should have. Aaron had told him his blood pressure was low, anxiously rubbing at his fingers and his voice going breathless with his struggle to admit that. Derek had… He’s become blind to the countless, never-ending problems with Aaron’s body and now Aaron’s having emergency surgery for something Derek should have seen. Alone in Virginia while Derek hunts down some girl who likely doesn’t want to be found.

Because Derek hadn’t seen.

He hadn’t known.

“He’ll be okay,” JJ whispers, squeezing his fingers the same way she had Aaron’s. He looks down at their joined hands, hears Dave calling out for Aaron again. Hears the silence of his own thoughts, remembers that he’d just stood there. Maybe the problem isn’t Aaron at all…

Somehow he ends up angry, not at himself, but at Aaron. The doctors are always warning him about things like this. Dips or rises in his blood pressure are detrimental to his body, he can’t regulate his body temperature like a normal person. He has to have so much caloric intake daily. When he doesn’t meet that level he’s playing a very dangerous game with his body. Throw in the anticoagulants that he takes, the Lexapro, the steroids that bombard his body to fight off the arthritis swelling in his right hand. There are so many more and Derek can’t even begin to name them, Aaron can’t either. If he misses a dose their day crashes to the ground.

He needs that medicine to survive and Derek doesn’t need to be told that somewhere along the line this can be accounted for. That he’ll find one too many of something in one of those prescription bottles pushing the cabinet’s ability to stay closed. A doctor’s going to tell him Aaron’s weight has dropped again and they’ll probably put him on some special diet that makes him miserable. Have him choking down thick smoothies choked full of spinach and vitamins and some special blend of chalk.

Where was Derek?

He’s in the kitchen with Aaron, they eat ⅔ of their meals together. Derek checks these things so how did it slip by him? How did he miss something so in his face?

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

Time is very warped but he knows the intensity of the pain eating up his body. Overwhelming heat spreading through him, breaking his skin out in a cold sweat that leaves him shivering and moving wounds that he can’t see but he can most certainly feel. His dry lips part and he grunts, eyelids too heavy to do more than flutter but he can see the blurred outline of someone by his side. Can track pale flesh to where it’s connected to his own.

“Hotch?” a cold hand presses to his face, a finger brushing through a tear that slides down his cheek. “You’re okay.”

That’s not really the question, not the most pressing thing on his mind. Memories tangle in his poor understanding of past and present. Tasers and gunshots and stabbings-- he can’t discern what has happened with what already did. Bits of tragedies creating a confusing web he finds himself ensnared in.

He sees blonde hair, feels those cold fingers ghosting along his skin. “Garcia?” he asks because he needs one solid piece of truth to hold onto. “What happened?” She won’t lie to him, he trusts this blindly. There’s something about the two of them, with or without Derek in the equation, that draws them to one another. A safety he finds in all her brightness, like turning your face to the sun and he is everything that she is not but there is always safety in his shadows. A place she can tuck herself into to escape being known for just a moment and just be.

She squeezes his fingers, bringing feeling to them. The movement is something to focus on, something real where only hazy snippets have made themselves known. “I don’t--” she’s uncertain if she’s allowed to tell him. The risk of upsetting him far larger than her want to please him by telling him. “Everyone’s ok. We’re all okay.”

His hum of understanding comes delayed, his presence of mind slipping. He wants to press on, ask more questions, and know exactly what she means by everyone and what “okay” constitutes. Not because he doesn’t necessarily trust her but because he isn’t sure how many people is everyone. Jack? Did he hurt his own son? Is Emily here? Did he hurt her? What about Dave? He feels distanced from Dave but he won’t forgive himself if he hurt the other man. And what of Derek? Oh… Derek, would she really tell him if he were hurt?

She presses her palm to his forehead, working her fingers through his soft hair. Smiling when he turns into her, closing his mouth and giving in. Stopping this futile fight. “Just rest,” she assures him. “You’re okay.” He thinks, passively as she presses a kiss to his temple and tugs the blankets closer to his chest, that she’s being too tender. Too nice. He hasn’t got the proof just yet but he’s too tired to push for more.

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

Derek goes home as soon as they land in Virginia, he can feel their eyes on his back as he moves to his car without comment. They got Samantha Wilcox and now his job is done, nothing he does anymore has to be something that they see and he cherishes the thirty minutes it’s going to take to get home. Thirty whole minutes to do what he needs to. Cry or scream or punch something and all without Spencer’s sad eyes following him or JJ trying to be supportive. He just wants to feel unabashed and freely, without consequence.

He turns the volume of his CD up, tears form and the last thing he wants to hear are his own sobs. He’s not focused on the music, he just needs something loud and distracting to get him home. The CD starts to play and quickly, harder than what’s necessary he turns it off. It’s Aaron’s and angry tears that he can’t blink away swell in his eyes as he thinks about how much he hates the song “Back In the USSR”. It’s just bad music but Aaron loves it.

And he’s back to thinking about reality and not this bubble of nothing he’s trying to convince himself he has. Aaron’s go-bag is with Penelope but there are other things that he needs that won’t be in there. Derek realizes that he has no idea if the hospital will need Aaron’s other prescriptions or just what all he should bring to the hospital. He really doesn’t know anything at all but home is safe and it’s not the hospital so heads there.

He grabs what he knows Aaron will want.

Aaron’s worn copy of Anna Karenina is sitting on his nightstand, his reading glasses on Derek’s. They once had a case to go in but Derek doesn’t waste time looking for that, just tucks one of the sides into his shirt. He goes to his own dresser and pulls out a flannel. Aaron has plenty of his own, and ones that fit those abnormally long arms of his, but he’ll prefer this one nonetheless. Not that it’s special, it’s just Derek’s. There are other, nonessential, things that he grabs mindlessly trying to think about those stupid lists Aaron’s always making for this exact case scenario but he can’t remember everything.

Derek grows flustered and with a thick sigh, tears swelling in his eyes, he throws himself across their bed. His chest hitches and he moves until his face is in Aaron’s pillow, breathing in that distinct smell of his soap and detergent. This is his fault, isn’t it? He can’t begin to think about how many times Dave warned him something like this would happen. That loving Aaron means things like this and watching his back. That this isn’t fieldwork and he can’t let his guard down the second he thinks the dangers over. And he’d promised Emily when she left he could handle it. He loves Aaron so it shouldn’t be that hard and she’d smiled so sadly when he said that and now he wishes he hadn’t understood why.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he has half a mind to ignore it. Whatever it is can wait but he doesn’t want to miss anything with Aaron. “Hello?” half his face is still pushed into the bed.

There’s a crackle over the phone, something being moved and Penelope’s voice just slightly distanced. He’s just about to speak again when the sound gets clear. “Sorry!” she offers. “Hotch looked cold so I was fighting the blanket monsters in the closet to save him!” She sounds just breathless enough that he can imagine her standing on her tiptoes trying to fight down a blanket from somewhere too high.

He knows there’s no way Aaron asked for a blanket. “How is he?” Derek asks softly.

Penelope sits herself down in the visitor’s chair and looks over at Hotch. He’s sleeping, hasn’t so much as moved a muscle since he woke up. “Confused,” she sighs. She’s not really sure if he had looked cold but she can’t stand just sitting here and watching so she had to do something and besides, Hotch is always cold.

Derek hums.

“Are you coming?”

The others are all probably there already. He knows he’ll use this trip home as his excuse but he could have asked any one of them to collect these things. They wouldn’t even need him to tell them where things are, wouldn’t even need to be told which things to get. He’s just stalling and he knows it. “Yeah,” he pulls Aaron’s pillow close. Wrapping his arms around it like it’s the body of the man he wishes so badly were here right now. Then Derek could think about something else-- the way Aaron’s legs get tangled in the bedsheets or the fact that he drools when he’s sleeping really, really good.

But Aaron isn’t here.

“Yeah, yeah I’m coming.”

He’s met with tears. Spencer stands before him, shaking the limb of a tree in the wind of a great storm. The kind that would wake Aaron in the middle of the night, enticing him with the sharp whipping sounds and the crashing of distant trash cans. Forcing Derek to wake up shivering, wondering where Aaron’s dragged himself off to. He’s fairly certain he no longer knows how to sleep without Aaron there-- without the feeling of his comfortable weight settled against his hips. Aaron always sleeps so close to him, never more than an arm’s length away.

The tears that hit Spencer’s cheeks are like the fat drops that ping off the windows. The harder ones always startling Aaron until he can self-consciously glance at Derek and see if he noticed. He always does. Spencer pulls his mouth open, moving his jaw like the hinges of an old front door.

“Is he dead?” Derek doesn’t feel up for waiting for all the foolishness of whatever nonsense Spencer’s come up with. Whatever it is that he’s gearing up for can wait, Derek only cares about one thing.

Reid glances to the floor, “I-- I-- He’s, ugh, Garcia’s still back with him.”

Good. Derek squeezes Spencer’s shoulder as he passes but doesn’t say anything. Spencer doesn’t do well with this business, the realization that the people he loves crack. They stumble and they fall and they get hurt and Derek doesn’t feel like lying. Because Aaron is like this a lot and Spencer won’t believe him anyway.

He passes Dave and he gets a good supportive nod. “I called Emily,” Dave tells him. “I think she’d appreciate it if you called her back later.”

Derek nods his head, she’ll likely want to speak to Aaron. He can already hear that argument but it’ll be good for someone to be angry with Aaron. God knows Emily won’t be pleased. It’ll give Aaron something to focus on, an argument to win while everything else falls in around him. Because he already knows Emily’s going to threaten to come home but Aaron won’t let her. Derek smiles as he thinks about that, she’ll wait a week he already knows. In a week she’ll be down here and she’ll be met with one of Aaron’s tired sighs while she vehemently denies she came home to make sure he was really okay.

Derek doesn’t understand why they can’t just say express worry like other people.

Penelope greets him with a tight hug as if she’s squeezing all the bad feelings away. He lets her try but she pulls away and knows she was unsuccessful. “He’s been very well behaved,” Penelope tells him brightly. As if they’re talking about Derek’s mischievous toddler. “Almost… snugly.” He’d let her hold his hand, turning himself in towards the comforting hand she’d placed against his cheek. No one else’s definition of warm but for Hotch that’s… it’s pretty snugly.

“Mmm,” Derek knows he’ll get the moody, if not clingy bits of Aaron but he’ll be okay. “Thank you,” he tells her sincerely, squeezing her hands and sinking into the hug she wraps him into. “He doesn’t like--” he can’t get the rest of the words out, choking on tears. Aaron hates waking up in the hospital. Derek’s seen it enough to know. It’s too disorienting but a familiar face always helps.

Penelope nods, squeezing him. “I know,” she whispers. “I know.”

With a nod, Derek pulls away and he wipes his eyes. Tries to pull himself together but he’s been too angry all day, too on edge to really clean up.

“He’ll be happy to see you,” Penelope says, her bags collected as she’s stepping out.

Derek can only hope that’s true.

He settles down in the visitor’s chair and frowns when he sees how swollen Aaron’s right hand is. He finds the grooves of the joint easily, rubbing at the boney digits mindlessly as he searches the bed for the TV remote. There’s got to be something on the TV. It’s not football season anymore but baseball is on and that’s the best sport according to Aaron. Derek wonders how he ended up with someone who hates watching sports so much but that can make things interesting. But baseball… Aaron hates everything else but won’t complain when Derek puts on baseball of all things.

Aaron makes a soft crackling sound as he wakes, turning his head from Derek, and grunting a half whimper when he can’t pull his hand away from Derek’s hold. He pries his eyes open, mouth too dry to form full words but the sound of his lips touching sounds just enough like Derek’s name for him to smile up at Aaron. His eyes close again, pinched with the pain rolling through his chest and the agitated flames licking at the joints of his right hand. The latter of which Derek is not helping as he rotates his thumb over the swollen skin, digging into hurt like he’s trying to draw blood.

Tenderly, Derek moves Aaron’s fingers to the bed, standing with a groan of his own when the small of his back lights up like timber as he stretches out. He smiles when he sees Aaron’s hazily drugged gaze go right to where his shirt rides up over his hips and blushes furiously when he’s caught. Derek hums to himself, shaking his head but smiling all the same. It’s cute, he thinks as he pours Aaron a cup of water. Very cute, he decides when he finds that the blush hasn’t crept away when he turns back to him.

“Small sips,” Derek directs softly, holding the straw to Aaron’s lips.

The first sip hurts, burns his sensitive throat as it goes down but it creates an insatiable thirst. He greedily pulls at the straw for more until Derek pulls it away from him. If Derek could have it his way, he’d never tell Aaron no but too much water will make him sick. While Aaron looks at him now as if a victim of something truly heinous, he’ll be thankful when he has nothing in his system to throw up when the anesthesia wrecks his stomach.

Derek sits back down and picks Aaron’s hand back up, eyes flicking to Aaron’s when he whimpers at just the gentle touch. Without a word, Derek resumes his rubbing to try and soothe the joints of his hand into some sort of reprise in normal hood. But Aaron’s exhausted and confused, nearly overwhelmed by the drugs and Derek and the weight of his chest, and he whimpers. Tries to pull away again because all he knows is that touching hurts and can’t fathom that it is so much worse when Derek doesn’t wring the pain out.

“Ouch,” Aaron croaks, breathlessly grunting and trying to move his fingers. It’s as pins have been set in the bones and he cries out at this new overwhelming pain. “Please,” he asks Derek, “stop it. Hurts.”

Derek shushes him softly, pouring his attention into willing Aaron’s pain into submission. “You’re okay,” Derek promises. “You’re okay.” But his words do nothing to stop the pain and Aaron just looks back at him. Sad, pained eyes darting over Derek’s face. “It’s okay, Aaron.”

Aaron turns his head, gasping slightly at the way it pulls at the stitches. “Sorry,” he whispers. Looking up at Derek and searching Derek’s face for some inclination of truth. Of what’s happening but he’s certain there’s something to be sorry for. There’s no way he hasn’t done something he shouldn’t have. Pushed something or forgotten it.

Derek wipes the single tear that falls down Aaron’s cheek away with his thumb. “You haven’t done anything wrong,” Derek soothes. “You’re okay.” That seems to work in some small way, Aaron swallowing thickly but not dragging his tired eyes away from Derek’s. Slowly he combs his fingers through Aaron’s hair, pushing back the long strands. With a smirk, seeing the blissed eased way Aaron has fallen back into the pillow at his touch alone, he feels a spark of mischief hit him. He can’t help but smile. “Emily is going to call you later,” he whispers, smiling brighter when Aaron groans. Pinching his face up. Derek rolls his eyes, “you love her.”

Aaron cracks an eye open, setting a drugged sort of haze scowl onto him. “Don’t let her hear you say that.” With a shake of his head, he knows his Aaron’s back, just a grumpy little glimpse but he’s there. Fighting his way through the drugs. “I mean it,” Aaron grumbles. The last thing he needs is Emily getting the idea that he might actually cherish her friendship.

Derek does roll his eyes this time, “if you behave you can buy my silence.”

Aaron cracks an eye open but doesn’t complain. Derek’s going to tell Dave anyhow so it doesn’t matter if Aaron does behave, even though Derek knows he won’t, Emily will hear it. He might even sprinkle something else in there as payback. That what he gets, serves him right for scaring Derek like that. Derek is really going to enjoy watching Aaron get himself out of this hole but for now…

He squeezes Aaron’s wrist, smiling when Aaron turns his head towards him humming just under his breath. “I love you,” Derek confesses softly and it’s rare that he gets a verbal reply but he’s learned to lean into the numerous ways Aaron knows how to say it. And today he doesn’t hear the words back but tomorrow he’ll find a popsicle or a jello cup waiting for him. Aaron’s grumpy scowl lightening when he steps into the room. And Derek will know that Aaron loves him too.

#mortch #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #derek morgan

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thesameasbe4 · 4 years ago

Text

Tangled Up in Tuscany

Sebastian Stan showing all of us that he’s really just a normal guy with a nice jaw line.

It wasn’t my first time in Tuscany, but the last time had been over ten years ago on a high school trip. I wasn’t expecting it to be quite the same experience this time, and I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not. I stepped into the grand entrance of the hotel, doing my best not to look too out of place amidst the fine room and well dressed people. I had not traveled with the rest of the wedding party out of Atlanta, unlike the rest of them, I had a real job and couldn’t just take off three weeks for a luxurious wedding, so I was the last to arrive by about five days. And in that time I had been bombarded by the photos and messages on the bridal party group text of all the extravagant things they had been doing. Touring old churches, wine tasting, eating at the most elegant restaurants. While I was a tad jealous, I also got the impression that doing these things in the company of the other bridesmaids would perhaps detract from the overall experience. So it was what it was.

The door man walked me to the front desk where I shyly greeted the shrewd desk clerk. “Hi, I should have a reservation under LeBlanc.” I spelled it and his rather illustrious eyebrows lifted. “Tu parle francaise?” The man asked.

I smiled a little and shook my head, “Non, je ne parle pas francais, je parle l’anglais.”

“But it is a French name yes?” He pressed, and I responded in the affirmative. Seeming in better spirits he motioned to a man standing to my left in some kind of negotiation with another clerk. “It seems you two are here for the same event, do you know each other?”

I looked again at the man, he had dark brown hair and a five o’clock shadow covering his strong jaw line. He fit in here, dressed in his well cut European suit and perfectly coiffed hair. Returning my focus to the clerk and straightening my posture, I responded, “Nope, never met him.”

“I think you stole my room,” the gentleman interjected in what I was surprised to hear was an American accent.

I raised an eyebrow in his direction, “Indeed? I have arrived just now, so I don’t know how that can be possible.”

“No look, I think Liz switched the name on the last available room,” he persisted.

“Well I guess you do know the bride then,” I said, noting his casual use of my friend’s name. I replied, “Why would she do that?”

“Look I don’t know, but Joe said there was a room waiting for me here and that was a few days ago.”

I pulled out my phone, planning on giving the bride and groom a call to get this sorted out when the big white numbers on the screen reminded me that it was 3 AM. Sighing, I looked at the clerk, “Are there any more vacant rooms?”

“No madame,” he responded, his voice pinched again like when I first arrived, “that was how we first developed this misunderstanding.”

“I guess that makes sense.” I looked again at the gentleman, “Can you prove you know Liz and Joe?” He reached in to his inside jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. He swiped around till he found what he wanted and handed it to me.

“That was two years ago in Prague, we worked a movie together.” My eye swept the screen, finally making out the face of the man that stood before me in a cluster of several other people dressed in period clothing. “Also, Joe is allergic to shellfish, which he learned while in Hawaii only after eating an entire shrimp and pineapple pizza.” I laughed, anyone who knew Joe had heard that story.

