#girl how do you intend to collect the new plastic

[particleseparationroom]

getting too mad about biodegradable plastics sighing filling the spray bottle with cold water

[taesanluv3r]

at the fair.

kim leehan x reader

established relationship, some suggestive comments (? ish), leehan argues with a little girl, very very cuteness. lowercase intended, excuse any spelling mistakes / grammatical errors.

wc: 2,248

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

"you're gonna love it!"

yn smiles at her boyfriend's happy expression, leehan's eyes had turned into little lines, a grin on his face as he went on and on about this neighbourhood fair he had just been dying to take her to. every year, for one whole month during the summer time, the park just down the street magically transforms into some sort of a theme park. the boy had been going there ever since he were a small child, and after dating for the past five or so months, he had been counting down the days until summer had finally arrived onto his doorstep, just so he could share a little bit of his childhood with her.

and that's how they got here. standing with arms intertwined as they waited for heart-shaped their cotton candy to be twirled onto its stick, their stomachs still turning as a result of the thrilling ride they had just gotten off of. "thank you so much" yn says, retrieving the sugary treat into her hands, pulling out a chunk of the soft candy before turning slightly to pass it over into her boyfriend's opened mouth. "ugh" she winced in disgust when his tongue accidentally came in contact with tips of her fingers. the boy chuckles, pressing a chaste kiss against her cheek. "ferris wheel?" he asked, a single eyebrow cocked up as he did so, head tilted over to the large carnival ride. she nods excitedly, "ferris wheel!"

the pair waits in line once again, finishing up the last off their short-lived treat before tossing it into the large silver trashcan to their left. "you know..." yn starts, staring up at the moving wheel that was beginning to slow down to a stop. "i've always wanted to make-out on a ferris wheel" her eyes wander over to him as she ends her sentence, batting her eyelashes almost annoyingly. leehan rolls his eyes before pulling her into his arms, "i feel like you always want to make-out in unconventional places" the couple shares another light laugh, separating from each other as the guard welcomed them onto one of the worryingly squeaky carts of the fair attraction.

"well that was fun" the boy says, wiping the bits of her lip gloss that stained against the grin on his lips. "yeah, we should definitely do that again" his girlfriend responds, slightly out of breath. the young couple get off the ride, holding hands as they waltzed around the grounds of the park once again. "we should play some games now...i need a new plushie for my collection!" yn's statement makes him giggle, "you are such a child" but his actions contradict his words, pulling the girl slightly as he wordlessly makes his way to the row of playing games on the other side of the fair. "which one do you want to play, love?" she ponders for a moment, eyes moving to scan through each and every one of the stands available. yn was about to speak, finally choosing a game, but she is interrupted by his gasp. before she could even ask him what was wrong, the girl found herself being tugged away and over to a light blue stand in the corner.

"where are we going?" her question answers itself when she is met with a large, light-up sign above her head. a sign that read:

fisherman's paradise! catch some fish, win a prize!

a sea themed game. how fitting for her fish-loving boyfriend. the pair watched as two players went against each other. the whole purpose of the game was to use the magnetic hooks to grab as many robotic fish as possible from the small plastic pool in the middle. whoever got the most fish by the end of the 2 minute mark, was named winner and got to choose a sea-themed toy from the prize wall. yn could see the excited smile that begun to grow on her boyfriend's face, his eyes were shimmering like he had just seen his wildest dreams come true. at the same time, leehan looked focused, as if he were calculating every move he would have to make to win later when it was his turn. finally, after what felt like the longest two minutes in the world, the boy was up. a prideful laugh escaped his lips at the sight of his opponent; a little girl, adorned in a thick, red wig and the worst excuse for a mermaid costume he had ever seen. his smile was washed away however when the child in front of him stuck her little tongue out, stained blue from the artificial colouring of the ice cone she probably just had. "you're going down, loser!" her voice was high-pitched and squeaky, as expected from someone that tiny. yn can't help but laugh from behind him, watching in amusement as her boyfriend shared petty trash-talk with a girl who's height didn't even make it past his long legs.

