#but the mistake isn’t like. ‘oh i parked in a no parking zone’

[goldlightsaber]

You know that moment where you realize you fucked up but it catches you super off guard because it fucks with your self-image as a good person and you have to reconcile with the fact that you did something wrong/bad. Yeah. It sucks.

[everythingxh]

request or general just thoughts on jiseok fluff about the lines of your friendship starting to blur. you’re not together yet but like you guys have feelings for each other and it’s starting to show through both of your actions and the way yall interact. could be a fic, could be headcanon, could just be a yap session, whatever you think is best :3

personally i think he starts becoming clingy. not in like a protective way necessarily, just like a always wanting to be touching you way. whether that be hand on your shoulder, arm around you, leaning in too close to watch a video on your phone so he’s practically hugging you without his arms wrapped around.

its such a cute concept so i would love to hear your take on it !!

A/n: this ask is so cutee it genuinely made me smile, i’ll try to make into a headcanon one cause I want to try something new.

Genre: fluff as anon asked for, a little crack if you squint.

Warnings? Slight grammar mistakes (English isn’t my first language), not proofread.

Pairing: Bestie!Jiseok x Bestie!Reader

Pronouns used: she/her

Summary: What it’s like to be in a friendship with Jiseok but you two have feelings for each other and he’s clingy.

Best friends into Lovers with Jiseok

when watching a movie he wouldn’t pay any attention to it cause he’s staring at you.

a 100% would be zoned out imagining scenarios of you two on cute dates like going to the cinema or going to an amusement park where you two would hold hands at every ride cause one of you (him) is a little scared.

would offer to pay for your guys’ lunch cause he’s a gentleman, and that action would make your feelings for him bloom bigger and bigger everytime he does something gentlemanly.

would give you warm comforting hugs whenever you needed them cause maybe work was too overwhelming and school was too stressful.

would tap your back as your head lays on his shoulder while tears streamed down your cheeks because of how stressful life got.

would make hot coco for you every time you get your period so that the cramps can calm down from beating you up from the inside.

the members could clearly tell the two of you like each other but are too shy to confess so they made a plan.

“Okay so, Jooyeon you ask Y/n out on a date since you’re her favorite, that has to make Jiseok crack and confess” Gunil, the leader of the group tells his members as they’re all gathered around.

At this moment Jiseok is away, hanging out with Y/n of course, at her apartment.

The two are laying on her couch watching a movie they always wanted to watch, but to no one’s surprise Jiseok is stealing glances at Y/n every now and then.

He slowly gets closer and closer to her every time the movie shows something interesting or big so that Y/n wouldn’t notice him coming closer to her

By the time the movie ended Jiseok would be so close to Y/n that her head touches his shoulder.

The girl had been asleep ever since the credits started to roll out.

Jiseok grinned to himself but his grin turned into a pout as he remembered that the two of them are just best friends and that they’ll always be best friends, but he didn’t know that she also had feelings for him.

The next morning arrived and all six members are gathered in the dorm’s living room waiting for Y/n to come over so they can have their weekend breakfast.

Ding dong

“That must be her, I’ll get it” said Hyeongjun as he stood up and walked up to the door, opening it and greeting the guest.

“Hey Y/n, good morningg how’s your day going?” Hyeongjun asked after hugging Y/n.

“Good morning Hyeongjun, it’s been going great so far not gonna lie” Y/n answered as she hugged Hyeongjun back.

“Hey guys, good morning” Y/n sweetly greeted the members as she took a seat next to Seungmin and Gunil.

As they all started eating the food Jungsu had ordered since he lost a bet between him and Jiseok.

As they were about to finish their breakfast Jooyeon starts speaking “Hey Y/n? Do you have any plans tonight?”

“Oh? Umm no I don’t have any plans tonight. Why?” Y/n asked as she placed down her chopsticks.

“Well.. I was wondering if you wanted to go on a date with me” Jooyeon explained in a charming manner.

This action made the plan unfold itself by itself without any more interaction from the other members, because they know their little duck would quickly say no. But then-

“Ohhh I’m sorry Jooyeon but I have feelings for someone else” Y/n replied which made Jiseok’s eyes widen a little. That doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone except for Y/n because she’s still facing Jooyeon.

“Ohh la laa Y/n has a crush on someone” Jooyeon teased.

“Would it be okay if you told us who it was?” Gunil asked with a gentle voice.

“Well……I can give you a hint! He’s in this room, sitting with us” Y/n answered gesturing to all of them with her hands.

“Is it me?” Gunil asks.

“Nope” Y/n answered.

“Maybe me? Just maybe?” Seungmin asked.

Y/n shook her head no.

“There’s no way it’s me” Jooyeon said.

“Yep, no way it’s you, you’re a little annoying” Y/n agreed.

Everyone around also agreeing.

“It’s me right? I’m the only one here” Hyeongjun chuckles, he knows he’s not the only one, he just wants Jiseok to say something.

“Nope” Y/n answered.

With that Jiseok gasps which gained everyone’s attention.

“ME??” Jiseok yells excitedly but with a hint of surprise.

“Yes, you Jiseok” Y/n nods with a smile painted across her lips.

“So does Jiseok want to take Y/n on a date tonight?” Gunil asks the wide eyed guy.

“WELL YEAH OF COURSE, WAIT DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT ON A DATE WITH ME?” Jiseok yells back as an answer to Gunil’s question.

Y/n giggles before she nods saying “Yes Jiseok, I’d love to go on a date with you tonight”

[littlespacereader]

Hello! Could I request some Cg! Matt Murdock headcanons please? I saw you just wrote for him and I had no clue you were a fan of Daredevil too so I’m pretty ecstatic right now lmao. Anyways THATS was all have a great day!💜💜💜

Of course I can!! After writing the Valentine’s Day fic about Caregiver Matt Murdock I literally can’t get enough of him! So here are some cute Headcannons for Matt Murdock as a Caregiver! Plus some extra Daredevil type things as well!

Caregiver Matt Murdock Headcannons (SFW)

Matt is probably one of the nicest and gentlest Caregivers out there. Being someone who is extremely sensitive to sound himself, he is never one to raise his voice in anyway to his little one and is always going out of his way to make sure their comfortable.

You met Matt by simply running into each other. You were lost trying to find a doctors office in the same building when you popped your head into the office of Nelson and Murdock. Little did you know the simply mistake would change your life forever.

Matt and you got along so easily. You became quick friends and began to share everything with each other. He shared his secret double life as Daredevil and you shared your secret of regression.

Matt is extremely compassionate and was honored you trusted him enough to not only tell him about your regression but also start regressing with him. When you eventually asked for him to be your CG, he was head over heels. Of course he accepted and here you two are today!

Matt is a judgement free zone. Whatever you want or need for your regression he is all for it! Wanna wear diapers? Totally chill with him! Wanna have a sippy cup? He already bought you two! Aren’t the biggest fan of something? He respects your boundaries and strives to make you comfortable!

His favorite thing to do with his little one is go to the park. The city is loud and sometimes overstimulating. But the parks in the city help drown out some of that background noise.

He loves to go on picnic and lay all day on a blanket in the sun cuddling his little one close. Or he love to sit and listen to his little one running around the playground giggling and playing.

Matt is religious but he NEVER pushes his beliefs or anything of that nature onto his little one. He would NEVER. Whether his little one believes the same thing as him, believes something different, or doesn’t believe anything at all, his motto is that it isn’t his business to mind or care.

Matt is not really a tv or movie type of guy. But he is a big reader! So the two of you have your evening story times together! You settle down in his lap, sippy cup in hand as he reads one of his braille books to you all while you rest your head on his shoulder.

Matt is a big cuddler. Like most heroes he comes home late in the night after a long night of fighting crime. Cuddling helps heal the horrors that he witness. You’re his rock, you settle him down enough to sleep, your heat resting upon his chest is all he need to be able to fall asleep.

When Matt comes home hurt or injured from fighting crime, his Little takes it upon themselves to try and make him better. After all they just got themselves a doctors kit from Claire! It’s got bandaids and all sorts of stuff to help their Caregiver feel better. Matt sometimes feel guilty about it, he feels as though he should be taking care of them not vice versa. But he can’t help but love his little one as they run over with their kit to make him feel better, kissing all his injuries and putting plenty of bandaids all over him.

Oh? You wanna sneak into the kitchen and grab yourself a cookie without Matt knowing? Think again! His hearing is good, too good. “And what do you think you’re doing?” “I’m getting myself a snack.” “Standing on the kitchen counter infront of the tall cabinet where the cookies happen to be stored?” “…” “That’s what I thought get down.”

He’s stern but he’s a massive pushover. He’s too sweet to really be that stern.

Now let’s talk about Matt’s family

While Matt’s birth family isn’t alive, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have one. Infact he has the best family anyone could ask for! Foggy, Karen, Claire, and yes…even Frank at times. All of them love and accept Matt’s little one. Some of them even go above and beyond for them!

Foggy & Karen are in their lives the most, working with Matt will do that. They both adore Matt’s little one. When he brings them to the office they’ll completely ignore Matt and spend all their time giving them all their love and attention. Karen and Foggy will literally fight over the Little! They are his go to babysitters and they are honored.

Foggy is Uncle Foggy and you guess it, he’s the fun Uncle. He’s the type of uncle that sneaks you candy, sticks up for you against your caregiver even if your clearly guilty and breaks all your caregivers rules when they watch over you. He loves to play around and be a goof.

Karen is Aunt Karen. She’s usually a buffer for Foggy’s craziness. She’s kind and gentle. She loves to play with the little one, any game they like from dress up, to race cars, to something simple as a board game. She’s always knows their needs without them saying a word. Her kind gentle nature always put the little one at peace.

Claire and Matt’s little one became friends after they called her in a panic because Matt was badly injured. She arrived and not only took care of him, but also his little one. Being a nurse she’s seen regression so she’s no stranger to it. She’s also prepared for it, having pacifiers, fidget toys, diapers, sippy cups and more. Whatever they chose to take she’s prepared to always make sure they’re at ease. She eventually becomes one of Matt many babysitters for his little one. At first she made a big deal about it, she doesn’t mean a word of it having fallen for the adorable Little. Now their her little medical assistant.

Frank becoming Uncle Frank came as a shock to everyone, especially Matt. His little one once got roped in some bad business and The Punisher saved them. Frank called Matt and explained what happened. Matt expected to come back to his apartment and find Frank and his Little chatting, but definitely not cuddling while he read them a book, doing funny voices for all the characters. He’s never seen Frank so paternal before, so gentle. But his little one brought that father side of Frank out. They’re helping him heal through his tragic past: After that, Frank was added to the list of baby sitters Matt had in his arsenal.

At the end of the day Matt and his family of friends love and accept you for the adorable and fun Little you are!🥰

[1moremilgram-enjoyer]

It's eight in the fucking morning in my time zone Amane why

(T2) Q9: What does love mean to you?

Who asked that?! You knew it was going to go horrendously wrong! You had to have known how much emotional pain Amane would inflict by answering this!

Amane: To spread mercy without limits

audgsh bkh sahlmd0ifpm,<ADSXPXÑ

[Magic] But it’s not scary at all, because it’s love I can really think it’s great. See isn’t it a great thing?

"It" being, you know, getting punished and tortured.

Mercy. It's mercy. Being judged. Being punished. Because she's weak and sinful and horrible and an Animal and-

[Magic] Only if, only if, only if I could be a good girl I hope, I hope everyone can be happy and smile Forever, forever together would be a dream

Because Amane doesn't deserve happiness, does she? She doesn't deserve a second chance or an opportunity to change, because she's awful and horrible and how dare she want to eat cake, how dare she show compassion and put a little napkin on a cat's leg, how dare she get something wrong and not be perfect at all times and how dare she not know exactly what the people who love her so so much don't want her to do. Come on, she's fucking 12, surely she shouldn't make any mistakes ever no matter what.

[Purge March] If you become a bad girl, monsters will come out This is the magic that stops that from happening

Can't you see how horrible she is? If she eats cake or goes to an amusement park or dares to be a child, then horrible horrible things will happen. She's so ruinous and corrupt and sinful, can't you see the damage she causes?

That's why it's mercy, you see? Because if they punish her and teach her how wrong she is for having any desires of her own ever, then she can change and be better and be a good girl! See, she's such a good girl! She doesn't even complain when she's electrocuted and drowned and beaten and- because she knows running away from pain is sinful and horrible and how dare she want to be safe and healthy, but by getting punished she can change and become better! She can reach paradise! She has to live like this, she needs to repent for her sins, because she can't bear the thought of having regrets when she dies because she's always so close she needs to be good and now because what if the next time they don't pull her head out of the water until her heart stops beating-

They could give up on her entirely and just put down this sick animal like a cat, but they don't! Because they love her! See, they're merciful! Because they haven't given up on the horrible monster that *gasp* put a napkin on a cat's leg! That can only mean they're being merciful. They still have hope she can discard her entire personality and become the perfect little girl who never does anything wrong.

And she loves them too, you know. That's why she needs to show them when they're wrong. That way their souls can be saved. She can't hate, because hating someone is selfish and horrible and she doesn't deserve the ability to hate. To not punish them would be giving up on them, that wouldn't be very merciful, would it? So she needs to show them when they did something wrong.

Her mother killed a cat, she broke the rules, she broke her vows. She wasn't strong enough to control her urges. So now Amane needs to show her mercy by accepting her weakness and fixing her. And oh, what's this? She's begging Amane to stop? That's weakness too, you know, you're not supposed to run away from punishment. So Amane will have mercy on her by punishing her for that, too.

Maybe once she stops moving, she'll go to heaven instead of hell like the sinful blasphemer unforgiving monster unrepentant sadist Amane hates her so much die die die disappear she is. Isn't Amane just so merciful?

I have so many more thoughts. I just- I can't, I can't put them in order right now. I probably got things wrong in this manifestation of my sadness, I don't have the mental power to think properly right now. She's just- Amane, audhgigcmNULÑkl m

[q-gorgeous]

Will You Marry Me... Phil?

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 2020

Danny really wants to propose to his partner. It does NOT go as planned. @phantomfana

the middle of this was so hard to think of ahhh

Today was a special day. Everything had to be absolutely perfect. 

He led Dash down a trail through the woods in the park, dragging him by the hand. He had spent all morning setting everything up and getting it all ready. 

“What are we doing?” Dash laughed. “You haven’t told me yet.”

Danny smiled at him. “That’s because it’s a surprise. You don’t want me to spoil the surprise, do you?” 

“Why surprise me? You could tell me and then I’d know and be excited for it!”

Danny rolled his eyes. “That’s not how it works. It won’t be as cool if you know what it is before getting there.”

“But why-“

Dash stopped talking when they rounded a bend in the trail and came to an empty clearing. In the middle of it sat a picnic table with flowers, an assortment of foods and desserts, and a pillow that had a cross stitching of Danny and Dash’s faces on it with hearts surrounding them. On the ground laid a blanket with a pile of pillows on top of it.

Dash smiled. “What’s all this for?” 

“I just wanted to let you know how special you are.” Danny said nonchalantly. 

“Awe.” Dash looked back at Danny. “That’s corny.” 

“Says the guy who watches romcoms. You love it.”

“Yeah, I do.”

They sat down and started eating. It was a nice, warm spring day. Perfect weather to spend time outside. 

Once they had finished eating, they laid down on the blanket on the ground and leaned against the pillows. They watched the clouds trail across the sky, pointing out some that looked cool or ones that reminded them of other objects. 

Dash stood up to grab them both some more juice. Now was his chance. He nervously sat up and positioned himself on one knee behind Dash, waiting for him to turn around. He pulled a ring box out of his pocket and held it in his hand. 

Danny watched as Dash turned around. His eyes widened when he saw Danny kneeling behind him. 

“Danny…”

“Dash, I love you so much.” Danny started. “We’ve been through a lot together, but it’s all led us here. I couldn’t imagine my life without you anymore.”

Danny could see Dash’s eyes getting wet with tears as he smiled at him. 

“Will you marry me… Phil?”

Danny looked over Dash’s shoulder at where Phil had suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He frowned at him. 

“Phil?” Dash said, confused. 

“I’m sorry, your majesty.” Dash jumped when Phil started talking behind him, turning his head to look at the ghost. “But there’s a very important matter that requires your attention immediately.” 

“I told everyone not to bother me today! What’s the issue?” 

“Pariah Dark is loose, your majesty. He wishes to reclaim his throne.” 

Danny stared at Phil with wide eyes. The last time he fought Pariah Dark he barely made it out alive. 

“Oh shit.” Dash whispered. “That’s the ghost that teleported Amity Park to the ghost zone that one time, right?”

“Yeah.” Danny said. “How did he get out of the sarcophagus of forever sleep? Isn’t he asleep when he���s in there?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Phil said. “It appears that someone freed him again.

Danny growled. Who would free him a second time? It better not have been Vlad. He’d have a few choice words for the older halfa if he made the same mistake twice. 

“Do you know who would do something like that? Or why?” 

Phil shrugged. “The only ghost that’s still around that had strong relations with Pariah Dark was Clockwork, your majesty. Him and the Fright Knight are the only ones who would have any reason to intervene.” 

Danny groaned. “I don’t think the Fright Knight would free him. He doesn’t seem to care about that much of anything anymore. He’s turning into the grandpa of ghosts.”

“Why would Clockwork free him though?” Dash asked. 

Danny threw his hands up into the air. “I don’t know! To ruin my proposal!” 

“He keeps a close eye on you, your majesty.” Phil shrugged again. “Maybe your proposal reminded him of his own lost love.”

Danny’s eyes widened and his head slowly turned to look at Phil. “What?”

“They used to be lovers, your majesty.”

“Yeah, I got that part!” Danny shouted. “Why didn’t I know that? That’s wild!” 

“Clockwork is very reserved about his personal life, your majesty.”

“Obviously.” Danny rolled his eyes. 

“Where is this guy?” Dash asked nervously, he looked back and forth around them. “He’s not just hanging out in Amity Park right now, is he?”

“No, Mr. Baxter. He is sitting on the throne in the castle at the moment.”

“He can take the throne.” Danny mumbled. “It’s too big for me. My feet don’t touch the ground when I sit on it.”

“We can order a new throne after this is done, your majesty.” Phil said. “First we need to go take care of this.”

“Why would Clockwork let him out if Pariah was going to try to reclaim the ghost king title anyways? Clockwork says me being king is the best outcome of all the timelines he’s seen.” Danny grumbled as he transformed. 

“Clockwork works in mysterious ways, your majesty. It is likely he saw a timeline that benefited from Pariah Dark’s release. That’s what he did with you, after all.”

“Yeah, but why didn’t he-”

Danny was interrupted when Phil grabbed onto both his and Dash’s arms and teleported them. He groaned when they appeared in the throne room but he didn’t say anything about it this time. Phil wasn’t going to remember. 

“Ugh.” Dash groaned as he went to his knees and laid his forehead against the ground. “I’ll never get used to that.”

“My apologies, Mr. Baxter.”

“It’s good, all good. I’m just going to sit here for a minute. 

Danny turned towards the throne and there he sat. Pariah Dark. He was just as giant as he was the last time. And he actually fit on the throne.

“What do you want, Pariah?” 

“I believe your royal advisor here, Phil, already told you. I’m here to reclaim my throne.” He growled. 

“It’s not up for reclamation.” Danny shouted at him. “Go talk to your clocky boyfriend, he said that me being king is the best outcome.”

Pariah fumed and shot a look at Phil. “I see he is not any better at keeping secrets than he was during my reign.”

“I am not, sir. I revealed Phantom’s identity to his entire English class on my first day meeting him.”

Danny sighed. “It was more like within the first five minutes.”

“Enough of this pointless squabbling!” Pariah shouted as he stood up from the throne. “I will be taking back my rightful place as the ghost king! There is nothing you can do to stop me!” 

“I stopped you the last time, didn’t I?” Danny pointed out and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

“You had help that time. From both your ghostly allies and from whatever suit of armor you had been wearing. That will not happen again without the assistance from those.”

“You never know.” Danny squatted down into a fighting stance. “It’s been ten years since I last fought you. I’ve gotten a lot stronger.”

“You’ll never be as powerful as me. That is why I must reclaim the throne.”

Danny scoffed. “All you’ll use the throne for is power. You don’t care about anyone.”

“I did.” Pariah bent down to look at Danny. “But it got me locked up for thousands of years. Power is the only way to keep people in check.”

Danny’s hands glowed green as he prepared some ectoblasts but his brows furrowed. “From what I heard you used your power to control people. They feared you. You were destroying the ghost zone.” 

“None of your allies were there!” Pariah roared. He summoned his own pair of ectoblasts and threw them at Danny. “What would they know?” 

Danny dodged them and threw his own blasts back at him. “I don’t know! More than me! Do you know how hard it is to brush up on ghost zone history?”

“I’ve really been meaning to schedule those tutoring sessions with one of our castle historians, your majesty.”

“Not not, Phil!” 

Danny dodged another couple blasts that were sent his way. He flew up to Pariah Dark and punched him in the face.

“Woo! You get him, babe!” Dash shouted from where he stood by Phil.

Pariah growled again and hit Danny, sending him careening across the throne room. He hit the wall and slid down it. Rubbing his head, he stood back up. 

“You know what, I’m over this.” Danny planted his feet on the ground, spread apart. “You’ve ruined my night and my proposal, I’d like to get back to that now.” 

Danny took a deep breath and let out his ghostly wail. Pariah Dark tried to keep his footing, but his expression shifted from enraged to surprised when Danny’s wail knocked him over. 

Danny smirked as he watched Pariah fall on his ass. While it didn’t knock him out, Pariah definitely looked fatigued. Danny formed a sword out of ice and held it up to Pariah’s throat.

“The throne is mine.” Danny said, looking down at him. “You can accept that, or you can go back into the sarcophagus of forever sleep. But Clockwork let you out for a reason so I’m willing to take my chances.”

Pariah Dark glowered at him for a moment before his expression shifted. 

“You certainly have grown since the last time we battled. Your exercise of power is noble as well.” He stood up. “Perhaps I should go have a chat with my old friend and see what he has in store.”

“Yeah, go see Clocky. Ask him what the hell is going on.”

Pariah Dark walked towards the throne and grabbed it, heaving the heavy thing into his arms. “I will be taking this, though. It’s the only chair I fit in.”

Danny waved an arm at him. “Take it. I can’t reach the ground in it.”

Pariah Dark floated into the air without another word and flew away.

“Phil, we really gotta start getting me those history lessons. Some of the things he was saying doesn’t line up with what everyone’s told me. We need someone trustworthy too.”

“I will start working that out, your majesty. I know lot’s of ghosts who are still around from that era. I will have to look in my phonebook and contact some of them.”

“If Phil was also Pariah Dark’s advisor, why can’t he just tell you?” Dash whispered to Danny. 

“I don’t know. Phil forgets everything so I’m not sure he’d be well suited to teaching me things.” Danny said. “Now come on, let’s get back to our picnic.”

Dash smiled at him. “Okay!”

“I will see you at our next council meeting, your majesty.”

“Yeah, yeah. See you later, Phil.”

Danny picked Dash up and flew out of the castle and through the zone until they reached his parent’s ghost portal. They flew intangibly through the house until they hit the open sky and soon they were landing back on the grass in the forest by their picnic area. Danny set Dash on the ground and transformed back into his human form. 

“Now that we’re finally done with that.” Danny pulled the ring box out of his pocket and knelt down on one knee. “Will you marry me, Dash?” 

Dash smiled at him, tears in his eyes. Without speaking, he pulled another ring box out of his own pocket and opened it. Inside was a dazzling ring. 

Danny laughed and stood up. “I guess that means it’s a yes?”

“Of course, you idiot.” Dash looked at him warmly. “It’ll always be yes.”

Danny took the ring out of the ring box he was holding and slid it onto Dash’s finger. Dash did the same to Danny. He wrapped his arms around Dash’s neck and pulled him in close for a kiss. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[canofspooks]

DannyMay Day 4 (Fractals)

Danny Fenton was just fourteen when his parents finished the portal to the Ghost Zone.

Sam Manson was just fourteen when she tried to step in.

Tucker Foley was just fourteen when he was pushed in.

Clockwork was growing tired of the Observers. True to their name, they were exceptionally good at watching the flow of time for abnormalities, but cleanup always seemed to fall on him.

Swapped places, altered powers, bizarre shifts in personality - the budding alternate realities were inconsequential compared to the nightmare that was the ghost boy's evil counterpart, but that wasn't enough to convince the Observers that they could leave these worlds alone for once.

When he thought he'd finally had a break to watch the ebb and flow of eternity in peace, he felt eyes staring into the back of his head.

"What is it now?" he groaned, not bothering to give the Observers his full attention.

"Several dozen more faults have appeared-" said one of the Observers.

The other continued, "- Phantom and his friends, on worlds other than Earth. This needs to be mended at once."

He humored them, turning his viewport to skim through a few of these growing "faults". Much like the others, they appeared harmless to the overall flow of reality. Some worlds stripped Amity Park of its technology in favor of magic and monsters, others saw ghosts replaced by fairies.

"Oh dear, the ghost boy has pointed ears in this one. Reality as we know it is crumbling," he deadpanned.

The observers moved to float in front of his viewport. Without eyelids or other facial features, it was difficult to ascribe an emotion to them.  He wasn't sure if they had any other than mild disinterest and worry.

"These faults may appear harmless for now, but there is no telling if they will fracture off into smaller, more severe ones."

"The magic of these worlds isn't much different than the main timeline, I wouldn't worry so much about it." He waved their concern away with a hand.

"Reality as a whole may not be at stake, but recall the last time you considered a fault 'too small' to worry about. We don't want another dissection incident."

In an instant, the atmosphere turned tense. Clockwork sucked in a breath he didn't need, turned off the viewport, and retrieved his staff from where it rested. The time spirit did not make mistakes, but he may have made a minor miscalculation that one time.

Human cruelty was difficult to quantify, so he had an excuse not to have realized the damage that could be done by such an innocuous fracture in the timeline. Still, he would rather not repeat the chain of events that had left the fringes of time a mess of grim realities which fractured into more, even darker ones the moment he'd finally corrected one. Like a hydra made of fear-stained worlds and dead Phantoms.

At least, he reminded himself, the main timeline had not yet been altered to fit the trends of those worlds. He'd done that much.