“Well, you can bunk in my room tonight if you are desperate, then we can get this all settled at a decent hour tomorrow.” I wiggled my room card at him.

“I don’t wan’t to impose,” he said, suddenly looking concerned.

“Look, you already have. All I want is a hot shower and a few hours of sleep, and this compromise is now the quickest way to getting that.”

Maintaining eye contact with me he worried his lower lip, “okay, I guess.”

So we made our way to the elevator. “And I do really appreciate it,” he said as the elevator started going up, “I hope I wasn’t too rude, I just always have really bad luck in Italy.”

“Well let’s hope this trip breaks the cycle, cause I don’t know that I will get another shot at a Tuscany vacation.” I said stepping out of the elevator and into the hallway, locating our door by the small pile of bags that were waiting for us.

I handed him the key as I gathered my things. “Um, I think we made a very American mistake,” came a voice from inside the room.”

“Huh?” I said confusedly, groaning as I came to stand next to him. The room only had one bed.

…

A string of profanity ambled out of my mouth as I stripped in the bathroom. I had insisted that I didn’t need to be put up in such a nice hotel, especially if Liz was paying for me, but no, she wanted me to be with the rest of the wedding party, she wanted me to get along with her fancy Hollywood friends. So here I was in a swanky ass hotel with a strange man that I had, in my fatigue and delirium, decided to trust.

After several minutes of letting the hot water loosen my back and shoulders I climbed out of the shower and slipped into a pair of leggings and a tank top. “It’s all yours,” I said as I traipsed past the much too small bed on which the stranger was lounging.

“Hey, whats your name?” He asked and I stopped, realizing I hadn’t even thought to ask him his God damned name.

“Michelle,” I said, holding my hand out to him. He grasped it firmly and shook.

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Sebastian.”

I fell into a fitful rest quickly after laying down and I didn’t wake up till the sun began to enter the room through the gorgeous doors that let out onto the little balcony. I took a deep breath, finally taking in the fact that I was in Tuscany, for a glamorous wedding, and I didn’t have to pay for any of it. Then I flexed my arms, realizing too late that what I had thought was a pillow last night was actually the hulking form of a man. Shit what did he say his name was? Sebastian. I pulled my arm away from him quickly but the damage was done.

“Morning,” he groaned, sitting up. I replied with a wave of my hand, too embarrassed to speak, hiding my head back in the sheets. I felt the mattress move as he slid off the edge and bustled around the room and then let himself out. Now that the coast was clear I sat up and rubbed my eyes, forcing myself to wake up. I pulled my hair up into a quick bun then looked around me for my phone. I had sent Liz a string of panicked texts last night about the room situation that she hadn’t replied to till this morning.

Sorry about the confusion. No, Sebastian isn’t a serial killer. Welcome to Tuscany! Meet us in the lobby at 10.

I glanced at the time. It was barely seven. I cursed jet lag as I marched into the bathroom to brush my teeth. I heard the door open while I was in the bathroom and stuck my head out.

Sebastian had returned with a porter, who placed a matching pair of brown leather suitcases in the closet (I guess all of Sebastian’s luggage hadn’t made it here last night) and then returned wheeling in a cart full of food. My nose perked at the smell of coffee and I hoped he was planning on sharing.

“So Liz finally confirmed that you aren’t a serial killer,” I said, leaning against a wall.

He smiled at me, “Oh, good. Well I just spoke to Joe, he told me the same about you.” I nodded, smiling now. “I got a little worried last night when you had me in a death grip,” he said, winking at me.

I cleared my throat and looked at the ceiling, “yea I’m a hard sleeper, I cannot account for the actions of my subconscious.” My gaze drifted to the cart with the heavenly smells of coffee wafting from it.

“Compliments of the bride and groom, for the mix up, I think we got in the way of some kind of argument they were having,” Sebastian said, handing me a white mug with cappuccino foam peaking over the brim.

…

It was two days before the wedding and I was beginning to think I should have delayed even longer. Liz had sent me instructions for both Seb and I to “dress casual” for the day which would be mostly wandering town. What I forgot was that casual meant something very different to a common working woman like myself than to the other rich Hollywood people I had to deal with on this trip. After greeting my friend finally and listening to her reassure me that I was not under dressed in my plain dark wash jeans and chunky sweater, I skulked to the back of the group taking in the dozen or so perfectly sculpted bodies adorned with designer heels, leisure jackets and other decidedly not casual ensembles. I had not seen my roommate come down to the lobby but as we headed out I noticed that he was wearing a very modest ensemble of black jeans, polished shoes and a blue denim jacket over a plain green shirt. I tipped my hat to him silently, either he was a normal like me or he was down to earth, either way I was glad to have gotten stuck with him rather than any of the others.

In the town of Sienna I lagged back, finding the group too noisy and attention grabbing. One of the tall skinny women in our party turned and waved at me, beckoning me closer. I took a few long strides to catch up with them.

“Your Liz’s friend that came in last night right?” She asked.

“Yep,” I replied.

“OMG, so your sharing a room with Sebastian then!”

Raising my eyebrows I replied again, “yep.”

“Well, whats he like?”

“Um, I don’t really know, I slept most of the time we were together, I assume he did too,” I offered in a confused tone. Who was this guy?

“But isn’t he so hot?” The woman asked.

“Well I was mostly concerned that he was a murderer when I first met him, I mean, he wasn’t happy and then I wasn’t actually sure he actually was with the wedding party.”

“But you knew who he was, so what did it matter if he was in the wedding party?”

Utterly confused I said, “Wait, who is he? Why should I know him?”

The woman giggled, “Sebastian Stan? He’s an actor in the Avengers franchise? He’s got a huge fan base and is notoriously private.

Okay so I didn’t really know much about those films but I was intrigued now and despite my greatest efforts to pay him no more mind than I had been, I noticed him more the rest of the day. Many of the women in our group would find reasons to stand next to him, they would grab his arm and laugh, or touch his chest. Interestingly, as the afternoon slipped into evening, he seemed to grow visibly agitated with all of the attention. By dinner time he looked like he was barely holding his polite facade together.

We were scheduled to all eat together at a very nice restaurant, however there was some conversation amongst Liz and Joe and our guides and they made a last minute call to eat separately. I was confused by this, the whole trip having felt micro managed up to this point, but I was glad to get away from the group that I felt so apart from and I took off rather than wait around for an explanation. There was a lovely outdoor patio bar down the street from where we were staying, so I leisurely walked that way.

The air was comfortably cool and I tilted my head back to breathe in the smells of the sleepy town as I sipped my wine. This was the kind of night I would have loved to enjoy with Lizzy, but that was before the days when she was famous.

“You must be American,” a voice behind me said. I turned to see two young Italian men standing behind me. As if that was an invitation to join me, they moved to sit in the vacant chairs on either side of me. “So what are you doing in our town?” One of them asked me in a thick accent and placed a hand on my knee, I shivered at how freely he touched me. I crossed my legs, shrugging his hand off of me. They both looked at ease and there were other people around us so it seemed generally safe, but I didn’t feel like doing this tonight. I slid my chair back, stood and walked to the far side of the bar, out of their line of vision. If they followed me I knew I would just have to leave so I steadied myself for that possibility.

It seemed at first like they had lost interest, but about ten minutes later I heard their laughter moving in my direction. But before I decided how to react I felt a warm hand settle on my lower back. “Hey, don’t freak out, It’s just me.” I looked up at the voice speaking into my ear and saw the grey blue eyes of my roommate. “There are two guys that have been staring at you from across the room, I wanted to make sure you knew that.” I nodded at him in thanks. But the men’s voices drew closer still so I turned to face Sebastian.

“Flirt with me,” I said to him.

“What?”

“They have already been bothering me,” I replied trying to keep my eyes on Sebastian and not give the men any reason to come closer. He nodded and moved closer to me so that we were sharing the same space. He kept his hand on my back and the other one combed through my hair. He touched his forehead to mine and laughed. After a second he drew away just enough to look up, scanning the bar for the two men.

I’m gonna kiss you okay?” He said. I gulped and nodded, after I had agreed, he drew my face up to his and very gently touched his lips to mine, leaving them there for a few seconds then breaking away from me. “They’re leaving,” he said and I sighed, though I honestly wasn’t sure if it was in relief or in reaction to the kiss.

…

I sat against the headboard of the bed, my hair drying from the shower and I flipped through the Italian television channels, trying to ignore how strangely domestic it felt to be sharing a hotel room with this person. A man who was apparently a very well known movie star who had recently helped me out of a sticky situation by kissing me. I held a cup of tea in my hands. I was bringing it to my lips when Sebastian emerged from the bathroom a napkin of a towel wrapped around his waist. My hands trembled just enough at the sight of his sculpted torso to spill hot tea all over my lap.

“Fuck,” I said as I stood, pulling the now damp fabric of my leggings away from my skin.

“You okay?” He asked, looking up from rummaging in his bag.

“I’m fine,” I shot back at him, “just put some goddamn pants on,” I muttered. He laughed and I squeezed my eyes shut, “I guess he had heard that,” I thought to myself. He straightened with a wad of clothes triumphantly held aloft then retreated to the bathroom again to change.

“By the way,” I said when he finally came back out, “thanks for the assist there in the bar.”

He winked at me, “Well I’m sure you’d do the same for me,” he said.

“But I haven’t,” I replied, “I have been watching women throw themselves at you all day and I did nothing to save you, “so really, what you did was an unselfish act.”

He walked to his side of the mattress that never felt so small and threw himself down, making the whole frame shake. “Yea, well none of them looked as hostile as those two men.” He shifted so that he was laying on his back distractedly watching the Italian soap opera that I had found. Soon he was breathing steadily with just a very light snore. I smiled and looked down at him. He really was very nice looking. He had well defined features, long eyelashes and full lips. I caught myself biting one of my own lips and rolled my eyes. Deciding that looking at him like this was creepy I switched the tv off and turned the light off, easing down into the sheets.

I was just on the verge of unconsciousness when I felt Sebastian’s arm wrap around my stomach and pull me into him. His body was relaxed but still solid. I hadn’t realized how big he was. I thought for a moment that I should release myself, that it was the right thing to do, but he wouldn’t know I was awake. Maybe I shouldn’t disturb him? He shifted again this time nuzzling his scratchy chin into the back of my neck, and if I wasn’t mistaken, his lips were pressed up against the back of my ear. Now throughly enjoying his contact I relaxed into him, laying my arm on top of his.

…

Sebastian’s alarm went off at seven the next morning, the day before the ceremony being filled with activities. I groaned at the shrill sound and was startled to realize my voice was muffled by something I was laying on. I moved my head around, trying to get my bearings without opening my eyes yet. It couldn’t be a pillow, it smelled too good and was too solid.

“Morning,” the thing under me said. I stiffened. Apparently I had managed to fully lay the length of my body on top of Sebastian in the course of the night. He was still on his back and his hands were resting on my bottom, my head was nestled into the crook of his neck and my hands were splayed over his chest. Instead of being embarrassed, I found that I really was just comfortable.

“Do we really have to get up?” I whined into his chest.

I felt his rumbling laugh, “Well I don’t really wanna face the wrath of Lizzy if we don’t show up on time,” he said.

“I thought you were my protector?” I said. He patted my bottom a few times and tried to shift me off of him but I wouldn’t budge.

“I’ll bring you up a cappuccino if you let me get up,” he said. With one more groan fit for the stage I let him roll out from under me. He stood over me for a second and I looked up at him with a mock hurt look on my face. And then before I had time to think, he leaned over me, one hand on either side of me and gently brought his lips to mine.

It was brief but lovely.

“I’ll be back,” he whispered in my ear before turning and leaving the room.

Now fully awake I wandered about the room, unsure of what to do with myself. I pulled out of my suitcase the outfit I was planning on wearing today. The “rehearsal dinner” was more of a rehearsal excursion to the countryside complete with a quartet to play classical Italian music and a wait staff serving Prosecco all day. Lizzy had said to wear “cocktail casual” but I had no idea what the hell that meant. I had settled on a dark burgundy romper. The neckline was a low v and the straps criss-crossed in the back. I laid it out on the bed and was still assessing it when Sebastian returned, a tray of coffee in his hands. Intoxicated by the smell I lifted one of the steaming cups off of the tray and retreated to the small balcony. The morning was cool and the view overlooked the mediterranean rooftops of the little town. I breathed deeply the crisp air and the fragrant coffee.

Sensing his presence behind me I spoke up, “I never would have imagined that visiting a place this beautiful would be such a headache.”

He came to stand next to me. Leaning forward so that his arms rested on the edge of the balcony, the entire side of his body made contact with mine. The heat radiating from him was soothing.

“It is beautiful here,” he said, looking at me, not the view. “Why is this trip so hard for you?”

I sighed, “I guess it’s not. I’m just being dramatic. I knew Liz way before she was famous. She and I had always talked about coming to Italy, about hiking and living close to nature. And this- this trip just shows how we have changed, thats all,” I said giving up. “And I hate all of her new friends.”

Sebastian laughed, “Well I’m gland that I’m Joe’s friend then.” I turned my head to look at him and he winked. Then he straightened up and pulled me into him, “is this okay?” He asked into my ear. I nodded silently, my stomach churning. “Well I think all her friends are jealous of you,” he continued to whisper in my ear, “know why?” I shook my head smiling a little as his words tickled my ear, “because they all want the natural grace and beauty that you have.”

I moved to face him, his large muscled body trapping me against the balcony rail. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair. He lowered his mouth to my neck as he pulled me closer to him. “Do you promise to come save me today if all those women don’t leave me alone?” He asked into my neck.

I squirmed at the sensation of his breath on me. “Of course Boo,” I said, patting his bottom in a playfully condescending voice.

He raised an eyebrow, “I think I like being your Boo,” he said moving from my neck to my lips, biting my lower lip playfully.

“Yea?” I replied.

“Mmmh,” was all he said.

“Then as my Boo would you please explain to me what the hell ‘cocktail casual’ means?”

…

After a bit of debate, Sebastian had convinced me that my choice of attire was perfect and he just so happened to have a shirt that matched my outfit, so we arrived in the lobby in plenty of time to meet the rest of the group. Unsurprisingly, I did stand out, most of the women wearing very short dresses and tottering on stilettos, however, when I considered that the alternative was having to wear a short skirt and heels all day, I decided I was happy with my ensemble.

We were ushered into a small bus that would drive us out into the countryside. The inside was nice, but Italians have a very different sense of space than Americans, as demonstrated by the very small seats. Because I had dressed for comfort, I was better able to maneuver my way to the back seat, so I found myself wedged into the very back corner of the van seated next to one of the men in the party who was a talent manager or something and wouldn’t shut up about all the famous people he worked with.

On top of that Sebastian was two rows in front of me, surrounded by needy looking women who were sitting too close to him and thrusting their scantily covered chests towards him.

Finally the bus stopped at a sprawling villa on the side of a mountain. I was antsy to get out both because of the view and because I was quite nauseous after all of the switchbacks we took to get up here.

The day was average, there were some speeches, a few games, lunch, and then drinks. During all of this I had noticed several footpaths that led into the surrounding countryside. As the group broke up into social clusters I slipped away, making a b-line towards a path that I was hoping would take me along the crest of the mountain to reveal more lovely views.

“Wait Michelle!” A voice called from behind me. I turned to see Sebastian scampering behind me, his jacket discarded and a few buttons undone on his shirt. Catching up to me he stopped, “may I join you?”

We followed the overgrown trail for several minutes, finally the brush gave way to a beautiful bald overlooking a valley that reflected gold and red in the low afternoon sun. I turned to Sebastian and found him looking at me. “What?” I asked.

“I want to kiss you,” he said simply. So I closed the gap between us and my lips met his hungrily. We pressed against each other desperately like we couldn’t get close enough to each other. Our breathing grew heavy and I got the sense that we were both wearing too many clothes, so with all my strength I pulled away from him. He let out a little whine and showed me his puppy dog eyes.

“I think we need to cool off a bit,” I said shakily. “If I take this thing off now then it’s not going back on,” I said gesturing to my romper. Sebastian nodded in defeat and took my hand as we walked back to the group.

…

As the afternoon turned to evening other guests of the the bride and groom arrived and the sweetness of the afternoon faded as my world went on repeat. I watched one woman after another try her luck with the dashing Sebastian Stan while I kept to myself, drinking alone. I wasn’t upset at Sebastian, I wasn’t really sure what to do with our short dalliance, was it just born out of convenience? Is it just something to pass the time on this miserable trip? No, what bothered me was watching the entitlement in the way these women acted. They knew they were beautiful or young or well connected and so they approached with confidence, but had very little to contribute to the conversation, literally “what you see is what you get.”

“Ah,” came a voice from over my shoulder, “you are the friend from Louisiana right? The one who Lizzy grew up with?” I turned to see a nice looking young man in a dark suit standing behind me.

“Who’s asking?” I said.

“Hi, I’m Dan, I’m a friend of Lizzy from LA.” He held out his hand, I took it, and in stepping closer I also noticed the alcohol on his breath and the slight waver in his voice. It had been a while since he was sober.

“Nice to meet you, Dan,” I said. He leaned into me slightly, as if he couldn’t keep his feet under him.

“Hey, do you wanna dance? Lizzy said you are a good da-dancer?” He said, hiccuping.

“Maybe in a bit, big guy,” I said, motioning to a waiter for a bottle of water.

“No, you look like you are here for- for a good time. Lets take this back to- back to my place.” He was too drunk to be intimidating but he was quite tall and I found it difficult to shift his weight away from me. Indeed he was very close to toppling over and taking me with him when suddenly his weight was no longer draped over me. Getting my bearings I looked behind me to see Sebastian helping, if a little roughly, to get Dan into a chair.

I didn’t think much of it, but I was surprised Sebastian had gotten to me so quickly. When some other guys came over to take care of the very sloppy and probably soon to be puking Dan, I turned my attention to Seb. He had moved to stand next to me and wound his arm around my waist protectively. “Thanks for the assist,” I said lightly. To my surprise, Sebastian didn’t think it was funny.

“Why don’t those kind of guys ever know when to stop?” He growled, his hand still firmly at my waist.

I turned to face him. “Hey, I appreciate the Feminist outrage, but I was okay, I didn’t feel intimidated by him like the guys in the bar yesterday.” I put a hand on his chest, waiting for him to slow his breathing. Finally he looked down at me.

“I think I was just jealous of your attention,” he said sheepishly.

“Well why the hell didn’t you come over here sooner, I’ve had to watch women fawn over you all evening,” I said with a little pout.

“But I thought you were gonna come save me.”