"the only one going down is you, little girl"

the tired looking teenager who ran the booth waved a flag, signalling that their two minutes had begun. yn watched in disbelief as leehan deprived his tiny opponent of all her robotic fish, a nasty smirk on his face as he had fun doing so. the little girl looked horrified, her eyebrows furrowing as the older boy took her victory far far away. ding! their time was up, leehan lifting his fists up in the air at his obvious win. he looked over at his girlfriend happily before pulling her into a hug, she chuckled lightly as she pressed a kiss onto his jaw. now he had to pick his prize, contemplating all too seriously at his choices. "i want the jellyfish" yn whispers, pointing at the angry looking plush toy that seemed to be calling her name. but the boy just scoffs, "what do you mean you want the jellyfish. it's my prize, and i'll take that one" the girl's mouth drops open, a sigh escaping from it as she watches her boyfriend gleefully accept the catfish shaped doll, his favourite, the corydoras. "and i'm the child" yn complains, rolling her eyes at a very joyful leehan, their arms intertwining again as they began to walk away from the game stand.

"STOP RIGHT THERE!" an all too familiarly squeaky voice stops them in their tracks, the couple twirling around to be met with none other than the little girl from earlier. "you, mister! you're a cheater! that prize was supposed to be mine!" her small face was squished into an angry expression, her arms crossed over her chest and her lips puckered out into a dramatic pout. leehan snorts, bending down slightly to be nearer to her. "i won fair and square! so don't be such a sore loser" yn could not believe her ears or her eyes, there was no way her boyfriend who she loved and adored so much was seriously arguing with a five year old! over a fish game! the child's angry face turns into that of a smug look, a spritz of her own spit coming out as she spoke up once again. "you probably don't even like fish as much as me" the girl spat, her eyes closing shut and her tiny head tilting upwards. the tall boy's girlfriend slaps herself in the head, why would she say that? doesn't she know the consequences of her actions? where were her parents at this moment? god, help us all. yn tries to pull her boyfriend away before he could cause any more of a scene, but he just shrugs her arm off, a knowing and cocky look painted over his complexion as he looks the poor child right in the eyes.

"well what's your favourite fish then? since you know so much about them" oh god. the five year old lifts her chubby arms in the air, "obviously flounder from the little mermaid!" her miniature eyes roll to the back of her head, pointing down at her outfit so as to say 'duh!'. leehan is about to burst into tears of laughter, "well what kind of fish is he then?" all of a sudden the chatty child falls silent, and the boy has just about the meanest look on his face. "he's actually, a pterophyllum scalare, also known as an angelfish" in the moment the boy looked like he just won a lottery, smirking proudly with his chest puffed out in glory. his girlfriend let's out another loud sigh, making a mental note to never let her boyfriend around children ever again.

the atmosphere changes however, when a whimper escapes the little girl's lips. the couples' eyes darting straight towards her as she begins to cry real tears. "leehan, you made the poor kid cry!" yn exclaims, finally smacking his upside his head. "why is she crying! i was just telling her a simple fish fact!" the boy yells back in terror, "she's a child?!" amidst the young pair's argument, the red wig wearing girl's wailing gets louder, her cries going from incoherent mumbles to begging for her mommy. the couple is in panic mode, not really understanding what they should do at a situation like this, and not really wanting to get in trouble with the kid's parents. "what do we do?" leehan asks, his hands pressed against the top of his head. "i don't know babe, just give her the doll so she stops crying!" yn responds, her tone getting louder to overpower the sound of the wailing child. "but i won it! fair and square!" the girl rolls her eyes at the stupid frown played against her boyfriend's lips, showing no remorse as she forcefully pulled the fish-shaped plushie out of his hands.