Clockwork clicked his staff and opened a portal to one of these new "not-Earth" realities. "Fine. If it will calm your ever-present worrying, I'll mend the faults."

[scuttling]

Lovers' Spat

Fandom: Criminal Minds Pairings: Aaron Hotchner/Female Reader Word Count: 2,738 Tags: 18+, NSFW, Teasing, Daddy kink, Soft dom/sub, Cockwarming (+ unsafe driving practices), Oral fixation, Unprotected sex, Choking, Spit kink, Come marking Summary: You piss off Aaron at work, he's harsh about it, and you're both upset on the flight back. At home, you're desperate to connect and give each other what you need. *Requested by @ssahotchie :) Link to A03 or read below! “I don’t see why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” you say when you and Aaron are back at the hotel packing up your stuff. “It was innocent.”

“It was not innocent, and you know it. There’s nothing innocent about nibbling on my ear and rubbing my thigh in a fucking police precinct.”

Well he’s got you there. Your intentions were most certainly to tease him and make him hard, so he would be praying for the flight to end quickly so he could drag you to your bedroom and do dirty things to you. Admittedly, sometimes your libido gets the best of you.

“Okay, so it wasn’t innocent, but no harm was done. When that detective caught me, she laughed.” Aaron is very much not laughing.

“No harm was done to you, but apparently you forget that I have a reputation to uphold. I’m known in a lot of these law enforcement offices, if not by face than by name, and I don’t need you teasing me, undermining my authority, and being inappropriate.”

You feel that like a slap to the face; you set your jaw, exhale through your nose, and shove your shit into your go bag, and when you’re packed you throw it onto the floor, walk into the bathroom, and slam the door behind you.

You’re looking in the mirror and willing yourself not to cry. Yes, teasing him is fun, being a little shit is fun, but disappointing him is not fun, and you feel like a huge fucking disappointment right now. You feel like a pain in the ass, like a dumb slut who has no regard for what he wants or needs, who only wants to get fucked. It’s humiliating.

After a couple minutes, Aaron knocks on the door. “Time to go, baby.” You take a deep breath and open the door, walk over to your bag and throw it over your shoulder, not making eye contact. You wait for him to catch up, and he puts his hand on the small of your back, turns you to face him. “I’m sorry. I was a little harsh.” You frown and shake your head, holding it high in hopes you’ll trick your stupid brain into thinking you’re not some huge fuck up, a huge mistake.

“No, you were right. You don’t need me ruining your reputation.” He closes his eyes, sighs, and you open the door, gather with the rest of the team in the lobby. They don’t know what happened, but you’re sure it’s obvious that you and Aaron are not in a good place right now. No one tries to talk to you or joke with you, and you sit by yourself on the plane, earbuds in with nothing playing. You stare out the window and wonder what this means for the rest of your day, your week. Your life. When you land, Aaron grabs both of your bags and throws them in the back of the car. You slink into the passenger’s seat, move to buckle in, but he stops you with a gentle hand on yours.

“Are you angry, or sad?” You smile, just a little, because of the fact that’s a question he even knows to ask. He knows you so well, it hurts sometimes.

“Sad. I hate disappointing you,” you say, and your voice cracks a little. It’s easier to hold back your emotions when you don’t speak. He lifts his hand, runs it over your cheek, pulls you close for a soft kiss.

“You didn’t disappoint me. You’re my good girl, you’re perfect.” You close your eyes and lean into his palm.

“I’m not.”

“Do you want to be?” You open your eyes, swallow, make eye contact; his gaze is soft, but serious, and beautiful as always.

“Yes, daddy. More than anything.” He nods, opens his belt and unzips his pants. You lick your lips, second nature at this point, and your eyes move from his face to his cock—now exposed, half hard—and then back to his face. You must look uncertain, because he brushes a thumb over your lips.

“I just want you to put your mouth on me and stay there, until we get home, okay? First step to being daddy’s good girl is just keeping me warm and wet with your sweet little mouth.” You say a silent thanks to the FBI for its heavily tinted windows and lean over the center console, hold him still, and wrap your lips around him.

He knows how it makes you feel to have your mouth full—be it full of his cock or his fingers or your fingers or a toy—how your mouth is like a direct line to both your heart and your pussy that is unlike any other erogenous zone on your entire body. It makes you feel happy, and good, and useful, and cared for, so much more than just an oral fixation; you’re sure that’s why this is step one, because you will be soft and fuzzy and pleased with yourself by the time you make it home, no longer embarrassed by your behavior or wounded by his words.

He pets your head when he can, murmurs, perfect and good girl and so good for daddy, and you moan softly, occasionally, sounds of contentment more than pleasure. Once or twice, he moves his hand to your ass, squeezes, and you moan louder, wanting to bob on his cock, but he reminds you to stay still with a hand on the back of your neck; you want to please him more than anything, so you do.

After he pulls into his parking spot and turns off the car, he tilts your head so your cheek is pressed to his thigh, and you look up at him, your eyes unfocused but full of gratitude and love. He brushes your hair back, takes his cock in his hand and slides it out of your mouth, and you groan softly at the loss.

“Good girl. So incredible for daddy. I need you, you know that? Need my perfect girl.”

“I need you, daddy,” you rasp, and you sit up, and he takes your face in his hands and kisses your soft, wet lips.

“I know you do, and I’m going to give you what you want. Let’s get inside, okay, angel?” Again, he grabs both of your bags, and he puts his arm around your waist, helps you get inside, since you’re a little hazy from keeping your mouth on him for so long.

He gets you a drink of water, then guides you to the bedroom, sits you back on the bed and slowly, lovingly removes your clothes. You brush your fingers through his hair, just stare at him, happy and horny and very in love.

“Do you want to undress me, or do you just want to watch?” he asks, and you slide off the bed, sink to your knees, and take off his shoes and socks and pants while he works on his tie and the buttons of his shirt. When you’re both naked, he pulls the comforter down and lays you back against the sheets, leans in to kiss your throat, your cheeks, and then he puts his fingers inside you, to make sure you’re ready for more than that.

“I’m ready, daddy, ready,” you whisper, but he moves them inside you to decide for himself, because sometimes you’re so horny you say you’re ready when you really aren’t, and then it hurts. You don’t mind when it hurts, but Aaron likes you to be prepared, so you try to be patient.

When he decides you’re ready, he spreads your thighs wide, gets on his knees, and pulls you closer, lines the head of his cock up at your entrance and presses in. You moan, because you’ve been wanting to feel this all damn day, and then he slips his wet fingers into your mouth, gets his other hand on your hip, and starts to thrust.

“Beautiful, baby, so good and sweet for daddy. Perfect angel.” His voice is tense with arousal, his face a gorgeous combination of concentration and pleasure; you move your hips, pressing your thighs against his, taking his deep, slow thrusts to the next level, and he pulls his fingers out of your mouth, holds your waist tightly, moves a little quicker.

“Oh, yes daddy,” you breathe, your hands on his forearms, your tits bouncing and your body sliding back and forth across the bed. “Feels so good, so good. Fuck me, fuck my body, daddy.” He groans, and his grip on your waist gets tighter; he’s really pounding you now, and you’re breathing heavily, but you want something more, something you can’t reach yet but that’s at the edge of your mind, on the tip of your tongue.

“That’s right, good girl, daddy’s fucking your soft little body. Filling you up with his hard cock. You love that, angel; this is what you wanted earlier, isn’t it? When you were teasing daddy? You just wanted to be fucked, filled up with cock like the good girl you are, and daddy wasn’t nice. I’m sorry, baby, I love you.”

“It’s okay, daddy, love you, daddy. I shouldn’t have been inappropriate but I wanted you to get hard and think of me.” He hums, moves a hand to your thigh and the other to your throat, squeezes tightly. You arch off the bed, up into his hand, whimper and move your hips faster, more desperately. “Oh, god, oh, yeah.” You groan, tense, and come, digging your nails into his forearms, and he grunts as you quake around him, letting up on your throat just a little.

“There’s daddy’s girl, coming so hard. Good girl. So wet for me now.” You absolutely are, you can hear the sounds of his cock moving in and out of you very clearly, and it makes you feel hot and dirty and eager for more: but more what?

Your question is answered when he leans forward, sucks on one of your nipples, then pulls back and dribbles some spit on it, rubs his hand roughly over it when it’s damp.

Jesus Mary and Joseph. New challenge unlocked: get this sexy fucking man to soak you in his spit.

“Oh, oh, please, please,” you babble, and he spreads his spit to your other nipple, lets a little more drip off of his tongue. “Oh god, oh, please.” He sucks it, then looks up at you, because you’re clearly losing your fucking mind.

“What is it, angel? What do you want from daddy?” He squeezes your neck again, and you whine high in your throat, can feel your wetness soaking your ass and the sheets beneath you; you want to be wet all over, a mess all over, you want him to fill your pussy and your mouth, you want him inside you in every way. You whine again.

“Spit on me daddy. My tummy and my tits,” you plead, and his eyes get dark and he swirls his tongue around a nipple, spits on it, moves to the other side and does the same. Your chest is heaving, drenched, filthy, and he changes the angle so he can drip some into your belly button, too. He’s higher up for that, and you can see a string of spit falling from his mouth as he does it, and you move a hand to your throbbing pussy and rub it, moaning like an absolute whore.

“You like that, baby? You like when daddy spits on you? You like being a dirty slut, covered in daddy, filled by daddy?” You nod as best as you can with his hand on your throat, your mouth open, panting, and he gets a glimmer in his eye that makes you even fucking wetter. He slides his hand up from your throat to your jaw, squeezes, and leans over your body, presses his lips to your slack mouth for a kiss. “Open wide, good girl.”

You shiver, whimper, and open your mouth, and you can see him rolling his tongue, collecting spit; you moan on repeat like a broken record, your fingers beating your clit, his cock pounding your pussy, and you start to come again just as he presents you with a tongue coated in spit, as he pours it into your mouth, stringy and slick and thick and everything you didn’t know you needed.

You tip your head back, swallow, and your eyes roll a little as your orgasm only continues to build. He leans in for a wet, sloppy kiss, groans against your mouth, and then pulls back and spits again, this time onto your closed lips, so it rolls down your chin, your throat. You swipe your tongue over your bottom lip, sigh happily, and Aaron comes, pumping inside you a few times and then pulling out to let the rest coat your thighs.

You have never been so thoroughly debauched, your body trembling, sticky and shiny and covered in a multitude of fluids, and Aaron climbs off the bed, making you whimper at the loss.

“Be right back, baby,” he assures, so you just raise your arms over your head, sigh, so content; when he comes back, he kneels on the bed, holds his phone over you, and takes a picture. You laugh softly, surprised.

“Okay, and what’s that all about?” you ask as he crowds in next to you, rubs his fingers gently over your jaw, your throat, where he’d been rough.

“This is an image I won’t let myself soon forget, but just in case my imagination is failing me one day, I need to have a backup.” You huff a laugh, pull him close for a kiss, and he tosses his phone toward the end of the bed, holds you closer. “I’m sorry about earlier. I could stand to be a little less uptight. I wasn’t thinking about how my words could affect you, and I didn't mean them anyway. I do need you, inappropriate and teasing me, or any other way you chose to be. I love you.”

“I love you too, but I’m also sorry. There’s a time and a place for what I did, and the precinct wasn’t it. I wasn’t thinking of how my actions could affect you, or your reputation.” You brush a hand through his hair, look into his perfect, gorgeous eyes, and sigh. “Besides, the only place I want you to have a bad reputation is here in this bed with me. I like that you’re a gentleman in the streets and a nasty, choking, spitting, fucking machine in the sheets. Really gets me going, when you’re standing there all pressed and proper in your expensive suits and I know you’re probably thinking about pulling my hair and railing me on the nearest surface.” He hums, nods like you’re a little silly, but you know deep down he loves it.

“I am thinking about that most of the time,” he says with a smile, and you kiss and get cleaned up and change the sheets, and then you curl up on your stomach, his heavy body on top of you, all around you, and fall blissfully asleep. A little less than a week later, you’re on a case, and Aaron thinks the unsub would open up to you, if you’re up for it. He gives everyone directions, but asks you to hang back a moment, which is not unusual; he’ll do that to everyone before an interrogation, to go over his expectations, warnings.

The two of you are in the conference room, your makeshift workspace, alone, when he steps up to you, towering over you, and wraps his fingers around your chin. He presses one soft, gentle kiss to your lips, and then says, “open up for daddy.”

Your eyes get wide, but you do as instructed, and he spits on your tongue, then gives you an open-mouthed, filthy kiss.

“For luck,” he says, humor in his eyes, because he can see how all of that delicious nonsense has affected you. He smacks you on the ass and tells you he’ll be watching, lets you go.

You make that unsub your bitch and get a confession in five minutes flat. Everyone asks what’s gotten into you to make you such a... spitfire, but you’ll never tell.

Except Garcia. You’re definitely telling Garcia. Taglist ❤️: @arsonhotchner @mrsh0tchner @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads @mintphoenix @meghannnnnn @disgruntledchowchow @azenpal @g-l-pierce @my-rosegold-soul

[skinnyducky]

awkward apologies (pt. 2 to unexepected visits) // v.h.

This was soooo cute to write. When I tell you it was so hard to not laugh while writing this, I was trying my best. But, that's the whole point of this. To laugh, to go "awweee", and to be happy. So, thank you to those who enjoyed pt. 1...here's pt. 2 :)

link to part 1

Word Count: 1557, slightly edited

WARNING: language, sexual themes, embarrassed vinnie, and i think that's it.

---------

Vinnie leaned against the fence of the skatepark, cradling his board close to his chest. Jett sat next to him, still laughing from the story Vinnie had shared with him.

“Please tell me that all was a joke,” he laughed. “You can’t be serious?”

“It’s not funny, dude. I was so embarrassed.”

Jett shook his head, trying to stop his giggles. “Look, shit happens. It’s not the end of the world. At that, it’s not like Y/n was mad at you or anything.”

“Jett, Y/n hasn’t called me since that night.”

It was true; you hadn’t spoken to him in three days since the night of the incident. Why would you though? He embarrassed not only himself, but you, in front of your parents. Those are the very people whose opinion matters when it comes to your relationships, and he just blew it. It didn’t even help that he did not bother to explain his urgent departure right after. There were no texts, no calls, not even a tweet that gave you any hints as to what went wrong.

“I just don’t know, man. I messed up something so good.” Vinnie sighed, looking down at his shoes.

Jett sighed, placing a comforting hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Like I said, it’s not the end of the world, man. Everyone knows how head over heels you two are for each other. One little mistake isn’t going to make or break what you have going on.”

“I get that but…I…I wish I hadn’t-“

“You don’t need to repeat it.” Jett said. “Now, how about you get on your board, skate for a few minutes, and calm yourself. The more you think about it, the sadder you get, and I really don’t feel like having to cuddle with you in one of your sad moods.”

Vinnie chuckled. “Those are the best cuddles though.”

With that, the boy hopped onto his board and rode off. He skated, doing turns and all sorts of kickflips. He was in the zone, and nothing could bring him out of it. With his tongue peeking out between his lips, he gathered himself to do an ollie. He got into position, keeping his eyes on his board and his fit. With a leap, he looked up and lo and behold, there you were with your friends. He gasped, the sight of you catching him off guard, so much that he barely came close to nailing his trick.

“Shit!” he shouted, landing on his ass.

Even as far as he was, he could hear the sound of Jett’s cackles echo throughout the skatepark. Even through his awkwardness, he managed to look over at you. Much to his surprise, you were looking right back at him, laughing along with your pals. He shot you a small smile, but that fell once he saw your happy expression turn into what one would refer to as…disgust. Oh, you were mad mad.

The boy gulped, picking up his board and hurrying over to Jett, who was still laughing his ass off.

“I wish I had caught that on camera, man!” He hollered, clutching his stomach. “You should’ve seen the look on your face before you fell! Oh wait, I can show you!”

Jett proceed to mock Vinnie’s expression, failing his arms in the air.

Vinnie stared at him with an irritated gaze. “Ha, ha…very funny.”

“Dude, what happened? You normally nail your ollies.”

“Y/n happened.”

Jett’s laughter stopped as he realized what Vinnie said. “What? What’s going on?”

“They’re here.”

Jett scanned the park for you before finding you on the other end from them, chatting with your friends.

“What is Y/n doing here? I didn’t know they skated.”

“They don’t, which is why it caught me off guard.” Vinnie replied. “You think they’re here for me?”

Jett shook his head. “No, I think they’re here to protest.”

Vinnie squinted his eyes in confusion before turning back to you. There, he saw you pick up a board and wave it around, chanting, “Save the whales!”

“Why at a skatepark?”

“Don’t ask me. I’m not the one protesting.” Jett snickered.

“Y/n laughed at me.��

“Then they’re not mad.”

“I wouldn’t exactly say that.”

Jett turned to his friend with a puzzled face. “Why do you say that?”

“Because, when I smiled at them, they just looked at me like I was some creep on the street.”

“Welp, then this is your chance,” said Jett. “Talk to them, explain what happened.”

Vinnie sighed, “What am I supposed to say? That I accidentally jizzed in my pants and had to leave before I made an ass out of myself?”

“Yep.”

Vinnie looked to Jett with shock. “You’re joking. Jett, I can’t do that.”

“Listen Vinnie, you are making a big deal out of nothing. All you have to do is walk up to Y/n, tell her the truth, say you’re sorry, and hope for the best. I mean, if anything…it was kind of a compliment to her, right? Trust me on this.”

Vinnie sat there and thought about it for a minute. Jett wasn’t completely wrong; it would be better to tell the truth than to not say anything and let what could be good relationship just wither and die. With that in mind, he pulled up his britches and walked over to you.

“Save the whales-“ you stopped your chanting, merely glaring at the boy in front of you. Your friends scoffed to themselves, turning to stare at Vinnie.

“Um, hey…Y/n.” He greeted, rubbing the back of his head.

“Hey…that’s all you can say?” You replied. “You haven’t called me, you haven’t texted me, you haven’t even left a voice message. What the hell, Vinnie?”

He stood there speechless, not knowing what else to say.

“Like, what the hell happened? That thing with Mac and then not shaking my dad’s hand, like…what?”

“I know, Y/n, and I’m so sorry.”

“Vinnie, I managed to fly to Seattle with you and spend a week with your family, and you can’t even spend one hour with mine? I thought you were different.”

“I am, Y/n. I promise you, I am.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms. “You know what…I can’t do this here, Vinnie. We’re trying to save whales and…”

“Okay, sorry.”

Vinnie shoved his hands into his pockets as he turned and began to walk away. But something stopped him. Maybe it was the ounce of pride in his system or the fact that he didn’t wanna lose you, but something kept him from leaving. Then he did the unthinkable…

Swallowing his embarrassment, he turned back around and stepped towards you.

“I, um…I ejaculated in my pants.”

Your friends snorted behind you, trying to keep their laughter to themselves. You stared at him with a glimmer of amusement in your eyes. You tried so hard not to break out into a smile.

“We were, um…we were getting hot and it’s not every day I have someone as…hot…as you grinding on top of me, and I got a bit excited. Next thing I know, your parents come in and I’m sitting there with jizz in my pants.”

You pursed your lips as you turned to the side, trying to contain the fit of giggles begging to escape. Your friends on the other hand…they were nearly on the verge of pissing themselves.

“So, uh…sorry. Sorry.”

Vinnie cleared his throat and slowly treaded back to Jett.

You moved to face your friends, joining them in the laughing session.

“That was the most awkward thing ever.” One of your friends said. “But I’ll say this, he’s honest. There’s no way anyone could make that up.”

“Right?” You chuckled.

“I say you should you talk to him. He’s a good kid.” Your other friend added.

You smiled. “You think so?”

The two nodded.

“Okay.” You said, running towards Vinnie.

“Vinnie!” You called, gaining the boy’s attention.

He glanced over to Jett, who took this is as his signal to give you two a minute.

“You know, never once have I ever heard of something so weird,” you said, “but so adorable at the same time.”

Vinnie grinned, awkwardly shooting you a thumbs up. “What can I say, that’s all I am. Just a weird, yet adorable, person.”

You grabbed his hands, looking into his eyes. “Why didn’t you just tell me what happened? I totally would’ve understood.”

“I was just too embarrassed, and plus I didn’t know if you still even wanted me.”

“Vinnie, I could never not want you. I told you before, I really like you and I wouldn’t want to do anything to mess that up. You should never have to question that.”

He sighed, “I’m sorry for not coming to you sooner.”

“And I’m sorry for my friends. They’re still laughing about it.”

He smiled, bringing you closer into him. The two of you stared at each other, your faces inches away.

“I love you.” He said.

It caught you off guard a bit, granted you had only been seeing each other for a short time. But nonetheless, it still made you feel butterflies inside. Grinning you closed the gap between you two, bringing your lips together. It was so good to have his lips against yours, and vice versa. You pulled back, pressing your forehead against his.

“I love you too.”

[wincore]

atlas | kim dongyoung

pairing: doyoung x reader

words: 15.4k

summary: kim doyoung has a lot of titles. student body president, music club president, favourite student of every professor who’s blessed enough to have him. in other words, he’s not your type and never will be. at least he’s a good kisser.

or, you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders and you do not know how to hold things as delicate as glass.

genre: college au, fwb au, hurt/comfort, angst, some fluff 

warnings: very suggestive content, making out, language, smoking, alcohol, mentions of sex under influence, me being pretentious,,

prompt: anonymous said: slippery + doyoung + "you can rely on me, you know." from the first dialogue link! LOVE YOU ❤️

song rec(s): playlist here !

a/n: yes it’s me experimenting out of my comfort zone again. yes you are required by law to listen to keshi while reading this hahahaha anyway writing this was painful. <3 (aka today i tried writing very complex human emotions and failed again. classic.)

In the beginning, there was no beginning. Ergo, this isn’t really a thing.

You shouldn’t be thinking of summer in Introduction to Latin. You are a good (perhaps great, if your ego allows) student after all. Here you are, though, listening to the ticking of the clock and wondering if you sigh loud enough, you won’t have to construct another sentence with the word for ‘death’. You pause to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be thinking of summer out of class either. Unremarkable; that's what it was and you don’t like unremarkable things.

When two people end up alone together, there’s not much to make of. 

“You know,” he had said, locking eyes. “We should get out of here.”

“And then what?”

“Fuck.”

So here’s the thing: this isn’t and won’t be a thing.

Doyoung has never been subtle when drunk, you found out, and he’s not as gentle as he looks. You flip the page of your notebook absentmindedly. You don’t like where your thoughts are going; the clinking of ice against glass rings in your ears again. It’s been far too long (one whole month) and you’re craving a bit of fun. You may forget yourself but you’re reaching your fingertips a little too far to call him again. More excuses pop up. See, in your world of perfection, there’s a hierarchy of things; men rank rather low. 

(Fun doesn’t.)

Here’s another thing: you forget yourself quite often. You know very well that you’re the one who continued this not-thing and now you’re daydreaming of Kim Doyoung in class hours. 

And under grey bed sheets with a tired smile, Doyoung is hard to forget. 

It was a party, it always is. That time, however, was the first party of the year Doyoung and you happened to be attending at the same time. You can’t remember who hosted it—the frat probably—but it was at a bar called the ‘The Meeting Place’ which had too many people you didn’t care about. Doyoung was there, in his laid-back glory, and you were drawn in far too easily. Being single did not help your case—and the alcohol certainly didn’t. You’re not sure if it was the gentle touches against your wrist or quick words that left his mouth or the attractive all-black get-up. All you know is that it was your mouth against his by the end of the night in a small booth, hot and impatient. Once, twice, thrice and you didn’t even need parties anymore. 

It’s not like you weren’t aware of what you were doing; it’s just that you were quick to give in—like you didn’t want to resist in the first place. And now, summer smells like Doyoung’s perfume. 

The first night had given Mr. Student Body President a near-stroke. You weren’t the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men at parties either so the morning had been full of awkward explanations to each other till you’d kissed him to shut him up (much like in a disgusting romantic comedy, minus the feelings) and somehow, it worked. He didn’t refuse and if you recall, he’d eventually pulled you closer by the waist.

You huff, twirling your pen. He’d never admit it.

You didn’t kiss so sloppily after that, unless it was to make out against a wall or while fumbling with the keys to your apartment. The lack of alcohol can bring wonders. You were a little surprised that he’d agreed—he is the Doyoung you’ve known since freshman year after all; blunt, rude, cares more for his grades than he’d ever for you. How laughable. He’s almost the same as you.

Here’s one last thing: Kim Doyoung is not and cannot be your type. 

You had the same part-time job in your second semester at a local fast food joint, and to summarize, your interactions were less than friendly. You can’t possibly count the number of times he yelled at you for trivial mistakes, and the number of times you sent angry, clipped sentences his way. So, yes, neither of you have told anyone—just acting friendly got you enough eyebrow raises.  If there’s anything worse than contradicting yourself almost directly, it’s having to explain that to your friends. So, you kept it a secret and so did he, for his own reasons.

You massage your forehead. If you think any more of this during class hours, you’re going to have to classify this as a terrible, terrible problem; like you don’t have enough already. You tune in to the lecture again, hoping it drowns out the rest of your thoughts. 

You tap your pen against the desk till you’re asked to stop by the professor. There goes your last resort. It isn’t the first time, but you breathe a sigh of relief at the hands of the clock. Casual means casual—you know it better than anyone. Maybe it would be easier if you could be more open about it. But you can’t. Your own problems aside, Doyoung would kill you if his reputation went down, even a nick. Men like that are so difficult, you curse to yourself. 

You run into Ten in the hallways, brightening at his absurdly wide grin. In fact, you haven’t seen him remotely upset since freshman year, when he couldn’t join the dance club, not because he failed the audition but because he mixed up the dates and missed it entirely. (It’s okay; he got in the next year.)

“Guess what!” he yells before you’re even in conversation range.

“What?” you yell back.

“No, guess,” he says, when you’re close enough.

You roll your eyes. “You scored a date?”

Ten deadpans. “No. I don’t even want one.”

“Loser.”

“No, you.”

“How clever.”