“I don’t compete with other women!” I said in a whispered yell, turning my back to him. I avoided him, embarrassed and feeling a little too tender after such a long day. Gently he twisted me back to face him. I didn’t resist, I did want to be with him here, but I couldn’t look him in the eye. Carefully, and slowly he tilted my head up till I held his gaze, then he brushed his lips against mine, holding them there just long enough for chills to run down my body and my breathing to quicken before pulling away. I moaned in frustration.

“You aren’t competing with anyone.” With that taste of drama that actors tend to have naturally, he pulled me into the light, closer to the music, and we danced. It was sensuous and romantic. We stayed close together, his nose buried in the side of my neck, my head laying on his chest as we moved in a slow circle. His hands would stray low sometimes, but I would pull them back up so they rested on my hips, and he would chuckle each time.

As the event wrapped up, we walked back to the vehicles together. And as if we had passed some invisible test, everyone left us alone, letting us sit together and talking around us.

Back at the hotel I paused to chat with Liz while Sebastian helped Joe out with something for the ceremony the next day. “OMG, I knew you two would be good together!” Liz gushed.

“Wait, did you do the room thing on purpose?” I asked.

She looked up at the ceiling, “I will not reveal my tricks, but just know that if you two are still together in a year I am so claiming that I set you up.” I rolled my eyes.

I made my way back to our room but was stopped by one of the pretty blonde women in the wedding party. “You are Lizzie’s friend from back home right?” She asked in a valley girl accent I thought had to be a joke. Thinking she had some scheme about the wedding tomorrow, I told her that, yes, I was her childhood friend. “Then what the hell do you think you are doing flirting with someone like Sebastian Stan?” She demanded, serious outrage in her face. I was startled, not expecting this little outburst.

I looked her over again, her makeup was looking a little fuzzy and I could smell vodka on her breath as she teetered on stilettos and pulled her dress down each time it slipped a little too high up her thighs. Before I could respond she continued, “I mean, look at you. You are at least a size ten, no make up, you are wearing flats for Christ sakes.” She gasped like it was the end of the world. “You have no idea the women who are interested in him. Models, actresses, I heard one of the Kardashians even made a pass at him. This is the big leagues little girl. You need to stay in your lane.” In parting she gave me a little push that I thought was more likely to have her on the floor than me.

I laughed uncomfortably as I made it back to the room. Sebastian was there, sprawled on the bed, his torso bare, a pair of navy joggers seated low on his waist. He looked like a snack. And all of a sudden I could only hear the words of that woman. I must have stood there too long cause Seb spoke up. “What did Liz do? Did she change something at the last minute? You look really distracted.”

“Oh,” I said, “Nothing, she didn’t change anything.” I turned away from him and reached behind my back to undo the top of my romper. Sebastian’s hands grasped mine and put them to my sides as he undid the ties, his fingers lingering on my skin. “Sebastian is this just for tonight?” I asked, biting my lip after the words left my mouth.

“Uh, I guess it can be, why?” He replied, his tone measured. I continued to stand with my back to him, needing the space to say this.

“I- I just don’t know how this would work with you being so mobile. I don’t want you to feel like this has to go beyond this trip.” I cut myself off, feeling like I was whining.

“Actually, I am kinda interested in making this work for a longer time. Where are you from? Louisiana? The long distance thing might be a challenge but I’d like to give it a go.” I gulped loudly, my arms and legs felt weak.

“Are- are you sure?” I pressed, feeling like I was in a dream.

“Have I overstepped?” He responded with a concerned look on his face. I shook my head fiercely.

“No, but why me? All those women who are prettier than me, they get the world you come from, you have so many options.”

I had moved away from him now, feeling exposed as I spoke, but he closed the gap between us. Pulling me into him, he gripped me tightly, protectively.

“I don’t want anyone else. You are intelligent, confident, beautiful. No one else has those things.”

I sank into him and felt a sob escape from my lips. A hand grasped the back of my head and pulled me in tight to his chest. I shook a bit with a few more sobs but he was there with me. When I had calmed down I reached up and kissed him on the jaw.

Stepping away from me, he pulled a shirt on and I made a disappointed noise. Laughing he said, “Why don’t you change into something more comfortable, and we can go to the bar and make people jealous.” Rolling my eyes, I smiled.

…

As we approached the bar Sebastian grasped my hand and intertwined our fingers. There was a small group from the wedding party that was gathered at one end of the bar. One of the guys called us over so we joined them, greeting everyone in the group. There was one available seat so I took it, Sebastian stood behind me and his hands lingered on my waist and hips. They were meeting to discuss a few last minute requests of the bride and groom, so I listened as attentively as I could with Sebastian’s warm breath tickling the back of my neck. The skinny woman who had trapped me in the hall earlier was staring daggers into us, but I just looked past her to the conversation happening.

After a few more minutes the conversation broke up. I noticed a few men pat Seb on the back as they left, our friend the skinny woman tottered off in a huff. I felt Sebastian shake a little as he chuckled. “That was more fun than I was expecting,” he said.

“Yea whatever, can we pleas go back to the room? It’s time for you to take your shirt off again.”

…

When we got to the room we both stripped to our underwear. We tumbled into the bed together, the playfulness of moments before leaving us quickly as we both let the exhaustion of the day settle in. Instead, we nestled into each other comfortable just to be with one another. I was laying on my back, Seb’s head resting on my chest. He clung to me, arms and legs wrapped tightly around me and thats when I realized we might actually have as shot.

…

It had been a month since the wedding. I sat nervously in the airport gripping my phone and my eyes glued to the arrivals screen above me. Finally I saw the word “arrived” appear in green next to his flight and soon after my phone pinged and it was a text from him saying he was on his way to baggage claim.

And then there he was.

In a tight t-shirt and joggers, his long legs brought him to me in a few quick strides. I brought him in close to me and squeezed him tight. “It’s been too long,” he said.

#sebastian sebastian stan sebastianstan fanfic imagine bucky

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queenofimagines · 4 years ago

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Questions

Request: “can I get a jj x reader where y/n is being abused at home and jj finds out when he’s not suppose to. Y/n likes to hide it so when jj asks she denies. She comes up with lies and when jj tries to get the group involved they believe y/n’s lies. Jj tries to convince them but y:n breaks down and is denfensive at jj. But finally admit. Anyway I love ur work sm💜💜”

Warnings: Mentions of abuse. It’s kind of detailed in the beginning and even though it’s mostly just yelling and verbal fighting it can be triggering so please proceed with caution.

Waking up sore was definitely not how you planned your day to go. Every day since last Friday, it seemed, the aches in your body were getting worse and worse. The pain itself you could handle pretty easily, some pain killers in the morning and maybe a couple more throughout the day and you’d be set, what you really couldn’t stand was how you had come to be so sore.

It was an accident, honest to God. You went out with your friends and it had gotten late so you opted to have dinner with your friends. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary, your father never cooked and your mother split when you were just a baby, so most nights you were left to fend for yourself. You had texted your father, letting him know that you would be out late but you had neglected to tell him you would be eating dinner with your friends on account of the fact that it just didn’t make sense to tell him, especially since he paid such little attention to you in the first place. So when you got home, stuffed with the free food that Kiara had convinced her parents to give you and the rest of the Pogues, to see your father sitting at the dinner table with what looked like a full meal for himself and half a sandwich for you, you knew that little good would come out of whatever you had just walked into.

“I got you a sandwich.” Was all he said. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes. He hadn’t gotten you a sandwich, you knew him better than that. No, what happened was that he had only eaten half of his sandwich for lunch and had given you the other half after he realized he hadn’t thought to buy you something from whatever restaurant he decided stop by on his way home.

“Thanks. I’ll take it for lunch tomorrow.” You responded. You began making your way up to your room when his voice stopped you.

“Aren’t you hungry?”

“No, I had dinner with my friends.” You braced yourself for the inevitable. You knew it was coming, the screaming, the insults. You had dealt with that on nearly a daily basis. On cue, your father slammed his fist into the table and began berating you about what an ungrateful child you were. About how he took care of you, clothed you, housed you, fed you. ‘Bullshit’ you wanted to say. None of what he said was true. You bought your own clothes with the money you made from the various odd jobs around town. You were the one who learned to cook so that you could scrape together just enough to get you through the day. And if it weren’t for your people skills and the money you were able to pull together, there wouldn’t even be a roof over your heads.

‘Whatever’ you thought. It didn’t matter, he would be done yelling soon and you could leave. But it didn't stop, not like it usually did. Today was just a bad day for him you guessed because it seemed like every move you made, every twitch and every glance, was somehow you showing him disrespect that he “didn’t deserve,” although you would have argued that he deserved much more than what you were giving him.

The panic really began to settle in when he began to move closer to you. Your father was prone to temper tantrums and you knew on days like this what would come next. You backed away the closer he came but soon found yourself trapped against the wall with nowhere to go. He reached you soon after, his hand enclosing around your throat and putting an uncomfortable amount of pressure on it before releasing you in order to hit you. First it was a slap to the face, then a punch to the gut that had you on the floor, then he began kicking you over and over and over again until you could see black spots in your vision and taste blood in your mouth.

‘Just a few more’ you kept telling yourself. How you wished you hadn’t. If you had stood up to him this time, if you had fought back, maybe you wouldn’t be laying in bed too sore to even sit up. If you had done something, anything, maybe the first thought in your head this morning wouldn’t have been about how to cover the bruises that were left on your skin.

As slowly as possible you sat up, gently moving your feet to the ground in order to stand and staying still for just a moment while your head stopped spinning. You definitely had a concussion, you concluded, but the only way to heal it would be with time. You slowly shuffled to your closet, grabbing a white long sleeved shirt and some capri shorts. Most of the bruises were along your torso, your limbs not bruising as easily with the exception of your bicep up near your shoulder. After you changed you quickly made your way to the mirror to make sure everything was hidden, opening the blinds when you found the light in your room to be too dim, although opening the blinds didn’t do much since your window was facing another building. You used what little light you could get to do your makeup, using a color corrector under your foundation to hide the bruises that were forming along your jaw and neck.

“It’ll have to do.” You said to yourself after assessing your work, then making your way to the bathroom in order to grab some pain killers from the cabinet. You quickly located a bottle of pain killers you had gotten from CVS and popped the cap off only to find it empty.

“Fuck.” You groaned, a vague memory of you waking up in the middle of the night and downing the last two in the bottle hitting you. Sighing, you headed back to your room, grabbing your jacket before creeping downstairs and out your front door, relieved to see that your father’s truck was gone. Down the street you could see JJ already waiting for you. You did your best to adjust your pace so that the slight limp you had developed wouldn’t be so noticeable while also keeping up speed so as not to arouse any kind of suspicion.

“Hey babe, what’s with the shorts?” JJ asked. You didn’t usually where capri shorts, in fact, JJ was pretty sure that you hated them.

“Laundry day.” You answered, grabbing his hand and pulling him in the direction of the Chateau. You were thankful that JJ didn’t question it, instead changing the subject to whatever scheme the boys had cooked up the night before. You tried to listen to what he was saying but in all honestly, you just couldn’t stop thinking about how much pain you were in. For the entirety of your walk you told yourself that you could make it to the end of the day and after JJ dropped you off at your house like he always did, you could go to the store and get some kind of over the counter pain killer. But the pain was beginning to be too much. There was a Walgreens just ahead of you and you couldn’t resist the urge to go in and get anything to ease your pain.

“Hey JJ?” You asked, gently grabbing his attention.

“What’s up?” He answered.

“Can we go in for a second? I have some stuff I need to get.”

“Anything for you, my love.” JJ said, bowing towards you in an attempt to make you laugh, smiling when he pulled a light chuckle out of you. His happiness quickly turned into concern when he saw you wince and hold your stomach.

“You okay?” He asked.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. Just um... period cramps.” You answered before ducking into the building. JJ almost believed you, key word almost. He knew your cramps got so bad sometimes that you couldn’t even get out of bed, but it was for that exact reason that he knew you were lying. JJ had your cycle memorized just so he could always be prepared for when your period started; the week before he would always stock up on snacks and make sure that the heating pad he kept at his place was always fully charged. JJ’s first thought was that he had forgotten, panic slowly rising in his throat, but he also had a gut feeling that that wasn’t the case. JJ checked his phone to settle his confusion and sure enough, your period wasn’t due to start for at least another couple of weeks. JJ followed you in, upset that you would rather lie to him than tell him something was wrong.

“What exactly is it you’re looking for?” JJ asked.

“Pain killers,” you answered.

“Why?”

“Like I said, cramps.” You had just turned down the first aid isle when you realized JJ was staring at you.

“Something wrong?” You asked.

“You’re not on your period.” You froze, mentally facepalming at how dumb of an excuse you had come up with. Of course JJ would have caught your lie, he had been so amazing whenever your period came around, always being prepared and willing to give you whatever you needed. You were hoping that JJ would have blamed his own carelessness on the matter, but what you didn’t know was that when it came to you, JJ always made a point to be deliberate with his actions.

You didn’t answer, not knowing what to say. Should you keep with the lie? Maybe say your period came early? Or should you come clean? But coming clean would mean telling JJ what really happened and you knew he would blame himself for it, even if he had nothing to do with it. Luckily, or maybe not so, you didn’t get the chance to respond.

“You’re in pain,” JJ took a step towards you. You almost took a step back but resisted the urge to last minute, memories of last Friday suddenly bombarding you. JJ slowly grabbed your hands.

“Where does it hurt?” He asked. You were surprised, having expected him to demand to know why you were hurt.

“My legs.” JJ raised an eyebrow at you, knowing that you were still hiding something.

“A-and my shoulders.” You didn’t dare look at him, afraid that you would break down if you did, instead deciding to fiddle with a piece of paper you had left in the pocket of your shorts.

“There’s more, isn’t there” It was more of a statement than a question but the way JJ said it, in an impossibly soft voice that he just knew you couldn’t say no to, made the thought of telling him all the places you were bruised seem less daunting.

“My torso kind of hurts too, and my jaw. Um, also my neck.” You whispered.

“Why?” Such a simple question, you thought, a simple inquiry that would be sure to break you both. You didn’t answer, eyes trained on the floor while you thought about how stupid it was for you to have believed that being honest with JJ about your pain was a good idea. You had kept it a secret for so long and in one moment of weakness you had jeopardized it. If you hadn’t been so weak, you thought, then maybe you could have avoided all this and just gone to the Chateau instead of being here practically breaking right in front of JJ.

JJ watched you chew your lip, seeing the conflict in your eyes and chastising himself for putting you in such a state of distress, but the pain he felt in that moment couldn’t compare to the pain he felt in the next. JJ saw the purplish bruises on your jaw and neck that were partially being hidden by your hair, the makeup you had used to cover it evidently being inadequate. It was enough to go unnoticed if people weren’t paying any particular attention but it wasn’t blended well in some places, making it easy to see the slight difference in pigment between the bruised and unbruised skin. By now JJ was shaking, gently holding your face so that you would look at him.

“Who did this to you?” His thumbs gently caressing your jaw. “Was it your dad?”

“No,” You slightly jerked away from his touch. “He would never do that JJ. I’m not being abused or anything I’m just clumsy that’s all. You know me, I never pay attention to where I’m going!” You laughed, hoping that it would be enough to make JJ believe you. He didn’t, not even for a second.

“Y/N if he’s hurting you, you have to tell me.”

“I don’t have to do anything,” you said, beginning to get defensive. “My dad isn’t hurting me JJ so stop with all the questions. And stop thinking that just because you’re my boyfriend means that I owe it to you to tell you.”

You were being harsh, you knew that, but you needed JJ to leave the subject alone and the only way you knew how was to get him to be angry at you. You hated it when JJ was mad at you but desperate times call for desperate measures.

JJ did let the subject slide on account of the fact that he knew if he kept talking he would definitely say something he would regret. He wasn’t going to let it go completely, though. If you weren’t going to tell him the truth then surely if he got the Pogues to intervene too, if he could somehow convince you that they were all on your side, then maybe you’d feel safer talking about it. What he didn’t understand is why you would be willing to protect someone who was causing you so much pain. He knew about your strained relationship with your father, that in and of itself already drained you so much, but your father physically hurting you was a whole other problem. Still, given how much you hated your father he didn’t know why you were protecting him, but that wasn’t what you were doing. In all honestly, you were ashamed that this was happening in the first place. You felt like you were a pretty independent and strong willed person and knowing that one man could render you so powerless made you feel weak. On top of that you felt like you were drained enough as it is, adding the fuss that you would have to deal with when your friends found out was just something that you didn’t think you had the energy to handle.

You quickly found some pain killers and paid, making your way towards the Chateau faster than you ever had. The walk with JJ had turned awkward and you felt like if you were with him alone for a second longer you would explode, so when you had crossed paths with Kiara and Pope you were glad to have someone else to break the tension. From then on it was smooth sailing for you, despite the fact that you spent almost the whole time avoiding JJ. You figured you were being subtle enough but the way JJ was practically glaring at you tipped the boys off.

“Hey, is something going on with you and Y/N?” Pope asked.

“Yeah it seems like she’s been avoiding you. Did you guys get into a fight or something?” John B added.

“I think Y/N is being abused.” JJ answered, not even bothering to sugar coat it.

“What?” Both Pope and John B spoke at the same time, eyes wide.

“She has bruises on her neck and jaw and earlier, before we came he, we stopped by Walgreens so she could get some pain meds. She lied and said she was on her period but it isn’t due for another couple of weeks.”

“Well, that could be anything JJ...” John B said, but it seemed like he was trying to convince himself as much as JJ.

“It’s not. I think I would know. We have to do something.”

“No, what we need is proof,” Pope spoke up. “Even if abuse seems like the likely reason for her bruises there's still a chance that it is something else. One of us could ask her.”

“Sure Pope, instead of helping my girlfriend, who just so happens to be one of your best friends, we should definitely just outright ask her if she’s being abused. She’ll be really eager to answer that honestly.”

“I meant that one of us should ask how she got the bruise. And unless you have a better idea I don’t see what else we could do.” JJ fell silent at that. He knew Pope was right, so the boys joined you, Sarah, and Kiara. The boys exchanged looks, trying to decide who would ask. JJ was already out of the question but they didn’t know if the question would sound more innocent coming from John B or Pope.

“Hey Y/N, what happened to your jaw?” Pope finally asked.

“Yeah, I thought your neck looked a little off too. You okay?

“Oh, yeah! You guys remember a couple days ago when I fell off the boat? Turns out I hit my chin pretty hard and it caused this ugly ass bruise to pop up. I tried to cover it but you know how crappy the lighting in my room is.” You laughed. Now that you had calmed down, lying came easy, and having had a couple of hours to prepare your answer made it all the more easier. Your friends seemed pretty convinced by your answer and you were satisfied that you had avoided the subject.

“What about your legs then?” JJ asked, pushing you. “And your torso, hm? What about those?”