"here, stop crying and take this, okay?" yn's tone became hushed as she bent down to level with the tearful girl, juxtaposing the way she shouted at her partner just a second ago. "don't mind him, he's just a big ol' meanie, right? so stop crying, okay?" the kid takes the doll in her tiny hands, sniffling as her tears came to an end. "mkay" the kid mumbles and yn can't help but smile softly. "i love your mermaid outfit, by the way. you look just like ariel, so pretty" now the little girl was grinning ear to ear, seemingly beginning to forget about the tantrum she just threw. "you're pretty too, lady. but...why are you dating such an asshole?" the wind is knocked out of the girl, and her boyfriend who stood listening closely, at the child's harsh choice of vocabulary. yn stops herself from laughing out loud, sighing as she patted a hand through the smaller one's red wig. "i promise he isn't always like that...he's just...very passionate about sea life, that's all" leehan catches himself smiling unconsciously as he watched his girl make soft conversation with his tiny enemy, but his thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a female voice calling out for their child, it was her mother.

"oh! there you are! you can't just run off like that! oh, i'm so sorry if she troubled you guys" an older, plump woman spoke, her eyes and nose the spitting image of the menacing girl they were just talking to. yn catches a glimpse of her partner's smirk, "oh yeah, she actually just called me an assho-ow!" his words are cut short when his girlfriend's foot is pressed harshly against his toes. "no problem, she wasn't bothering us at all!" yn's tone is sweet, a forceful smile on her lips like she weren't physically hurting the boy beside her right now. "look mommy, the pretty lady gave me a fishy!" the kid cheers as her mother picks her up from the ground. "yeah my fish-ow! stop stepping on my foot!" yn glares at the guy, if looks could kill he'd be six feet under the ground right now. the older lady and her child shoots the couple a perplexed look before thanking them quickly and leaving. the girl smiles, waving goodbye to the costume wearing child as they slowly disappeared into the distance.

"remind me to never let you play games with children ever again!" yn exclaims as they walk towards the exit of the fair. leehan just chuckles, shooting her a cheeky grin as he did so. "but you were kind of hot back there though..." he trails off, stretching an arm out to wrap around her shoulders, pulling her in. "hm?" she asked confused, her cheeks coming in contact with his t-shirt as she looked up at his face. "like you looked so cute comforting that kid...i can't lie it's giving me like extreme baby fever, right now" once again his girlfriend glares at him in disbelief, "after all of that? like hell i'm letting you near my children!" he laughs, partially agreeing with what she was saying. it was silent for a moment, her eyes focused on their surroundings, watching as families, friends and couples alike ran around the park that was starting to get darker. leehan, too, is distracted by the orange tint that began to paint the sky. and then he speaks again, ruining their moment of pure bliss. "can we at least pretend to make a baby" yn rolls her eyes, hiding her blush-y face against his chest as she slaps a hand softly against his arm.

"oh my god leehan, if you're horny just say so!"

the end.

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖

leave the poor kid alone leehan TT idrk what i was going for when i started writing this but i think its so cute nonetheless 🤓 also not leehan getting #𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒚 at the end 🙄 reblogs n feedbacks highly appreciated!! tysm for reading <3

[soobrat]

siren

genre for entire series; dating show au, angst, smut, fluff, a touch of humor

genre; a touch of humor

warnings; mc will mention having had plastic surgery, future smut, insecurity, may be triggering for anyone who was ugly in high school or experienced being the "ugly one" in their friend group (I'm writing this to heal my own trauma, and bc I love single's inferno)

preface; this is going to be a very relaxed series with short parts and minimal to no editing. please don't pressure me about new parts for older fics (especially ones I didn't really intend to have a part two anyway) i've just decided that I'll get to them when I do.

siren masterlist

Going last is the best case scenario here. It gives you more time to think.

“Hiii! My name is Ning Yizhuo!” The woman with large round eyes waves both hands excitedly at the camera. You can’t tell if it’s the bright, large screen singing your eyes or her bright aura. She’s a cute type, and you’re pretty sure you’re already fucked. 