Ten flicks your forehead with no provocation whatsoever, making you yelp in pain. After a minute of cursing on your part, he squishes your cheeks to bring you back to reality—like he wasn’t the cause. You bite your lip to keep yourself from scowling. His hair is still light brown from the bleach, and you fix his bangs out of habit; your dumb friends are all you have at the end of the day. You sigh. They all lean on you unwittingly.

“Anyway, the news? I’m not guessing anything else,” you warn, taking a sip of your coffee.

“Well,” he draws out the syllable. “I heard- know you’re into the smart type. You know, student council kinda guys? So…”

You choke, the coffee leaving your mouth just as quick as it entered.

“Who told you that?” The laugh that leaves your mouth is forced and certainly fake but it’s the best you can do.

Ten rolls her eyes, still smiling. “I was thinking if you would be interested in a certain Park Hyungmin.”

Oh. Student body vice-president. He’s most definitely your type, with a gifted body and equally strong academic prowess—not to mention perfectly maintained tan skin and the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen in your life. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s hot,” you nod in agreement. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“He likes you. Like, totally has the hots for you. And I owe him so please help me out here.”

You furrow your brows, heaving a deep sigh.

“You...want me to go on a date with him?” you ask. 

You can oblige. Park Hyungmin is the hottest dude on campus (probably). It’s a win-win situation—in fact, it’s even better. A certain bitter taste finds itself in your mouth. It must be the coffee. You swallow it. 

“Yeah.”

And the deal’s done.

It was casual commitment, like most things you do for fun. You don’t think much of it, and the thought takes its final bow when you run into Doyoung himself.

Well, sort of.

You turn heel when he appears in your line of sight, pretending to fix your hair against a damn wall. You aren’t quite ready to face him yet, considering the coffee hasn’t kicked in—it’s not healthy how much you depend on it. Dependence is different, however, from consciously drowning yourself in it. 

See, Doyoung is anything but tolerable without a few shots of vodka. Or after sex. Or when he’s mumbling in his sleep. And you can’t erase any of those scenes. This is you trying to save yourself (and Doyoung) from embarrassment and a whole lot of explanation.

His coat looks expensive and you’d rather he had it on instead of on his arm. The tucked-in sweater and pants combo accentuates the line of his waist and the colour—you wonder where he found a teal so fitting—looks serene in the crowd. He’s wearing his glasses though, looking a little less put together than usual. Still, no one seems to notice and he continues to explain something to his group of friends.

God forbid you find Doyoung attractive during daytime.

His lips are chapped but pink as ever, the hair messed up by either the wind or his friends—you should stop staring by now. You give in. You’ll text him to book a hotel room tonight.

Sometimes you wonder how he has that large a friend circle, and always, the question answers itself. Eloquence, wit and regrettably, good looks—what does he lack? Maybe if he lost the habit to nag people around fifty-six times a day, he’d be the perfect man.  

An arm slings over your shoulder, punting the soul right out of your body.

“Fuck, Johnny, don’t do that,” you hiss, placing your hand over your chest involuntarily. 

The head of the photography club apparently spends his time terrorizing everyone he remotely knows. You make a foul expression but iIt’s not like he ever minds your scowling. He says he’s had enough practice from teasing Doyoung (and you’ll admit, it’s the only time you feel sorry for him). You were certain Doyoung would have filed him for harassment sometime in sophomore year. 

“What are you even looking at?” Johnny asks, raising an eyebrow at the plain offwhite expanse of the wall in front of you.

You feel hot at the neck. “I was fixing my hair.”

“In front of a wall?”

You click your tongue. “Do you not have class?”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to send me off.” He places a hand over his chest in mock hurt, fingers stretched delicately. 

To your dismay, the rest of his friends gather around giving you happy greetings—greetings only carefree college boys are capable of delivering. To your further dismay, Kim Doyoung arches an eyebrow at you, the same way he does on nights you’re doing things less than appropriate to think of in broad daylight.

“Hey, Doyoung, don’t you have anything to say? Or were you too drunk to remember?”

You bite down on your lip a little too hard. Doyoung, on the other hand, looks like he’s just seen God, stammering out a “what?” nevertheless.

“Weren’t you supposed to buy (name) a drink for driving you home that night?”

“Right,” he says, clearing his throat.

Oh, he’s bought you a drink enough times. Summer has waned but whatever thread you tied around your wrists hasn’t. Right now, your guess is that Doyoung has been ensnared in the common ritual for college boys to walk around campus and declare their friend is single just to embarrass him (or by some miracle, score him a date).

Everything, apart from the way you look at Doyoung, feels like a charade. You shake your head with a quick laugh, smacking Johnny in the arm and pay your condolences to Doyoung—keep it light. You’re good at it, or pretending you’re good at it, at the very least.

Doyoung’s gaze on you lingers for a moment and then you breathe. You’re going to be late for class—you offer the classic excuse and you’re out of there. In a way, it’s exciting. You’ve always wanted to have a secret relationship, even if this isn’t a real one. 

Doyoung is like the summer breeze, and you’d like for him to stay that way.

The next time you grace each other’s presence is when Doyoung’s tongue is in your mouth and his hands are running up under your shirt. 

He’s quite a pretty sight—messy hair, red lips and rosy cheeks. He moans into the kiss as he has quite a few times now and there’s the lovers’ high running through either of your minds. When he presses his lips to your neck, a soft restrained sound escapes you, not quite prepared for the sting of electricity through your skin. He moves to your collarbone and shoulders and then even lower, hands gripping your waist tight. The walls do not have ears here; these hotels are cheap but they’re built for privacy and maybe you’ll let yourself believe for once that you can belong to someone.

“Why did you text me in the middle of the goddamn night?” he mutters against the base of your neck.

“You want reasons now?” you whisper, hands running through his hair.

Doyoung has pretty fingers, pressing at the right places and prettier eyes that look at you with something akin to, dare you say it, love. He kisses you like he hasn’t had enough; and it makes you feel important.

He’s even better when he’s annoyed.

You wake up at around five in the morning. Propping yourself up on one arm, you take a moment to look at your partner. It’s easy to make out the line of his nose against the pillow, and if you focus, you can see his lashes against his cheek and his dark mop of hair clinging to his forehead. However gentle the moonlight is, it is kindest on a lover. 

Funny.

Too tired to sneak out, you go back to sleep.

“All I’m saying is that you have too much coffee,” Doyoung complains, slipping on his loose black sweatshirt. “It can’t be good for your health.”

You shake your head, scrolling through your phone as you lay on your belly. You’ve seen this view enough times—his back to you and sitting at the opposite edge of the bed, his incessant complaints and opinions about something that happened recently, running his hand through his hair when he sighs. You press on the calendar app and type in a note labeled ‘x’. Keeping tabs isn’t a bad thing; especially if you like order. Spending too many nights with someone is going to land you in trouble. That said, if you could trap love in a bottle, you would.

“You taste like coffee,” Doyoung adds with reddening ears.

Sometimes, it’s easy to ignore what he says if you listen to the sound of his voice instead. You sit up, scooting closer as Doyoung shoots you an alarmed look. He’s so cute like this; something about all the painted fences he puts up around him makes you want to lean in closer.

“So,” you poke his side. “How many relationships have you been in? Proper ones.”

“Three,” he answers, to your surprise.

Your eyebrows shoot up. “That’s more than I’ve been in!”

Doyoung furrows his. “How many have you been in?”

“One.”

He seems equally surprised but doesn’t probe further. After all, the price sticker that spells ‘youth’ clings to his forehead just as it clings to yours. 

“How many people have you fucked?” you ask suddenly, enjoying the visible flush across his neck.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” he notes, flicking your forehead.

“Ow!” You place your palm against your forehead. “Okay, I get it, you have nothing to brag about.”

He shakes his head, an exasperated sigh leaving him. “I just don’t think you have to know. I like privacy.”

“Wait.” You gasp. “Don’t tell me- That night- don’t tell me you were a virgin—”

Doyoung squishes your cheeks between his thumb and forefinger, a laugh erupting from your mouth. 

“Who’s a virgin?”

Nothing about this, you find yourself realizing, is complicated. It’s easy, gentle, natural, like a breath of fresh air—everything but complicated. Even under dim lights and within the depths of night, Doyoung is warm and uncomplicated. His chest, his hands, his lips—they are warm, as are his words. 

But Doyoung is a fucking fairytale.  

Even after these few months, all you know about him, in the definitive format, is that he plays the keys for more hours than he sleeps. What he does for fun, what his classes are, how he became student body president—you could play guessing games all night.

“Do your friends know where you spend your nights?” you ask, leaning back against the pillows.

“They know what I’m doing, not who I’m with,” he responds, running his fingers through his hair.

You purse your lips. It’s nothing hurtful but you don’t like the hush-hush in his tone.

“Why not?”

“Because this is a secret,” he responds as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Do you want them to know?”

He’s right.

“Ah, whatever,” you mutter, a stream of curses following when your elbow collides hard with the edge of the bedside table. 

“Your mouth is filthy.” He looks away to his phone. “I don’t swear as much.”

“Well, of course it is. I had your—”

Doyoung presses his palm against your lips with a tired sigh. “Please. Don’t speak. For the sake of my sanity.”

You smile under his hand and he returns it; and the November morning warms up.

“Where were you last night?”

You were expecting the question. Areum is the worst possible candidate for a roommate if you want some privacy. You don’t think she ever sleeps; sometimes, you wonder if she even showers because all she does is stare at her laptop screen and adjust her designs. Her lips are always chapped and her hair is always in a simple low ponytail but somehow still messy. You’ve never met someone so exhausted yet so full of life at the same time.

“Who were you with last night?” Eunji yells from the bathroom, before the two of them laugh.

You knew you shouldn’t have stayed the morning. You have the nosiest roommates anyone could (not) ask for. But they’re still your friends, you tell yourself begrudgingly. You would tell them about Doyoung if it weren’t for Eunji’s big mouth and Areum’s lack of common sense. And if it weren’t for the inherent comfort of privacy.

(Some part of you wants to keep him to yourself. You don’t care about student council president Doyoung or his friend group’s everything-regulator Doyoung or always-has-his-shit-together Doyoung. The one in your bed is the most loving.)

Areum adjusts her glasses, narrowing her eyes at you. “So? Any answer?”

You break out of your daydream at her voice, feeling a flush creep up your neck.

“I don’t have to explain anything,” you retort, snatching the coffee she brewed from the tabletop. “It was a Friday night and the two of you like Netflix more than me.”

“That’s mine,” Areum mumbles out a weak complaint.

“But don’t go out alone,” Eunji whines. “It can’t be safe.”

You laugh. “You know me. I don’t do anything too dangerous. Besides, you guys have that tracker app.”

They shrug, offering you a thin smile. A part of you is happy that they trust you but another part wonders what it would be like to be worried over. Maybe getting nagged isn’t so bad. 

You take a sip of Areum’s coffee and almost spit it out right back. 

“Did you add salt?” you ask, wiping at your mouth and hoping the taste disappears.

“Uh.” A reply so intelligent, you wonder if she ever pays attention to anything she's doing. 

You take a moment (a few), sigh (several times) and make your way to the shelves. Grumbling, you make her a proper cup of coffee before you leave.

Classes don’t wait for you (even if you think they should) and the world doesn’t wait for you (again, you think it should wait for people) so you’ve made it a point to understand the whole deal about rules. If everyone followed the rules, it would be quite a pretty scene; messing up is only valid if it’s done prettily. You laugh at the thought. That’s near impossible. The bus ride to the campus consists of music and thoughts of bleak tomorrows—an average commute for college kids, you think. You sure hope you aren’t alone in this.

Doyoung smiles at you in the hallway today, and despite your best efforts, it makes your day smell a little fresher.

Your day: classes, coffee break, classes, complaining with Ten, assignments, ‘me’ time. For someone who pretends to be laid back, you use your planner as though for survival. There’s no sticky notes or colourful sketches (except on occasion); just good old fashioned to-do lists and a calendar marked with time you’ve spent on productivity. Every day is a list to be completed. If people call routine a man-made cage, instinct is the biological cage. You’d rather be in control of the cage you’re in. You’d rather be in control of yourself. It’s scary otherwise.

So you know how to get the job done—it’s ingrained into you the same way you would place your hands over your ears at loud sounds, or the way you would run to your bed in the dark after switching off the lights.

It never occurs to you that the reason your world is so perfect is a sad one.

Sometime next month, it’s going to snow. Not yet though, and it’s still too cold.

The inside of the cafe helps the slightest, the heaters situated far back from where you sit. Christmas decorations are up already and the combination of red and green meshes delightfully into the form of an aching headache. The wood paneling on the walls are worn at the corners, the garlands hardly covering them, and the barista behind the counter seems as gloomy as the decorations are bright. You wouldn’t be noticing all of this if you weren’t stuck in one position.

You lean your cheek further into your palm and sigh, only this time Ten asks you to, quote, ‘shut the fuck up’.

He pulls up his sleeve and reaches for another pencil. His cryptic process continues, as it has been for the past half an hour and you feel yourself getting impatient, trying to not bounce your leg and get another bout of quibbling from your half-mad artist friend. You don’t usually run low on patience; but Ten has a special pass to test drive it.

“How much lon—”

“Shh!” He hushes you quickly. You can’t remember why you agreed to being his portrait study subject but you sure as hell regret it.

Around fifteen minutes later, you take a (permitted) breath. You have neither the energy nor the neck strength to glare at Ten but you make sure to show your displeasure by snatching the cookies from the table with a particularly sour look. He gets up and pushes you to the side of the small worn-out couch offered by the equally small booth.

“God, that chair was uncomfortable. My butt is frozen solid,” he lets you know, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, if we weren’t friends in high school, I would never be friends with you,” you state.

Ten tilts his head to the side, a mocking pout over his lips. “I would die without you, (name). Really.”

You smack his arm and he yelps, smacking your arm right back. The sound attracts some attention and giggles, and you make a gagging gesture to let them know you are in way or form in a relationship. The low-volume music changes to something with a more distinguishable beat, the sound of doors opening and closing almost every two minutes accompanying. Arriving on time is an accomplishment, especially arriving before rush hour on Fridays at the only decent cafe on campus, but both of your classes end early and there is no way you aren’t taking advantage of that. Leaving, however, is mostly done when you’re being glared at by the waiters and waitresses.

“Doyoung asked about you,” Ten says, all of a sudden. “Kim Doyoung.”

You try to not show concern, but raise an eyebrow. “What? So? He’s not my type or anything.”

You bite your tongue. That was too quick a response, too obvious. Your cheeks grow hot. Ten doesn't say anything, however, and for a moment, you think you’re in safe waters. 

“Are you guys… into each other or not?”

You cough, trying to show your surprise at something so outrageous. “Why would you think that? Does he look like someone who dates around?”

“Actually, he’s been on quite a few dates.”

“No way.”

You know that. He’s told you about it before, in vague references, but you know about them nonetheless.

“Isn’t one student council guy enough?” you mumble. “Why are we talking about Doyoung?”

He shrugs, a familiar feline smile on his face. “Just asking. He talks about you sometimes. Actually, we forced it out of him but whatever.”

You shake your head. “You’re all terrible.”

“You seem to like him though.”

“Who said that?”

Ten sighs, ignoring your question. “If you guys are dating—”

“We’re not.”

“—or fucking—”

“Ten.”

“—you should learn a thing or two about him. The guy’s not as annoying as he looks. Or stuck-up. He’s really nice but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I know that,” you snap, feeling warm at the neck all of a sudden. “I know him.”

“Oh, you do? Tell me what his hobbies are then. Or his major. Or the clubs he’s in, apart from the student council.”

“He- He likes to sing and he’s- he’s—god, what is this? An interrogation? I’m not going to meet his mom for dinner.”

Ten gives you an ‘I knew it’ look before leaning his elbow onto the table. “You’re sleeping with a guy you don’t know anything about. Serial killers would love you.”

You massage your forehead. “Look, I know he’s a good guy, okay? And he’s sweet- and- and—wait a minute. Oh my god, you tricked me.”

Ten lets out a snort. “Hey. Okay, look, the other guys might be dumb as shit but I have, you know, a working set of eyes. I can tell. It’s not that hard.”

You grumble but the cat’s out of the bag anyway. You should’ve known Ten would figure it out—he’s a nosy little shit, and he’s been that way since high school.

“Whatever. As long as Doyoung doesn’t start panicking about his tarnished reputation or whatever.”

“Oh, I think he’s desperate to let everyone know.”

“To you, Ten, everything seems obvious. It’s annoying.” You mess up his hair.

“No, I mean, I thought you were dating.”

“Well, we’re not.”

Ten shrugs. 

“And I don’t like him,” you add. “I like the- the thing that’s going on because there’s no feelings attached.”

He looks somewhat pained, eyebrows furrowed and lips pursed, but doesn’t respond to your explanation. “Can I ask for a favour?”

“No.”

Ten sighs. “Come on. You didn’t even hear me out.”

“You’re going to say something stupid. Or insulting.”

“It’s neither, promise.”

You run your hand through your hair, breathing shallow. “Fine. I don’t have to agree though.”

Ten purses his lips. “It’d be better if you did.”

You hum in response, biting into the cookie and trying to ignore the glare from the nearby waitress. It’s about time you left anyway.

“Get to know him, dude. Don’t break his heart.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. There’s a party tonight. Hosted by yours truly. Finally moved out of that stinky dorm room. Bring over some friends but not more than three. And lend me some money for a juicebox.”

“That’s a lot,” you mutter. “You ask for a lot of favours.”

“Oh, speaking of which, Hyungmin—”

“He already asked me out on a date. Am I supposed to say no? You never mentioned he has such an attractive voice.”

“Oh, I’m not telling you to not go on that date. You have to, actually. I’m going to be in a lot of trouble otherwise.”

“That sounds good to me.”

“Shut up. I’m not done speaking.”

You roll your eyes.

“But if you didn’t, I could draw some conclusions.”

“What am I, your chemistry experiment now?”

“Well, you and Doyoung seem to be—”

“Don’t complete that sentence.”

“I was going to say something funny.” 

Ten flashes you a blinding smile and you sigh. By now, you’re about to get kicked out of here so you stand up discreetly while he packs up his stuff. You hug your jacket close to you as soon as you leave, shivering at the evening breeze. The sky is inky, but with a faint sort of ink—deep blue and light, all at once. From the crowd, you can tell classes just got over for quite a few people, eclectic chatter filling up the street.

“Fine. I’ll bring Eunji,” you tell Ten after some contemplation. “And whoever else responds to my text first. Areum never leaves the room. You know that.”

“Thanks, (name)!” he messes up your hair. “I would give you a kiss but someone will end up punching my pretty face.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re not my type anyway.”

“I’m too good for you,” he responds in a sing-song manner, waving at you before running off and disappearing into the university crowd.

There’s always a sort of buzz in the air you can’t quite describe at college parties.

Even if this is a relatively small one, you feel an oncoming headache the moment you enter Ten’s new apartment, which you’re sure had a ‘no parties’ rule in the rental contract. You spot Kun, Ten’s roommate from the dorms and he flashes you a quick smile in greeting before he’s swept up by a doting crowd. Apparently, a cute guy in animal sciences is rare and it makes him rather popular.

Eunji disappears from your side the moment she spots Johnny, and the number of eye rolls you’ve given her haven’t warned her off him yet. You suppose it takes heartbreak to change a person. Sighing, you make your way to the kitchen only to be greeted with the strange sight of Yuta trying to balance Jaehyun on his back so they can imitate some anime formation and back out immediately. Living room, it is, despite its populous space. (You don’t really want to think of bedrooms right now.)

The apartment is quite big for what Ten told you the rent was. The hallway to the two bedrooms is narrow but you suppose something has to be sacrificed for space. You furrow your eyebrows at the two bedroom doors. Ten never said he was getting a roommate. You shrug it off, sitting down on the rather stiff couch. The lack of furniture, apart from the couch and a coffee table, makes the place look even larger and people sparse. You like the beige walls; Ten’s always loved warmer colours but something makes you think he’s going to be ruining them in a few days with garish green paint before he comes crying about that to you.

“Hey.”

You look up to the familiar voice, heart rising to your throat.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Doyoung remarks before sitting down beside you and offering you a cup of god-knows-what.

“I don’t take drinks from strange men,” you say, biting down your smile and crossing your arms.

“If you didn’t take drinks from strange men, we wouldn’t be fu—”

“Doyoung!” you hiss before looking at him with careful suspicion. “Are you drunk?”

“No. A little bit. Not enough.”

You sigh. “How will you get home now?”

“I live here, idiot.”

“You’re- You’re Ten’s roommate?” you sputter.

“Yeah. New one,” he responds. “He used to live across our room in the dorms, I can’t believe I actually agreed to this.”

“I can’t believe it either. I’ve seen cats and dogs friendlier with each other than the two of you.”

Doyoung laughs. “He’s surprisingly one of the better people to room with. I’d rather eat my own blanket than room with Yuta again.”

You laugh at his irked expression, eyebrows furrowed so cutely. The line of his brow bone to nose to lips, it seems a little too perfect to belong to someone. He relaxes his shoulders a little, leaning back on the couch as he looks somewhat lost in thought. (“You think too much,” you’d told him once. “And you think too little.”) If only that were true, you smile to yourself.

“Are you sure you can hold parties here?” you as when the music suddenly rises in volume.

“Well, it said student-friendly,” Doyoung responds, looking visibly disturbed. “Not sure if I want to test the limits of that so early.”

There’s a pause, filled in with loud pop music. You don’t think Ten, your dear introvert, would have agreed to such a party but there’s a chance Johnny or Jaehyun had something to do with this. You don’t know who to suspect when it comes to their group of friends.

“I still can’t believe you’re rooming with Ten.” You look at Doyoung.

“Well, that makes, what, eleven of us, I guess?”

You laugh, feeling conscious all of sudden. Maybe you should listen to Ten’s advice.

“Doyoung,” you call, looking at the cup in your hands a little too passionately. “What’s your major?”

He looks at you with eyes widened ever so slightly, and a pause over his lips.

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“Oh. You said something about it once,” you mumble, recalling something vague about an assignment of his. “You know mine?”

“Yeah,” he answers, eyes cast on his watch.

“Well, that makes me feel a little guilty,” you mumble as softly as you can.

“You should be,” he says. “You never listen to anything I say.”

You scoff. “You just complain most of the time.”

“Really now?”

“Yes,” you snap, looking away.

You look back again when you hear the sound of Doyoung’s laugh, a distinct brightness in it. Sometimes, you wonder if you really are as awful as you’ve made yourself be.

“You’re cute,” he says. “No wonder everyone is so in love with you.”

For a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you.

“Everyone?” you laugh. You don’t care about everyone. It’s burdensome.

“Everyone. They hate you too, by the way.” He smiles to himself. “Heard you’re going on a date with that dimwit. Hyungmin.”

You feel a sudden discomfort in your being. Taking a sip of the drink, you try to shake it off as best as you can. 

“Yeah, I- I don’t think I’ll go,” you say, waving it off. 

Why are you lying? You left it hanging on a maybe. Part of you wants to tell Doyoung; he is your friend after all and you tell friends stuff like this. The other part tells you this is cheating; lying and pretending everything is okay—it feels like cheating. 

“Oh.” He looks lost before he focuses on you. “Why not?”

“Why do you care?” you ask, trying desperately to calm the uprising in your chest.

He stays quiet for a few seconds and then shrugs, looking away from you. It makes you feel a little guilty to dismiss the situation so quickly, another item to add to your troubles. You sigh.

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“No, it’s okay. You’re right.” You can see his Adam's apple bob up and down.

“I’m not,” you say. “I’m wrong. I really didn’t mean it.”

He looks at you all at once, his gaze so gentle that it makes you think he wants to kiss you, or do something equally affectionate. Instead he sighs, downing whatever’s left of his drink before a wash of sudden looseness does away with the tension in his body.

“You have any more questions for me?” he asks, smiling. “What's it like to be student body president—or, or what instruments can I play? My favourite animal? Colour?”

You smile back. “What is your favourite animal?”

“I don’t have one. Don’t like them. Unless it’s a soft toy.”

“No way. You’re lying.”

“Now, I answer your questions and you call me a liar? Makes me a little hesitant to answer the next.”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, next then. Why didn’t you join the frat? All your friends are in it.”

“Hurts my ego.”

You laugh. He’s still probably an honorary member. There is no way he’s apart from friends for too long with all those feelings of fraternity he has, no matter what he says. It’s the same as you. Affection leads nowhere though; just to short-lived moments of comfort.

You realize, through the course of the night, that you never asked. How he got into the student council, what his classes are, what he does for fun—you never asked. It’s almost like you didn’t want to know. 

How sad, you muse to yourself, to be this way. To be so wrapped up in your own problems that you fail to see people around you. Pity, however, isn’t something to feel at a party. You talk with Doyoung for the rest of the night till the sound of his voice makes you feel certain ghosts of butterflies, and till you have to take Eunji home before she does something she regrets. This is what it really means to have the price tag of ‘youth’ strung across you perhaps—when you feel old and immature all at once, and in between, when you feel nothing at all.

Doyoung is too old to mistake love. Or too young. 

Labels don’t define anything, especially when it comes to relationships—so even if he calls it love, whispers it to himself at midnight when he’s sitting alone on his bed while his friends are passed out drunk on the floor, it is empty. And then there’s you. The heat of your skin, the curse of your smile and that cheeky laugh you do to get on his nerves. He wants all of it and he’s not ashamed—but he’d be a liar to say he can shout it to the whole world. He’s not that kind of man, and what is his can remain his without the rest of the world prying its damn fingers in. The first night, no, the second—third? He can’t remember which night it was but something pent up in him exploded and he didn’t try to control it for once.

“Ow,” he mutters.

His throat burns from the whiskey. He hates drinking alone but you’re either asleep or with friends and he can’t think of anyone else but you. He tugs at the turtleneck collar, getting uncomfortable by the minute, and then proceeds to take off his coat.

For a moment, he considers getting back to the living room. There were more than enough people with lingering touches against his shoulder and longing gazes—they’re not you. He leans back onto his bed. Another hour and everyone will be gone; why did he even let them hold a party in the first place? Parties just remind him of you—he takes a whiff and smells summer and lemon vodka all of a sudden. A deep sigh leaves his lips.

You might not seem to find yourself especially sad, but Doyoung finds something oddly touching about you. Maybe it’s the way you say his name, he muses, like you’re desperately trying to fill the gaps. But it can’t be him in particular, of course—it’s a lover, any lover.