“Uh, well we did do a lot of swimming-”

“No more than we usually do. Plus you’re on the swim team, you don’t get sore from swimming.”

“What are you implying JJ?”

“I’m implying that you’re not telling us the truth.” By now both you and JJ were on your feet and breathing heavily. You were angry and panicked that JJ was pushing you so far. JJ was desperate to help you and even if he was going about it the wrong way he didn’t know what else to do.

“Okay guys just calm down,” Sarah said, gently grabbing your arm and pulling you to sit, John B soon doing the same with JJ.

“Y/N is JJ right?” Kiara asked. You picked up the pillow that had fallen to the floor when you stood up, picking at a loose thread at one of the corners and refusing to answer. It had been a tough day already and right now you felt like you would break at any moment, but you were exhausted. Exhausted from fighting with JJ and from having to lie to your friends and completely defeated by the fact that this had become your life.

“Y-Yes,” You admitted, finally letting the tears fall. “He just- he just get’s so mad sometimes and he can’t control it and I get it because there’s no one else to take it b-but I don’t know what to do because I can’t leave, I have no where else to go.”

You were sobbing at this point, holding onto the pillow in your lap like a life line. JJ was the first to react, practically jumping over the coffee table to hold you. The rest of the Pogues soon followed, hugging you while their hearts broke more and more with each sob you emitted.

“You’re wrong,” John B spoke after a few moments. “You'll always have a place here.”

“I can’t just leave.” You responded, taking deep breathes to calm down.

“I know it’s hard,” JJ stated. “But we’ll be here for you okay? We’ll call Child Protective Services and sort this all out so you never have to see him again.”

“B-but what if they take me away? I don’t even know of any other family I have.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there,” Kiara said, gently squeezing your hand. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Yeah. And anyway we could always bribe the officer.” Sarah agreed, trying to lighten the mood which caused you all to laugh.

“It’s settled then! You’ll stay here with me and JJ and tomorrow morning we’ll all go to your house together to grab your stuff, okay?” John be asked. You thought it over. This, this was your light at the end of the tunnel. An end to the constant fear you felt. You’d thought of a moment like this a million times over but each time you always figured that you’d have to refuse it. But now that you were here, faced with the decision, you knew you’d be an idiot to say no. A smile slowly spread across your face.

“Okay.”

#jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x y/n #jj outer banks #Outer Banks #outer banks one shot #outer banks x reader #outer banks imagine #pogues #obx pogues #outer banks pogues #obx #obx x reader #obx imagine #obx one shot

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secretpeachtea · 4 years ago

Text

Onigiri Miya Tidbits Ch 3

Title: the unexpected reunion

Genre: gen fic, reader insert

Word count: 5.1k

Summary: Onigiri Miya is now hiring and you just happen to be the right person for the job. The business has been gaining popularity since its grand opening, and many customers travel from different cities just to have a bite of Miya Osamu’s delicious recipes. You did expect some craziness from working in food services, but what you didn’t expect was to be bombarded with frequent tomfoolery from a bunch of attractive volleyball players during your shifts.

disclaimer: manga spoilers

A/N: I uhh went a little overboard with the word count this time, but im a hoe for msby so whoops. hope you enjoy!

Previous///Next

“Good work today, (Name)-san!”

“You too, Osamu-san!”

Your boss walks up to the entrance and switches over the sign to display ‘Closed’. You let out a deep yawn as you grab the broom to start your nightly cleaning routine at Onigiri Miya.

It’s hard to believe that it’s already been a month since you started working here. You can honestly say that this is probably the most enjoyable job position you’ve had in a while. You were able to learn new onigiri recipes and even started recognizing some of the regular customers that have fallen in love with Osamu’s cooking. This includes a very kind, elderly woman who always makes sure to give you a peppermint every time she stops by.

Your friendly relationship with Osamu has definitely been one of the most obvious reasons why you’ve been able to juggle everything in your life along with working for your expenses. He’s become a trustworthy and reliable person even though you’ve only known each other for a short period of time. Although it was a bit awkward calling each other by your first names in the beginning, you both got fairly comfortable addressing each other since you practically see him almost every day.

Though he doesn’t necessarily count as a customer, Osamu’s troublemaker brother is another frequent guest at Onigiri Miya. Atsumu comes by to visit at least once a week to eat or stop by after practice. By default, that means you’ve had the pleasure to deal with his antics every week since the kitchen massacre incident. He’s even gotten into the habit of calling you ‘sweetheart’ just to get some reaction out of you. You have to admit, it’s pretty fun to watch the twins banter back and forth, especially since Osamu always makes Atsumu pay for whatever he eats (“But, I’m your brother!”/”Yeah, so you should support my business.”).

Despite the chaos that follows Miya Atsumu, you always end up striking up a decent conversation, usually revolving around volleyball and his team. He always brings up how he’ll bring over the team eventually, but it’s just been a bit busy lately since they were preparing for tryouts. He actually hasn’t come by for a couple days now for that reason.

You snap out of your thoughts when you hear Osamu’s phone ringing. Judging by the slight scowl on his face, it’s probably his brother. You just continue to sweep under the counter, assuming that the call isn’t that important.

“You’re what? Right now? Seriously?” Osamu questions with a slightly peeved tone. There’s a brief pause as the other person on the other line starts whining. Your boss just sighs in defeat. “Fine. Only this one time since it’s been a while.”

Osamu ends the call reluctantly and you’re slightly concerned at his reaction. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, ‘Tsumu just told me that he’s on his way here with some of his teammates. Apparently they’re celebrating the new player on their team but everywhere else is closed or too crowded.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised that he told you last minute,” You sympathized.

“They’re gonna be a bit rowdy, so I guess I’ll just apologize now for bringing you into this mess. You can just continue doing your own thing and not worry about them.” The man just let out another tired sigh before making his way back behind the counter area and setting up any ingredients he may need to make more food. You let out a chuckle and waved off the unnecessary apology before continuing your sweeping.

It seems like the guys really told Osamu last minute because before you knew it, the front door flew open and a group of boisterous male voices rang through the air. You were so startled that you almost dropped the broom in your hands, turning your focus away from the guys that just walked in.

“Hey, ‘Samu! We’re here to party!”

“It’s been a while!”

“Wow! This place seems really nice! Your brother's pretty cool, Atsumu-san!”

Your body froze. You were caught off guard with the last person who spoke and couldn’t help but turn around quickly to confirm your suspicions. You were faced with four males clad in the yellow tracksuits you’ve become used to seeing since it’s the only thing you’ve seen the blonde Miya twin wear. Each held onto their own gym bags, so you assume that they just got out of practice. You recognize Atsumu and Bokuto. The one wearing a mask has never visited Onigiri Miya, but you can assume he’s Sakusa Kiyoomi, or better known as ‘Omi-Omi’ since that’s the nickname you hear from Atsumu’s stories. However, what you didn’t expect was to come face to face with a familiar mop of orange hair.

“Sho-kun?”

Everyone’s eyes shot towards your direction at your sudden interruption, including Hinata Shoyo’s. “No way! (Name)-san?!”

You placed your broom against the wall and the two of you made a beeline towards each other. Once you were close enough, Hinata engulfed you in a big bear hug. Even though he isn’t much taller than you, his muscular build entrapped you in a warm and comforting embrace. He rocks the two of you back and forth gleefully and you can’t help but squeal from the cute gesture.

Once the two of you separate, you both face each other with curiosity completely ignorant of the other people in the room who are looking back and forth between you guys in a state of bewilderment and shock.

“I didn’t know you worked here!” Hinata exclaimed.

“I actually only started working here about a month ago!” You responded back just as excitedly. “When did you get back to Japan? How’s Pedro? I didn’t get the chance to swap contact info before I left.”

“About a week ago! I tried to settle in and fix my sleeping schedule before I went to tryouts for Black Jackals and I got on the team! And, Pedro’s doing great! I can give you his social media account if you want!”

It seems like Atsumu was the first to get tired of watching without understanding the situation, so he just decides to break the ice himself, “Now, hold on a sec. You two know each other?”

“We actually met in Brazil!” Hinata replies.

“BRAZIL?!”

Osamu decided to join in on the questioning, albeit in a bit more of a reserved manner than his brother. “(Name)-san, why were you in Brazil?”

“I studied abroad for about 6 months lasts year,” you start to explain and then begin to ruffle Hinata’s hair. “I happened to run into Sho-kun after his bike broke down in front of the apartment I was staying at. Poor guy looked so lost, and his phone was out of battery so he couldn’t call anyone.”

The boy just laughs at your friendly gesture. “Yeah! (Name)-san helped me find the nearest repair shop and even patched up my injuries! I was really surprised to find someone else who spoke Japanese!”

“Same here. I didn’t know anyone in Brazil, so it was a bit lonely. We actually met up quite a few times to share a meal or watch a volleyball match at the beach whenever we were both free.”

The rest of the guys listened on with interest, except for maybe Sakusa who just walked over to one of the empty tables and wiped down the chair before taking a seat. Atsumu makes his way over to where you and Hinata are standing and throws an arm over the younger boy. “You guys seem pretty close if you’re on a first name basis, Shoyo-kun.”

Hinata just looked up to his fellow team member with innocent eyes. “Well, everyone called us by our first names in Brazil, so we just decided to go with it since it was getting a bit confusing for some of our friends.”

“That’s pretty cute. You guys are basically best friends already.” Atsumu just hummed in acknowledgement before turning his head towards Sakusa. “Him and I are also on a first name basis ‘cause we’re the best of friends. Ain’t that right, Omi-Omi?”

You could hear a faint “tch” come from the masked figure. “Don’t associate me with one of your fantasies, Miya. And, I only called you by your first name that one time when your brother delivered food to the gym.”

“So cruel, Omi-Omi.”

“Okay, guys. Take a seat! Food’s ready!” Osamu announces. “(Name)-san, you mind helping me bring some of this stuff?”

You nod your head and take some of the warm food into your hands following your boss to where all four of the guys are now seated. Similar to when you first met, Bokuto’s lips slightly glisten from the drool pooling at the sight of the tasty meal. Sakusa pulls his mask down and places it in a plastic bag so that it doesn’t get messy from the food. Once all of the food is set on the table, you and Osamu stand off to the side to give the guys some space as they eat. However, before anyone could take a bite, Atsumu stands up from his chair.

“Alright, guys! Before we start eating, we gotta remember why we’re here! Captain and the other guys were a bit busy, so they couldn’t make it tonight, but it’s important that we do this today!” The blonde pats Hinata on the head. “Welcome to MSBY Black Jackals, Shoyo-kun!”

Bokuto lets out a loud whistle. “WOO! Welcome to the team, Hinata!!”

Sakusa just nods his head at his new teammate, the usual frown he sports is now absent from his face. If you squint hard enough, there’s a miniscule curve at the corner of his mouth.

“But, that’s not all!” Atsumu remains standing as he dumps the rest of his speech on everyone in the room. He points at the two-tone haired male sitting in front of him. “Bo-kun! The bag, please!”

Bokuto snaps his fingers as if he just remembered something. The owlish man shuffles through his gym bag and produces a heavy plastic bag. You can hear the clinking of glass as he raises it higher. “I’ve got the good stuff!”

Atsumu looks ecstatic. “Can’t have a celebration without a little bit of alcohol to spice it up!”

Slightly concerned, you look up to Osamu to gauge his reaction towards the introduction of alcohol. He looks a bit uneasy, but just lets out his third sigh of the night. “Just don’t break anything, or I will make sure none of you make it out alive from this building.”

Completely ignoring the threatening tone, Atsumu and Bokuto start popping open bottles of who-knows-what. Sakusa just opts for a glass of water since he has no intentions of partaking in the silly shenanigans between the two most eccentric volleyball players. Hinata has no choice but to comply as Atsumu pours his glass to the brim. Eventually all the guys start to dig into their food as well.

With nothing else left to help them with, you and Osamu get back to cleaning the other areas. It only takes about 15-20 minutes to wipe down everything and gather the trash. You step into the back room to get everything together so that you’re prepared to leave whenever the group outside finishes their meal. You smile as you hear muffled laughter and loud conversations through the closed door. Your boss had let you know that he’ll clean up after them, but you didn’t have the heart to make him do all of that work himself.

You step out to the main room to have an idea of where everyone’s at with their food but stop in your tracks as you witness a significantly more irritated Osamu watching the table of four with a twitching eye behind the counter. You’re about to ask what’s wrong, but you can pretty much guess what the problem might be.

The table is littered with empty alcohol bottles and half-full glass cups. Surprisingly, there isn’t much of a mess in terms of leftover food, but it doesn’t make up the fact that there are three very drunk men hovering over the table.

Atsumu’s upper body is entirely flushed pink from the bottom of his neck to the tips of his ears, and he’s fanning his face with the top of his shirt. Hinata practically has flowers oozing off of his figure as he sways back and forth next to the blonde, a permanent carefree smile plastered on his face next to his red cheeks. Although not as obvious as the other two, Sakusa has a glossy shine to his eyes above his own pink cheeks and hiccups occasionally in his seat, focusing his eyes on a tiny speck on the table. Not sure whether to be surprised or not, your eyes move onto Bokuto, who was completely sober. He heartedly laughs at the state of his drunk friends, enjoying every moment.

“I thought Sakusa-san wasn’t going to drink?” You ask Osamu.

Your boss just shakes his head. “‘Tsumu switched his glass when he went to the bathroom and he didn’t notice until it was too late.”

You’re not sure whether you want to pray for the blonde’s safety once Sakusa is in his right mind, or if you wanna ask Hinata to record the poor man’s fate in the hands of an angry, hungover Sakusa.

Osamu just turns around with heavy steps and makes his way to the back room, probably to do the same thing you went to the back room for a couple minutes ago. You look back to the table when you hear a chair scraping against the floor. Atsumu seems to have moved his chair right next to Sakusa because before you knew it, he was leaning against the tall spiker with his hands in the air.

“Omi-Omi! Can I borrow your sanitizer? My hands got dirty!” Wrong choice of words.

Sakusa immediately shoves his elbow backwards and it slams right into Atsumu’s chest, forcing his breath right out of him. The setter doubles over clutching his chest, while Sakusa simply pulls out his sanitizer and applies it to wherever he has come in contact with the man next to him. It seems like drunk Sakusa is a bit more violent about his way of rejecting people.

Remembering how tired your boss looked before he left the room, you felt the need to try and intervene to encourage the group to start thinking about calling it a day. As you approach, the first person to notice you was Hinata. As soon as he realizes who you are, his eyes light up as if he was a child that just received a birthday gift.

“(Name)-san!”

You don’t even get the chance to make it halfway to the table when the boy jumps up from his chair and stalks over to where you are. Without warning, Hinata throws his arms over your shorter figure and smothers you with another hug. It takes all of your mental fortitude to not think about how muscular his arms feel around your shoulders or how strong his grip is on your back. He was definitely not this fit the last time you saw him.

“You’re awfully affectionate today, Sho-kun.”

“Hehe~ I’m just glad to see you, (Name)-san!” Hinata starts shuffling around a bit until his cheek is able to nuzzle with yours. You giggle at how adorable he is.

Although you appreciate his affection, Hinata was slowly suffocating you with his tight embrace. You signal to the only other sober person in the room for help. Bokuto continues to laugh at everything going around him but complies and makes his way over to the two of you before peeling off the orange haired male from your body. Luckily, Hinata was too drunk to actually keep his grip on you and just fell into his teammate’s arms.

“Thanks, Bokuto-san.” You’re able to stand up straight again and Bokuto gives you a thumbs up with a wide grin. He takes Hinata back to the table to sit him down and you follow suit. Osamu walked out of the back room at this time and just began tying up two large trash bags next to the sink, not even batting an eyelash in the group’s direction.

You should’ve expected it, but you were still startled when you suddenly felt a heavy arm sling across your shoulder. “So, you come here often, sweetheart?”

You blankly stare at Atsumu’s smug expression as he continues to nestle his arm comfortably around you. His flushed appearance was definitely not helping his attempt at flirting with you. “Come on, there’s no way a goddess like you could resist my divine qualities.”

“Lame.” Osamu was quick to comment on his brother’s cheesy words while walking towards the exit with the two garbage bags in his arms. He stepped outside and closed the door to keep any insects from wandering inside as he took out the trash.

You were about to swat Atsumu’s body away but noticed the deep, dark circles under his eyes and came to the conclusion that he’s probably going to pass out from exhaustion at some point anyways, so you just let him be. His attention span seems to be a lot shorter too since he suddenly let go of you and lunged forward towards Sakusa’s hand sanitizer bottle that was now sitting neatly on top of the table.

Although he’s usually good at completely avoiding Atsumu’s attempts at stealing his things, Sakusa’s reflexes were a bit deterred due to his tipsy condition. Instead of snatching the bottle away from the blonde’s vicinity, Sakusa ended up knocking the bottle to the ground with his own hand.

Luckily, Bokuto was able to stop Atsumu from crashing onto the table headfirst with one arm still holding onto Hinata. Afraid that Sakusa would possibly slap the setter or drag Hinata into the crossfire in a drunken stupor, he pulled Atsumu close by and slung his arm over his two drunk teammates.

Sakusa just let out a disgruntled groan and sent a nasty glare to Atsumu. He stood up to look for the fallen bottle but misjudged where he stepped. Luck decided not to be on his side as the tall spiker placed a foot directly on top of the sanitizer bottle causing his balance to shift. The world tilted in his vision and his body began to succumb to gravity and fall...on top of you.

You tried to stop both of your bodies from losing balance by wrapping your arms around his torso, but your shorter frame was no match for Sakusa’s much bigger body. You can hear shouts of concern coming from the other three guys as the both of you crashed to the floor in a mess of limbs. The air is knocked out of you and you wince at the heavy weight laying on top of you.

During the fall, your eyes shut tight automatically to brace yourself, so it takes a moment for you to reopen them. As soon as your eyelids flutter open, your breath hitches. Sakusa’s face is mere inches from your own and he looks just as stunned as you do. You realize that his thighs are on either side of you and somehow he was able to quickly place a hand under your head to make sure it didn’t come in direct contact with the hard floor after toppling over together. Your heart is beating fast and you can only hope that Sakusa doesn’t notice.

While the two of you are stuck in a brief trance, the rest of the group is just watching in a huddled position. Even they were mostly keeping silent, perhaps anticipating whatever was going to happen next. Hinata's face held a mixture of confusion and wonder, while Atsumu’s expression held obvious annoyance. Bokuto's eyes danced with fascination as his mouth hung loose.

All of a sudden, the front door slid open and everyone’s head snapped towards the entrance. Osamu stood on the other side wiping his hands on his jeans.