“I’m twenty-one years old and I’m a college student! I’m in college, hoping to get my BArch degree soon!” She laughs in an attempt to undercut the genuine fatigue that slipped through. Cute and smart? Shit.

The woman who walks in front of the camera next is the utter opposite of Yizhuo in every way possible. From her blonde hair, her tan skin, to her sultry gaze. 

“I’m Jeon Somi. I uh… I’m twenty-two. And um! I’m a model. I mostly shoot music videos, hip hop is my main genre so some people call me a video vixen.” This time the laugh isn’t to undercut anything, it’s to drive home her tone insinuating how silly that label is. 

“But I do photoshoots sometimes. Mostly editorial and experimental shit. Not your average insta model.” She smirks, cementing her confidence. Confident and Sexy. Not for everyone, it’ll be fine.

“Hi, I’m Roseanne Park.” The Australian accent makes your ear perk up. “I graduated from a performing arts college with a bachelors in music. So now I mainly write and produce for other artists but hopefully I’ll release my own music some day.” She smiles slightly, pursing her lips. “Oh! And I’m twenty-six.” 

She’s eloquent but not too flashy with how she speaks. She screams normal but not in a bad way. In a “girl next door” type of way. Fuck.

What did you expect? That they’d cast mediocre women? In a reality show meant for dating? When has that ever happened?

You exhale sharply, wiping your sweaty palms on your pants. Just get through one more and then do your own. Don’t overthink it. You hear the sound of heels clacking but give yourself another moment to collect yourself as you close your eyes.

Once you open them, you’re faced with that of an angel. Except not an angel, not a doll either because she’s natural. She’s believable. And dammit she’s effortless. Her features fit together perfectly, nothing hogging the spotlight. She turns to the side briefly and you catch a glimpse of her nose. As if she needed anything else, she has a perfect nose too. She’s elegant with a hint of innocence. She’s cute but with a tempting edge. There’s something about her eyes that tell a deeper story that any man lost in them can craft to their liking, pull them in deeper.

“Hi. I’m Jung Chaeyeon. I’m twenty-six and I’m a freelance model and actress.” She gives a captivating smile and walks off camera. Fuck.

Shit.

siren masterlist

[ashbelero]

Consuming problematic content: A brief example from my husband

My partner is a comic book collector. I am a manga collector. Lately, he’s been poking around the manga section while I get books because I take fucking forever to grab shit, and because of that, he’s started getting into a couple series of his own. He now collects Food Wars, Witch Hat Atelier, and a recent series called Gleipnir.

Gleipnir is... something. I’ve watched a couple episodes of the new anime with my partner and oh boy, is it a thing. The basic premise is that people get monstrous abilities by putting special coins in a vending machine, and the main characters are a boy who turns into a living mascot suit and the girl who gets in and pilots that mascot suit like a goddamn flesh mech. In the manga, she apparently does this naked because the suit is wet and slimy inside, but in the anime she keeps her clothes on.

The characters are in their 1st and 3rd year of high school, so... 15-18 or thereabouts, just from what I know about the Japanese high school system. And the books are rated mature and wrapped in plastic at the store because of the kind of content that’s in them, and because that was their intended audience. It’s a seinen manga. It’s not aimed at kids.

My partner was born in the 80′s and is therefore within the series’ target demographic.

When I asked him how he feels about the ages being so low in this extremely sexual title (because it gets hella ecchi), he just shrugged and said “I just pretend they’re in college. It’s not a big part of the story.”

My partner is not part of the anime community anywhere online. He doesn’t know or care about debates about “problematic” content regarding aging up characters. I’ve briefly mentioned issues that people have tried to bring up against me regarding things like “incest” between non-blood-related characters or aged-up My Hero Academia dudes, etc, and... he just kinda thinks it’s dumb and doesn’t know why I bother listening. “Are you doing anything illegal?” no. “Then who cares?”