He hates long nights, just as he hates winter but lately, they haven’t been feeling too cold. Isn’t it ridiculous the way he’s running after you? Doyoung was never meant for this. It’s fucking pathetic and it makes him want to tear all his hair out but there he is, still and quiet in the same place. A certain agony makes its way through him. His hands are freezing and yet his insides are burning—nothing makes sense and right now, he doesn’t want it to. He presses his cold hands to the warmth of his cheeks and a laugh erupts from his mouth.

He must be going crazy to laugh like this in an empty room. The car lights from the window travel slowly from wall to ceiling, the only thing moving in the stagnant of his room.

Inevitably, he thinks of the end. It should come quick; in fact, he’s never been one to do this. He’s always been someone to get attached to people. He doesn’t know how the end will come because this shouldn’t have begun in the first place.

Doyoung’s out of breath.

“Crazy bastard,” he mumbles to himself, followed by a groan when he lifts his head up. As if on cue, the door opens and shuts with a bang. Ten walks in looking drowsy, running his hand through his hair with a disgruntled face.

“I hate to say this,” he slurs. “But you’re right. We can’t have extra furniture and parties. Gotta choose one.”

Ten lays down flat on the bed. “I vote out that ugly ass clock you bought. Why do we need it? We have phones and laptops.”

“It was a gift,” Doyoung mutters.

“Oh. Uh. Actually, someone already, uh—”

“Leave it. We’ll talk about that in the morning.” 

Doyoung massages his forehead, groaning at the pain when Ten suddenly decides he’s all up for cuddling. 

“Ew,” he says, scooting away from Ten. “Get away from me.”

“You don’t mean that,” Ten whines, trying very hard to pull Doyoung into a hug. Of course, his attempts are blocked by Doyoung’s palm against his forehead.

After a few more seconds of trying, Ten huffs and turns away, crossing his arms. “I don’t like you anyway.”

“I know,” Doyoung mutters.

Ten erupts into laughter, sounding more like a psychopath than a close friend of his.

“You do that every time you like someone?” he asks in between fits.

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “I just said—okay, yeah. Whatever.”

There’s a much needed silence and Doyoung wonders if he can just fall asleep without kicking Ten out.

“You should tell (name),” Ten says all of a sudden, Doyoung’s heart stopping at your name.

“What?” he whispers.

Ten looks at him as though he’s talking to a particularly stupid child. It makes Doyoung scowl but there’s too much alcohol in his system to know if he really means it.

“You don’t- you’re- everyone in this goddamn building knows,” Ten explains, exasperated. “Jaehyun knows, and he’s the densest kid I’ve ever met. God, if you like (name), go for it.”

Doyoung blushes so deep, he considers pressing his palms to his cheeks again. He thinks for the next few moments. Ah well, if they had to find out, he’s glad he didn’t have to declare it himself.

“Whatever, just ask (name) out. It can’t be that complicated.”

Except it is. You don’t have to spell it out for him—he knows the way you feel. The two of you only ever wanted one thing out of this. But if there’s something Doyoung isn’t good at, it’s keeping his mouth shut. He wonders how many times he let it slip, wonders if you even care enough to notice. God, it’s starting to sound pitiful for him.

“Ten. How much did you drink?” Doyoung asks, raising his head.

“Nothing. None. I’m not drunk.” Ten shrugs. “Just sleepy.”

A ‘wow’ is all Doyoung can respond with. He still isn’t quite finished figuring out what sort of horrific planet Ten stumbled from. A notification ding distracts him from kicking Ten off his bed and he has half a mind to toss it onto the bedside table but it’s still half. He softens almost immediately.

It’s a text from you: a ‘u’ followed by a smiley face and then a meme he can’t quite read through hazy eyes. He finds himself smiling anyway and sends a barrage of emojis, whatever he finds because he likes the way you get annoyed at them. Sighing, he decides that’s enough. He’s not in the right state of mind for conversation.

Doyoung shuts his phone off, attempts to push Ten off the bed one last time before closing his eyes and dozing off.

Not every day is meant to be fun—you know that in your twenties—but it’s still somewhat disappointing to have bad days. Like youth is meant to give you some sort of happiness daily. That’s what they make it sound like.

You groan, rubbing at your back. Sitting at your study desk for so long does not have good long term effects. At least, your temporary, meaningless assignments are done. You scowl at the text on your laptop screen; the more you look at it, the more you hate it and so, you shut it off. It’s not like your pissy professor is going to be impressed by anything you do. However, you like the orderly certainty of schoolwork.

Break time consists of guilt and sugary snacks. You’re done with most everything and you suppose leaving the final review of things to a later date can’t hurt. In fact, it sounds rather appeasing. A few more moments pass in making a decision.

You get dressed. The apartment feels eerie all alone, and you’re sure as hell not going to spend the rest of your evening here. You shiver, quickly striding out the front door and locking it before taking out your phone.

People misunderstand winter. Winter is only the end of things; and sometimes, the beginning. It isn’t cruel or crushing, it’s just taking its course. However, you have a tendency to blame seasons for all that happen in it. For instance, you shouldn’t be missing summer when you really miss the first night with Doyoung. 

He picks up after calling thrice. You wonder what he’s even up to, if Saturday evenings are also booked full for such a guy.

“Why do you take so long to pick up?” you complain. “Do you not get days off?”

“I’m busy,” he hisses. 

Something’s wrong.

You pause, unsure what to do. It’s not his voice but the one in the background that catches your attention. 

Inviting him somewhere. 

Rather sensually.

Your ears feel hot and you drop the call. Of course. Of fucking course. You’re the idiot thinking it was a thing. This whole thing is casual—feeling sorry wasn’t in the contract. Fucking around was.

It’s not like you’ll be heartbroken by something like this. Of course not. Of course. Doyoung and you never had a beginning so there isn’t an end, really. It’s fine. It’s fine. You take a deep breath and browse through your phone. With the onset of Christmas holidays, you have around three options left. Ten (yikes), Jaehyun (no way) or the latest addition, Hyungmin.

Well, you’re dressed. You have to go somewhere. And your statement about Hyungmin being the hottest guy on campus still stands.

You send two texts to the boy before deciding that’s apparently enough time waiting. He picks up after a few rings, voice groggy from what you assume to be a late afternoon nap.

“You up for a drink?” You cut to the point.

“Uh? Oh, uh, now? I am, of course- I just need—”

“Twenty minutes. I’ll text you the address.”

Nothing cheers you up like your favourite bar. Or friends. Or people who respond to calls.

Hongdae is as busy as ever. You knew the bar would be packed but not this packed. Still, you managed to grab a seat at the bar table. With the oncoming night, the smell is just going to get worse—so there’s nothing wrong with treating yourself to some lemon vodka (and its refreshing scent).

Hyungmin arrives exactly four minutes early, and the mussed up hair makes you think he must have been in a hurry. For what, you can’t be sure. 

You can still see the inklings of Hongdae nightlights on his hair right before he enters, and in the fallacy of that moment, you think it’s going to be Doyoung. You sigh. This isn’t the time for that.

“Sorry,” you say, gesturing to the bar table. “All the tables were booked.”

“No, no,” he responds quickly. “I actually prefer it here.”

He’s tall, not that it’s the first time you’re noticing, but even when he’s sitting, he’s at least two heads taller than you are. His shoulders are accentuated by the mocha coat, no doubt part of the latest trend this winter. As a fashion student, he hits the mark and more. 

For a moment, you feel bad for knowing his major. Ten let it slip about him and yet still, you feel guilty for remembering it. You’re not supposed to go into unnecessary detail about people that don’t matter. Does he matter? 

“Surprised you could make it,” you joke half-heartedly. “Aren’t you lot always busy with something?”

He laughs. “The student council? Oh, we’re busy alright.”

Busy. Right.

“What about you? Aren’t you part of like three different clubs?”

“So what kind of busy?” you ask, ignoring his question. You’re part of two, now that you left the music club last semester. It’s not like small talk matters though.

“Uh,” he hesitates. “You know- attend meetings and events, coordinate committee work, supervise stuff, etcetera etcetera. So busy, yeah.”

“Busy on Saturdays too?” you ask, before thanking the bartender for the drinks.

“Yeah, I guess. Doyoung has it worse than me honestly. Even now, he has to take care of stuff because of me. Hah…”

You gulp down your drink making Hyungmin raise an eyebrow in concern. “Stuff? Because of you?”

“Yeah.” Hyungmin scratches the back of his head. “He’s with the girls.”

“Girls?” you ask, playing with the glass. You’re starting to feel annoyed, red lining your vision.

“Yeah.” He makes no notion of clarifying his statement.  

“Must be quite the president,” you say, resting your cheek against your palm.

“Oh, he’s a nightmare.” Hyungmin laughs. “He has to control everything.”

You try to mask your scoff. You know what he can be like when you’re working beside him. 

“Oh, and the guy has no sense of humour,” Hyungmin laughs, the sound easy on the ears.

You blink.

“I think he’s funny,” you say quickly. You swear you have no idea why you sound so defensive.

He hums in response and you consider biting your tongue, telling him you’re only here for one thing and forgetting the uncomfortable churning of feelings inside your chest.

“Forget I- I’m a little confused today.” 

Is that an acceptable explanation? You can’t think straight enough to decide. The silence on Hyungmin’s part, however, worries you. The crowd around you fills in for the next few moments as your companion seems to debate something with himself.

“Look, I know you and Doyoung are… I don’t know, something.”

You huff in irked amusement. “God, does everyone seem to know?”

“Not until late actually.” Hyungmin takes a gulp. “He’s been acting weird. Doyoung.” 

You look away, breathing shallow. You don’t like it, the way things seem to be getting out of hand. All this time, the world seemed to be in the palm of your hand and now, it’s spilling everywhere; the sand in the hourglass is already up to your knees and you don’t know what happens when it fills.

“Do you actually like him?” he asks, leaning back just a little. You know where this is going. “Are you guys dating?”

“No,” you respond, checking your watch.

“Oh.”

There’s a moment’s hesitation in him but you’ve seen that look before. You know that look.

“Then we can- uh- we can—”

“Fuck?” you ask.

He gulps. “I mean, you can say no any time—”

You pull him by the collar and kiss him, hard enough to melt away your hovering thoughts. He kisses like you expect him to, not how you want him to. You know this sort, and somehow, that makes you feel comfortable. Knowing what you’re getting into is easing but it doesn’t lessen the weight of it.

It’s sickening. The way you’re pretending it’s Doyoung.

Hyungmin pulls apart, panting heavily. “Oh, okay.”

“Tell me you drove here.” 

He holds up his car keys in response.

You’re not the type to sleep with strange (semi-acquainted) men, but it’s better than falling in love with them.

So you follow a lover to a hotel room and try to feel something. Some time, when he’s kissing you against the hotel room walls, he pulls apart and asks, “You’re thinking of someone else, aren’t you?”

You know the answer; it just won’t leave your lips.

“It’s okay,” he says with a weak smile, “Let’s just have fun.”

And every time his mouth was on yours, every time you saw stars, you felt the ghost of Doyoung and his haunting touches. It was strange and unfair and unlike you—or at least, unlike the you that you built over the past few years. You feel as though you’ve misplaced something—like something was supposed to be there when you reached out but instead, it was empty space.

The night ends as it should and you leave right before dawn with an apology text you couldn’t put half your heart into.

Most winter nights, you wake up with pain so profound, it’s seeping into your bones.

It never made sense. You never tried to make sense of it. So you let the aches push you down by the shoulders, lodge itself into your neck and back; and you tell yourself, it must be what you deserve. It’s cold and you’re walking barefoot on frozen ground.

You gasp. The weight of who you are and who you have to be—it has its knee on the back of your neck, shoving you into the damp earth. There’s no particular reason to it; it makes it seem as though it’s insignificant. Unimportant. Irrelevant. But that’s the problem—the weight of the world on your shoulders makes no sense. Whose world are you even carrying? Whose approval are you trying to win? You scramble to get up, messing up your bedsheets in the process, and pull your blanket around you. Your own warmth surrounds you and it makes no difference. You frown.

You remember your phone call with your mom, and your lips tremble. You shouldn’t have told her about how crappy your finals went but it slipped. You tried to explain that you did work for them, that you gave it your best but sometimes things don’t work out. She didn’t have to say it out loud for you to hear her thoughts. 

You’re disappointing. 

You wipe at your eyes, feeling annoyed at the emotion. If you could let the ground swallow you whole, you would. In a heartbeat. You don’t even know what you’re doing most of the days despite that pretty planner of yours.

You get out of bed, pull on your cardigan beside the bed and grab your lighter and pack. The tiny balcony makes for a great smoking spot and while you would scold any of your friends for committing to this, you do it yourself. Hypocrite.

For all you try to shove into yourself—hobbies, student clubs, actual clubbing, friends—the more you feel less than enough, as if everything just vanishes into thin air inside you. As if you aren’t enough and never will be. You play by the rules and you lose, you break the rules and you lose. 

Maybe it’s because you let yourself be filled by the intricacies of other people that they like you. And thus, you cannot stop for fear of loneliness.

Just as you’re feeling crushed again, you picture Doyoung against your back, placing his nose in the crook of your neck—something he has never done—and you wonder why it helps. 

Sucking in air too fast, you cough. You shouldn’t have let it go on for so long.

It was fun—harmless fun. You shouldn’t even be thinking of taking a step in some other direction. You’re friends, barely, but you like where you are. If Doyoung was that important, you wouldn’t be going about this all backwards. You sigh, though it comes out jagged. The room is quiet and that’s the way it should be at four a.m, of course, but you crave music all of a sudden. Doyoung and you are just a temporary fix; and you let that thought relax you.

When you think of his chin on your shoulder, however, it feels feather light.

“Why are we doing this?” you ask. 

The atmosphere is warm and toasty, just like you expect it to be in a bakery with light pink doors and a collection of plastic potted plants on display. The decorations aren’t an eyesore here and somehow, it makes you feel better. It’s a little far but you decide it’s worth it.

Doyoung shrugs, sipping his hot chocolate. “It’s Christmas, and we’re both here.”

Your eyes follow the hanging lights over the counter, wrapped in pine tree stickers and eventually to the neat display of a ‘Season’s Greetings’ menu, the contents of which are currently at your table. A Christmas song by some singer who’s been popular lately plays, tunes light and dancing. You hate the end of the year solely because of the extra pressure January brings. Nothing you can’t handle, of course. Nothing you can’t handle.

You sigh. It’s been a little difficult lately.

“Doyoung, really, why are we doing this?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“Are you- uh- are you not enjoying this? I could—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I feel better, actually.” You bite your tongue almost immediately after. It’s not like he’s supposed to know the sort of hell week you’re having. A poorly received term paper, finals that weren’t up to your expectations, crippling loneliness without friends and, oh, the self-doubt—you are at the lowest you can be in college. The only sweetener right now is in the hot chocolate and the way Doyoung’s looking at you. 

You feel something close to guilt.

“Good.” He smiles. “You seemed… You seemed a little down.”

The sliver of warmth between your ribs makes you think this is unreal. It feels uneasy to be so affected by someone but you let it slide, turning back to your hot chocolate.

“Why didn’t you go home this time?” you ask, sipping your drink.

“Oh, I didn't really want to face my parents,” he says before leaning. “Didn’t do too well this semester. And my brother’s going to be there with all his achievements.”

You chuckle in disbelief. “You don’t like your brother?”

“I love him to bits. Just can’t stand my mom’s nagging when he’s around.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You cross your arms, smiling triumphantly. You feel like children squabbling but it’s so lighthearted, you want to laugh.

Doyoung raises a pointed finger, about to retort but nothing comes out. He puts his hand down.

“I guess you’re right.”

You shake your head. “I’m sure she’s proud of you too.”

“I know that,” he says, laughing. “Of course she is. I don’t keep myself busy for nothing.”

You gulp, a sudden sourness rising at the base of your tongue. 

“Busy, huh? Didn’t know spending saturday evenings with girls also counted as busy,” you mutter against the cup, half-hoping he doesn’t hear you.

“What?” There’s a perplexed look across his face.

You wave your hand in dismissal. “Oh don’t mind me.”

“Are you talking about me giving a tour to the fresher girls?” Doyoung leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “Hyungmin does that usually but Mr Man was sore from soccer practice and Friday fucking.” 

You blink. “Fresher… girls?”

“What, did you think I was at a brothel?” Doyoung laughs in amusement.

You feel your cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “No! No, of course not.”

You wave your hands about for a few more seconds, trying to come up with an explanation. This makes things rather embarrassing.

“Sorry,” you say finally. “I jumped to conclusions.”

Doyoung laughs, rather deep and heartily, and you wonder if your apology really did sound as stupid to him as it did to you. 

“You do that a lot,” he notes.

“Thanks,” you quip, cutting the pastry with your fork a little too forcefully. His laugh follows. (You hate it so much. It sounds like pure adoration.)

The next few moments consist of scrolling through your phones (because Doyoung says his ‘mouth hurts from talking to you’) and you would’ve been in a better state of mind if everyone wasn’t posting pre-Christmas photos with their families. 

“You know they’re opening that park. What’s it called- Winter Wonderland or something. You said you wanted to visit.”

You look up at Doyoung amused.

“Let’s be honest. You want to be in bed, Doyoung,” you say. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I care,” he answers, looking at you with his doe eyes. “About you. You sulk when you’re upset.”

“I don’t sulk,” you reply but your smile is obvious when you exit the cafe. 

It’s like a date. The more you think of it that way, the more it makes you smile.

The evening is perfect—orange and pink and loving and happy. Doyoung trails behind you as you tread over the sidewalk with cheeky remarks about his speed.

“I’m in the track club, you know?” he huffs, finally tired of your jabs.

“As what, the start point?”

A fake, sarcastic laugh leaves him. “I wouldn’t get to see you if I walked ahead.”

You feel warmth creep up your face. You mumble, “that’s cheesy.” It’s too weak though, and it goes unheard. 

For the first time, you notice his eyes are a little like yours in what they reflect. You love them. 

So this is where the crowd went. The amusement park, or whatever you call it, is buzzing with a faint sort of excitement, mostly in the children that didn’t get to go on a vacation elsewhere. It’s quite the wonderland though so you can’t see them complaining.

“Do you think they’ll kick us out if we make out on the Ferris wheel?” you ask, smiling at Doyoung.

“I’m not making out with you on the Ferris wheel,” he replies, making a face.

You do end up making out on the Ferris wheel, and you get butterflies from it. It’s like a teenage dream but Doyoung looks even better. You pass on the cotton candy because frankly, you’ve had enough of sweet things. You sit at the frozen wooden seat, hoping it warms up while Doyoung brings the two of you some fries.

Your phone buzzes with a notification. Your eyes light up at the mail from your professor. You had turned in the term paper three days ago, weeks ahead of schedule and were particularly proud of the way it turned out. 

You look at the email and zero in on the word ‘redo’.

Your shoulders sag immediately. You spent four weeks on that—and it’s not good enough? You search frantically for how it could have gone wrong and come up with none. That’s not supposed to happen. Something’s wrong. Something’s very wrong. The week’s exhaustion swallows you up again.

When Doyoung returns, he looks at you concerned before quickly setting the fries on the table.

“(name). Is something wrong?”

“Huh?” Your voice sounds so weak and squeaky, you feel embarrassed. It’s embarrassing that after all these years, you still don’t know how to handle failure. 

Because it’s not supposed to happen. You tell yourself that over and over and it makes things worse.

You feel dirty, underneath all that dust and crumbled rock dangling in your hair. Whatever rests on your shoulders is cracking and collapsing, and you’re pushing in the wrong direction to make sure it all stays up. 

He reaches out his hand but you avoid it.

“No,” you mutter, weakly shaking your head.

You rub at your nose and eyes, hoping you can hide behind your forearms. Doyoung shouldn’t be seeing you like this, he doesn’t deserve to see you like this. You turn away from him, your palm gently pushing against the soft material of his shirt. 

Doyoung doesn’t move. Instead, he gently tugs on your wrist so you have no choice but to face him with your red-rimmed eyes. You’re not sure if it’s embarrassment or pity, but the concern in his eyes makes you cry harder. 

“You don’t have to do that,” he whispers. “You don’t have to find a place to cry.”

For the first time in adulthood, you learn what it’s like to lean your forehead against someone’s chest this way. Doyoung wraps his arms around you and the sound of his breathing soothes your near-erratic heart. 

“I worked really hard on it, you know?” you mumble against his chest. “My term paper.”

“I know,” he whispers.

Doyoung strokes your head delicately, fingers running through your hair with airy touches. Eventually, you let go of a final sigh and look up to his lips.

He seems surprised at the kiss but it’s all you can think of now. It’s gentler than usual and Doyoung moves cautiously though he seems to like it all the same. His arms feel comfortable around you. When he pulls apart, he looks at you yet still with careful concern.

“We can- we should stop if you want,” he says, and he means it. 

You shake your head. Night is creeping in overhead, deep and quiet and slow.

“I like you, Doyoung,” you say finally. “I really, really like you.”

Doyoung’s eyes widen, as though a rabbit wary of the traps it might set foot on but he eases into your touch almost immediately.

“I like… I like you too.” His lips waver but he looks away and takes a deep breath. “I like you so much.”

You smile and think that maybe everything is set right now, with his chin against your shoulder and your arms around him. 

Doyoung discards the jacket once you’re in your apartment, kissing you fuller now. Every other thought leaves you; you beg him to make you forget the rest of the world. The walls are comforting now that he’s here, and it’s warmer, hotter.

“Can we- Can we go a little slower?” you mumble, his arms still gentle when they wrap around your waist. He parts his lips from your neck to look at you momentarily before nodding.

You suddenly understand why he always makes you feel so good. There’s a certain fondness to his touch and warmth to his kisses. There’s no one quite like him, really.

“I love digging graves, especially if it’s my own,” you mutter against the pillow.

Doyoung laughs. “What did you do this time?”

“This time? Excuse me? Do you think I’m some sort of trouble child?”

“Hm. Let’s see. Yes.”

You pause. Why do you hesitate to tell him you slept with Hyungmin? It’s not like you were cheating—you weren’t dating Doyoung. Besides, that night with Hyungmin didn’t mean anything. A horrid feeling snakes around your throat, heavy and piercing. You resort to changing the topic.

“I’m… I took another course beyond my understanding.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

You nod.

No, no, no; it’s all backwards now and you don’t know how to reverse it.

Doyoung takes your hand in his, delicately and yet firm. His chest is against your back, bare and warm. When he presses his lips against your knuckles, the warmth that flushes through you makes you want to believe in something else entirely. You feel weak. 

A part of you argues that you feel honest—in a moment of clarity you don’t think you deserve. Neither vodka nor whiskey can make you this clear in the head; you struggle to breathe straight. How awful it is to feel warmth and not believe in it at the same time.  

“You can rely on me, you know?” he whispers.

The knot in your chest makes you want to cry.

You feel lonely and the opposite of it all at once. Doyoung is too much for you—too kind, too pretty and too true. He makes you realize too many things at once.

There are a few things in the world that can stifle loneliness. Like the notes Doyoung plays on the piano, like the songs he hums in the morning till you place open-mouthed kisses against his neck.

You realize, all of a sudden, that Doyoung really is your dearest friend.

And yet, you don’t think you deserve it. You’ve never loved, you believe, but you have. You don’t remember it well enough. The lovers’ touches you kept searching for led to this. Hypocrite. You wanted a lover’s touch and you rejected the love that came with it. What a complicated bundle of emotions. You weren’t always this way.

You loved your first cat when you were six, all the way till it died a warm death in your bed. You loved your mother even when she yelled at you for skipping your chores. You loved your middle school friends when you talked about comics and movies you saw for the first time. 

It’s hard to love the same way now.

You suppose sympathy needs a little backstory. Nothing is unconditional. 

It had all started when your heart had broken into two clean pieces. You put a bandaid on it and called it a day. No one taught you to ask for help.

Your friends know someone broke your heart; you tell them everything. Friends, friends—you wanted them so bad and yet, you keep them as far from you as you can. You pretend to be paper-thin and so shallow, sometimes you wonder if that’s all there is to you. But for all they know, they know next to nothing. It wasn’t just the aftermath of reckless puppy love. 

The first time your heart broke, it was watching your mother cry in the living room for a reason you didn’t understand. You wondered who committed the crime, who should be charged—and you found no one. A loveless marriage is cruel, yes, but you cannot point fingers. It isn’t just cruel; it’s infuriating.

The second time, the two pieces of your heart broke into a few more. It was a boy with an inviting smile and flags whose colour you couldn’t quite discern. They must have been red, but everything else was too—hearts, cheeks, lips, and the threads around your wrists. And eventually, he guided you to the conclusion that you are undeserving, unworthy, unloved. 

You were strong, however. It was easy to collapse on the bed and feel the weight of the world settling in, but you stood up again on shaking knees and you told yourself to have fun; you can have fun without feelings. You know better than to attach meaning to fun—you might hate insignificant things but it’s only fun if it’s pointless. You’re not letting go of this place you’ve worked so hard to arrive at, with all the shattered pieces in your hands.

It’s better to offer nothing at all than offer broken pieces.

“Can we stay like this?” Doyoung’s arms tighten around your waist, his breath shallow against your shoulder. “Just for a little bit.”

His voice is beautiful as always, but for a moment, it strikes you as sad.

Everything’s twisting up into knots and you are frantically running your fingers over them to straighten it all out. You know what it’s like to let things rot; and you are tired of it. Why can’t everything disappear for one moment? Why can’t you just let it be the two of you?

You sigh in response, nodding. 

“I might not know what’s happening in there,” he starts, drawing circles on your chest with his finger, touch comfortably light. “But…”

I’m here and I get it.

Is that what he wants to say? You don’t think you’ll get to know. You’re not exactly voicing yourself either. 

Stay the night. You want to say it but your lips are frozen.

Instead, you rub your thumb over the back of his hand, fitting into each other as perfect as a lie. You would tell him, you try to convince yourself, if you could say it with enough conviction. There’s no point to saying things that are half-meant, that are true but only just enough. You’re a coward.

And now, this has gotten complicated.

An end.

Tapping his pen against the desk, Doyoung grows increasingly annoyed. The council's next  meeting agenda isn’t going to finish writing itself but he can’t bring himself to either. Besides, Ten’s pacing outside his room is starting to get on his nerves.