“Alright, guys. It’s time to-” He stopped speaking once he took a good look at the scene in front of him. It was a bit difficult to figure out what was going through Osamu’s head because he just held a deadpan expression.

Not liking the bit of tension in the air, you clear your throat. “Um...I could use a little help.”

At your pleading, Osamu steps back inside the shop and grabs Sakusa by the shoulders to slowly take him off of you so that the spiker doesn’t end up falling over again from any sudden movements. You sit up and see that Bokuto had gotten up from his seat to lend you a hand. You take it gratefully.

“I guess now would be a good time to go home,” Bokuto mentions sheepishly. “Do you guys need any help with cleaning?”

Osamu gave Sakusa a glass of water to sober him up a bit then turned to Bokuto. “Just keep an eye on these guys and (Name)-san and I will take care of everything else.”

With that, you and your boss spent the next couple of minutes clearing the area and washing all the used dishes. In the meantime, Bokuto kept an eye on all of the other guys and even called up a taxi to arrive soon. Atsumu and Hinata seemed to have fallen asleep while waiting, and Sakusa just slouched in his chair quietly grumbling about how his sanitizer is undoubtedly contaminated.

Once everything was set, all of you grabbed your things (Osamu shouldering his snoring brother; Bokuto piggybacking a snoozing Hinata) and locked the door to Onigiri Miya. The taxi was already parked in front of the shop, so all that was left was to figure out how everyone was getting home.

“You only called for one taxi?” Osamu questioned.

“Oh yeah, Omi-kun doesn’t want to ride the taxi,” Bokuto replied as he hoisted Hinata’s body in the back seat of the taxi. “I thought we could all just squeeze into the back since most of us are on the way anyways.”

Sakusa, who is slightly more sober than before, took out a new mask from his bag. “I live a couple blocks down, so I’ll just walk.”

“Oh, actually, I live a couple blocks down too, so I was just planning on walking as well,” you respond. “You all have to go in the opposite direction, so it’ll be a hassle to drop me off.”

Osamu’s eyebrows furrow with unease. “It’s pretty late. I don’t think it’s a good idea to walk around in the dark alone at this hour. Where’s your place?”

“Ashita Complex*.”

“Seriously?!” Bokuto suddenly exclaims, startling everyone. “Omi-kun lives there too!”

“No-”

“That’s great,” Osamu interrupts. “You guys can walk together.”

Bokuto’s hair flairs up along with his arms in satisfaction. “Man, I love it when everything works out and everyone’s happy!”

There seemed to be no room for objections by the germaphobe himself, so he just sighs in defeat. The rest of you just say your goodbyes and Osamu finally shoves Atsumu into the back before taking the front passenger seat himself with Bokuto offering to sit in the back with his sleeping teammates. As soon as the taxi is out of sight, you turn around to see that Sakusa had already started walking ahead.

“Hey! Wait up!” You rush to where Sakusa was and eventually match your strides with his.

The taller man doesn’t slow down his pace and just continues forward. He does, however, glance at you from the corner of his eye. “You know, if you live so close by, it would’ve been fine if they dropped you off.”

“And, leave you to walk home by yourself? No way.” You shake your head to emphasize your resolve. “You’re still slightly tipsy, so I feel more comfortable seeing you get to your apartment in one piece.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that, but then why are you still swaying as you walk?” You point out. “I know you’re not acting like a typical intoxicated person, but your mind is still pretty cloudy, right?”

There was no way to counter that argument because even Sakusa knew that he wasn’t exactly walking straight since he wasn’t completely sober. “Then, walk at least six feet behind me.”

You pout a bit at his pettiness. The only way to fight fire is with fire. “Yeah? But, what if you lose your balance and bump into a street light that hundreds of people have probably touched throughout the day?”

Silence. You know you’ve won this time, but you still try to be a bit respectful and stand at least an arm’s length away.

The rest of the walk is fairly quiet, only the sounds of your footsteps echoing across the empty streets. You didn’t mind, though, since you were able to just enjoy the cool night air that refreshed your tired mind. Once you reached the apartment complex, Sakusa stepped back as you scanned your ID card and opened the door. You figured he just didn’t want to touch anything, but didn’t say anything since you were just too tired to question him.

The only elevator in the building was under maintenance, so the two of you had to take the stairs for today.

“What floor are you?” You ask.

“3rd.”

“Oh, you live on the floor right below me.” You were a bit surprised at how you haven’t run into him at all since you’ve lived in this apartment for a while. To be honest, it’s probably because he doesn’t go out much unless it’s for volleyball.

As the two of you step onto the 3rd floor, Sakusa starts heading for his apartment door. You didn’t really expect anything from him, so you were taken aback when Sakusa stopped in his tracks to look at you briefly.

“Thanks.”

A small smile forms on your lips at Sakusa’s simple gesture. “Good night, Sakusa-san.”

The said man just raises a hand over his shoulder without looking back and takes out his keys with his other arm. You standby to make sure he goes in safely and hear the lock click. Satisfied, you climb the rest of the stairs to your floor and make your way to your own apartment.

As soon as you're inside, you shove off your shoes and make a beeline for the couch. Taking in a deep breath, you eventually exhale willing your exhaustion to leave your body as well. It probably won’t do you any good to fall asleep in your uniform, so you decide to change into more comfortable clothing and prepare for bed.

Clothed in your favorite gym shorts and oversized T-shirt, you hop into bed. Your eyelids are practically closing in on themselves as you scroll through your phone one last time. Despite your initial tiredness, your eyes shoot open when you catch a glimpse of a certain YouTube video.

“Kodzuken posted a video today!” You squeal out loud. There’s no way you can sleep without watching it now. Kodzuken was your favorite Youtuber, and you’ve never missed a single one of his videos. You even went as far as buying merchandise from his athletic wear company, hence the Bouncing Ball shorts and shirt you were currently wearing as your pajamas.

If you ever met him in person, you honestly don’t know how you’d react. You’ve heard that he used to play volleyball in high school, so maybe with all the volleyball players you’ve been coming across, fate will find its way to you.

But, a girl could only dream.

Leftovers:

Bright light glares through the blinds of Sakusa’s room to indicate that the sun has already risen quite a bit. A loud doorbell rings through the apartment causing Sakusa to stir. The man opens one eye and groans at the obnoxious headache that was already set to ruin his morning. His mouth is incredibly dry, and he doesn’t feel that he’s gotten nearly enough sleep last night. Sakusa was most definitely feeling the symptoms of a mild hangover.

“I’m going to kill that blonde gremlin.”

With much reluctance, the tall man drags his body to a standing position. He makes the bed as neat as possible before walking out of his room towards the front door. Sakusa makes the effort to look through the peephole to see if he could make out the person who decided to disturb him from the comforts of his bed but is confused when he can’t see anyone outside.

Normally, he would just walk away and assume it’s just someone who rang the wrong doorbell (it’s happened multiple times before), but there’s a nagging feeling at the back of his brain to just open the door. Sakusa clicked the lock loose and opened the door wide enough for him to peek outside. A slight shuffling noise startled him and when he looked down he saw a plastic bag hooked onto the door handle.

A little skeptical, Sakusa grabs two disposable gloves from the box he placed next to the entrance of his home and slides them onto his hands. He has no idea where this bag has been, so he’s not taking any chances in coming in contact with potential germs.

Shutting his door closed with his leg, Sakusa makes his way over to his kitchen countertop and places the bag on top of it. He considers just throwing it out, but notices a pink slip of paper at the top of the contents inside. Curiously, he pulls it out and realizes that it’s a written note. He doesn’t recognize the handwriting, but skims through to find any hints of the sender, and surely enough, he sees your name printed in the second sentence.

Hey, Sakusa-san! It’s (Surname) (Name). I’m on my way to work, so I thought I’d just drop this off really quick. You drank quite a bit, so I made you some soup to counter the hangover. Don’t worry! I thoroughly washed my hands and put on gloves before making it! Feel free to throw it out if it makes you uncomfortable. I also put in an extra sanitizer since I know you were upset about the one yesterday. Have a nice day at practice!

Sakusa just stares blankly at the piece of paper for a couple seconds before putting it down and analyzing the contents in the plastic bag. Just like you said, there’s a large blue thermos and a travel-size sanitizer bottle that looks almost identical to the one he dropped yesterday just in a different color. If he were to be completely honest, he probably has the same bottle somewhere in his cleaning supply shelf, but you can never have too many sanitizers. As he took out both items, his nose caught the familiar scent of disinfectant. You must’ve wiped down everything before placing it in the bag.

The stoic man stares at the thermos and sanitizer in silence. After a couple more moments, he simply turns towards his stove and starts heating up the soup.

Ashita Complex: I made it up :D (If you’re curious, ashita means ‘tomorrow’ in Japanese)

***Please do not succumb to peer pressure when drinking, folks! Drink safe!

A/N: the #1 Cockblock Award goes to...Miya Osamu, everyone! Hehe, just kidding~ I also added a ‘Leftovers’ part to this chapter as sort of an ‘extra’ or an ‘omake’! I don’t know how often I’ll add these, but I really wanted to write this one, so I hope you enjoyed it too!

#haikyuu #onigiri miya #onigiri miya tidbits #secretpeachtea #osamu #msby #atsumu #sakusa #hinata #bokuto

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angst-fairygodmother · 5 years ago

Note

Sorry to bother you, but if you've got the time can I maybe get either Angst #1: "I can't do anything right" or Random #25: "It's 6 o'clock in the morning, you're not having vodka" with Klaus x Reader please? I feel like you could do something super cute with them, unless you don't want to. Whatever you're feeling.

A/N: Your prompts gave me a strong hurt/comfort feeling. So I just...stuck the knife in, wiggled it around a bunch, kicked the poor boy while he was down, and let the reader clean it up. Please enjoy. Word Count: 1941 Rating: M - self-hatred/negative thoughts/depression, alcohol mention, reference to past drug use, reference to PTSD, reference to death, spoilers for The Umbrella Academy season 1

A loud crash from the front of your apartment woke you with a start. Gripping the small but shocking heavy clock from your nightstand, you cautiously padded down the hall toward the noise. Absently, you thought about the fact that you had left a kitchen window open and hoped that whatever was making the sound was just a possum or other easily caught creature wandering in from the fire escape, rather than someone. Another thump caused your heart to race as you rounded the corner.

The figure in your kitchen screamed and you heard the thump of something heavy hitting the floor. With a groan, you flicked on the light and glared at your best friend, though you were reconsidering the title as you inspected the mess he had made by breaking in and rooting through your cabinets in the dark.

“What the fuck Klaus?” you said with a sigh.

“Oh! Y/N! You’re up!” his voice was strained and too loud for the hour, you could tell something was off.

“Yes. Funny that, what with the amount of noise you were making.”

“Sorry,” scrunched up his face. “I was trying to be quiet but…you know me.” He continued to nose around in your cabinets until he made a small noise of victory and pulled out what he was looking for.

“Yeah I do.” You saw the bottle in his hand and frowned. “Put that back.”

“I’m just going to have one little glass…”

You glanced down at the timepiece still in your hand before setting it on the counter.

“It's 6 o'clock in the morning, you're not having vodka.” You pulled the bottle out of his hand before he could protest.

“Pleeeeeease. I need it. I need something.” His whine seemed unusually desperate, even for him and you finally really looked at him. Quickly you recognized both a very different outfit than you had ever seen him in before, particularly the green army vest and new tattoo on his arm, and the tell-tale signs of withdrawal in every part of his body and behavior.

“Sobriety with no rehab?” you asked, incredulous.

“It’s a long story, and I’d rather not talk about it,” he sighed. “I just want to forget it and move on.”

“By going straight back to the bottle?”

“Yes,” he snatched at it and you held it just out of reach, placing your small dining table between the two of you to counteract his height advantage.

“No.”

He gave you his best pout and you almost surrendered before you caught yourself.

“How about instead, I make some breakfast and we talk?”

“I told you, I don’t want…” he trailed off, voice cracking at the end, and when you looked at him again his eyes were glassy and unfocused, not really present anymore. His whole body trembled. You suspected that he was being bombarded by ghosts, as tended to happen on his rare sober occasions, and felt guilty for giving him a hard time. You set the bottle aside and circled to stand in front of him.

“You okay there?” you asked, trying to keep your voice light. He remained silent and distant.

Gently, you cupped his face between your hands, trying to pull his focus to you. His hands came up to wrap around your wrists, shaking and frighteningly cold, the war between shoving you away and clinging to any connection he could get plain.

“Klaus?” you asked softly, tilting your head to one side. He didn’t seem to register your voice. “Klaus please talk to me…”

He opened his mouth as if to speak and then closed it again, his eyes now roving your face as if searching for something. Suddenly, he collapsed forward into a sob, leaning heavily on you as you wrapped your arms around his head and shoulders. You slowly guided the pair of you down into a sitting position, your back against the fridge and Klaus practically in your lap.

His behavior scared you. You had seen many wild mood swings from your best friend, usually on account of whatever drug he was using to dull his powers that week or the withdrawals of coming down off them, but you had never seen him like this before. Your heart ached at the pitiful noises he made, and you rocked him gently, humming a soft tune and trying your best to comfort him.

You weren’t sure how long you sat with him on your kitchen floor, staring at the jar of pasta sauce that he had dropped when you surprised him. Long enough that the light of dawn was spilling through the window, little puddles of light dancing around you. Long enough that your shoulders ached from your position, not that it mattered to you compared to his hurt. Long enough that you were surely late for work and your pajama top was stained with eyeliner and tears. Long enough that you wondered absently how he hadn’t run out of tears or breath yet.

Eventually, the body-wracking sobs softened to little hitches of breath and then, even later to silence. You continued to sit there, holding him close, shifting only enough to run soothing fingers through his hair.

“I can't do anything right,” he admitted, voice hoarse and muffled by the fact that his face was still pressed into your shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Woah, hey. Where is this coming from?” you asked, frowning, puzzled and concerned.

“I’m a giant screw up. Everything I touch, I ruin.”

“That’s not true, Klaus.” You tried leaned down and back, trying to get him to look at you. “Talk to me?”

What followed was a bewildering accounting of his last forty-eight hours, or ten months, depending on your perspective. He told you about how he had been kidnapped because he was too high to notice the assassins in the Academy trying to kill his family. He described the torture, voice trembling, in detail that made you sick and made your grip tighten on him as if you could retroactively protect him, how he’d caved and told the two about the biotech company that Five had been staking out.

“I’m the reason Diego’s girlfriend is dead,” he said sullenly. “I got her attention, made her come into the room trying to save me. And then when she did, I ran like a coward. Didn’t even warn her that there were two of them.”

You flinched. You had heard about Detective Patch, seen how broken Diego was over it. But she was a police officer, doing her job, and Klaus was hardly to blame for the fact that he had taken the opportunity to escape his torturers, or that she had gone to the motel without backup. Not that he would listen if you tried to tell him that, and he would probably clam up and not finish even though he clearly had more to say. So instead you stayed silent and let him carry on.

What he said next left you stunned, as he admitted to travelling back in time, to fighting in the Vietnam war and falling in love with a man called Dave. And then Dave had been shot during a battle and though he’d pressed his hands over the wound and called desperately for a medic, he’d failed to save him. And now he was back in the present having flashbacks to bombs going off around him in addition to the withdrawal and the ghosts everywhere. And he couldn’t even conjure Dave.

“One more thing I can’t do right.” He laughed bitterly. “Can’t get Dad either, no matter how many times Luther asks me too. Even the one useful thing I can do, I can’t get it right.”

He was silent for a moment, and you thought with relief that he might be done berating himself and you could speak. Unfortunately, as you gathered your thoughts and went to start, he continued, now talking about Five’s return and how he said the world was going to end.

“Five hopes that with the ‘full force of the academy’ we can stop it from happening, but I wouldn’t hold my breath. And before you ask why I’m not with my family then trying to help, it’s not like talking to ghosts is helpful here. So I just, bailed. Like I always do.”

At some point during the conversation, he had finally pulled away from your embrace and leaned beside you against the cold metal appliance. He looked over at you, eyes soft and full of an unfamiliar expression, before he cast them down to stare at his hands folded in his lap.

“Christ, I can’t even protect the one person I have left that matters,” he muttered, utterly defeated.

“Three days, huh?” you asked tentatively.

“Mhm. That’s what he said. Yesterday. So it’s actually probably closer to two.”

“Alright. Well, I’ve always wanted to see the Roman Coliseum. But that might take too long to get to, waste a whole day on air travel. We could…go to Vegas, blow all my savings on…hookers and slot machines…?”

“What are you doing?” He stared in confusion.

“Trying to make a plan for how to spend the last days of our lives?”

He cracked a small smile. “And you settled on slot machines and Vegas hookers?”

“Well I don’t know. I’ve never thought about…what I’d do if I knew I was going to die soon…I’d just, I want to spend the last few days with someone I love.” You shrugged. “But it got you to smile, so…I call it a win.”

He shook his head ruefully, warm expression widening. “Y/N, you are, amazing.”

You smiled back at him.

“For real though, you are not just a screw up, Klaus,” you said fiercely. “You are my best friend and you mean the world to me. And even if you’ve made mistakes, that doesn’t negate that you are so full of light, and so genuine even when you try to hide it. You see the best in everyone else, and the people that care, care about you because of everything you are, good and bad. I’m sure if this Dave were here, he’d say the same thing.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “He probably would. You two are a lot alike actually.”

“I wish I could have met him then, and thanked him for keeping your sorry ass alive so you could come back to me.”

You both laughed. The room settled into a steady, comfortable silence, each of you enjoying the other’s presence and the moment of peace, sneaking glances when you thought the other wasn’t looking.

And then your eyes caught. On an instinct, you leaned almost imperceptibly closer.

“I wish you hadn’t told me yet that the world was ending,” you whispered. “Then I could do this without worrying that you’ll think it’s just because of that, and not the fact that I’ve been in love with you for a while now. There’s no time to do things properly.”

“What did you just say?”

Instead of answering, you pressed your lips to his softly. Stiffening for a moment, you thought he might reject you, but then he relaxed into it, kissing you back with increasing passion and hunger. Gently he cradled your head and laid you back onto the floor, never once breaking contact with your lips.

“Y/N,” he sighed, leaning back to give you both a moment of air. “You’re right. There’s no time to do this properly. There’s no time for anything.”

You smiled up at him, bright and loving. “We don’t need properly, we just need each other.”

He laughed and leaned down to capture your lips quickly. “Right again.”

#ending on a happy not #hurt/comfort #Klaus Hargreeves x reader #Klaus Hargreeves #reader insert #The Umbrella Academy #The Umbrella Academy fic #season 1 spoilers #TUA #anonymous messages #requested #I'm not crying you're crying #I made myself sad

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wreckedhoney · 4 years ago

Video

youtube

June 2019 – Highlights of Tristan Harris (Computer Scientist, Design Ethicist, ft. on documentary The Social Dilemma) and others before Senate Commerce Committee regarding large tech companies using algorithms and machine learning to influence the public in the context of radicalization from false information and accountability.