“Ten!” he yells. “Can you quit it? You’re making too much noise.”

His disapproval is met with silence. For a moment, he spaces out and reflexively thinks of you, only to feel a confusing sort of emotion. It’s normal, he tells himself, and that it’ll sort itself out.

Doyoung feels like a glass box more often than not. If he breaks, who picks up the pieces? Who gets cuts all over their fingers?

‘Whoever breaks him’ should be the answer. But that’s wishful thinking. It’s not that simple. 

He’s so see-through that it’s painful. He used to tell Taeyong he’s wrong but he’s never been able to prove it. He is easy. It’s embarrassing.

But then again, part of him likes it when it comes to you. He likes it when you kiss him after a particularly heated disagreement, he likes when you get on his nerves just so he’d fuck you and most of all, he loves the push and pull. Fun is just that. He doesn’t know what he’d do if that heart of his he placed so gingerly into your palms falls and shatters.

The line between hate and love is thin; and he’s enjoying walking it too much.

He has nothing to offer but himself. He laughs at the thought and shakes his head. It’s somewhat dirty, and not just in the sexual sense.

“Ten!” he yells again. “Stop pacing!”

Getting up from his seat, he strides over to his door, swings it open and finds Ten scratching his head and glancing at his phone in repeated action. 

“Ten?”

He’s so in a trance that he hasn’t noticed Doyoung. He is the lovable sort of idiot if he ever chooses to be so. Most of the time though, he’s just a smartass.

“Oh, oh no, I’m a bad friend,” Ten mutters to himself, his pacing growing more restless. He scratches the back of his head, eyebrows furrowed and too inside his head to notice Doyoung. He wants to ask but something tells him he shouldn’t. 

Turns out, his apprehension isn’t strong enough these days. 

“Whose date did you crash?” Doyoung asks, more than annoyed already.

When Ten looks at him, Doyoung feels rather shriveled and freezes on the spot. Call it instinct but Doyoung respects fear and pain. Ten has a mixture of the two, amplified when he looks at Doyoung.

“Doyoung. Hey,” he says, trying to tone down the distress in his voice.

Doyoung still hasn’t recovered from the initial surprise of Ten looking that way.

“Did you fuck up? Did someone fuck up? Why do you look like that?”

Ten sits down on the small couch. “Long story… I guess. Too many details, you- you know? Just—”

“What the fuck happened?”

Ten still can’t look him in the eye. “The group chat’s a little…”

“Ten,” Doyoung snaps. “Cut the crap.”

“No, that’s- that’s what I’m- You’re going to be upset.”

Doyoung straightens, furrowing his brows. “I think I can fucking handle it.”

“You know that date I set up for (name) and Hyungmin?”

“You set that up?”

“(name) slept with Hyungmin.” 

Doyoung quietens. The silence seems to make Ten uncomfortable as he shifts in his seat, getting up when Doyoung speaks.

“So?”

Ten blinks. “You’re not upset?”

“Just what kind of loser do you think I am?” Doyoung mutters.

Glass shatters just that easily. Maybe he wanted you to shatter him. Maybe he was already cracking at the edges.

“Doyoung, you don’t have to—”

“Stop,” he exclaims a little louder than he intended. “Stop looking at me like that. I’m a grown man, I can handle shit like this.”

It still hurts though. You lied to him and he let you in. You lied to him. Doyoung sighs, returning to his room with a realization he should have had long ago. His night ends with more deleted drafts than he’s supposed to have and eventually, with increased discomfort, he delegates the job to Park Hyungmin himself with the excuse of sickness.

Doyoung does feel sick. He felt this way once, in highschool, but it had turned to red, hot anger ready to lash at anyone and everyone, spilling from his lips as easy as it was to breathe. And Doyoung can never feel that way towards you. He was different back then too, of course, but you—you’re unlike anyone he’s ever met. He loves the comfort of you, and something like that is hard to come by. 

He feels like laughing again but instead he finds tears on his cheeks. Silly boy, he can hear his mother tell him. You don’t give your heart to heartbreakers. 

So Doyoung falls asleep to the sound of upbeat music in his earphones, music he hates even just to pass the night. Morning will come and he will have to become stronger. Comfort is fleeting, after all.

With everything said and done, you know very well that if you were to tell someone you love them—genuinely, truly, from the heart—it would be Doyoung. It’s not a sudden realization, like the sky falling apart or a tidal wave crashing against the shore and sweeping away the city. It is like the gentle lapping of water, though, or the way the clouds change shape—natural and anything but alarming. You want to stare at it forever, and you want to believe that’s how it will be forever. 

“You told everyone we had sex?” Your voice is boiled to a shout. 

Hyungmin looks torn, lips moving but no explanation making its way out. “I- I told my friends, not everyone.”

“And you forgot that your friends talk? Everybody talks, Hyungmin, what were you thinking?”

He sighs before taking a step towards you. “Why are you so angry about it? As far as I remember, you had no trouble talking about whose pants you got into.”

You scoff. “With friends, not the whole campus.”

“That’s exactly what I did!” 

You cross your arms, feeling so upset you might cry and unsure as to why. You’re usually good at dealing with stuff like this, keeping things in the right place.

“It’s because of Doyoung, isn’t it?” 

You snap your head to Hyungmin. There’s a serene sort of look to him despite his unkempt appearance, and a look of understanding.

“I’m sorry. Really. But if you were so into him, you shouldn’t have called me that evening. It might not matter to me but…”

You broke his heart. All that devotion he had towards you led to this. 

“You’re right.” You choke on your words, leaning against the wall. “Fuck… Fucking…”

You turn around, making your way out of the hallway and hope the tears on your cheeks dry faster if you run.

You can’t remember the last time you ran. Your world didn’t need running from, it was right in the palm of your hands. Now that you look back, the world was always on your shoulders and heavy as it can be. Maybe you liked it—the weight. You could’ve shrugged it off any time; you didn’t need all those caging schedules or careful, elegant steps.

No. Atlas couldn’t shrug because his punishment was his existence. To have weight is to have meaning; and that is how you intended to live out your life.

Doyoung makes you see it differently. To love so fully even if it seems cautious—you, who has never loved at all, couldn’t comprehend it. And because he makes you see it differently, the box is now open and all hell is loose. 

For once, you don’t want to live in the world you crafted. You want more love, more hurt and you want to open the doors. You don’t mind hell if it’s for him.

You ring the bell to Doyoung and Ten’s apartment and pray the news hasn’t reached him yet. He said he was busy this weekend; maybe he was detached enough from his phone for once. You just want to be the person to tell him. It’s not a perfect apology otherwise.

Doyoung opens the door with pursed lips and cold eyes. There’s a sense of ease over his shoulders and arms but he won’t look at you and panic rises to your throat.

“We’re not fucking tonight, (name),” he says.

“That’s not- That’s not why I’m here.” Your voice is so meek, you wonder what happened.

Doyoung steps back, crossing his arms. He’s still looking at his feet and you feel the urge to reach for his face.

“I wanted to tell you- I… I just—”

“That you’re fucking other people?”

“God, Doyoung, stop with the fucking. I don’t care about that right now.”

“Really?” His voice is so sharp, it digs into your skin. “You were just in it for that. That’s the fun part in your stupid life, isn’t it?”

You feel a sharp pain in your nose and forehead. “You’re- Now that’s- Doyoung. I’m sorry. That’s what I wanted to say.”

“After—” His voice chokes up. “After everything is done? Stop with the excuses and face it for fuck’s sake. You aren’t made to fall in love. That’s why you dance around it all the time.”

Although he says that, he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds defeated.

“It’s not like you aren’t cautious,” you retort, throat feeling heavy. “You said it yourself- you don’t want to care too much.”

“I was wrong,” he says, voice hoarse. “I care about everything more than I’d like to admit. I care about you more than I’d like to admit.”

“The Hyungmin thing didn’t mean anything, okay? You were busy and—”

“So why did you lie?” He strains to not raise his voice. “Of course I knew our little thing didn’t mean shit to you. Why did you pretend it did? Last week, you said- you said—”

“Doyoung, last week- last week I- I wasn’t pretending, I swear.”

“You could’ve just saved yourself the trouble and the dignity.” A short, humorless laugh leaves him.

You feel your lips tremble, the explanation not quite made its way out yet. He looks so innocent like this, rabbit-like eyes watery and full of pain, pure the way they have always been. This is your mistake, isn’t it?

“Doyoung, please,” you manage to say. “That was wrong. I couldn’t clear up my head. Please don’t—”

“No. I was an idiot. Or you see me as one.” He frowns deeper, lips trembling. “I shouldn’t- I shouldn’t have. We shouldn’t have been at the same fucking party and I shouldn’t have drank so much. You’re- I’m not that kind of person.”

You bite down your lip. “What kind?”

Doyoung laughs, the sound raspy and empty. “The kind to not fall in love with you.”

It damn near breaks your heart to look at him. You have to say something, it shouldn’t end like this. You’re desperate and all you think is that you don’t want it to end at all.

“Please, I thought of you as a friend, that’s why—”

“And this is what you call being a friend?” he cuts you off.

You feel the sting in your eyes and nose, making you turn sharply to the side. You wish he’d just make you cry. It makes you feel the rancid guilt all the more.

“Make Hyungmin your friend for all I care. Let’s stop this.”

You stare at your feet, unable to respond. 

“You can have every boy in the world, (name). Don’t come to me.”

“Can you just stop talking about everyone else?” you yell, desperate. “Do I talk about your exes? Seungjae or- or what’s-her-name—” 

“That’s different!” He looks distraught, breathing heavily and with a painful red flush over his nose and cheeks. He runs his hand through his hair, tousling it further. “You lied to me, (name). You lied.”

Your cheeks are wet and the look that flashes over Doyoung makes you think he wants to step right out to you. He stays frozen in place, however, looking away to the side.

“Did you notice?” he asks softly. “Even once? How much I cared?”

You can’t answer, letting the tears drip down your face. It’s getting colder and colder. 

Doyoung bites down his lip before parting them. “All we did was have sex anyway. So please just- just leave.”

You take a long few moments but nod, hugging your coat closer and stepping out of his apartment. You think you hear Ten’s footsteps but it’s followed by the bang of a door—this is how it ends then.

The line between hate and love is thin; and you are deserving of neither.

You perfect your next semester’s academics, and the next. It still feels empty. You go out to drink with friends and return to a messy bed you sleep in alone. You smile as always and you laugh as always. No one asks you how you are as always. You never needed anyone to ask you how you are.

Ten tries but you push him away. You don’t need to drag in other people into a mess you made. He feels sorry for the whole thing but you tell him it was you that spilled the paint, Ten just handed a dash of it to you.

You were right. You don’t deserve Doyoung. At least, you made it so that you don’t deserve him. 

‘It’s better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all’—it still hurts.

Every day is part of a list again. You doodled in some of the pages, when you thought you were starting to fall in love. There’s only a skeleton of it left now. Soon, you’ll let it crumble to dust too. 

You tear apart the planner sometime after graduation and cry and curse at yourself for doing that. No one’s good at parting with things they care about. You’re no exception.

It’s December again. 

This place is a little strange to visit right after graduating, especially with the memories flashing you by. Johnny said he booked one of the private booths (“A senior’s treat!”) but you feel your steps growing hesitant when you reach the neon signs by the stairs. It spells ‘The Meeting Place’ and smells of cigarettes just like it did the first time.

You stop midway up the stairs. For a moment, you think of Doyoung sitting there and wonder if you’ll ever be able to talk to him again. If you had the chance now, would you take it?

Of course, you wouldn’t. There’s too much to be set right and you can’t do it.

There’s supposed to be the six of you. Johnny mentioned Ten and you know Eunji’s invited too. You saw Jaehyun on the way here, still a student. You sigh. It must be him, the one they failed to mention to you. Kim Doyoung. There’s no one quite like him.

You spot him first. Looking a little forlorn as he gazes absentmindedly to the side, he faces away from you and you get the inevitable urge to run away. It’s a funny feeling. 

Your stomach is churning. You don’t want him to see you. Ten babbles on about something to Johnny, smiling like he found candy while clearing his drawers. Eunji looks tired, leaning against Johnny’s shoulder and you wonder if she already drank more than enough shots.

“(name).”

You jump at Jaehyun’s voice from behind you. 

“Hey,” you respond, giving him a wide smile.

He hesitates. “Are you okay? Not that you don’t look okay- you look really good actually. I mean, are you and… you know okay?”

“I don’t think so, Jaehyun,” you say and make your way to the booth.

It’s a little cramped for the six of you and Doyoung gets up before you can even greet him. It’s not like you deserve it anyway but it tugs at the wound.

“I’m going to go take a drag,” he mutters.

“You don’t smoke,” you say, looking up.

He stares at you momentarily and you look away. You think Ten and Johnny glance at you with pity but you don’t really care. 

 “Can I come with you?” you ask, barely a whisper.

“Sure,” he says, to your surprise.

The smoking area is so small, you’re surprised it’s even there. A glass structure overlooking the neighbourhood, there’s barely any light within. The only thing nice is how warm it’s in there. 

Doyoung lights his cigarette and then offers to light yours. It’s quiet, the music from inside numbed to the cold doors. You really can’t take it. You stub the barely consumed cigarette and throw it into the bin.

You’d rather just stay quietly in his presence.

“You’re not smoking,” he notes.

“It’s a bad habit.” You look out through the glass.

Doyoung chuckles. “You were a collection of bad habits.”

“And good ones too,” you quip. “I was a perfect student. I was perfect in most everything actually.”

Doyoung’s smile widens. “You were. You certainly were.”

A few more moments pass in silence, your eyes traveling over the outside scenery which seems to be growing duller by the second. City lights have never felt fainter.

“It was an accident, right?” You say suddenly. “The whole thing? Us?”

Doyoung hums. “Yeah. I fell in love by accident.”

You smile weakly. “Right. I never got to apologize.”

“I loved you on purpose.”

You look up at him. There’s not a lot of people who say what they mean. He looks the same as he used to under your grey blankets, with a warm blush over his cheeks and kind, wide eyes. 

“You’re so damn pretty,” he murmurs, “even now.”

You scan his face for signs of lying.

“You’re drunk, aren’t you?” you ask finally. 

Doyoung blinks before easing into laughter. “You- You’re- You’re the same as ever.”

You let yourself crack a smile.

“Doyoung I- I really am sorry,” you say quietly. “And I did- do care for you.”

Doyoung stubs out his cigarette and discards it before looking you in the eye. You notice he’s wearing his favourite black turtleneck in the proximity, the grey plaid coat covering most of it. You really liked that look on him.

“I’m sorry,” you say once again. “I want you to know that. I didn’t want to hurt you and I promise I won’t ever do it again.”

You mean it. You’re never going to hold glass again. He doesn’t deserve it.

“That’s a problem,” he responds, breath mingling with yours. “I want you… I want you to hurt me. If you really do love me, I’ll take it.”

“Doyoung,” you whisper, turning away despite your whole body screaming at you to give in. “I meant it. I can’t hurt you.”

Doyoung cups your cheek with one hand, glancing at your lips for a moment.

“You’re warm,” he says.

He’s warmer.

“I want to kiss you,” he says.

You want to kiss him too.

“We went about this all wrong, didn’t we?” he asks.

“We did,” you answer, voice barely above a whisper. “I did.”

Doyoung pulls back. “Then let’s start again. I’m Kim Doyoung, I majored in linguistics. I was student council president and I made a mistake.”

You smile. “We don’t have to do that.”

Doyoung raises an eyebrow. “After all the trouble I went through to make a good introduction?”

The two of you laugh, and it gets warmer. 

“I’m (name),” you say. “I was a top student and I made a bigger mistake, Kim Doyoung.”

“Oh? I wonder what it was.”

“Kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got all the time for you.”

You smile and start. He responds with gentle kisses. You’re piecing your world back together again; but this time it’s feather-light and fits right in the palm of your hand. 

[middleearthpixie]

Damaged Goods ~ Chapter Twenty-Nine

Author's Note: Just a reminder that this story takes place following the events of the miniseries Stay Close and will contain spoilers.

Title: Damaged Goods

Fandom: Stay Close

Pairings: Ray Levine x OC female Theodora (Theo) Bailey

Summary: Following the events of Stay Close, Ray Levine has come to the US to begin a new life and is staying with Theo Bailey, the friend of a friend, who is quickly becoming his best friend and Ray is starting to wonder if there isn’t something more there between them.

Like Ray, Theo has her own demons and although she wonders the same thing about Ray, fear of repeating past mistakes keep her from moving forward. Or do they? Somehow, these two damaged people will come together and discover that maybe—just maybe—second chances are worth the risk.

Theo quits her job and comes home to a surprise…

Warnings: none

Rating: T

Word Count: 3,121

Tag List: @tschrist1 @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @linasofia @fizzyxcustard @legolasbadass @kibleedibleedoo @xxbyimm @ocfairygodmother @exhausted-humxn-being @shalinizhara @rachel1959 @laurfilijames @sketch-and-write-lover @sherala007 @enchantzz @knitastically

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here and AO3

Heavy gray clouds blotted out the sun, which suited Theo’s mood perfectly as she sat in her Jetta staring at the Zone’s front doors. The parking lot was three-quarter’s full at not quite nine in the morning. On Tuesdays, Riley taught Zuma and it was easily the most popular class the Zone offered.

“So, walk away tomorrow. Just tell him you quit and he can go fuck himself.”

Ray’s words echoed in her head. It was tempting, really. She had other errands to run, such as getting her passport and whatever other documents she needed in order to leave the United States and begin a new life with Ray in England.

But at the same time, she didn't want to leave Mrs. Adler hanging. She was Theo’s absolutely favorite client and she would miss her terribly. Somehow, Theo wasn’t at all certain she’d be able to find work as a trainer in England. And even if she did, Mrs. Adler could never be replaced or replicated. She was truly one of a kind.

With a sigh, she climbed out of her car and moved to the back to retrieve her bag and her jacket, which she wriggled into first before hefting the duffle to her shoulder. She bumped the rear door shut with her hip, set the alarm, and started out across the slushy parking lot. It was in the upper thirties this morning, but the temps were supposed to drop into the teens by dusk, with more snow on the way. It was shaping up to be the snowiest winter the shore had seen in years.

Theo was halfway across the parking lot when she spotted the blue Accord and without hesitation, she marched right up to it and rapped on the window. Kevin McClintock smiled as he pushed the button to lower it. “I come in peace, Ms Bailey. I promise.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I just wanted to keep working with you, I swear. I was sore as anything after our session, but when that went away, I felt better than I have in a long time.” He moved to open his door. “So, if you’re taking on any more clients, I’d love to have my old slot back.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m leaving here in the next few days. I’m relocating.”

“Oh, no…” His shoulders slumped and he sank back against his car. “Where?”

“Europe.”

His eyes widened. “That’s a serious relocation. Let me guess, you’re going with the British guy.”

“I’m not telling you anything more than that. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She stepped around to continue on toward the gym.

To her aggravation, he fell into step beside her. “How much longer will you be here? At least maybe you can set me up with a routine?”

“I can’t, no.” She didn't look at him as she strode on. “Today is my last day and I’m booked solid.”

“Can I hire you for a one-on-one?”

At the door, she stopped and spun about. “You lied to me. You dug into my life, into Ray’s life, and for what? Because my jerkoff ex couldn’t stand the thought that I’d moved on? Well, too bad for him and too bad for you. Now, for the last time, leave me alone!”

She threw open the door and stomped inside, leaving him to stare after her. As she rounded the front desk, Heather actually took a step back. “Are you okay, Theo?”

“I’m fine, but if a doofy-looking blond guy named McClintock tries to get any time with me, tell him I said to fuck off.”

“A goofy-looking blond guy?” Heather’s eyes went round. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“I’ll get fired.”

“Heather, we’re all getting fired.”

She shook her head. “Not me. Tony told me this morning the new owners want me to stay on they’ll help me to pass the certification test to be a trainer.”

Theo narrowed her eyes. “What?”

She nodded. “I met with Katie, the new general manager, just a little while ago.” Heather pushed up onto her toes and peered out across the floor. “There, by the squat racks—that’s her.”

Theo turned in that direction and saw an unfamiliar brunette in camo leggings and a dark green tank, and camo Vans. “Huh… so, we all get fired and you replace us. How nice.”

“Wait,” Heather leaned against the counter, “you were fired?”

“Yes. Me, Riley, Donna, and AJ all were. But you know what, that’s fine. I really don’t care.” Theo shouldered her bag again. “Let me know when Mrs. Adler shows up.”

“I will.” Heather frowned slightly, then added, “I’m sorry, Theo. I didn't know.”

“It’s okay. It really is for the best. I’m moving to England with Ray, so…”

“Really?” Heather’s eyes lit up. “He’s that gorgeous English guy who came looking for you last week, right?”

“That’s Ray.”

“Oh, I dump this place in a heartbeat if he wanted me to run away to England with him. I think you’ve got the better end of the deal.”

That brought a genuine smile to Theo’s face. “I know I did. Anyway, I’ll be in the locker room if anyone needs me.”

She left the front desk to go around and back into the locker room, where she moved to her locker and opened it, smiling at the picture of her and Ray that he’d taken on the beach last week. Was it only a week ago? In some ways, it seemed it happened only yesterday, but in others? She’d swear it happened at least a year ago.

With a sigh, she sank onto the bench opposite her locker. Ray moved in with her before Thanksgiving. And since he was new to the States and she refused to spend holidays with toxic people—which ruled out most of her family—she introduced him to a quiet American Thanksgiving, with a laughably small turkey and all of the other necessary side dishes. Their conversation had been stilted at best—

“So, what do you think of America so far?’

“Noisy. Big. Easy to get lost in.”

“Yeah. Sounds about right.”

From there, when she was Christmas shopping, she was in the mall, trying to find gifts for Donna, AJ, and Riley, when she came upon a bracelet while finding earrings for Donna. It was woven leather in varying shades of brown leather and she thought it would look nice on Ray’s large wrist, so she bought it for him,

His look of surprise on Christmas morning stayed with her. “You didn't have to do this, Theo,” he’d said softly, staring at the colorfully wrapped package in her hand.

“I know,” she’d said, “But I thought it was perfect and I couldn’t resist.”

Then he’d turned red. “I’m so sorry, but I haven’t anything for you.”

“I don’t expect anything, Ray. Don’t worry about it.”

He still looked rather uncomfortable, but then he’d opened it and when he looked up, his eyes were soft. “It’s lovely… I mean… thank you.”

He’d held it out. “Put it on me? I’m afraid I’ll be all thumbs.”

As she touched him, it was then she felt it. The soft jolt, the spark of attraction. She’d thought he was a good-looking guy from the moment they met, and their relationship had begun to grow comfortable. But this was the first time she found herself looking at him as a man instead of as her roommate.

It was then when she wished they were more than roommates, that he saw her as more than that. She wound the leather twice about his wrist and fastened it and looked up to find him gazing at her with an odd expression of his own. Had he felt it back then? She had no way of knowing, but she did know that not a day passed when that leather band wasn’t wound about his wrist.

And now they were a couple.

Not to mention, he didn't sleep on the sofa any longer, nor did he find himself buried under their laundry, either.

Which reminded her, she had a ton of laundry to do when she got home.

That made her smile as she carefully peeled the photo from the inside of her locker door and tucked it into her bag.

“Thee?” Donna came around the corner, “there’s someone here to see you.”

“It’s not a big, doofy blond guy, is it?”

“No. It’s actually a rather hot black guy. Name’s Ty Evans?”

“Ty?” Her spirits shot up into the stratosphere at the news and she tucked her bag under the bench before hurrying out to the front desk.

“Well, you are a sight for sore eyes, Beautiful!” Ty grabbed her around the waist, lifting her off her feet in a tight bear hug.

“What are you doing here? Thought you were overseas until summer at least?”

He set her down, his smile melting away. “My sister passed two days ago, so I’m here on bereavement leave for her funeral.”

“Oh, Ty, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. She’d been sick for a while and… well… now I… it’s over for her.” He drew in a deep breath, then looked back at her. “Have you thrown Ray out yet?”

“Funny you should mention him.” She slipped her arm through his and steered him over to the smoothie bar. “Because not only have I not thrown him out, he and I are kind of a thing now.”

Ty’s eyes widened and disbelief rang through his, “No shit?”

“No shit.”

He clapped his hands. “That is awesome news, Beautiful. I’d hoped this is what would happen, but I didn't think it would happen this quickly.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “there was a reason I suggested you to each other, you know. Ray’s a good guy who just found himself in a little bit of a mess and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, so I thought I’d try to bring you together.” He did a little dance. “And you both owe me huge now.”

“Tyler, are you serious? Were you really playing matchmaker?”

“Yeah. Look, I knew you were seeing that loser and I thought maybe Ray might make you rethink what you wanted. You get to know someone when you’re together twenty-four-seven and under the conditions we were under in Iraq. And when he’d told me about what happened—” his eyes narrowed—“he did tell you about happened in England, right?”

“He told me,” she nodded, moving around the counter to take down a cup and filled it with water, “he’s been nothing but honest with me, since the day he moved in.”

“And now you’re together and that’s great. I’m happy for you both.”

“Thank you. I’m pretty happy, too.” She handed him the cup and then filled one for herself. “He’s asked me to come live in England with him.”

“It’s that serious? Damn… boy moves fast.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Ty, you have no idea. But, when it’s right…”

“I’m happy for you. Where is the boy today? I went by your apartment, but no one was home.”

“He said he had some errands to run and then he was meeting with Drew Kaparski.”

“Who?”

“A PI he’s been working with since he’s been here.”

“Theo?” Heather came over. “Mrs. Adler is here.”

“Oh, shit…” She turned back to Tyler. “She doesn’t know I’m leaving yet, so I should go.”

“Yeah, I have a few errands of my own to run,” Tyler said, easing off the stool. “But I couldn’t be in town and not see you. When you and Ray get settled, update me. I’ll come visit you guys in England.”

“Absolutely.” She embraced him, giving him an extra tight squeeze. “Take care of yourself and stay safe, okay?”

“You, too. Let him take care of you, Thee. He’s a good man and you deserve one.”

She stepped back. “Love you, Ty.”

“Love you, too, Thee.”

She threw him a kiss and walked over to Mrs. Adler. “Good morning, Mrs. A.!”

Mrs. Adler looked over at Tyler, her dark eyes narrowing. “That doesn’t look like your Englishman, Theo.”

“He’s not. He’s one of my best friends in the world, though. And he’s the one responsible for bringing my Englishman into my life, so he’s really okay.”

“Oh, well, in that case…”

Theo smiled. “Let’s go get you warmed up on the treadmill.” She turned to see Tyler heading toward the door and he paused to throw her a wave. She waved back, then looked back at Mrs. Adler. “I assume you’ve heard that the gym is changing ownership in a few weeks.”

“I have.” Mrs. Adler climbed up onto her favorite treadmill and set it at two and half miles per hour. “And I’m hoping you will be staying on.”

“That’s the thing, Mrs. A. I won’t be.”

Mrs. Adler gaped at her. “What?”

“I’m not staying here. Today’s actually my last day. Ray is planning to return to England and he’s asked me to go with him and I said I would.”

Mrs. Adler stared for a long moment, then beamed at her like a proud parent. “Oh, Theo! That’s wonderful!”

“So, Donna will take over your training until the new owners come in and then, I don’t know who it will be.” Theo tried to ignore the slight pang at the thought of not seeing Mrs. Adler again. They’d worked together for the better part of the last three years and she’d miss her terribly.

Their session went by so much faster than normal and when it was over, Mrs. Adler hugged her tightly and said, “Good luck, love. And I wish you nothing but happiness with your handsome Englishman. Keep in touch and I want to know when you get married, when you have children… all of it.”

“I will,” Theo promised, not wanting to ruin Mrs. Adler’s good mood by reminding her that she was fifty and not having children any time soon, or getting married for that matter. She and Ray hadn’t been together long enough to even consider such a thing just yet.

Once Mrs. Adler left, Theo took a deep breath and marched toward Tony’s office, where she found him at his desk, on the phone. He held up a finger, said, “Hold on, Ana, I have someone in my office,” and lower the phone. “What’s up, Thee?”

“I quit. I’m taking my old ass out of here and going to England. Enjoy LA. I hope you have nothing but success. Have the payroll company send my last check directly to me.”

She didn’t wait for his answer, but turned and strode out of his office with a smile, retrieved her bag, the rest of her things out of her locker, and went out to her car. It felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders and as she turned out of the parking lot, she turned up Springsteen’s Out in the Street and sang along with the Boss as she drove home.

The parking lot behind her apartment was empty. It wasn’t often she could park wherever she wished, and she smiled as she pulled up near the seldom-used detached garage at the far end.

Next door, Mrs. Landry was out on her front porch, sweeping ice melt from the steps. She smiled and waved, tucking a loose iron-gray curl behind one ear as she said, “Good morning, Theo!”

“Morning, Mrs. Landry.”

“You’re home early.”

“Yeah. I kind of quit my job today.” Theo skirted several large snow and ice drifts as she came around to the sidewalk before Mrs. Landry’s house. “I wanted to ask you if you’d be okay with my subletting my apartment for a while?”

“Subletting?” Mrs. Landry’s broom went still. “Where are you going?”

“You know Ray, the guy who’s been staying with me?”

“The nice young British fellow who shovels the walk for me?”

“Yeah, him.”

“Oh, I like him. I have to confess, I wasn’t crazy about you two shacking up, but he really is a nice boy.”

Theo bit back a smile at the phrase shacking up, and let it pass as she nodded. “He is a nice boy. And he’s asked me to come stay with him in England for a while and I said I would. So, if you don’t mind, I’d like to have a friend of mine take over while I’m gone. Her name is Donna and she’s single and doesn’t have any animals and she’s close to my age, so there’ll be no wild parties.”

“How long will you be gone for?”

“I honestly don’t know. That’s why I asked her to stay here. That way, if everything goes to hell, I’m not homeless.”

Mrs. Landry smiled. “Tell her to come talk to me and I’ll let you know. I like her, it’ll be fine.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Landry.” Theo turned to go to her own apartment, calling, “You’ll like her. You’ll see,” over her shoulder.

She opened the front door and stomped the remnants of snow from her boots as she made her way to her apartment door and unlocked it. Just inside the door, she kicked off her boots and whisked off her hat, tossing them both onto the breakfast bar as she came around it. As she shrugged out of her jacket, she froze, the hair along the back of her neck standing at attention. Something was wrong. She couldn’t place it, but the air, the atmosphere, just felt… off.

Swallowing hard, she turned back to stare at the sofa.

Scott sat up and rested his chin against the sofa back. His face was an absolutely mess—he sported two black eyes that came with his broken nose, and his lower lip was swollen, with flecks of dried blood clinging to it, and an ugly purple bruise mottled the lower half of his face.

“What are you doing here? How did you even get in here?”

“There is not a lock made that I can’t pick, honey.” He smiled. “And as to what I’m doing here? It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it. Theo? I’m waiting for you.”

“You need to go, now. I’m pretty sure you do not want to deal with Ray again, or will you just try to sic the cops on him once more.”

“No. I’m not doing that. And I’m not leaving, either.” He lifted his hand and the pit of her stomach fell away as he rested an evil-looking handgun again the back cushion. “As for your loser boyfriend,” he gestured at her with the gun, “call him. Tell him he needs to come now. Now.”

[thetriggeredhappy]

recently rediscovered your blog and read the fic from your dad spy au where scout starts out as the "guard" and then becomes scout from there and lemme tell you that shit put me on some s-tier brainrot. like a cranial decay type beat.

i had a concept in my head that instead of being hired as a guard, he could have been hired as a right hand man to the administrator like pauling, because i think hed be awesome in that position. like imagine having a personal merc who can get in fast and out even faster. but maybe he would stay in the base like the rest of them, sort of like a secret on call intel gatherer, who also maybe sometimes has to dig a couple graves. and also like, nobody on the team expects anything from him at first because its this 20 year old newbie kid. hes dressed in his formal clothes and he talks like somebody from relatively around boston but not quite. i can just imagine one day he comes back during a team dinner with his shirt half untucked and stained with blood, hair disheveled as he asks soldier if he can borrow his shovel, or him debriefing them for a mission when miss pauling is busy. same vibe as the fic i mentioned before but scout gets to have a job as cool as miss paulings. honestly id write it myself if i didnt have the attention span of a fly

anyways your scout content gives me life thank you

scout teamfortress but 20% more competent standing next to miss pauling teamfortress while she's doing her job and doing like silly quips and otherwise contributing nothing like it's a buddy cop film is literally my fucking ideal

(warnings for some canon-typical violence)

-

“Oh, Pauling, it’s good to see you again,” greeted the chairman, smiling in an imitation of a grandfather and clasping her hands perhaps too-kindly considering she barely knew him. “Young as ever, and still so stylish, I see. And who’s the new fellow?”

“He’s just here to help with transport, Mr. Montgomery, nothing unusual,” Miss Pauling replied, returning his smile and adjusting her glasses. “Heavy cases, you know how it is.”

“Of course, I remember you almost toppling clean over last time we made a trade!” Montgomery agreed, frowning at the memory. “You’ll pull a muscle that way, better to be careful. It’s a pleasure to meet you, young man. And your name?”

“Mr. Normandy, sir,” the new kid replied easily enough despite his slight East Coast accent, giving the man a firm handshake, expression neutral and stony, the picture of professionalism. Internally, Pauling breathed a sigh of relief.

“Firm grip there, young man,” Montgomery praised, nodding approvingly. “Tennis player, perhaps? Or golf?”

“Baseball, sir,” he replied, still evenly. “First baseman.”

“Ah! Of course! Were you any good?” Montgomery joked.

“At everything but playing in front of the crowds, otherwise I’d be in the major leagues,” he replied, tilting his head just slightly to imply that he was joking, his sunglasses glinting at the movement, and Montgomery barked a laugh.

“I like this one, Miss Pauling!” Montgomery said, and Pauling just barely caught herself from physically relaxing at it.

“We do too, Mr. Montgomery,” she agreed. “I was under the impression that you’re very busy today, so we won’t keep you for too long, we just wanted to sort out the final details surrounding the manufacturing rights for the—“

“—Pacific Northwest branch, up into British Columbia and Alberta, of course,” Montgomery agreed, nodding faintly. “Of course, of course.” He turned to regard his own man in a dark suit, the one standing to the right, who appeared to be unsuccessfully trying to stare down Normandy, who was completely ignoring him. “My briefcase, please.”

The man handed over the briefcase, and Montgomery put it on his desk, opening it and pulling out a sheaf of papers. “All our requests are submitted and approved, at this point we just had a few dustbins to take care of regarding initial percentages and making sure everything is wired to the correct accounts, which names are undisclosed, things like that,” Pauling explained as he glanced through the papers.

“Right, right, everything looks good here,” the man murmured, nodding to himself, sending his long-white hair just ever-so-slightly out of place. “I’m assuming these more sensitive documents should be sent some way besides through the mail?”

“If you finish them today I can take them with me, otherwise either me or Mr. Normandy can return to pick them up at your convenience,” she replied, to which Normandy gave a singular nod.

“Oh, it would only take me a short while,” Montgomery said, waving a hand. “We have a lovely lounge just down the hall from here if you’d prefer to wait there, it should only take me ten, fifteen minutes at most. In the meantime, I do believe there’s also the manner of payment for services rendered.”

Miss Pauling tilted her head just slightly to one side, confused.

“I arranged with Helen already,” Montgomery explained, not looking up from where he was initialing a few things. “The payment, rather than being wired, she asked to be made in material investment. A venture of mine from years ago that she’s willing to sit on. Rather than gold or bonds, she agreed to take some old currency of mine that my family collected, from early 18th century New Zealand and Australia. Monetarily it’s worth around the same, and I’m quite a bit attached to it to be entirely frank, but it was at her request to buy the whole collection from me, and after years of the work we’ve been doing together, well, I’d never trust it with anyone else.”

He gestured to the other man, the one on his left, who stepped forward to hand him a manila envelope, which he passed to Pauling.

“Inside is both keys, the door alarm codes, and all other security information for the building where the collection is being stored. They’ll ask for a few codes and confirmation of identity, only because several other art collections and artifacts are being stored there by other affluent individuals such as myself.”

“Thank you, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling said, taking the envelope gratefully.

“Think nothing of it, my dear. Helen talked me into it all her own,” he said easily enough. “Now, gentlemen, if you would let Miss Pauling and Mr. Normandy into our lounge? I should have these wrapped up before any of us can even think about lunch, eh?”

One of the suits showed the two of them through the doors and down the hallway, through two doors bracketed by similar suits who simply nodded politely at Pauling and ticked their chins at Normandy as they passed them.

Normandy posted up beside the door for all of three seconds before they shut and Pauling pulled her glasses up, rubbing at the bridge of her nose and making a vaguely distressed noise. He then promptly relaxed, instead leaning his hip against an armchair probably worth the same amount as a small car. “So, uh, we’re glad that he’s giving us a bunch of commemorative coins from when dinosaurs still walked the earth?” he asked just below normal speaking volume, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. Very glad. Because unlike about six people total on the planet, he hasn’t figured out yet how valuable those are.”

“What, is a picture of a kangaroo on some copper really gonna make up for a couple hundred thousand American dollars?” Normandy asked, sounding doubtful.

“Not copper. Something else,” she replied. “I can’t tell you much more about it other than that, but these coins are made of something priceless to us. And to the Administrator.”

“…Love? Memories? The magic of family?” he joked, cracking a smile, and she rolled her eyes, moving to open the envelope and start reading the papers inside. “Hey, uh, not to question whether my job should exist, but what the hell am I doing here, exactly? Besides carrying a briefcase. Like, chivalry isn’t dead but I really don’t think you need me carrying your bags and holding the door for you.”

“You’re helping with security, basically,” she replied, adjusting her glasses to squint at tiny handwriting about the collection. “Mr. Montgomery is trustworthy, but he mostly hires out to… well, people like us. His security detail is mostly people we’d rather have screened, freelancers, stuff like that. A lot of people we contract out to are like that. Most of them have heard about me and know better than to try and pull something, since I can hold my own pretty well, but if they haven’t, seeing a second person might persuade them to think it over again.”

“Oh, so I’m like, uh, when it says ‘tow zone’ next to the no parking signs even though nobody checks, or when they’ve got a camera in the corner of the store that isn’t even plugged into anything,” he said, and the looked up at him, confused. “Like, uh, what’s the word… I’m a casual deterrent.”

“Sure,” she said, because it sounded like he knew what he was talking about, shuffling the papers back away and closing the envelope again, making a note to ask the Administrator if she should change their current containment procedures to be closer to Mr. Montgomery’s. “Just… if there’s a fight, you deal with it, otherwise you just stand there and look like you’re paying attention.”

“That’s what the sunglasses are for,” he agreed. “I was blinking morse code at the guy across from me literally the whole time.”

“You know morse code?” Pauling asked, surprised.

“Just the alphabet, ‘S.O.S.’, and ‘ass’.”

She rolled her eyes again, and that’s when the door opened.

She expected Mr. Montgomery, not one of the men in suits. “Excuse me, both of you, if you don’t mind,”the man said, accent having the slightest English tilt to it, a Londoner if Pauling had to guess. “You’re Miss Pauling, the Mann Co. affiliate, yes?”

“That’s me,” she agreed, hesitant, and glanced at Normandy.

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Mr. Montgomery have you the wrong envelope on accident,” the man said apologetically, extending a hand forward. “We apologize for this unfortunate mix-up, it’s really quite embarrassing, but those documents are sensitive and we’ll be needing to see them back now.”

Pauling looked at him, and within a moment, shifted her expression. “Oh, I’m so sorry!” she agreed, nodding. “No, right, of course. These aren’t the papers for the currency collection?”

“I’m afraid not,” the Brit agreed, head tilting just slightly, hand still extended, moving a fraction further forward.

“Well, thank goodness we figured out now and not with us halfway back,” she joked, and moved to hold the folder closer to her body. “I’ll take this right back to Mr. Montgomery, then.”

“He’s sent me to correct the error,” the man explained simply.

“Right,” she said, and saw in her periphery that Normandy had already started sneaking a hand in towards his primary, clearly having pieced together something she was only suspecting. “We can bring this to his office, then, right down the hall.”

“You misunderstand,” the man said, taking a step forward again. “I’ll be taking it to his office myself.”

“That’s funny,” Pauling said. “I didn’t realize you had clearance to be in there. Or to be carrying a semi-automatic instead of a standard handgun.”

The Brit reached for the semi-automatic, and before he could even get it out properly, Normandy hit one clean shot to the side of his head and another to his thigh, sending him crumpling to the ground.

Pauling had only as far as pulling her own handgun free, thumb on the safety, and breathed a sigh of relief, glancing over at Normandy, shifting to more comfortably hold her gun. “Quick reflexes,” she noted.

“Just noticed a lot sooner, maybe,” he shrugged, stepping forward to glance over the body, tucking his gun back away.

“What was your hint?”

“He’s here to give us the right folder, yeah? Well, why were his hands empty, then?”

She was just starting to nod and realize that as well when a second man shouldered through the door, holding a gun at the ready. Normandy scrambled to draw his own, but Pauling fired a shot into his knee, shoulder, and neck to send him dropping before he was even close. “There’s quick on the draw, and then there’s prepared,” she said pointedly. “Gotta think of if there’s more than one, new guy.”

He nodded, and drew his gun again, bending to hit the guy on the ground at the temple hard enough to knock him out if he wasn’t unconscious already. He then glanced up at the sound of a shout from the other side of the door, two men shouldering through, guns drawn but lowered. It was only the firm eye contact they made with both her and Normandy that made her pause the millisecond it took to realize these ones weren’t trying to kill them.

“Pauling, what on earth is going on here?!” Montgomery demanded, entering the room and staring with wide eyes at the bodies on the ground. “What could’ve possessed you to—“

“He was trying to run off with these documents,” she explained quickly, gesturing with the envelope. “He knew whatever was in here was valuable.”

“He drew his gun, sir,” Normandy added, tipping his head down towards the body, and Pauling glanced down as well and found herself a little surprised. He’d rearranged the man just slightly, apparently, adjusting the arm to be holding the gun a bit further outward. “Other one was aiming to kill.”

“My, my,” Montgomery tsk’d, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What a mess. My apologies, Miss Pauling, Mr. Normandy.”

“It’s alright, but you need to start doing more thorough checks on your staff, Mr. Montgomery,” Pauling stressed.

“He’s only been here two weeks, sir, he was one of the men we hired in a hurry after the incident last month,” one of the bodyguards said, and Montgomery shook his head.

“Thank goodness nobody was hurt,” he sighed. “Mutiny, and besides that, they’re bleeding on my carpet. Here are those papers, Miss Pauling—what a day, eh?”

“It’s really alright, we handled it,” Pauling assured him, giving her bravest smile, a little exasperated now.

“Right, right, you and the first baseman,” he agreed, and Normandy fought back an actual smile.

“If you’d like, we can take care of those for you,” Pauling said, gesturing at the bodies. “To pay you back for the carpet and the scare.”

“Sounds fair to me,” Montgomery agreed, clearly relieved.

-

“My dad’s gonna be pissed, by the way,” Normandy was so helpful as to say on the way back up the path to the base. “And you’re fielding that.”

“About the suit, or the fight?” she asked, glancing at his clothes where he was somewhat covered in a fine dusting of mud and grime from the gravedigging, shovel still in his free hand.

“Both. Mostly the fight. Your fault for saying it’d be an easy one to start with,” he said.

“If it was going to be that much of a problem, you wouldn’t have gotten this job. I’d just have made you go do dishes all day or something,” Pauling replied.

“Point taken,” he said, walking ahead to get the door, holding it open for her. “Wait, we’re allowed to mention what we do, right? Just not names?”

“Or locations, even with travel distance. Round up to the hour if it comes up,” she replied.

“Sure, sure,” he agreed, trailing a step behind her as she led the way through the base.

In the common area, there was a bit of a ruckus happening. Soldier, Heavy, and Demo appeared to be having some kind of arm wrestling competition on a rapidly-toppling table, the Engineer was on a stepstool trying to fix the ceiling fan, and Sniper appeared to be half-watching the beginnings of an argument between Pyro and the Spy regarding use of the oven as Medic patched up a burn on his arm.

“Hullo,” Sniper greeted the two of them, sounding a little bored, Medic giving them a brief, polite nod. Normandy’s eyebrows were raised pretty far as he surveyed the room.

“Hi, Sniper,” she greeted in return, then cleared her throat, raised her voice. “Team meeting in five minutes! New mission for next week!”

Groans from the room at large, the eight mercenaries starting to finish up what they were doing and filing out. Spy moved over, glancing over Normandy and starting to talk to him in rapid-fire French, picking smaller bits of gravel off of his suit as they walked.

“Alright,” she addressed the room, Normandy peeling off from getting mother hen’d by Spy to stand next to the blackboard with her. “Monday, you’re all going on a transport mission. Getting the truck from point A to point B with everything in the boxes intact. Already we’ve had to put up with some people trying to get ahold of these things, so bring your guns.”

“Oh, our guns, you said? Lads, this is a serious one, keep your heads on a feckin' swivel, she’s sayin’ we might even need guns, can you believe it?” Demo faux-gasped, and chuckled when Spy bopped him on the arm, rolling his eyes at the Scot's theatrics.

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off, flipping through the papers a bit. “So Engie, I’ll need the keys to the truck, me and Normandy are going to be loading those tomorrow, all of you need to be at this drop point bright and early.”

“How early?” Heavy rumbled.

“Six. Hour and a half of drive from here.”

Some complaints from the room that she sighed at.

“Hey, hey, calm the hell down,” Normandy cut in, and she glanced over at him where he had his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “You chuckleheads get to have all eight of you to unload the damn thing, me and Miss P gotta do all the rest of this on our own and probably kill twenty guys on the way there and back. She had to be up at 6 AM, workin’ since 7 AM, lunch break at noon and nothin’ else, and we just got back now at, what, fuckin’, 10, 11 PM? Any of you work her shift and then see if you even got the energy to complain about wakin’ up early, how about that?”

The room went utterly devoid of complaint or backsass. “Thank you, Normandy,” she said politely, and he just nodded once, glancing off to the side. “Anyways, anything new on this end? Spy, how are you adjusting?”

“Very well,” he said simply. “I have nothing pressing to say. Once I’ve been updated from the stock weaponry provided here to my requested preferred weaponry, I believe I should do just fine.”

“I see you already have Herr Normandy digging graves,” Medic chimed in. “Straight into the hard labor, ja?”

“Eh, hey, y’know, it’s why they keep us young people around,” he shrugged, grinning, and there was a brief uproar to drown out Medic’s entirely offended scoffing and Spy’s snort-laughing.

“Get ‘im, lad!” Demo cheered, and Normandy indeed looked fairly proud of himself.

“Monday, transport mission,” Pauling noted over the noise, writing it up on the chalkboard to hide her own smile from the room. “Normandy, you and me are doing the boxes tomorrow. Everyone on the same page? Good. Dismissed. Oh, and Pyro—stop taking the fire alarms down when they beep. They’re beeping because you light things on fire in the base. Do that outside.”

“Oh, hey, uh, helmet guy, All-American Beef,” Normandy called, and Soldier straightened up. “Here’s your shovel back. Gettin’ my own tomorrow.”


Soldier walked directly over to him, clasping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s a high honor, Cadet,” he said, tone grave. “Do not take this responsibility lightly.”

“I, uh, I won’t?” he said hesitantly, and blinked a few times as the shovel was carefully taken from him before it was promptly marched from the room in double-time. Only then did Normandy look over at her. “So he’s always like that?”

“You’ll get used to it,” she assured, dusting chalk from her hands. “You should get to sleep soon, we have to be up early.”

“Sure thing, Miss P.”

[mackeydoodledoo]

Like Old Times

Pairing: (Lifeguard)Bela Dimitrescu x (SurferFem)Reader

Summary: Your lifeguard girlfriend talks you into entering a surfing tournament that’s being held at your local beach. However, Bela meets a familiar face that comes to compete.

Warnings: Cheating, Couple Argument, Breakup, Depression

A/n: So I didn't expect this to become a series l. I thought it was gonna be a one-shot. But enjoy! Also, I couldn’t choose between these two songs. So you readers may pick either “Hawaiian Rollercoaster Ride” - Lilo and Stitch or “You get what you Give” - New Radicals to listen to when Y/n and Jeane hit the Sunsetting Tides after the first day of the Surfing Tournament!

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

You sit down with your knees huddled against your upper body. Even though you were the one who emerged victorious in the first round of the Surf Tournament, your girlfriend decided to comfort her ex as she felt bad for him despite being proud of you. She also believed him when he told her that he had become better and that he wanted to make up for lost time with her. You reluctantly let her go as you didn't want her to see you becoming jealous.

"My question is Y/n/n," Jeane sits next to you, "How you let her go off with her ex.."

"I didn't want her to see how jealous I was getting," you sigh, "I just- don’t want to talk about it... So, shouldn't your boyfriend be here to root you on?"

"Actually," Jeane's voice trails off, pulling out her phone

She holds the phone in your face and you squeal of excitement. However, she shushes you before you even raised your voice.

"Since when did this happen?!" You ask, trying to keep your voice down low

"Right before I went off to the competition the other night," she smiles

"That ring is so pretty though," You compliment the engagement ring, "Definitely you."

Jeane chuckles and gives you a hug.

“I need a favor Y/n,” Jeane says

You pull away to look at her, “What’s the favor?”

“I need you to be my Maid of Honor,” She requests

Your mouth hangs agape, “W-what?”

“Be my maid of honor,” She begins smiling

You smile as you jump into her arms, engulfing her into a hug.

“Shouldn’t you be asking your sister?” You ask her

“I did,” Jeane answers you, “She isn’t able to come back home before the wedding day. That is why I’m asking you.”

“I will be more than happy to be your maid of honor,” You smile before engulfing each other in a hug

“I also need you to walk me down the isle,” She asks once more

You knew that she barely had family that was still around. Or even ones who were; she didn’t choose any of them. She asks you. Her best friend and basically little sister that she never had. 

“Oh I’m more than happy to do that too,” You smile

“By the way,” Jeane adds, “Your girlfriend is invited as your guest.”

From afar, Bela watches you embrace your best friend; unbeknownst to her of the conversation you just had.

"Do you know what'll make you feel better?" Jeane asks you, still embracing you

"What?" You ask

"Getting our asses back in the water," she says, pulling away to look at you, "Tides are still high and its the end of the day."

"Are you just saying that to make me feel better or are you just saying that because you really want to go surfing with me again?" You ask her, suspiciously but smiling at her

"...Yes" She smiles, cracking into a laugh

You couldn't help but crack a laugh as well. You stand up, and help Jeane up off the chair. The both of you head over to the lifeguard post to grab your respective surfboards. However you make the mistake of looking up and seeing Bela smiling with her ex. She looks down at you and she smiles and waves. However, you subtlety scoff at her and turn to walk next to Jeane, heading towards the ocean. However, your reactive changed Bela's expression to cheerfulness, to confusion and slight sadness.

“Hey you paying attention?” Billy asks

Bela shakes off her staring a you and sighs, but tries to pull it off but smile, “Yeah sorry.”

“So, as I was saying-” Billy continues to drift on

Bela just drifts her head to you and Jeane; jealous and upset you didn’t offer her to surf with you instead. 

When you and Jennie pass she very shallow shore, the both of you lie on your stomachs and begin paddling towards a deeper part of the ocean.

"Lets see how much you remember in surfing rookie," Jeane jokes

"No please," You joke back, "Age before beauty grandma!"

“Oh it’s on!” Jeane laughs, acting all competitive

Jeane had some surfing competing and some wins in her books. Whereas you, you had watched her from the shoreline, hoping to be like her one day. However, Jennie had moved across the country for her new job after graduating college. 

“Go ahead of me!” You smile

“Like old times?” Jeane asks you

“Like old times,” You repeat her question but in an answer format

Like twins, the both of you face parallel along the wave and begin standing onto your surfboards. You watch as Jennie begins surfing ahead of you. As the wave began getting slightly smaller the further you were slightly behind Jeane, you crouch down on your board and look over to the rising water of the wave. Slowly, you reached your hand out and let it skid across the rising water like a flat stone skipping across the water. 