The video is sixteen minutes and transcribed, and I’ll paste the dialogue under a cut for this post with some highlights in bold, but I want to share first just one of the many important insights of this meeting:

“…the business model is to keep people engaged…There's a tendency to think here that this is just human nature – that people are polarized and this is just playing out; it's a mirror it's holding up, a mirror to society. But what it's really doing is it's an amplifier for the worst parts of us.…It's calculating what is the thing that I can show you that will get the most engagement, and it turns out that outrage, moral outrage, gets the most engagement.…the polarization of our society is actually part of the business model.”

“…shorter, briefer things work better in Attention Economy than long, complex, nuanced ideas that take a long time to talk about…But reality and the most important topics to us are increasingly complex, while we can say increasingly simple things about them that automatically creates polarization – because you can't say something simple about something complicated and have everybody agree with you; people will, by definition, misinterpret and hate you for it, and then it's never been easier to retweet that and generate a mob that will come after you… subsequent effects in polarization are amplified by the fact that these platforms are rewarded to give you the most sensational stuff.”

Harris: Everything you said – it's sad to me because it's happening not by accident but by design, because the business model is to keep people engaged – which, in other words, this hearing is about persuasive technology, and persuasion is about an invisible asymmetry of power.

When I was a kid, I was a magician, and magic teaches you that you can have asymmetric power without the other person realizing it. You can masquerade to have asymmetric power while looking like you have an equal relationship. You say pick a card, any card, while meanwhile, you know exactly how to get that person to pick the card that you want – and essentially, what we're experiencing with technology is an increasing asymmetry of power that's been masquerading itself as an equal or contractual relationship where the responsibility is on us.

So, let's walk through why that's happening in the race for attention, because there's only so much attention companies have. They get more of it by being more and more aggressive. I call it “the race to the bottom of the brainstem.”

So, it starts with techniques like pull-to-refresh; so, you pull to refresh your newsfeed that operates like a slot machine. It has the same kind of addictive qualities that keep people in Las Vegas hooked to the slot machine. Other examples are: removing stopping cues. So, if I take the bottom out of this glass and I keep refilling the water or the wine, you won't know when to stop drinking. So, that's what happens with infinitely scrolling feeds; we naturally remove the stopping cues, and this is what keeps people scrolling. But the race for attention has to get more and more aggressive, and so it's not enough just to get your behavior and predict what will take your behavior; we have to predict how to keep you hooked in a different way.

It crawled deeper down the brainstem into our social validation – so, that was the introduction of likes and followers and how many followers do I have. It was much cheaper to – instead of getting your attention – to get you addicted to getting attention from other people, and this has created the kind of mass narcissism and mass cultural thing that's happening with young people, especially today. After two decades in decline of the mental health of ten-to-fourteen year old girls, it has actually shot up in the last eight years, and this has been very characteristically the cause of social media and the race for attention.

It's not enough just to get people addicted to attention, and the race has to migrate to AI, who can build a better predictive model of your behavior. And so, if you give an example of YouTube: You're about to hit play in a YouTube video, and you hit play, and then you think you're gonna watch this one video, and then you wake up two hours later and say, “What just happened?” The answer is, because you had a supercomputer pointed at your brain, the moment you hit play, it wakes up an avatar voodoo doll like version of you inside of a Google server, and that avatar based on all the clicks and likes and everything you've ever made – those are like your hair clippings and toenail clippings and nail filings that make the avatar look and act more and more like you.

So, that inside of a Google server – they can simulate more and more possibilities. If I pick you for this video, if I pick you for this video, how long would you stay? The business model is simply, “what maximizes watch time?” This leads to the kind of algorithmic extremism that you've pointed out, and this is what's caused 70% of YouTube's traffic down be driven by recommendations; not by human choice, but by the machines. And it's a race between Facebook's voodoo doll, where you flick your finger – can they predict what to show you next? – and Google's voodoo doll. And these are abstract metaphors that apply to the whole tech industry, where it's a race between who can better predict your behavior.

Facebook has something called loyalty prediction, where they can actually predict to an advertiser when you're about to become disloyal to a brand. So, if you're a mother, and you take Pampers diapers, they can tell Pampers, “Hey, this user is about to become disloyal to this brand.” So, in other words, they can predict things about us that we don't know about our own selves, and that's a new level of asymmetric power.

And we have a name for this asymmetric relationship, which is a fiduciary relationship, or a duty of care – relationships the same standard we apply to doctors, to priests, to lawyers. Imagine a world in which priests only make their money by selling access to the confession booth to someone else. Except, in this case, Facebook listens to two billion people's confessions, has a supercomputer next to them, and is calculating and predicting confessions you're gonna make before you know you're gonna make them – and that's what's causing all this havoc.

So, I'd love to talk about more of these things later. I just want to finish up by saying this affects everyone even if you don't use these products. You still send your kids to school where other people believing the anti-vaccine conspiracy theories impact your life, or other people voting in your elections. And when Marc Andreessen said into 2011, that the quote was, “Software is going to eat the world,” and what he meant by that – Marc Andreessen was the founder of Netscape – what he meant by that was that software can do every part of society more efficiently, because it's just adding efficiencies. And so, we're going to allow software to eat up our elections, we're gonna allow it to eat up our media, our taxi, our transportation – and the problem was that software was eating the world without taking responsibility for it.

We used to have rules and standards around Saturday morning cartoons, and when YouTube gobbles up that part of society, it just takes away all of those protections. And I just want to finish up by saying that I know Mister Rogers, Fred Rogers, testified before this committee fifty years ago, concerned about the animated bombardment that we were showing children. I think he would be horrified today about what we're doing now, and at that same time, he was able to talk to the committee. And that committee made a choice differently, so I'm hoping we can talk more about that today. Thank you.

Senator Thune (R-South Dakota): We know that internet platforms like Google and Facebook have vast quantities of data about each user. What can these companies predict about users based on that data?

Harris: Thank you for the question. So, I think there's an important connection to make between privacy and persuasion that I think often isn't linked, so maybe it's helpful to link that.

With Cambridge analytic – that was an event in which, based on your Facebook Likes, based on a hundred and fifty of your Facebook Likes, I could predict your political personality, and then I could do things with that. The reason I described in my opening statement that this is about an increasing asymmetry of power is that without any of your data, I can predict increasing features about you using AI.

There's a paper recently that, with 80% accuracy, I can predict your same Big Five personality traits that Cambridge analytic got from you without any of your data. All I have to do is look at your mouse movements and click patterns. So, in other words, it's the end of the poker face. Your behavior is your signature – and we can know your political personality based on tweet text alone. We can actually know your political affiliation with about 80% accuracy. Computers can calculate probably that you're homosexual before you might know that you're homosexual. They can predict with 95% accuracy that you're gonna quit your job according to an IBM study. They can predict that you're pregnant. They can predict your micro expressions on your face better than a human being can. Micro expressions are your soft reactions to things that are not very visible, but are invisibly visible. Computers can predict that. As you keep going and you realize that you can start to deep fake things. You can actually generate a new synthetic piece of media, a new synthetic face, or synthetic message that is perfectly tuned to these characteristics.

The reason why I open the statement by saying we have to recognize: That what this is all about is a growing asymmetry of power between technology and the limits of the human mind. My favorite socio-biologist, E.O. Wilson, said, “The fundamental problem of humanity is that we have Paleolithic ancient emotions, we have medieval institutions, and we have godlike technology.” So, we're chimpanzees with nukes, and our Paleolithic brains are limited. Again, the increasing exponential power of technology at predicting things about us, the reason why it's so important to migrate this relationship from being extractive to get things out of you, to being a fiduciary, is you can't have asymmetric power that is specifically designed to extract things from you – just like you can't have, again, lawyers or doctors whose entire business model is to take everything they learn and sell it to someone else.

Except, in this case, the level of things that we can predict about you is far greater than actually each of those fields combined when you actually add up all the data that assembles a more and more accurate voodoo doll of each of us. And there's two billion voodoo dolls by the way; there's one for one out of every four people on Earth with YouTube and Facebook are more than two billion people.

Senator Peters (D-Michigan): Thank you, Mister Chairman, and thank you to our witnesses. This is a fascinating discussion. I like to address an issue I think is of profound importance to our democratic republic – and that's the fact that, in order to have a vibrant democracy, you need to have an exchange of ideas and an open platform. And certainly, part of the promise of the Internet, as it was first conceived, is we'd have this incredible Universal Commons, where a variety of ideas would be discussed and debated, and it would be robust. And yet, it seems as if we're not getting that. We're actually getting more and more siloed. Doctor Wolfram, you mentioned how people could make choices, and they could live in a bubble, but at least it would be their bubble that they get to live in. But that's what we're seeing throughout our society as polarization increases, more and more folks are reverting to tribal type behavior. Mister Harris, you talked about our medieval institutions and Stone Age Minds. Tribalism was alive and well and in the past, and we're seeing advances in technology, in a lot of ways, bring us back into that kind of tribal behavior. So, my question is to what extent is this technology actually accelerating that, and is there a way out?

Harris: Thank you. I love this question. There's a tendency to think here that this is just human nature – that people are polarized and this is just playing out; it's a mirror it's holding up, a mirror to society. But what it's really doing is it's an amplifier for the worst parts of us.

So, in the race to the bottom of the brainstem to get attention, let's take an example like Twitter. It's calculating what is the thing that I can show you that will get the most engagement, and it turns out that outrage, moral outrage, gets the most engagement. So, it was found in a study that for every world word of moral outrage that you add to a tweet, it increases your retweet rate by 17%. So, in other words, you know the polarization of our society is actually part of the business model.

Another example of this is that shorter, briefer things work better in Attention Economy than long, complex, nuanced ideas that take a long time to talk about, and so that's why you get a hundred and forty characters dominating our social discourse. But reality and the most important topics to us are increasingly complex, while we can say increasingly simple things about them that automatically creates polarization – because you can't say something simple about something complicated and have everybody agree with you; people will, by definition, misinterpret and hate you for it, and then it's never been easier to retweet that and generate a mob that will come after you. And this has created a callout culture and chilling effects, and a whole bunch of other subsequent effects in polarization that are amplified by the fact that these platforms are rewarded to give you the most sensational stuff.

One last example of this is on YouTube. Let's say we actually equalize; I know there's people here concerned about equal representation on the Left and the Right in media. Let's say we get that perfectly right. As recently as just a month ago on YouTube, if you did a map of the top 15 most frequently mentioned verbs or keywords in the recommended videos, they were: “hates,” “debunks,” “obliterates,” “destroys” – in other words, you know, “Jordan Peterson destroys social justice warrior in video.” So, that kind of thing is the background radiation that we're dosing two billion people with, and you can hire content moderators in English and start to handle the problem, but the problem is that two billion people in hundreds of languages are using these products. How many engineers at YouTube speak the twenty-two languages of India where there's an election coming up? So, that's some context on that.

Sen. Peters: Well, there's a lot of context. Fascinating. I'm running out of time, but I took particular note in your testimony when you talked about how technology will eat up elections, and you were referencing, I think, another writer on that issue. In the remaining brief time I have, what's your biggest concern about the 2020 elections and how technology may eat up this election coming up?

Harris: Another example of how we used to have protections that technology took away – we used to have equal price campaign ads, so that it cost the same amount on Tuesday night at 7:00 p.m. for any candidate to run an election. When Facebook gobbles up that part of media, it just takes away those protections – so, there's now no equal pricing. What I'm mostly worried about is the fact that none of these problems have been solved. The business model hasn't changed. And the reason why you see a Christchurch event happen in the video just show up everywhere, or, you know, any of these examples – fundamentally, there's no easy way for these platforms to address this problem, because the problem is their business model.

Harris: This is one of the issues that most concerns me. As I think Senator Schatz (D-Hawaii) mentioned at the beginning, there's evidence that in the last month – even as recently as that, keeping in mind that these issues have been reported on for years now – there was a pattern identified by YouTube that young girls who had taken videos of themselves dancing in front of cameras were linked in usage patterns to other videos like that, which went further and further into that realm, and that was just identified by YouTube, as a supercomputer, as a pattern. It's a pattern of “this is a kind of pathway that tends to be highly engaging.”

The way that we tend to describe this is: If you imagine a spectrum on YouTube on my left side, there's the calm Walter Cronkite section of YouTube. On the right hand side, there's crazytown, UFOs, conspiracy theories, Bigfoot – you know, whatever. If you take a human being and you could drop them anywhere, you could drop them in the calm section, or you could drop them in Crazy Town. But If I'm YouTube and I want you to watch more, which direction from there am I going to send you? I'm never gonna send you to the calm section. I'm always gonna send you towards Crazy Town. So, now you imagine two billion people, like an ant colony of humanity, and it's tilting the playing field towards the crazy stuff.

The specific examples of this: A year ago, a teen girl who looked at a dieting video on YouTube would be recommended anorexia videos, because that was the more extreme thing to show. The voodoo doll that looked like a teen girl – there's all these voodoo girls that look like that – and the next thing to show is anorexia.

If you looked at a NASA moon landing, it would show Flat Earth conspiracy theories, which were recommended hundreds of millions of times before being taken down recently. I wrote down another example. Fifty percent of white nationalist in a study had said that it was YouTube that had “red pilled” them; “red pilling” is the term for the opening of the mind. The best predictor of whether you'll believe in a conspiracy theory is whether I can get you to believe in one conspiracy theory, because one conspiracy sort of opens up the mind and makes you doubt and question things and, say, get really paranoid. And the problem is that YouTube is doing this en mass, and it's created sort of two billion personalized Truman Shows. Each channel has that radicalizing direction, and if you think about it from an accountability perspective – back when we had Janet Jackson on one side of the TV screen at the Super Bowl, and we had 60 million Americans on the other, we had a five-second TV delay and a bunch of humans in the loop it for a reason. But what happens when you have two billion Truman shows, two billion possible Janet Jackson's and two billion people on the other end? It's a digital Frankenstein that's really hard to control, and so that's the way that we need to see it.

From there, we can talk about how to regulate it.

Senator Sullivan (R-Alaska): Anyone else have a thought on a pretty important threshold question?

Harris: Is it okay if I check in? Thank you, Senator. The issue here is that Section 230 of the Communications Decency section – 230 has obviously made it so that the platforms are not responsible for any content that is on them, which freed them up to do what we've created today. The problem is if, you know, is YouTube a publisher? Well, they're not generating the content, they're not paying journalists, they're not doing that, but they are recommending things, and I think that we need a new class between, you know…

The New York Times is responsible if they say something that defames someone else that reaches a certain hundred million or so people. When YouTube recommends flat earth conspiracy theories hundreds of millions of times, and if you consider that 70% of YouTube's traffic is driven by recommendations, meaning driven by what they are recommending, what algorithm is choosing to put in front of the eyeballs of a person, it's if you were to backwards derive a motto, it would be, “With great power comes no responsibility.”

#social media #u.s. politics #the social dilemma #facebook #politics

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spikemelikeavolleyball · 4 years ago

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iii : rules ( part two ) ( high low )

high low ; miya atsumu x fem! reader

i. ii. iii. iv. v. [masterlist.]

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

[name] [surname] was off limits--

except miya atsumu finds himself

flirting with danger and becoming

rapidly addicted to the sparks between

them.

what osamu doesn’t know won’t

kill him. will it?

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

tags; mafia au, sexual content,

violence, strong language, blood,

gore.

this chapter: alcohol,

miya atsumu (because he needs his

own warning label), suggestive content,

some violence.

───── ❝ high low ❞ ─────

three ; rules ( part two )

Your arrival in Japan, unfortunately, did not go unnoticed. While your guard detail--see “glorified babysitters”--had reassured you that the press wouldn’t have a chance to corner you into an interview, there was still some concern over people seeing you and hurting people in order to get close to you. It had happened once, before, the hour predating your first official collaboration with Wisteria. Your guard had gotten a black eye so awful that it had lasted for weeks. He had gotten a very hefty bonus for the trouble, though.

“I should have worn something more incognito,” you mumbled to yourself. The private jet’s bathroom mirror was floor length, so you had a good idea of how your outfit looked and what kind of presence it would give off. Most of the time, you would wear something cute or flashy to fuel your fan club’s activity--you were a sucker and liked browsing through their twitter feed on a private account--but today you weren’t feeling the energy for it. “I forgot I even had these.”

After rummaging around in your bags for something that was comfortable, and not sky high heels or chiffon or silk or outrageously expensive t-shirts and jeans, you had come across a pair of Osamu’s old Inarizaki High volleyball sweatpants. You hadn’t even thought twice about throwing them on and rolling the ankles up to suit your height, even though the name printed on one leg and the jersey number on the other would have your fans tracking him down like the bloodhounds they were. You matched them with a black hoodie, socks, and a mask to hide the irritation underneath your nose, but even then you still stood out like a sore thumb.

It had to be the way you stood, you thought, adjusting your stance to seem more lazy and laid back.

It didn’t work.

With a sigh, you exited the bathroom and found that your things had already been unloaded for you by your glorified babysitters. All that was left was your purse, which you snatched up and hooked over your shoulder, and your phone, which you glanced at and shoved into your pocket. It sunk down so far in the sweatpants pocket that you felt it bounce against the side of your thigh as you walked.

“Nice pants,” one of your guards teased, poking fun at the name printed on the leg. “You sure you don’t want to change them and avoid the media scrutiny?”

“I’m too tired to go back and find something else,” you hummed. One of the guards--there were three in total, at the request of Ushijima-san herself--held out a hand and helped you down the flight of stairs that were a bit too steep for your jetlagged brain to walk down in confidence. “What are we driving in today, my good men?”

“Might I suggest the classic Phantom?” one of them joked, falling into formation when you began walking down the flight portal. “Just kidding. We’re taking the Audi today, since you want to be low profile this afternoon.”

“Good.” You had missed riding around in your trusty Audi; not that a Ferrari or Lamborghini was something to scoff at, but you missed the frugal lifestyle you had when you were in highschool. Once your career took off, you rarely struggled for anything and college had been a breeze. Though, you had no clue what you were going to do with a nuclear engineering degree now that your modeling gig paid more than that ever would. “Make a stop for some cheap drug store coffee and we’re all set.”

“I’ll add it to the memo.”

Before you could open your mouth once more and ask if you could stop by a nearby pastry shop and stuff yourself full of crepes and cake, you entered the main terminal and were immediately bombarded by cameras flashing and people yelling.

“[Name]-sama! We love you!”

“I LOVE YOU!”