“Oh how I’ve missed surfing with you Y/n!” Jeane smiles

You pull ahead in front of Jeane and you smile as you turn around to see her with a surprised face. You jokingly shrug her off and continue surfing. You tilt slightly to your right and do the exact same maneuver you had done earlier in the day to catch Holmes off guard. 

“You show off!” Jeane sighs and shakes her head, breaking into a laugh

“Oh the things I’ve learned while you have been away my gal!” You smile as you land in front of her

You watch Jeane swoop down below and cut in front of you. You try and do the same but her speed continued to increase. However, the wave began breaking, making you swing right out of the wave before it caved.

“Jeane!” You called out to her

You sigh in relief when you see her on the other side of the wave. 

“Yo! Y/n Let’s try and ride on top of the next one!” Jennie yells to you, exiting the wave tunnel

You follow suit, maneuvering right out of the wave right before it crashed on the shallow shoreline. You manage to catch up with Jennie before paddling off to the next incoming wave.

“Bels? Bels are you even listening?” her ex asks

Bela’s POV

As her ex drifts onto his story, Bela turns her head and watches you have the time of your life with Jennie. 

“Oh sorry,” She sighs

“You okay?” He asks, placing his hands on her upper arms

She steps away form him, he immediately puts his hands back down on his sides. 

“Sorry,” He says, looking into another direction

“I’m gonna go,” She says

She immediately power walks away from him and into your direction but stopping at the shoreline. 

“And he just fell as soon as he stood up?” You ask, trying to contain your laughter, “My goodness your stories never get old. Hey that diner is still around do you want to go there after? Catch up outside of surfing?”

Y/n’s POV

You and Jeane begin emerging from the ocean and continue laughing with her story of how she tried getting her then boyfriend (Now fiancée) to go surfing with her.

“I’d like to!” Jennie says before looking over to the approaching Bela, “Hey! Ms. I snatched the hottest surfer on the beach! You want to join us for dinner? Did Y/n ever take you to the diner? They may have greasy ass food but their fries never disappoint!”

“Actually...” Bela sighs, “I’m going to call it a day...”

“Yeah yeah I’m fine,” She sighs, stepping back from your gentle touch, “I’m just tired...”

“Hey, you okay Kaipo?” You ask, walking up to her and gently placing your hand on her arm

[Kaipo (KIE-Poh) means “Darling” in Hawaiian]

“Do you want me to drive you home?” You ask her, trying to comfort her in the best way possible

“Oh no- I wouldn’t want to interrupt your quality time with Jennie... I’ll... I’ll just ask my ex if he can take me... See you tomorrow Draga Mea,” She says, trudging off to the lifeguard post

“Did she just say her ex?” You ask Jennie, “I kind of zoned out when I was looking at her...

“Listen, if you trust Bela, just let her be,” Jennie says, placing her hand on your shoulder to keep you from going to Bela

“I do trust her it’s just... She looked so happy when she began talking with her ex...” You sigh, “And-and...”

“You feel threatened,” Jennie concludes

You nod.

“Like I said, if you really trust her, let her go,” She says, “Let’s get out of here.”

You and Jennie head over to the local diner that overlooked the ocean. Even though you were happy that Jennie was back. Even if it was for the competition, you’d be seeing her again for her wedding. 

“Have you figured out where you were going to have the wedding?” You ask, sipping your glass of water

“Here, on the beach,” She smiles

“Classic,” You smile

Your smile drops when you hear your phone vibrate on the table. However, as soon as you pick it up and turn it on; it wasn’t from Bela. 

“Dude, call her and check on her if you need to,” Jeane suggests

“You sure?” You ask, looking for reassurance in Jeanes expression. 

“Go you little lovebird,” She teases you

You smile and mouth ‘thanks’ before heading to the entrance of the diner, unlocking your phone and pressing Bela’s speed dial number. You pace around the parking lot, listening to the phone ring. 

“Come on Bels... Pick up... Pick up...” You mumble to yourself

You growl when it goes to voicemail. You call her several more times before finally giving up.

“Bela babe it’s me... I want to just make sure you’re okay...” You say before hanging up your phone

Jeane looks up when she hears the bell on the door rings. But her expression drops when you slump into your seat.

“Let me guess- she didn’t pick up?” Jeane sighs

You nod, “I don’t get it... She always picks up...”

“Listen kid,” Jeane starts, “Why don’t you go check on her after this? If you’re so worried.”

You nod but try to put on a smile for Jeane. However, Jeane knew you better. She was able to tell when you’re faking it.

“I’ll cover the bill Y/n,” Jeane blurts out, making you look up

“Are-are you sure?” You ask

She smiles and nods while gesturing you to the door, “Go get her.”

You vowed that you’d pay back Jeane for making her pay for you. Thus, you drive home however, some of the lights were off. You unlock the front door to your house and place your backpack next to the entry hall.

“Bela?” You call to the house

No response... You decide to check in your room.

“Bela?” You call again, opening the door

Your heart sinks when you realize the bed was how it was before you had left for the beach that morning. You rush back out to your car; half-assing the lock on your door just before you rushed back into your car and began making your way to Bela’s place.

I need to tell her what Jeane and I were talking about...

You arrive to Bela’s apartment a little further into town and you look up; Bela’s apartment balcony was visible to the front part of the building. 

Her light’s on...

You immediately but calmly make your way up to Bela’s apartment. You and her had spare keys to each others’ places so you take out the one key that wasn’t attached to your jumble mess you call your wallet, car keys and house keys and unlock the door. You try to make your steps quiet just in case Bela was passed out on her bed. You reach for the doorknob and slowly turn the nob and slowly open the creaky door.

“B-Bela?....” your breathe hitches in your throat

She opens her eyes but they immediately widen as she sees your figure in the doorway. She shoves a more muscular arm away from her however it coils back around her body. 

“Y-Y/n!” Bela tries to hide the biggest mistake she’s ever made, “It’s-it’s not what it looks like!”

But it was exactly what it looked like. You couldn’t move your legs as she tries to throw on her clothing.

“Baby,” A male voice wakes up

You immediately recognize the male face...

Billy Holmes... How the fuck did I guess?...

Finally gaining thoughts in your legs you turn your heel just as Bela was getting her shorts on. Regardless if you hear your name being called repeatedly and the footsteps behind you, you don’t turn back.

“Y/n Wait!” Bela manages to catch up with you before you got in your truck

“What Bela?!” You ask her, pissed off, “After me telling you that ‘You’re my Ohana’ you go any do this?!”

“I thought-I thought you were going to leave me for Jeane,” Bela confesses, “I saw the way you two were hugging earlier...”

“That? That? Jeane is getting married Bela!” You scream, not giving a shit who was listening

Bela just stands there, dumbfounded.

“She asked me to be her maid of honor and to walk her down the isle,” You begin explaining, “Because her sister isn’t able to be home on time for her wedding and majority of her family isn’t around anymore! She sees me as her little sister that she’s never had because she was the little sister! Jeane told me that you were invited as my guest... I was going to ask you after dinner with her but.... You can forget it. While you’re at it, forget about us.”

You plop the spare key she had given you back into her hands and you finally get into your car. You immediately beeline your car back to your house. Trying to keep your crying from coming out. You put Jeane’s speed dial in and your the ringing immediately pick up.

“My place,” You state, trying to hide the fact you were beginning to cry, “I’ll send you directions when I stop..”

“Are-are you crying Y/n?” Jeane asks

“I’ll explain later,” You choke on your sob

You hang up your phone and manage to park in the nearest lot. You stop your car and turn up your radio. You shove your face into your hands and begin sobbing, You let out a pained scream as you put your head onto your steering wheel. Remembering that you told Jeane that you’d text her your address, you had done just that and continued your way home with puffy eyes

You managed to make your way back to your place, but there was another car in your driveway; one you didn’t recognize.

“Jeane?” You pull up next to the car

“Y/n! Oh thank god!” Jeane sighs in relief

The both of you get out of your respective cars however, you fall onto your knees. 

“Hey, Hey Y/n,” Jeane comes running in front of you, “Talk to me...”

You couldn’t even stop crying at that point...

Chapter 4

[bleulone]

Can we talk about about how Colin looked in ep 1 when he first saw Marina compared to how he looked when he saw Pen in ep 8. Almost the exact same look! Of course his look to Penelope is probably more about his guilt because he brushed her off when she tried to warn him but still..progress! Lol and then when he's getting ready to leave for Greece, he glanced towards Penelope's home. I think they're having Colin's feelings for her grow gradually in the show instead of all of a sudden like in the books.

Hey! Thank you for this insightful ask of yours :) Sorry for the late answer, I took a long time to write this— without further ado, here we go!

Indeed, Polin is first and foremost a story of gazes, those gazes being of many natures. Whether they are love ones, friendly ones, admirative ones or lustful ones, looking imposes itself to be a huge parameter in Penelope and Colin’s love story.

In order to understand that on screen, film-making has at its disposal a very rich and smart langage of its own. Sometimes, comparision helps to underlines the differences between one character’s relationship with person A mirorring person B. I feel like Shondaland and Chris Van Dussen wanted to introduce the audience to the evolution of our Bridgerton men’s perception of Love. For instance, while Anthony views attachement— to Siena— as a way to escape his responsibilities before becoming his villain (...until our queen ma’am Kate Sheffield comes to the picture), Benedict doesn’t comprehend this universal concept and prefers to enjoy the many physical pleasures life can offer. In other words, the older brothers already explored their sexuality here and there, making them the infamous rakes that they are. As for Colin, it’s a complete other thing.

Colin is young. Very young. At 21, he’s just left Eton College and barely knows anything of the world nor women. Like Anthony said in 1x06, Colin hasn’t been taken to brothels which is a very important step in the building of young men’s sentimental and sexual education during that time period. Since he missed this essential step, our sweet/immature boy has no clue about how to deal sagaciously with his feelings and his “foolish” impulses, baring his naivety. At this point of the story, we can easily come to the conclusion that Colin is a virgin who can’t drive XD. He’s just a child overcame by his passions, a hopelessly romantic who rushes things without taking the time to properly court or know his significant other. And his off-screen flirtation with those supposed numerous girls in London isn’t of any help to justify his (oh so little) experience. So when he sees Marina, he’s so struck by her... mainly by her alluring appearance. And he doesn’t seem to let his eyes nor mind go beyond her exquisite beauty.

In this perspective, the whole Colin/Marina storyline can be perceived as a parallelism to the Pen/Colin’s one. In 1x01, he is immediatley smitten with a dancing Miss Thompson, which happens to be ironically the same case with a 17 year-old Pen but with him. We got to see her, a few moments ago, dreamily looking at him from the back of the dancefloor (echoeing the episode where she fell madly in love with him after he fell off his horse at Hyde Park). She’s charmed by his dashing look and his kindness, yet she doesn’t seem to know anything else about him considering the rare conversations they share. Her burning gaze fits the original story from Julia Quinn’s books because in Romancing Mister Bridgerton, the 28 year-old spinster Penelope do realize later on that Colin is more than a good looking man : he’s a human who possesses a temper and flaws.

Either way, both of our boos are portrayed as hopelessly young people in love who childishly idealize the objects of their affection.

In 1x08, it’s the other way around. It’s Colin who sees Pen first, her who appears to wear the yellow dress’ lookalike from the pilot—what an interesting call back ^^. With his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide open, we can catch sight of the timid spark of a change in his gaze : Colin Bridgerton notices Penelope Featherington. He‘s touched by the realization that she cares about him. It would be rather inappropriate of me to say that Colin is already in love with her. However, in the finale, I do believe that he’s more struck by her high level of deep care for him than her beauty.

We are thus able to spot two big differences in Colin’s relationship with women in this season : when his attraction to Marina was purely physical and rushed, his attraction with Penelope is more emotional and slow. And for now, he comes to cherish his special bond with her, especially after she tried to warn him of the dangerous trap he was about to fall into. Even if he just sees her as his younger sister’s best friend right now, Pen matters in his life. And it’s still a little yet important progress for sure.

Speaking of which, I agree with you that this look of awe as well as realization is mostly mixed up with guilt. Since he didn’t take into account her words, he felt the strong need to apologize. But bear in mind that guilt formulates a considerable part in Colin’s feelings for Pen... and it’s only the very beginning. In the future, he’ll blame himself for not seeing her as the beautiful goddess and siren that she is in the first place. He’ll blame himself for not reciprocating the feelings for her.... Though at the moment, due to his lack of experience with women, Colin is oblivious to Pen’s obvious signs of sorrow when he told her he’s leaving for Greece/Cyprus. Next time, he’ll detect her sadness and won’t let her go, I’m sure of it (if he doesn’t I’ll riot).

Furthermore, I’m so glad you brought up the scene where Colin glances at the Featherington house. I had the same thought as well. When you put this still and the one where Pen is crying while looking at her window side by side, it even seems like they’re looking at each other. In a way, it implicitly confirms Pen’s key role in his final decision... After all, she’s the one who inadvertently inspired him right ?

The act of traveling has always been seen as cathartic since leaving home to discover yourself allows you to heal your broken heart and soul. It’s natural for Colin to do this. To make his first real steps into the world. His choice is quite relatable more than it is essential for his arc in the series. I can’t wait for him to come back all changed, hot ^^ and mature. I think, like you said, they are planning on making him progressively falling in love with her. Colin’s feelings will gradually leave the platonic zone to explore and officially stay in the intimate zone throughout the seasons.

Overall, the Colin/Marina and Colin/Penelope parallel in s1 mostly helps viewers to compare the way Colin evolves from being a stubborn naive boy to a heartbroken young man who’s aware of his crutial need for Experience. His coming of age, just like Pen’s, has just begun. And they will surely lead to our boy changing himself into the true charming rake that he’s meant to be and our girl into a more confident woman. Consequently, I think their story won’t take 10 years but rather at the very least 5 years perhaps to fit the TV timeline. Once Polin will finally be able to discuss, we’ll hopefully get to see more interesting nuances and shades added to the portrait they painted of one another over the years. They’re indispensable to the slow build up of their emotions/attraction as well as the shattering of their childish idealization/perception of each other.

All in all, I’m so loving the fact that season 1 beautifully sets up the importance of the gaze in Polin’s love story. This first installment is like an expository scene of a play. It leaves a trail of clues and pieces of information here and there at the reach every viewers who can pick them up and analyze what can be the main themes which will determine one character’s story arc/romance. With Polin we have : admiration, wit, love and friendship, desillusionment. (I know they are more but it’s all I can think of rn lol).

If we’re already emotional messes just with the mere power of them looking at each other, imagine when they’ll actually talk and share real conversations. It’s going to be a long way to canon but luv me some good fluffy angsty steamy slow burn :) ✨ I hope this long of mine answers your ask ahah, even if I talked about many things other than just Polin’s looks. Also, sorry if you spot some grammatical mistakes, English is not my first language.

[tinyboxxtink]

"....So I Married A Monster" *Chapter 8*

Chapter 7

Chapter 9

OHEMGEEEEE!!! A new chapter!

I appreciate the patience this week/last week guys, It's certainly been-- challenging. And it's not over yet, but I did want to get you a chapter since you all have been so understanding and lovely.

That being said I really am here just to break your heart with some good ol' angsty angst. MWAHAHAHHAAHA.

Enjoy.

I may try and put out another chapter tonight, but we will only be getting to 10 with this one I'm 90% sure so I want them to be good chapters.

Tag List

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==========

“Sir, I’m going to need you to calm down,” An officer told him.

“No!” William screamed. “That man kidnapped my wife--”

“She’s NOT your wife!” Rafael cut him off. “You can verify that, she’s his ex-wife,”

“How ‘bout I verify my foot up your ass, dickhead?!” Lewis screamed.

“Lovely, Lewis,” Rafael rolled his eyes with a sarcastic laugh.

“You son of a--” Lewis lunged for Rafael but an officer held him back.

“BOTH OF YOU, GET OUT,” The nurse escorted the two men to the waiting room. “Family only!”

“But she’s my--”

“EX” Rafael finished. “And I’m her--”

“BOYFRIEND,” Lewis snarled. “Not HUSBAND,”

“I’m more concerned about the you're blood covered in, Mr.--” A female officer interjected.

“Barba,” Rafael finished.

“It’s my wi--” Lewis started, but saw Rafael’s eyes glaring at him. “Y/N’s blood, my ex wife,”

“And exactly why are you covered in her blood Mr. Barba?” The officer continued to question him.

“Because I--” He began to explain how he had rescued you from that monster.

“BECAUSE HE RAPED HER!!” Lewis screamed again.

“Alright, Mr.--”

“Loomis,” William stuck out his hand. “Billy Loomis,”

“That is BULLSHIT,” Rafael snapped. “His name is William Lewis, look him up,”

“Alright, you come with me, you go with Cooper,” The woman officer instructed her partner to take Lewis the opposite direction.

“Fine with me,” Rafael grumbled as the other cop dragged Lewis away.

“Alright so why don’t you start from the beginning, Mr. Barba,” She pulled out an iPad from her back holster.

“....How far do you mean, officer?” Rafael asked as they sat down in two waiting room chairs.

“Why don’t you call me Sherrie,” She softened her tone with a small smile. Ah, so she was going to play good cop with him.

“How far do you think will help me understand this?” She continued.

“Well,” Rafael rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s complicated,”

“....How so?” Sherrie raised an eyebrow. She had that look on her face; the same one Olivia got when she didn’t believe a word a perp was saying. Great.

“Well first of all, that man is not who he says he is,” He pointed towards where Lewis had been taken. “His name is William Lewis, and he is a wanted rapist and murderer in several states, including New York,”

“Ah, New York,” Sherrie nodded. “Is that where you're from?”

“Uh, yes, New York City in fact,” Rafael clarified. Why did she say it like that? She used a tone that he should be using. That disdain, that condescending tone. That just pissed Rafael off even more.

“I see,” Sherrie nodded as she jotted down things on her iPad.

“Look just because I’m from New York and you people--”

“Us people?” Sherrie gave him a glare.

“...You all,” Rafael changed his tune. “Think ‘down’ of us New Yorkers--”

“Oh I believe it’s the other way around, Mr. Barba,” Sherrie scowled. Well, she did have a point.

“....Lewis lives there too,”

“Really?” Sherie raised an eyebrow. “Because I just searched his name in our database and Mr. LOOMIS is a non-offender, born and bred New Jersian.

“That is a load of shit!” Rafael stood up. “I am telling you, he is a psychopath. He has several identities across the god damn country, and he’s--”

“Not on trial here, Mr. Barba,” Sherrie finished.

“And I am?” Rafael scoffed.

“We’ll see,” She gave him a look.

“Por el amor de Dios....” Rafael muttered, along with a few other obscenities in spanish. “Look just call the NYPD. Talk to Sergeant Benson of the SVU Unit” Rafael instructed her.

“SVU hmm?” Sherrie raised an eyebrow as she typed.

“Yes!” Rafael cried. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you! I am the Assistant District Attorney of New York City! I would never, ever hurt anyone. Especially not Y/N. I love her,”

“Right,” Sherrie nodded. “Alright well I’ll call her after we’re done here, okay?”

“Sure you will,” Rafael muttered with a roll of his eyes.

“Do you really wanna start an attitude with me, Mr. Barba?”

“Rafael,” He exhaled. “My name is Rafael,” The more she used ‘Mr. Barba’ the more he felt he actually was on trial. “And I’m sorry, I just-- I’m scared,”

“For you or for her?” Sherrie questioned.

“For her!” Rafael got excited again. “Lewis raped her and tore her rectum, then went and took a shower after haphazardly bandaging her, like it was no big fucking deal!”

“And you know this, how?” She asked in a suspicious manner.

“Because she called me,” He continued. “She called me earlier and told me he had her hostage,”

“He was holding her hostage?” Sherrie continued to use a suspicious tone.

“Yes! And I can prove it!” Rafael suddenly remembered the picture Lewis had so cockily sent him.

The one of him holding a gun pressed to your back. The image would haunt him forever. He went to get his phone, but it wasn’t in his pocket. Shit, it must still be in the car. He had hastily dropped it as soon as he told you he was coming in to get you.

“Shit,” He muttered.

“Is there a problem?” Sherrie asked.

“I have a photo on my phone, but I must have left it in my car,”

“Conveniently,” She nodded.

“NO!” Rafael stomped his foot. “Look if you’ll just let me go get it--”

“Right,” Sherrie scoffed sarcastically with a laugh. “Let me just let you ‘run out to your car’,”

“You can follow me, escort me, whatever,” He huffed. “I have nothing to hide,”

“Alright then,” Sherrie followed Rafael outside the hospital doors, but his car wasn’t there.

“Shit,” He muttered. “They must have towed it because I just parked in the ambulance bay and got Y/N help,”

“Oh, mmhmm, I’m sure that must be what happened,” She rolled her eyes.

“This is insane,” Rafael half laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He felt like he was in an episode of the Twilight Zone. He was being treated like a convict while Lewis was the golden boy of Jersey. This was a nightmare.

“Can we just--” Rafael ran his hands through his hair, trying to think of something, anything that would clear his name.

“Can you just call the NYPD, please?” He begged Sherrie. “I swear to you, Olivia Benson will clear my name and tell you all about William Lewis,”

Sherrie looked at him for a long moment, debating whether to cut him some slack. On the one hand, he was covered in your blood, and had brought you in. Also, he was from New York City, so God knows how slick he was. On the other hand, he did look genuinely scared and pitiful, and if he had the balls to ask her to actually call the NYPD, maybe he was telling the truth.

“Alright Rafael, I’ll humor you,” She finally nodded, typing NYPD into Google. She got the number and began dialing it, waiting for someone to answer.

“Hi, yes this is Officer Reagan of the Jersey PD-- Is there an Olivia Benson there?” Sherrie asked as she gave Rafael a side eye. There was silence for a moment, then she began to speak.

“Hi yes, Sergeant Benson. This is-- Right. Do you know Rafael Barba?”

“Mmmhmm, well he’s here at Jersey County Hospital having brought in a woman who had clearly been assaulted, and he--” Sherrie stopped as Olivia began speaking very fast and loudly.

“Look ma’am there’s no reason to-- Yes her husband-- alright her ex husband, Billy Loomis-- Alright allegedly this ‘William Lewis’. Whoa there ma’am-- Sergeant, there’s no need to get hysterical,” Rafael chuckled to himself as he watched Sherrie get chewed out by Olivia.

“...Well yes he is here, but I really don’t feel comfortable having you take him into custody, Sergeant. This isn’t your jurisdiction, so I’m sorry but you have no claim on Billy, or William, or whoever,” Sherrie was getting fed up with Olivia’s attitude.

“Uh yes, that is so, sergeant. If you’d like to take it up with my sergeant, feel free to come down here and-- well fine! Good, we’ll be here. No I will not be letting Mr. Barba go, he’s still a-- you know what, I’m sick of this. You wanna come down here and raise a fit for your man here, go right ahead,” Sherrie hung up the phone and looked at a now smirking Rafael.

“I told you,” He smirked.

“Yeah well you’re not going anywhere until this ‘Olivia Benson’ gets here. Which I assume will be pretty soon,”

“Your assumption is spot on,” Rafael chuckled to himself. If there was one thing he could count on, Olivia would come running to his defense at the drop of a hat.

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

Meanwhile

“Look I’m telling you, that man abducted my ex wife in the middle of the night and raped her,” Lewis was scrambling.

“And how do you know this, Mr. Loomis?” Officer Cooper asked.

“Because I was there,” He explained.

“And why were you at your ex-wife’s house?” Cooper asked skeptically.

“We--” William was thinking on the fly.

He was still fuming from the balls on Barba trying to rescue you, and agitated that he got the male cop who wasn’t so easily manipulated as a woman would’ve been.

“We were reconciling,” He lied.

“Reconciling?” The officer raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

“I told her earlier today that I had made a mistake leaving her and my family, and that I wanted to come back home,” He explained. “And then I offered to pick up our girls from school and meet her at home, while she broke it off with that bastard,”

“Broke it off?” The officer questioned him. “So they are in a relationship?”

“...Yeah,” He muttered.

“So how exactly did her boyfriend kidnap her, if she went to him willingly?”

“....He got pissed when she tried to break it off,” Lewis was spinning a thread of lies now. “He called me and told me that if he couldn’t have her, nobody could,”

“I see,” Cooper nodded, typing on his iPad

“So when she came home to me and the girls, he followed her. We didn’t know until he broke in and kidnapped Y/N,” Lewis now focused on keeping his ‘concerned husband’ act. He was pretty sure he had a good story going.

“Mmm hmm,” The officer nodded as he continued typing. He wasn’t even acknowledging him; that was making Lewis’s blood boil. He liked being in control; he hated being ignored.

“Look can I check on my wife, please?” He tried going for the sympathy card again, knowing he wasn’t getting anywhere with this guy.

“Legally she’s not your wife anymore, Mr. Loomis,” The officer finally looked up to Lewis once more. “So technically you have no legal right to see her right now, as you’re not her current family,”

“I AM HER FAMILY GOD DAMMIT!!!” Lewis screamed, losing his cool. He quickly panicked and dialed it back. “I mean, she’s always going to be my family. Her and my precious girls,”

“....Right,” The officer nodded, not amused by his little temper tantrum. He had seen guys like this before; controlling, hot tempered husbands. He had grown up with a man just like that; it was one of the reasons he became a cop.

“And where exactly are your ‘precious girls’, Mr. Loomis?” He added. Guys like these, they lost their heads when they felt cornered. Lewis probably hadn’t even remembered they existed.

“...They’re at home, asleep,” He said softly.

“Alone?” Cooper raised an eyebrow.

“We live like two blocks from here officer,” Lewis lied again, having indeed forgotten about the girls. “I didn’t want to scare them, they’re asleep in their comfy beds, totally oblivious to this nightmare,”

“And exactly how old are they?” Cooper gave him a look.

“...Old enough to be alone for a bit,” Lewis shrugged, hoping he’d take that as an answer.

“Well, at the risk of ‘worrying’ them, I think I’d better send an officer over there to check on them, don’t you think?” The officer asked in a accusatory tone.

Lewis really did want that, he was actually starting to worry about them. He actually had told Maggie that you felt sick and were in your room, and he was going out to get you medicine. But this guy was already clearly skeptical. If he told this officer where you actually lived, he was going to accuse him of child endangerment.