“What do you have to say about Wisteria’s latest lingerie line? Do you think these styles should be changed to reflect Japanese standards?”

“[Name]! What are your thoughts on the funding cuts to the women’s centers all around the world?”

That last one caught your attention. You continued to smile behind your mask and wave, shoving a pair of sunglasses over your eyes, and mimed blowing kisses to the adorable teenage girls holding posters that had ‘you’re my idol’ scrawled over the front. You spotted Kuroo and Sayaka standing somewhere near the back, mostly due to Kuroo’s giant rooster hair, and blew double handed kisses to them as well, although the fanboys in the front thought it was for them and nearly fainted on the spot.

You watched them sway with a chuckle, then watched Sayaka grab the kisses and press them to her heart with a goofy wink.

“Hey, Julio?” You didn’t look at the guard as you made your way to the revolving doors in front, watching Kuroo and Sayaka make their way outside to where your car had been parked out of view. “Remind me to send a donation to that women's wayhouse charity by the end of today.”

“Isn’t that a job for your assistant?”

“Nope. I fired her.” You shrugged when the guard fixed you with a bewildered look. “What? She stole my nice Louboutins. And had a gangbang in my house in Calabasas, but we don’t talk about that incident.”

The cleaning crew you had send to bleach down that place had cost you a pretty penny--but Daishou had been kind enough to text you the number of his go-to cleaners (you didn’t ask why, nor did you want to know, but you had an inkling) and had requested that you send him the number of one of your cute co-workers as payment. Needless to say, you had, and that girl had come to work brighter than a lightbulb on Christmas, unusually chirpy and walking just a little bit funny. Your text to Daishou later that day had been along the lines of,’Dear God, Daishou, what did you do, break the poor girl’s hips?’

His reply had been typical of him. ‘It wasn’t anything she didn’t ask for ;)’

Your face of disgust had been timed perfectly. You had been sitting outside, eating a parfait--vegan, of course, due to your diet that you planned to ignore in favor of eating all of the meat you could get your hands on (pun might not be intended)--right in front of someone taking candid shots of you for a drama magazine. Your face had been plastered all over Twitter, with some people going as far as to send hate to the nice place you had gotten your dessert from. You had nipped that little situation in the bud, clarifying it was a text that made you make that face and not the dessert, although you didn’t help things when you had been forced to eat a green tea flavored one to prove that you weren’t lying.

The forced smile you had made to the starstruck owners had been enough to sear it into your memory for eternity.

“[Name]!” Sayaka’s high pitched exclamation knocked you out of your fantasies of parfaits and coffee. She nearly knocked you down with a hug strong enough to make your spine pop. “I missed you so much! You have to tell me how Moscow was! Did you have a good time? And oh my gosh, you just have to see Osamu’s shop, it looks amazing!”

You smiled guiltily at her at that last part, but didn’t say a word. Osamu had asked you to pick out the tiling and countertops, unwilling to trust his own sense of color theory--it was really just awful--and even the tables, which you discreetly paid for and blew off as an anonymous donation. He knew it was you, of course, because who had enough money to pay for genuine marble tables, but he had been kind enough not to say it to your face. Yet.

“One thing at a time, Sayaka,” you laughed, returning her hug with gusto. You then moved on to Kuroo, who wrapped an arm around your neck and scrubbed his knuckles into your once perfectly curled hair. “Damn it, Kuroo! What was that for? I just wanted a hug!”

The former Nekoma captain fixed you with a mischievous grin. “That was for dropping twenty thousand dollars into our account without asking for permission.”

Ah--another one of your random acts of generosity at three in the morning while slightly tipsy. You had Kuroo and Sayaka’s banking passwords and they had yours in case anything happened to them or you, especially with the connections the former Yakuza member had and still kept to this day. You had written them into your will, as well as Osamu, and your fortune would be split between the three of them if you died or wound up missing. Even the contract all of you signed was legally binding.

“What can I say?” You shrugged when Sayaka looped an arm around your waist, tugging you to your Audi. “I saw that you’d been getting a little low and your college bills were running high. I decided to chip in, like the good friend I am. And no, you can’t give it back.”

“You know I don’t like taking your money,” Sayaka whined. “I can make my own just fine.”

You sent an accusing glance her way, followed by a glance to her stomach when Kuroo shook hands with one of your guards. She had the sense to look ashamed at not telling you, at least. “A waitress gig won’t take care of that. And while I’m sure Kuroo makes enough for both of you, I’d like to be a responsible woman and at least pay for your wedding.”

From behind you, Kuroo laughed. “Who said we’re getting married?”

“Yeah,” Sayaka said, her tone slightly dimmer than before. You patted her back in comfort and turned your head around to glare at Kuroo, who was only mildly taken aback by the ferocity--he only realized what he had said as you were collapsing into the backseat of your car, squeezing into the opposite window seat as your two friends followed.

When neither of them opted to break the silence that had developed, you unlocked your phone and shot Osamu a quick text.

'Osamuuuu, what are you doing?'

When he showed no sign of replying, you sighed and locked your phone again, turning your gaze to the couple sitting awkwardly beside you.

“Hey, driver, can we stop by McDonalds?” You waved your hand towards the giant yellow ‘M’ down the street--which was also, coincidentally, packed with people. “I want something to eat.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replied, switching lanes and jerking Sayaka into Kuroo. You grinned at him through the mirror and he did it again; you loved it when your guards pitched in on your plans. “Drive-thru?”

“No, I think I’ll eat inside,” you winked, and his turn into the parking lot was rough enough to jostle all three of you. “Coffee and hot fudge sundaes, here I come!”

By the time the guards signaled you that they were done arguing maybe an hour and a half later, you had--admittedly--stuffed yourself far too much on ice cream and piping hot syrup. It would require a harsh workout to get all of the calories off, which you knew Wakkun wouldn’t mind helping you out with since he had a game soon, but you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it as you popped a french fry into your mouth on the way out.

“Are we done?” You asked, grinning at Kuroo and Sakura from between your guards. You could practically feel the stares from two men sitting at the outside tables, one of them on your legs and the other right on your face. “Then let’s get going. I need a nap before I can do anything else.”

As you gave Sayaka and Kuroo their food--both of them grinning at you and nudging you playfully--you locked eyes with one of the men sitting at the table.

And, unknowingly, you had just broken one of Osamu’s most important rules.

You just didn’t know it yet.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#mafia au #miya atsumu x reader #miya atsumu #miya atsumu x you #miya atsumu x y/n #one sided #miya osamu x reader

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the-a-word-2214 · 5 years ago

Text

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

The Singer

Anthony Ramos x OC

Warnings: Swearing

A/N: Things are really stirring up now! Big thanks to @charming-charlie charlie for helping with this one.

1,706 words

Chapter 6: Secrets

After a hectic night at the “Bleu Bleu”, Scarlett decided to call it a day after she helped the owner close for the evening. Anthony was busy doing a dance workshop and told her to meet him there after she was done. She stepped into the wooden tiled studio space that surprisingly smelled nice. She picked up hints of lavender and rose as she opened the door to the main area where she could see bodies moving around the room. It definitely looked like one hell of a workout. Scarlett immediately spotted Anthony who was dancing with the instructor. She was guiding his movements although he didn’t need much help. His moves were fluid as he swayed and fell into a complex street dance routine. A tank top hung loosely on his toned body, along with a pair of track pants to allow for more movement. She followed his gaze as he appeared to be deep in concentration.

Once the music stopped, he breathed out a sigh of relief as he grabbed his towel from his duffel bag. He promptly wiped away the sweat from his face as he broke out into his signature grin. He high-fived the dark-haired woman before he caught Scarlett’s attention. She bit her lip and waved with her free hand. His smile grew wider as he approached her, giving her a sweaty hug. “Oh lord, Ant! You’re getting me all sweaty.” He laughed as he let his hands fall to her hips. “You know you love it.” He teased. It was pretty gross but she loved that he was finding a way to be active doing something that he loved. I mean, damn! Have you seen this man move? Let’s just say that Scarlett was incredibly lucky to have him. She knew that to be true.

Once Anthony said his goodbyes to his friends, it was time for them to head back to his place for some serious TLC. Just as they approached the door to his apartment, Scarlett’s phone began to blow up with notifications. She paused just as she was about to unlock the door. She reached in her pocket to see what was so urgent. Her friends had been bombarding her with messages about how the internet seemed to be loving her relationship with Anthony. Dozens of fan pages had already been made with their ship name, it was either Lamos or Anthonett depending on which account you clicked on. Scarlett scoffed and shoved her phone back in her pocket. She unlocked the door and made her way inside, Anthony behind her. “What was all that about? I’ve never heard your phone blow up like that.” He comments as he steps inside and sets his bag down. Scarlett finally picked up her phone and read the message.

Scarlett stared at Renee’s text message in shock. She knew this is what came with the territory, especially when dating someone who was in the public eye. Broadway had crazy supportive, and crazy insane, fans. Scarlett was worried about attracting the wrong kind of attention, especially since this was all new territory to her. Hopefully it would be nothing. Right? That is what Scarlett will wish for. Nothing bad would come of this and it’ll be fine.

Anthony had spent the night a few days ago and the two unfortunately did not see each other much after that. He was so busy on set and Scarlett was working at the bar every night. After the Hamilton crew showed up, the night where Scarlett and Anthony first met, the bar sort of became a little bit of a hotspot among Broadway performers. Since the bar was more packed than usual, Scarlett ended up working more. Not that she minded, she needed the money.

This morning though, she was struggling to get ready for work. Her phone was blowing up, a lot more than usual. It wasn’t just text messages either. She was getting notifications through her social media, which was more surprising. Her Twitter and Insta were often quiet enough, but she gained more followers with each passing hour and she didn’t even upload or post anything.

Daveed sent her the picture from the magazine. Scarlett’s face was visible, as plain as day. It was a candid shot of her and Anthony, just walking up the street. It could’ve been taken at any time. She never recalled seeing a camera around.

Oak sent the same picture, except he gave Anthony a super dramatic drawn on moustache and sharpie glasses with the text saying, “Can’t believe you are dating this dude!” followed by a laughing emoji.

Scarlett had to hustle. She was running late. Her phone was still buzzing in her pocket when she clocked in for work. Thankfully, her boss didn’t even notice she was late, and she was able to slip in and start doing her job without a second’s hesitation. She tried to ignore the vibrating phone in her back pocket, but it was proving to be difficult. She was also one thousand percent sure Anthony knew they made their public debut and she wished she could talk to him, even just for a moment.

It was no secret that Scarlett did not particularly enjoy the spotlight. She had to work up a lot of courage and swallow her nerves just for singing at the bar. Now her picture and her name were out there, which sort of terrified her. That’s never happened before. With all the thoughts swimming in her head, she almost tripped over the microphone wires on the stage she was setting up. Slight panic attack thinking she almost died, but she got over it and hid backstage.

Breathe, Scarlett. Just breathe. You’ll be fine.

Again with the incessant buzzing. Scarlett pulled her phone out of her pocket and saw the notifications. Some were from social media, her being tagged in new posts, and she received more text messages. Renee was texting her, just to check up on her. Oak sent text messages of the magazine picture with various objects on Anthony’s face. At least he was having the time of his life.

She sent a quick text message to Renee saying she was working and that she will have to get back to her later. Anthony sent her a text before he started shooting scenes. It was a simple, “Good morning, beautiful. Hope to see you soon!” message and Scarlett didn’t have time to reply before she went back to work. On the one hand, she was glad she got the morning shift and would be done early afternoon. On the other, she wanted to stay busy and keep her mind occupied. Inhaling a deep breath, Scarlett went back to work and tried to focus.

Scarlett was on a break. There was only one hour to go, and her boss was forcing her to take ten minutes now. She worked non-stop for most of the late morning and was finally getting back to her boyfriend. She read his text messages and she couldn’t help but smile. Perhaps it’ll be okay. If Anthony can find humor in this, and wasn’t freaking out like she was, then maybe she truly did have nothing to freak out about. Anthony seemed pretty calm, so maybe it was all good.

She texted him back, saying he cannot fire Oak as a friend (or from life) and that she wanted to see the new artwork Oak created that made Anthony look like a fish. She sat in the breakroom as her text message went through and she just sighed. It was a relieving sigh, like she had been holding her breath in all day and finally had a chance to exhale. A weight seemed to lift off her shoulders. She didn’t know why she didn’t text him or talk to him in the first place. A lot of panic-inducing nerves could have been subsided if she simply just let her guard down. This wasn’t going to be so bad after all. She smiled as her phone buzzed, with Anthony replying to her message. It went back and forth, the little banter, and it just made her feel good. She could get through the next 45 minutes in one piece. Maybe she will pick up a copy of the magazine on her way home.

Her break was almost over. Time flew by when she talked to Anthony like she was. She was almost about to get back to work when someone entered the breakroom. She recognized Charlie immediately, her long hair in a tight ponytail that seemed to give her an unnecessary facelift. “Hey, someone just dropped this off for you.” Charlie handed Scarlett an envelope, one of those manila envelopes with the metal brad on the back. Scarlett, looking surprised, thought for a split second that it was a copy of the magazine, probably from Renee or Oak, sent through a courier system.

How wrong she was.Scarlett opened the letter and pulled out a piece of paper. It took her a while to read what the message said. The message contained glued letters, cut from pieces of a magazine. It looked hastily done but it was enough to rattle her. She grabbed her phone and called Anthony. He didn’t answer so she called again. After the third time, he finally picked up.

“What’s up?” he asked, his voice dripping with concern. Scarlett calling him over and over again meant something had to be wrong.

“Can you come to the bar? Now?” Scarlett asked. Her voice was shaking as she entered panic mode again. Charlie stood there, looking concerned, but not really knowing how to react. She couldn’t see the letter since Scarlett was clutching it tightly to her chest. “Right now.”

“Everything okay?” Anthony asked slowly, like he was trying to get more detail out of her but Scarlett hung up. Her hands were shaking, and she almost dropped her phone if Charlie hadn’t caught it at the right moment. Scarlett looked down at the letter again. Okay, this never, ever happened to her before. Was she over-reacting? She didn’t think so. She read the message repeatedly. Can she freak out now? Looking at the message, she felt it was justified.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

#anthony ramos x oc #anthony ramos #new writer #new writers on tumblr #john laurens x oc #john laurens

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sun-marie · 4 years ago

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So, a lot is happening right now in the DA fandom. I thought I might share my thoughts on it. I’m a little late since I was debating whether I should say anything at all, but I’ve been seeing a lot of worrying stuff on my dash. I hope I don’t seem like I’m butting in or talking over anybody, because that’s not my intention. But I feel I must say something, so I’m just gonna roll the dice and say my piece. Just know that I’m not the most eloquent person, so please bear that in mind.

This post came out recently, calling out many people in the fandom. If you read nothing else, read this, not my post. Racism cw and fetishization cw, fyi. A lot of my post is about that one, but it’s also more about the general problems regarding racism in our community. As a white person, I can only really talk about what I’ve seen from other white people. Other white people? We gotta do better than this.

It saddens me so much to read the post. This fandom needs to be a safe space for POC. We need to make it a safe space, especially us white people. Nobody should have to be afraid they will logon to find that they are bombarded with racist, triggering things. They deserve the right to just be able to feel comfortable and welcome and have a place to forget about how horrible the real world is. You know, how us white people get to do all the time?

But you didn’t need me to tell you that. POC have been saying it all along.

Many people who were called out in the post have made responses. One such response asked their followers to “please hold them accountable and let them know when they’ve done something wrong.” But that’s not really acceptable. Again, to echo POC, it is not their job to educate and hold you accountable. It is your responsibility to do your own research and hold yourself accountable. Research, by the way, is not badgering random POC online and demanding they educate you. You have to find those open and willing to teach you. @writingwithcolor is a great example of people who want to help you, who want to make you more aware. Or y’know...

Books.

Some of the people in this post have claimed that their art/writing is a way of coping with their own history of sexual assault. I can’t really speak on that, since I have never experienced that, but I will say this. If drawing/writing something offensive really helps you cope, I suppose that’s fine. But then, why would you post it? You know its harmful. People are now reaching out saying that it’s making them uncomfortable. If you really had to post it, you could at least tag it correctly. Tag it “racist”. Tag it “sexual assault”. Tag it “s*vage fetishization”.

Oh wait, you won’t. Because that’s too real for you.

It makes me so angry. We are literally pushing POC out of the fandom. And it makes me angry to see people be called out on their bs respond with either “you’re bullying me!!!” or “please reach me from the hours of 7-9 to discuss topics of a racial concern.” I don’t understand why so many people are having such a hard time saying “Yikes! I didn’t realize I was doing that. I’m so sorry. I’ll stop now.” and like. Actually stop.

It never feels good to be called out, especially for racism. I know. It hurts. But, when it happens, you gotta put on your grown-up pants and learn from it. Grow. Move past it and become a better person on the other side. Just don’t do it again. The wrong response is to get all defensive and deny that anything is actually wrong. That the people feeling uncomfortable are wrong.

Its so disappointing to see many people’s response to this post is that elfyness is just being a bully, that she’s trying to police everybody in the fandom. That’s just not the case. Bullies start in a position of power and they pick on the vulnerable. The people in this callout post are not vulnerable. Also, it is not bullying to criticize someone. Are we in the third grade? To say her post is bullying is called tone policing.

Anyway, I just needed to get that out. I want to speak out and defend people who didn’t do anything wrong, just voiced their grievances. We have to do better as a community.

#long post #dragon age #fandom bs #fandom racism

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onegayastronaut · 6 years ago

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My Hero (Lena Luthor x Reader)

Requested by anon: Hii!! Can you do one where you're krytonian, but stronger than Kal and Kara combined, and no one knows how and you fall in love with Lena Luthor so naturally when someone tries to hurt her it makes you extremely mad??? Like mad enough that it's basically Kara throwing Cat Grant off of the balcony while on red krytonite, but not actually hurting anyone other than the people who tried to hurt Lena or being on red krytonite???

Words: 1346

Being a Kryptonian on this planet was amazing for the most part. You had two amazing family members, Kara and Kal, and you would constantly bombard them with questions when you first started using your abilities. Both of them had told you about both the positive and negative aspects of being a superhero, and you thought that being a hero for the people was the best thing that you could do.

Visiting National City was supposed to be a temporary affair. You missed Kara and Alex so much, and all you wanted was to spend a week with them. What you didn’t count on was the fact that Kara had such good looking friends, chief among them a certain billionaire. Of course, given both Kal’s and Kara’s history with the Luthor family family, you knew of Lena. If Kara’s account of her was to be trusted, Lena was attempting to turn her family history around, and you respected that. The fact that she was very good looking was just a bonus. Maybe staying around in National City was going to be a good idea.