“...Mr. Loomis?” The officer called to him, but he was busy plotting an escape route.

Lewis glanced around the room, gauging how many people were in the vicinity. It was a bunch of pathetic patients with random injuries and illness’s waiting on a doctor, some ER nurses, a receptionist, the two cops, and him and Barba. Then he glanced at the gun in the officer’s holster, a plan formulating in his head. He wanted you all to himself, that was for sure. But you and your fucking white knight might have just outsmarted him for that to happen. Unless... the line you had said earlier about the girls being leverage. He hated the idea of exploiting the girls like that, but he was not going back to prison, and he was not losing those girls.

“Mr. Loomis!” The officer repeated in a louder, angrier tone. Lewis finally looked at him with a very sinister smile, eerily calm.

“...Ah officer, maybe you should take care of that first,” Lewis pointed to something behind him. As soon as the officer turned to see what he was talking about, Lewis yanked the gun from his holster and fired two shots into his head.

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

Across the room, Rafael and Officer Sherrie immediately flinched and ducked at the sound of the loud bang from the gun. People began screaming and running around in panic, most of them heading out the front doors of the hospital. Rafael’s eyes widened in horror as he realized Lewis had gotten a gun and had just murdered an officer. He turned to Officer Reagan who looked at him in shock, and a bit in remorse. She knew she had gotten the situation wrong, and now her partner had paid the ultimate price for it.

“Lewis, look just calm down--” Rafael tried to reason with Lewis, but the manic look in his eyes showed him he wasn’t going to get anywhere.

“Why don’t YOU calm down, counselor?” Lewis smirked as he raised the gun to Rafael. If there was one sure fire way to ultimately punish you for trying to run off with the do gooder, it would be getting rid of him altogether.

“No, Lewis don’t--” Rafael barely got out a plea for his life before Lewis had shot a bullet into his chest. More people screamed, and Officer Reagan rushed to help him.

Lewis took this opportune moment to run out of the hospital. He sprinted into the parking lot and picked the first car he saw to break into and hotwire, speeding out of the parking lot back to your place. He had to get the girls before cops found out where you lived. He’d figure out where to go from there.

From inside an examination room, you had started to come to as the IV bags of blood began to fill your system back up. You had barely had a chance to sit up before you heard the first shot go off. You immediately knew it was Billy, he had found you. You saw the doctor and nurses that were in the room with you slam the door shut to keep you all safe from Billy. You could see through a window into the lobby just enough to see Rafael with his hands up, before Billy put a bullet in him. You watched in horror as Rafael slumped to the ground, and a woman officer rushing to help him.

“NO!!!!!!” You screamed, trying desperately to get off the table.

The doctor and nurses held you down and slapped hands over your mouth to keep you quiet, terrified Lewis would come in there next. But to their relief he dashed out the door, and the hands were removed from your mouth. However they kept you pinned down so that you wouldn’t pull your IV’s out, inadvertently letting blood gush out all over the patient room.

You watched helplessly as nurses swarmed Rafael and rushed him off to another part of the hospital altogether.

What kind of nightmare had you woken up to?

[eminems-skittles]

please don’t let go [spencer reid x reader]

spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: this focuses heavily on depression so read at your own caution word count: 4.1k

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

It wasn't hard for her to tell when it was getting bad again. It was a gradual change but she could always tell when it was happening. It'd start off small, she'd have trouble forcing a smile around her friends. Her friends never seemed to notice the difference between her fake smile or her real smile, but even if they did, they didn't remark. After awhile, she would lose motivation for work and her efforts became minimal. She stopped putting effort into her appearance. Her normal makeup was replaced with chapstick, if she could be bothered to put it on, and her dresses and heels were replaced with sneakers and comfier clothes. When it gets really bad, she is unable to pull herself from the shelter her bed provides her, not moving for days at a time, with the exception of using the bathroom and getting food. During those times, her mind was held hostage by the negative thoughts.

The BAU team noticed something was off the first day she started wearing the facade. They often reached out to her when they noticed something was off but they were met with the same answer every time. 'I'm fine, just tired.' They knew she wasn't fine but they didn't want to push. She wasn't a very private person, sharing almost everything with the team, except for this. They decided that if Y/N didn't want to share this, then they shouldn't force her too. The team only hoped that she would come to them if things got really bad. Hotch was the only one who knew what Y/N was dealing with, as she disclosed it during her interview. After he knew she was the one for the job, he helped Y/N make an arrangement with Strauss so that she could take days off when it got really bad. When Strauss asked why Hotch was pushing to hire her, he told her that no one should be looked over simply because they have a mental illness. The deal was that when she could, she'd be at work and when she had to take days off, she'd do as much as possible at home. Y/N tried to be at work as much as possible, only working from home if she felt it would be too much to handle.

While she was normally able to somewhat predict when the harsh cycle would start again, there were often times when it would just hit her full force without warning. She was currently experiencing an unexpected 'episode' and there was nothing she could do to fix it. The team was currently on their way to work on a case in a small town in Illinois.She had never been on a case when she felt her lowest, always opting to stay back and assist with Penelope, or just working from home. By now, she knew the cycle. It would only be a matter of a few days before she would find herself immobilized by anxiety and depression. She could only hope that the case would be over in time for her to climb into bed and wait out the storm. The team of profilers were beginning to notice the signs too. They noticed how she was withdrawn from conversation and how she wouldn't attend outings with them unless it was for the case. On the jet, Y/N didn't give her usual input or witty remark. She sat silent, her head leaning against the window, silently observing and taking notes, already feeling drained of energy. Spencer watched his best friend intently to see if she was just tired or if she was falling back into the cycle.

He knew the signs better than most of the team. In fact he was the first one to point out that something might be wrong. He was able to spot the fake smile, because he had been the cause of the real smile on more occasions than he count on both hands. Spencer noticed when she didn't put as much as effort into her appearance, when her (y/h/c) wasn't curled or styled but thrown into a messy ponytail. Not that it mattered to him, he thought she looked beautiful whether she wore a ball gown or sweats and a hoodie. He was the only one who would visit her when she was at home, always volunteering to deliver the case file to her. She often wouldn't answer but when she did, his heart would break. Her eyes would be red and puffy, with dark purple bags under them, and the joy they held just days before, would be replaced with an empty gaze. He never pushed her to tell him what was wrong, but he knew what was happening.

Y/N had avoided speaking to anyone for the whole flight. It wasn't something she did on purpose but she was so lost in her own mind she didn't hear when people were calling her name or asking her questions. It wasn't until Spencer put his hand on her knee that she snapped back into reality. She shot a small, embarrassed smile Spencer's way, silently apologizing for being out of it.

"We landed, Y/N/N," Spencer said quietly. He watched as a shocked look crossed Y/N's features. She quickly looked around the jet only to find that they were the only two still occupying it.

"Oh, sorry for making you wait," Y/N said, so softly Spencer almost didn't hear it. She grabbed her bag before getting off of the jet with Spencer following closely behind her. 'I zoned out for the entire flight?' Y/N asked herself, bewildered by the fact she could get so lost in her mind that she didn't notice the plane landing. Y/N and Spencer climbed into one of the SUV's. They sat in the back while Emily and Rossi sat up front. Emily sent Y/N a sympathetic smile, having noticed the withdrawn behavior of her friend. Y/N smiled back, trying her best to force a convincing smile on her face.

The car ride to the first crime scene was relatively quiet, with the exception of a few comments about the town from Rossi, witty remarks from Emily and a few facts from Spencer. Y/N silently observed, not feeling anything she had to say was important enough to share. She saw the looks Spencer and Emily shared when they had gotten to the car. 'You're such a burden to them. They don't want to deal with you and your mood swings.' She thought to herself, and a frown settled on her face. She looked out the window, already dreading the case.

When they got to the crime scene, Emily and Rossi went to speak with the local police and Spencer and Y/N investigated the crime scene. Y/N opted to search through books and personal belongings while Spencer investigated the area where the body was found.

"Spencer," Y/N said, in almost a whisper when she found something. "Can you look at this? I think it might be helpful." She knew what she found was helpful but she second guessed herself.

"Yeah, let me see," Spencer said, jogging over to her. He grabbed the book from Y/N and read the page she had the book open on. The page had a passage that was highlighted blue. "What do you see?"

"See, this passage is highlighted, which isn't weird if you flip through the rest of the book. But this is the only thing highlighted blue. Someone who takes notes as diligently as this person did wouldn't change the color they used. It would throw off their whole balance," Y/N rambled, stopping when she noticed Spencer staring at her, a smile on his face. "Sorry." She said quietly. She thought Spencer was smiling because she was making a mistake. 'He thinks you're stupid.' The thought alone was enough to throw her through a loop.

"What for?" Spencer asked her, but she just shook her head and didn't answer. "I'll send this back to the department so we can analyze it more closely. Did you see anything else like this?"

Y/N shook her head, and Spencer frowned. "I can take it with me. I need to go talk to Hotch," Y/N said, desperately avoiding eye contact with Spencer.

"Is everything okay?" Spencer knew it was a question he shouldn't have asked, knowing she wasn't going to reply honestly. Y/N just muttered "i'm fine." almost as if she was trying to convince herself everything was okay, before going to find Rossi to ask for a ride back to the station. Emily walked over to Spencer, a concerned look on her face.

"Is Y/N okay?" Emily asked, her eyes shifting to watch Y/N and Rossi having a quiet conversation, before getting in the car to wait for the other two agents.

"I don't know. She's falling back into the same patterns," Spencer stated simply. Emily nodded solemnly. Spencer decided to change the subject. "Did you guys find anything?"

Emily shook her head. "The locals aren't too happy we are here and they don't want to help up out. We're heading back right now."

Spencer and Emily joined the other two in the car. The ride back to the station was silent except for the low hum of the radio. Spencer found himself sneaking glances at the (y/h/c) agent. She had her head leaning against the window and her eyes were scrunched closed. He was almost positive she was trying to push the overwhelming thoughts away, as he had been there so many times himself. The car went over a speed bump which caused Y/N's eyes to snap open. She looked down at her lap, sniffling quietly, before looking over at Spencer, smiling halfheartedly when she saw he was already looking at her. He reached out to grab her hand that was resting on the seat next to her and squeezed it gently. The gesture, while small, made Y/N's heart soar and grounded her for just a few seconds. She craved more of his touch, longing for him to hold her and tell her everything would be okay. Much to her dismay, he moved his hand away from hers shortly after they pulled into the parking lot of the police station.

As soon as the four agents were inside the station, Y/N made a bee line to the small conference room that Hotch was in. He was talking to the lead local detective on the case, when Y/N walked in the small room. Hotch asked the detective if he could excuse the two for a minute. The detective nodded before exiting the room, greeting Y/N with a 'hello ma'am' when he walked past her.

"Is everything okay?" Hotch asked, taking in Y/N's broken and tired expression. Y/N could have laughed at the question, obviously everything wasn't okay.

"Um, no-not exactly," Y/N's voice shook as she spoke. "I just...I just wanted to let you know that it's starting again."

Hotch's face softened. "Do you need to head back?"

"No, I can stay. I just wanted to let you know," Y/N said.

"Okay, but I want you to let me know if it gets worse," Hotch said.

"I will," Y/N said quietly. Hotch looked at her with sympathy in his eyes, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was his way of showing he was there for her.

After their conversation, the team filed into the room to come up with different theories about the unsub. They worked several different angles, trying to figure out the connection between the victims. They took a break to eat dinner before delving back into their work. The entire time, Y/N tried to keep herself busy, hoping that if she was busy enough, she could keep the negative thoughts at bay.

"Hotch, it's almost eleven. Why don't we call it a night?" Derek asked, pushing the file that he was holding away from his face. The team let out sighs of agreeance.

"Yeah, we've done as much as we can tonight. Go get some rest and we'll look at this with fresh eyes," Hotch dismissed the team. Everyone gathered their stuff before leaving the police station.

Y/N decided to hang back for a second to gather her thoughts. She sat at the conference table and rested her head in her hands, taking a deep breath. It had been a long, tiring, and mentally draining day to say the least.

"Are you okay?" Spencer asked, causing Y/N to jump at least three feet in the air. She sighed heavily. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. And I know you're probably sick of hearing that question, but I just wanted to make sure you're okay. You seemed out of it today."

"I thought you went back to the motel," Y/N said not bothering to make eye contact and completely dodging his question. She knew that if she did, there'd be nothing stopping her from launching herself into his arms.

"I did. But I noticed you weren't there. I wanted to make sure you didn't kidnapped by our unsub," Spencer said, eliciting a small laugh from Y/N. "Are you ready to head back to the motel?"

Y/N nodded, grabbing all of her stuff and heading over to where Spencer stood by the door. "Okay, let's go."

Spencer and Y/N left the small station before crossing the street and entering the rundown motel. Spencer and Y/N's rooms were right next to each other on the second floor.

"Goodnight Spencer," Y/N said when they reached her room.

"Goodnight Y/N," Spencer smiled at her softly. Once again, he grabbed her hand gently and squeezed it. "If you need anything, I'm here for you."

"Thank you, Spence," Y/N said quietly, her eyes filling with tears. She blinked them back before Spencer could see them. "I'll see you tomorrow morning okay?"

Spencer nodded, watching Y/N retreat into the dark motel room. After he made sure she was safe inside the room, he went to his room. Spencer changed into his pajama's and instantly fell asleep.

His sleep was cut off by his phone ringing loudly on the nightstand next to his bed. He looked at the clock and groaned when the red numbers showed the time being twelve thirty.

"Hello," Spencer said, not bothering to check the caller I.D.

"Spencer?" Y/N's voice came through the speaker. Spencer shot up instantly when he heard how sad and broken she sounded. "Ca-Can you come to my room? I really don't want to be alone right now."

"Yeah, I'm coming right now," Spencer said, rushing out of his room and over to her door. "I'm outside."

He waited for a minute before the door opened and he hung up the call. His heart broke when he saw her with tears streaming down her cheeks. The sight before him reminded him of the times he would drop of case files for her. Except this time he'd be able to comfort his best friend instead of standing idly by, watching her mind destroy herself. Y/N opened the door enough for Spencer to walk into the cramped motel room, and shut the door when he was inside.

Y/N practically launched herself into Spencer's arms and held on for dear life. Spencer immediately held her, his arms going around her torso. Y/N dug her head into the crook of his neck and Spencer felt her tears sliding onto his neck.

"I can't take it anymore," Y/N whispered, her voice breaking as she held Spencer as close as she possibly could. He pressed several kisses to the top of her head.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N, that you've been dealing with this all by yourself. I wish there was a way I could take the pain away. I'll do anything you need me to do to help," Spencer said quietly, against her hair.

"Please don't let go." Y/N whispered desperately.

Spencer's face softened and he hugged her tighter, if that was even possible. "I won't. I promise."

They stood in each other's embrace for a few minutes. Spencer would rub Y/N's back and kiss the top of her head whenever she let out a strangled sob. His heart broke for his best friend, wishing he could take away all the pain she was feeling.

"Let's sit down," Spencer suggested. He lead Y/N to the bed, pulling her into his lap. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet," Y/N said, her voice gravelly. "It's too much to talk about right now. I'm sorry for waking you up."

"Love, I wouldn't have been able to sleep knowing you're hurting the way you are. I'm here for you, day or night," Spencer said. One of his hands rubbed her knee gently, and she snuggled closer to his chest. "Do you want me to stay the night?"

"Yes, please. I need you here." Y/N begged. "If that's okay."

"It's more than okay, my love," Spencer said, his hand still tracing shapes on her knee. "I know it's been a really hard day for you, darling. Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'll be here when you wake up."

"Thank you, Spence," Y/N whispered, leaning up to kiss his cheek. "I don't know how I would have got through today without you."

"I'll always be here. I know I won't be able to make bad days go away completely, but I want to help as much as I possibly can. I hate seeing you so broken because of your mind. And I've been there too, so please don't ever hesitate to ask me for help," Spencer said, finishing his little rant by kissing her nose.

"I know I keep saying it, but thank you, Spence," Y/N said, her voice laced with sleep. "We should probably go to sleep, we have to be up in a few hours."

Spencer and Y/N moved so Spencer was laying on his back and Y/N was laying on his chest. His arms stayed wrapped around her torso, and hers around his neck.

"Spence," Y/N paused, and Spencer hummed in response. "Can you tell me a story? I don't care what it's about, just wanna hear you talk."

"Of course, my love," Spencer said. "Do you want to hear the story of when I knew I was in love?"

"In love with who?" Y/N said, her voice muffled by his shoulder. She was already enjoying the distraction his voice offered.

"You'll just have to see. Do you want to hear it or not?" Spencer asked. Y/N nodded, her nose brushing his shoulder. "Okay, good. So it was a blustery day in October, and the sun was nowhere to be found. It almost felt like it should have been raining. We were working a case in Oregon, the one with the unsub who was going to different inn's...." Spencer decided not to include the gory details. "We went to one of the crime scenes, just you and me. We were inspecting the property and there were leaves all over the ground. The trees had just changed colors. I could go into the science behind why the leaves change colors, but I'll spare you the boring details. It was a beautiful day, really. The trees stood out with their orange leaves against the gray sky. And you, you looked as beautiful as ever. You were wearing your giant hoodie, the dark gray one that goes to your knees and everyone tells you not to wear it when we go on cases but you still do. Your hair was just thrown up in a messy ponytail."

Y/N was fighting sleep so she could listen to the story. Her heart swelled when she heard him call her beautiful. She remembered the day he was talking about. It was one of her favorite days she ever spent with him.

"You were walking ahead of me, looking all around you and pointing out the things you thought were interesting. I found myself wishing that we weren't on a case but rather staying at the quaint inn on a romantic vacation together and exploring the area. At point, I just stopped and watched you explore. You turned around and saw me just standing there and when you asked what I was looking at, the smile on your face was so big, it made me smile. I had to come up with an excuse so fast, I told you I was tying my shoes. When you heard that, you looked down at my shoes to see I wasn't wearing shoes with laces. But you just laughed and walked over to me. You grabbed my hand and led me over to something interesting you found. You didn't let go of my hand until we left the forest, which wasn't until almost an hour later. I remember thinking, 'I'm going to marry her someday.' We weren't even remotely together, just two best friends who work together. Hell, we still aren't together, but that's on me because I haven't had the courage to admit my feelings. I know this isn't the best time to do this, but I figured the story would cheer you up. I love you, Y/N."

"Oh Spence, I love you too" Y/N said, her voice filled with so much love. "That was one of my favorite days we ever spent together. That was the first time you let me hold your hand. That day got me through so many bad days, you have no idea. A-Are you sure you want this though? I'm a lot to handle, especially on the really bad days."

"Y/N, I love you, with all my heart. And I would do anything for you. I know this isn't going to be easy, but I want to be there for the good days, the bad days, and the really bad days," Spencer said, placing his hand on her cheek. "Please let me be there for you."

Y/N leaned into Spencer's hand, her eyes sliding shut. "I want nothing more than for us to be together."

"Can I kiss you?" Spencer asked, his thumb brushing across her cheekbone. Y/N nodded, leaning in as he leaned in also. The kiss was soft, caring and full of love. Words, said and unsaid, were communicated through the short kiss. They pulled away shortly after. Spencer whispered "Wow," against her lips before leaning in and kiss her again.

"I love you, Spence," Y/N said. "Thank you, again, for being here for me."

"I love you, too. You're welcome, darling," Spencer replied. "How are you right now?"

"I'm doing better. Still not great, but you made a really bad day just a bad day. Which, trust me, is a huge improvement," Y/N said, smiling at him.

She honestly could not believe how much of a difference he had made in such a short amount of time. She had spent so long suffering by herself and locking away her emotions so now one would see them and she wished she had went to Spencer for help and comfort sooner.

Spencer held her as close as he possibly could, reaching over to shut the light off. "I'd do it all over again, love. Now let's go to sleep now. And we will handle whatever tomorrow has in store. Together."

"Okay, just promise me one thing," Y/N said. "Promise me you'll never let me go. No matter how hard things get."

She knew it was kind of dumb to say, knowing Spencer would never let her go. But the words held a deeper meaning, one she didn't have to explain because he understood. She was asking him to never let her become too trapped in her mind. Asking him to save her if she ever needed saving.

"I'll never, ever let you go, my love. You won't be able to get rid of me." Spencer said, kissing her once more. Y/N smiled into the kiss, which caused Spencer to smile.

"Goodnight, Spence," Y/N said, yawning. She dug her head into the crook of his neck, before falling asleep. Spencer fell asleep once he felt her body relax, happy she was finally getting a break from the tiring thoughts that had occupied her mind the whole day.    

[voidaus]

Daily phone calls

Second part of the Grocery Shop series!

no summary this time. I guess you'll just have to find out!

Genre: Fluff?

Warnings: Swearing

Requested? Kind of??

Word count: 1131

'He nuzzles his head into your neck a little further, and you giggle. This all seems so familiar. It seems so right. This moment with her causes him to feel like he's known her forever. It's a pleasant, warm feeling. Is this what people mean when they say a person can feel like home?'

Your encounter with Corpse has already been a month ago. You two exchanged names and numbers in the park. At first, you were a little taken aback by the name, but you'd grown to love it. 

Corpse was scared that you would think he was a murderer or a creep and never talk to him again when he had given you his name. After how much you helped him, it would be awful if you would neglect him now.

Ever since that day, you have barely left his mind. During streams, his friends would often joke around because he kept zoning out.

That feeling he felt when you held him in your arms was indescribable. He felt safe and comforted, which he hadn't felt in a long time. When he got home after you met, he plopped down on his couch with the biggest smile on his face. 

The familiar tune of your ringtone echoes through your bedroom as you lay in your soft bed. You get excited, knowing that it's Corpse based on the song playing.

You pick up and greet him, excitement clear in your voice. "Hey, Bubs!" He always pretends like he hates the nickname, but in reality, he loves it. It's adorable, and you always manage to make him feel shy whenever you call him that.

Just to get you back, he always responds with something flirty, like the iconic "Whaddup baby?" getting you flustered every time. This time he chooses to go for "'Sup babe?" he grins to himself as he says it and twirls around in a circle in his gaming chair.

"Whatcha doing?" you respond, making the o longer.

"Just calling a dork at the moment. You?" You can hear the humor in his voice as you imagine him smirking on the other side of the line. Your gut feeling is correct, as he is smirking, but you don't know that.

An offended look spreads over your face, followed by a pout. You send him a picture of your expressions right now, and you can hear him laugh into his phone. "I am NOT cute! And I'm not a dork! How dare you. I happen to be calling an idiot who clearly doesn't know how to treat a woman." You try to stifle your laughter and stay in character but fail completely as you crack up.

Both of your laughter turned into giggles and now calmed down. You're quiet for a minute, just appreciating the presence of each other. Even over the phone, Corpse feels safe. As long as he's talking to you, he believes nothing can hurt him. You get the same feeling and hope that it never goes away. You wish you could go see him, but with his anxiety, you know you probably can't.

Corpse had explained to you why his mask only reveals a small part of his face, and you respect his wishes to remain faceless completely. He was surprised, assuming you would want to know the face of someone you had been calling almost every day. Every time he had revealed something about himself to what he thought you would bail, you stayed. The anti-social man wasn't used to this kind of acceptance. Especially since you are always so quick to assure him that you aren't going anywhere.

"Hey, Y/N, are you lying in bed right now?" a deep voice spoke up, breaking the silence.

"Yeah. I have been the entire day dude. You know me."

"Fuck, Y/N! Get up and go drink some water right now!" Corpse demands

You sigh, exaggerating it to make sure Corpse hears you. He laughs and just replies with a "chop, chop."

You stretch for a bit after you've slowly gotten up and walk towards the kitchen with your phone in your hand. "Alexa, connect my phone to the speakers!" You yell.

Alexa replies, and right after, you can hear Corpse in the whole house. "Yo, Corpsie! I can hear you literally everywhere now! It's very, very loud."

He chuckles, sending vibrations through your body. It may be a little too loud...

You grab a cup of water and gulp it down, then filling it up again. "Hey, bubs?"

The low voice rings through your ears as he mutters "yeah" in entertainment. "Uhm, how about- wait, do you have access to your roof?"

"Yeah, I do. Why?" he drags out the y in a questioning tone, wondering what you're up to this time. "Go grab yourself some snacks and a warm blanket! We're gonna go stargazing!"

You rummage through the cabinets in the kitchen in search of food. After a few minutes, you've managed to gather a chocolate bar, some chocolate-chip cookies, and an apple. "Corpseeeee" You whine while grabbing a thermos flask.

"Yes, darling, what is it?" he sarcastically asks as he's filling up a bottle of water.

"what foods did you get?" You ask as innocently as you can. Corpse sighs, already being done with your bullshit, but also loving every second of it. He looks at his counter, taking in all the food in front of him. "I got... a bag of M&Ms, a Mars bar, and some popcorn. I also got myself a bottle of water."

"Oh yeah, I'm filling up a thermos flask with hot chocolate as we speak!"

Your tongue slightly slips out of your mouth as you focus on filling the can. When you finally get it, without spilling anything, you cheer in victory. "Not a dork, you said?" Corpse laughs. "Oh, shut it! You know as much as I do how clumsy I am. But I managed to pour all of the hot chocolate into the flask without spilling anything or burning myself!" you proudly say. 

And you really are proud of yourself! Yesterday you somehow managed to hurt yourself while grabbing the TV remote. And don't get me started on walking. Words can literally not describe how fucking awful you are at walking. Just normal walking seems to be the hardest thing in the world sometimes.

"You ready to go to the roof, bubs?" you ask your friend.

"Hold on, let me just get a blanket." you hear the stairs thumping as Corpse runs away. 

"Alright, then. Seems like it's just you and me now, buddy!" you say to your cat, Nina. You hear the stairs again, and a second later, Corpse is back on the phone, though he is out of breath.

"Well then, Y/N. Let's go stargazing!"

Hey guys, me again! I hope you liked this fic. don't mind if the grammar isn't entirely correct, but if you find any mistakes, please point them out! I'm writing this at 5 AM, so yeah.

If you liked this, the taglist is open and so are my requests :) Take care!

@persephone-sideblog @reinyrei @cherry-piee @alienvarmint @divine-artemis @milanienne @struggling-with-time @insanedeathwish