Both Kara and Alex were beyond happy about the fact that you decided to stay in National City. Now that Supergirl was laying low, it was a relief to know that another Super was going to take care of things. Kal gave you a knowing smile as he hugged you goodbye. Even though he knew that you were going to be more than capable of taking care of business, he knew that the real reason you decided to stay behind.

“I’m going to miss you, cousin.” Kal gave you a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“No, you won’t. I bet you’ll be the strongest person around.” The two of you laughed at your good-natured jab. You were stronger than both Kal and Kara combined, and they enjoyed teaming up together to try and defeat you during training sessions. They were yet to be successful, and you loved rubbing this fact in both of their faces.

-----

Settling into National City was easier than you could have ever imagines. Both Lena and James were beyond thrilled to have you on board at Catco, and Kara helped you get a decent apartment near work. Life seemed to be moving along quite well, except for the fact that your heart belonged to someone so unattainable it made your heart hurt just thinking about it.

“You know...it’s always best to talk about your feelings directly rather than bottling it up inside.” James’ voice jolted you back to reality, and you glared at him suspiciously.

“Who said I was bottling up my feelings?”

“Well, for starters, you’ve been staring at Lena’s office from the day you got here. And I know how you act around people you like. If I’m reading my body language correctly, she likes you too.” James gave you a wink as you blushed.

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, maybe you should have a talk with her and see how things go from there.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? She’s my boss after all.”

James snorted as you voiced your concerns. “She is your boss, but by the way you’re looking at her, a blind bat would be able to tell how much you like her. And Lena is one of the smartest women I’ve ever seen, so most likely she’s already figured out how big of a crush you have on her.”

The more you thought about what James said, the more it made sense. Maybe asking Lena out on a date wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

-----

Dating Lena has been the best thing that has happened to you in a very long time. You had been honest about your abilities from the start, and she had been appreciative of your honesty. It had caused some tension between you when you had first told her, but you had worked it out since then. Neither of you wanted to lose each other, and she understood why you were hesitant to be honest with anyone considering the current anti-alien climate.

Lex was still a threat to the general public and alien safety, and the Children of Liberty were still trying to prove their worth by attacking aliens. What made the problem worse was that they were now deputized by Ben Lockwood. They were a nuisance to stop, but it was part of the job. Your focus was on finding Lex because you knew he posed the greatest threat to the safety of Lena and everyone around her. You were consistently vigilant because you couldn’t bear to even think about Lena being in danger. All of fears and concerns came to a head one day when the Children of Liberty decided it would be a good idea to attack Catco. They wanted to make an example of people who supported aliens, and several employees were hurt in the process. You managed to get there in time to stop them from causing any further hurt, but the damage was already done. You saw Lena shaking in her office while standing over the still form of one of the attackers. He was still alive, and he had the nerve to act afraid when you stepped into the room.

Taking the cattle prod out from Lena’s hands, you led her towards the couch. “It’s all going to be okay, Lena. I’m here, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

“I didn’t want to seriously hurt him, (Y/N). I just wanted him to stop.”

“I know. He’s okay...for now. But not for long. I’m going to make sure that the Children of Liberty know that their methods are going to be matched.”

“Babe, what are you going to do?” Lena reached over to hold your hand, but instead of answering her, you turned and picked up the now fully conscious would-be thug up by the throat.

“You and your friends will now know what happens to people who would dare harm someone I care about. You will help me with that.” The man choked as your grip tightened around his throat and you led him towards the balcony.

“Please, you don’t have to do this.” You were surprised that this man was able to manage choking out a complete sentence.

“You shouldn’t have come here then.” There was no mercy in your tone, and you lifted the man over the balcony. His feet dangled in the air, and you could hear a gasp of horror from the people who were standing on the ground. Good, you thought. This demonstration will let people see that they should never even think about attacking Lena ever again.

“Babe, listen to me. Babe, look at me.” Lena’s voice brought you back to the balcony of L-Corp. “If you drop him now, all you’re going to do is to prove them right. You have to bring him back so the police can have him, alright? Is that okay?”

“He tried to kill you Lena! All they do is to make people hate and fear aliens! He deserves what I'm going to give to him.”

“And I agree with that. But if you kill him right now, you'll be a wanted fugitive. You won't be able to be here, with me. This man isn't worth it, (Y/N).”

You dragged the man back onto the balcony just as the police ran in with their guns drawn. “It's about time you all got here. Where were you all before? There a sale at the donut store down the block that I don’t know about?” A snort from Lena told you that she was physically alright, this time at least. If there ever was another attack from this group, you couldn’t say you would do the same thing you did today. Nobody hurts your girlfriend, and these self-named “watchdogs” better keep that in mind. But hunting down the individual members of the Children of Liberty was going to be a mission for another day. Tonight is all about taking care of Lena.

#lena luthor #lena luthor x reader #lena luthor imagine #supergirl #supergirl x reader #supergirl imagine

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ally-writes-many-things · 6 years ago

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Call Me Adam (Adam Ruzek) Part 1

ummary: Y/N moves to Chicago for grad school against her family’s wishes so she’s on her own. She witnesses a murder and calls CPD, Ruzek, and Atwater answers the call.

Words:

Requested: yes

Prompts: no

Warnings or A/N: so this is my first Adam Ruzek multi-part series. Hope you enjoy.

"Why don't you finish school here?" Your mom asked.

You sighed annoyed at her because you've answered this questioned multiple times. You put your last box in your car. "Because Chicago Med is my dream job, mom. I'm gonna go to grad there and hopefully land an internship there. So if you aren't gonna support me then leave me alone. You aren't gonna stop me,"

You slammed the trunk to your car and walked to your driver side door and opened it. "If you leave now, considering yourself cut off,"

You laughed and scoffed at yourself and took a look at your mom. "Good thing I have saved my allowances for the last few years and I have enough in my account to cover it,"

You got in your car and drove off. Not believing that your mother and also your father won't support your dreams. But then again they never did support any you did if it wasn't their choice.

By the time you got to Chicago and your apartment, it was about midnight. You got out of your car and knock on the door. You had called your roommate to let her know you were close. You could hear feet coming towards the door and it opened revealing a blonde hair blue eyed woman. "Hi Y/N!" She said as she pulled you into a hug and you hesitantly patted her on the back. "Come in. Come in,"

She let you in and you walked inside the apartment.

---

You were on your way to class a week later, when you heard some commotion around the corner. You looked at the time on your phone and you still had thirty minutes to get to class and you were right outside the hall to your class. So you decided to go and see what it was. All you saw was someone beating the living shit out of someone, he looked up at you for a quick second before taking off the other way. You could see the body wasn't moving or anything, you hesitated at first but pulled out your phone and called 911 after a few seconds. "Uhm hi, I would like to report a crime. I am at the college and I just saw someone beating the living crap out of someone and now the person is unconscious,"

"Do you know if the person is breathing?"

"Hold on," You said walked up to the body and their face was a bloody mess and the chest was moving up and down. You took out your glove and put it on and touch the side of the neck. No pulse. "There's no pulse. He's dead,"

You could hear the dispatcher typing away. "Please stay where you are, two officers are on their way now. They are ten minutes out. If you have any questions or concerns, please call back,"

"Yes ma'am," You said hanging up.

----

You were bouncing on your heels waiting for them to show up. You saw two people walking up, they were clearly law enforcement. They saw you and changed their direction towards you. You noticed the blonde one right off the bat. He was really cute. "Hi, are you y/n?"

You nodded. "Yes,"

He looked at his partner and then back towards you. "I'm Officer Adam Ruzek and this is my partner Officer Kevin Atwater. Can you show us the body?"

You didn't want to see the body again so you just pointed in the direction. "It's down there. I don't want to see it again,"

They both nodded. "You got her?" Atwater asked.

Ruzek nodded. "Yeah,"

Atwater walked down to the body while Ruzek stayed with me. "So what happened?"

You shrugged. "I don't know to be honest. Obviously, today is the first day of grad school so I was walking to class and I heard a commotion, so I decided to go and look what it was and all I saw was a guy getting beat up. The attacker took off when he saw me,"

Ruzek looked up from the notepad he was writing on to look at you. "Did you get a good look at him or?"

You shook your head and took a step back. "No, he was too far away to get a good look at him. Average built and height and black hair is all I got for a description,"

Ruzek nodded and was about to say something when Atwater cuts in. "Ruzek,"

You turned around and looked at Atwater who was kneeling down. You followed after Ruzek. "What's up?"

Atwater sighed and held up the victim's arm. There was a tattoo of a fancy looking Y and T on his hand. "Great," Ruzek called. "I'll call Voight,"

You looked at the body to Atwater and then to Ruzek. "What? What's going on?"

Ruzek patted your arm to get you to follow him. "The YT stands for Young Thugs. It's a gang. Go to class and call me if you need anything," He said handing you his card.

You hesitantly took it out of his hand and put it in your pocket. You took one last look at Ruzek and walked to class.

---

As soon as you got through the door, your roommate Karlee bombarded you with questions over what happened. "Like I have told multiple people today. I don't know. All I know is someone was beaten to death,"

That's all you said because you didn't want any more attention on you especially not when it was a gang member's death. You ignored the rest of her questions and walked into your bedroom and flopped onto your bed. You pulled out the cars out of your pocket. It was just a plain card with Ruzek's name, number and CPD officer. You programmed it into your phone and put it on the charger. You heard some soft knocks on the door, you groaned and sat up. "Come in,"

Karlee walked into the room and leaned against your doorframe. You looked at her waiting for her to talk. "Yes?"

She smiled. "There's this bar called Molly's that's across the street, we should go,"

You were about to say no but you realized you needed a drink after what you dealt with. "Let's go,"

When you walked into Molly's, you smiled because it was a fancy bar. It was homey feel to it. It had music playing but very low. It seemed like a very mellow place to hang out. You were just about to take a step when someone ended up pushing you. You turned around to yell at the guy but it was Ruzek. "Hey y/n, right?"

You nodded. "Ruzek?"

He smiled. "Call me Adam,"

#adam ruzek #adam ruzek x you #adam ruzek x reader #adam ruzek imagine #jay halstead #kevin atwater #chicago pd #one chicago

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words-and-fun · 5 years ago

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Ineffable Week: Day Four-

(Sorry this is taking so long! The fanfics are turning out longer than I expected. 😅)

Prompt from @ineffable-event

Ineffable Week - Princes of the Universe

Crowley stepped out of the Bentley into the chilled evening air. It nipped at his skin like city rats starving for a morsel. He tugged his jacket close and trotted up to the bookshop. Despite the CLOSED sign, he pushed opened the door, welcoming the blast of heat that greeted him. “Aziraphale, I’m here. You ready?”

The bell jingled as he closed the door behind him. It had only been a week since the angel had agreed to go with him to the concert. Crowley was somewhat surprised Aziraphale had said yes in the first place. The angel didn’t seem the type to enjoy doing something outdoors, surrounded by lots of humans, and lots of noise. Crowley didn’t usually invite him to concerts, but Freddie had insisted he bring someone special this time. And, who was he, demon or not, to say no to Freddie blasted Mercury.

They had talked and drank together more than the demon had with most humans. Crowley could name the number of them on one hand that he had considered a real friend over his lifetime. It was a rule of his to not let any get too close as they tended to have too short life spans. It made their brief time together all that more heartbreaking when he had to say goodbye.

The stairs creaked at the back of the shop.

Crowley’s mouth fell open. It took a few tries for his thoughts to scramble and catch up with him. “What? What are you…that’s?”

Aziraphale reached the landing and smiled at him. “Oh, I’m ever so excited. It has been ages since we’ve gone to listen to music out in the open. I can recall a time in Vienna, but that was probably centuries ago by now.” He paused, eyeing the floundering demon. “Crowley, are you alright?”

The angel stood wearing tartan Vans shoes, high-waist jeans, a—bloody hell! —white lace shirt and a jean jacket covered in an assortment of neon patches. His hair had been puffed up a bit, and his eyes beckoned for attention from glimmering black eyeliner.

Crowley couldn’t help it. He sunk to his knees, though he wasn’t sure if it was because they were shaking too bad to hold him upright, or he feared they would drag him up to that irresistible tartan-loving angel, so he could kiss the daylights out of him.

Aziraphale stepped closer, concern blanketing his face. “My dear, what’s the matter? Do you feel ill?”

He forced himself to his feet and thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Fine. I’m fine. Finefinefinefinefine.”

Aziraphale glanced down. “It’s not…me, is it? I know I changed my attire a bit, but I hoped it would help me fit in with, well, I mean, you called Mr. Mercury your friend, so I, um, I didn’t want to embarrass you in front of them.”

Something snapped inside of Crowley, probably the last bit of his sanity. He stepped toward the angel, resisting with everything he had to wrap his arms around him. “Angel,” his voice had gained a noticeable husky quality as he tried very, very hard to not stare at Aziraphale’s nipples that peeked through the lace shirt. “I mean it now, when I say that I am, in fact, going to be extremely worried about my job if any other demons see you wearing that tonight.”

Aziraphale glanced up, meeting his eyes. His ears had tinted pink. “So, you like it?”

Crowley bit his lip, not trusting any words that dared to rush out, and resigned to a simple nod.

They were in the car before Crowley trusted his voice again to not spill with confessions or beg for kisses. “Where, eh, where’d you get the outfit, angel?” He peeled out of the driving spot, willing the car to get to the concert in record time.

“Oh, well, I mentioned it to one of my regular customers, and they recommended a place not far from here actually. They were ever so helpful. I told the store attendant about my dilemma, and they did an exceptional job helping me pick an appropriate ensemble. I was so lost when I first arrived. There are so many new accessories and colors, it’s hard to keep up with it all. Though I do think it will be better for me to go back to the clothes, I’m used to after tonight. I’m not sure I’m ready for this much change quite yet.”

“I don’t think the world could handle this much change from you,” Crowley groaned, trying to focus on the road.

“Really, dear,” Aziraphale huffed, but his words held the hint of a smile.

The rest of the drive consisted of mostly small talk about the bookshop or how many quarters Crowley had managed to glue to the sidewalk that day and then forgotten about them and tried to pick them up again. He was down to the single digits, so he considered it a win.

They parked, and Crowley tried not to shiver as he stepped out into the cold again. He knew once he had a drink or two, he’d warm up in no time, and like hell, he was going to use a miracle and have Hell laugh at him for not handling being chilly.

Crowley glanced around at the humans walking over to the ticket counter. A few had stopped and were whispering to one another as they spotted Aziraphale. The demon tensed as he not only recognized the look in their eyes but could sense the undeniable hint of lust swirling in the air. Fuck, he had miscalculated that part of the evening. He didn’t think the angel would actually want to hook up with anyone there, but if they were going to be bombarded with the worst pick up lines in history over the next several hours, it would send Crowley into a really bad mood in no time.

He ground his teeth and stomped over beside the angel. “Look, uh, for the sake of enjoying the music and all still. I think we need to take into account the human factor tonight.”

Aziraphale raised an eyebrow as he shut the car door. “The human factor?”

“Yeah, that. It’s going to be bloody annoying if, well, either of us has to fend off…unwanted advances all night.”

“Oh? Well, do you think it will be bad tonight?”

“Yes, without a doubt. So, uh, look, if you don’t want to, I understand. I am a demon and all, so it’s all, I don’t know, probably too gross, but if we held hands or something, then…well.”

Aziraphale sucked in a breath, then seemed to fiddle with the sleeves of his jacket. “I see. Well, I mean, if-if it halts unwanted advances, then I’m okay with it.”

It was dark, but even in the parking lot lights, Crowley could make out the hint of a blush dusting the angel’s cheeks. Crowley stepped up next to him, and mentally cowed down the beast from inside him that roared to press him against the car. “Just tell me if it’s too much, and I’ll stop.”

Aziraphale nodded, and he held out his hand.

Crowley took it, and they walked. Well, Aziraphale walked, Crowley tried to saunter and not trip over his own feet over a flat, obstacle-free surface. His fingers tightened around the angel’s grip. His heart was convinced they were on a date. But he knew he should not want such things because those were dangerous ideas, yet Crowley was sure by now that he was made of only dangerous ideas. He was a demon, after all. A demon who was undeniably and completely in love with an angel.

They reached the ticket check without Crowley face-planting onto the road or dropping to his knees and professing anything sappy to Aziraphale, so, so far, all was going swell. Their holding hands plan appeared to be working, much to the dismay of the nearby humans.

Crowley could still sense the rising amount of lust in the air. He met the gaze of a few lingering eyes on his angel. So, he raised Aziraphale’s hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.

Aziraphale flinched but didn’t release him. His eyes, however, had widened to a considerable degree.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you, angel. These bloody humans keep getting ideas even with us holding hands. It’s fucking frustrating!”

Aziraphale glanced around, then his shoulders relaxed. However, his lips gained its slight mischievous grin. “Perhaps, they wouldn’t be staring so much if your trousers were not quite so tight, my dear.”

“Me?” Crowley paused before the concessions stand. “They’re staring at you, you idiot. You had to go and dress like a temptation, all wrapped in a neat little bow of lace.”

Aziraphale flushed, and his hands drew together. He fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. “Is it too much? Should I change?”

Crowley held back his strangled snake noises with a ragged sigh. He was going to do something he’d kick himself for later. “Angel, you look amazing, really. Don’t let anyone else make you think otherwise. I…” He shifted, trying to not discorporate on the spot. “I love it, your outfit, that is.” Heat reddened his face all the way down his neck. He could feel it shielding him from the chilly night.

Aziraphale stepped forward, taking both of his hands. “Do you really think so?”

“Would I lie to you?”

The angel smiled, trying to meet his eyes. “Well, I mean you do on occasion–”

“Not when it matters.” Crowley grimaced at his sappy slip and flicked his gaze at the angel. “If you keep smiling like an idiot, you’re going to start glowing.”

“Oh, right. Of course, shall we?” Aziraphale dropped one of his hands but laced their fingers together in the other.

Crowley stumbled after him as they made their way to the outdoor stadium. The tickets got them near the front without any enormous speakers blasting at them. Crowley was glad for that for the angel’s sake, but he still worried they would be too close for Aziraphale’s liking. They stood in a huddle of people, all waiting for the concert to start. Most of them chatted amongst themselves, holding a beer or wine cup.

It wasn’t long before the lights flared up. Thousands cheered as Queen took the stage. Crowley felt his lips quirk into a fond smile. He recognized the intro to Princes of the Universe. He’d seen them perform before, but each time had its own special flair, its own unique spark that made it special, and this time—he squeezed Aziraphale’s hand—was most definitely one of the times he’d never forget.

#ineffable event 2019 #Good Omens #Good Omens TV #Aziraphale #Crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable lovers #daily prompt

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