He’d rather spend his time arguing with nerds about why having POC in Star Wars isn’t destroying the series and why sending hate mail to child actors is a dick move. Which admittedly affects real people, unlike the shit I get from anime purists.

It’s interesting to see what this argument looks like from outside of anime twt or whatever - and it looks like nothing. It looks like a guy headcanoning that the high school girl with her panties taking up the whole damn page is in college.

uh... anyway Gleipnir is pretty decent, in case anyone was wondering.

[fbfh]

I think you've horribly misread the situation [shitty roommate pt 2] - leo x reader

wc: 2.3k

genre: contemporary drama, you're definitly going to get second hand embarrassment, cozy fluff

pairing: leo x reader, attempted isabella x leo

reader: gender neutral, they/them

requested: hell yeah

warnings: mild swearing, roommate tries to steal your man once again, mentions of various mainstream vampire media (twilight, the vampire diaries etc.), brief mention of castlevania (even though i haven't seen it yet lol), breif mention of videogames and assassins creed, very mild delusion (roommate is secretly convinced leo is a vampire that's in love with her), attempted age gap relationship (she's 17 and leo's 19, he shuts that down real fast), very bad poetry

summary: You and Leo are both looking foward to spending a long weekend together, and Leo is determined not to let anything interrupt it, even if it means turning down your roommate's attempts to seduce him in the kitchen.

a/n: absolutley no hate or shade or judgement to anyone who has the same or similar traits as isabella!!!!!! at her core she's annoying because she's the antagonist, not bc of any isolated trait or traits

also she's shitty cause she keeps trying to steal your boyfriend?????

Edit: I forgot to mention before, but this is a college au where you're both still demigods, so you went to camp and on quests and stuff together

This weekend is going to be all about recharging. Recharging from the ridiculous back to back closing and opening shifts at work, recharging from having to redo that stupid project twice because your professor couldn’t decide on a clear way to define the criteria, and recharging from Isabella having her townie friend Regan over almost non stop to “completely shake up her look” as she put it.

Between the constant presence of someone you’d barely consider an acquaintance and Big Time Rush’s self titled album blasting on repeat out of her giant airpod shaped speaker, it’s been harder than usual to get in some effective self care. You have no idea how many more times you can hear the phrase “I’m going for Jade West meets Elena Gilbert, with just a little Buffy Summers” before you lose your fucking mind.

Thankfully, the hard part is almost over. There’s some minor holiday tomorrow on friday, so you and Leo both have a three day weekend ahead of you, which you intend to spend entirely together. You planned ahead, frontloading homework, chores, errands, and everything you could think of to remove anything that isn’t cuddling or playing video games and watching netflix together from your horizon.

This includes going straight from work to the grocery store to stock the fridge and get any snacks you and Leo want. You had texted him a while ago asking for anything he was craving, and head into the store with a concrete list. After a while, you circle around some aisles, avoiding the check out.

“I feel like I’m forgetting something,” you muse, knowing it’s untrue, but hoping to trigger a memory anyway. You can’t put it off any longer, finally checking out and heading back to your apartment. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t avoiding Isabella just a little.

You know bringing in all these groceries would be way easier with Isabella and possibly Regan’s help, but you just don’t have the social energy to talk to anyone, much less her, right now. By some miracle, you bring everything in yourself, and hope to get it put away before you see Isabella.

You turn to the freezer, putting away the ice cream. When you turn back around, you’re suddenly met face to face with Isabella, who has opened one of the boxes and is picking at a pastry.

“Hey girlie,” she says, elongating the hey.

“Hey,” you reply lethargically, putting the last of the groceries away. She looks at the pastry in her hand like she’s just noticing it.

“Sorry, I can’t help it, I’m italian.” She smiles, endeared by her own behavior. You have no idea what being italian has to do with asking before you open a box of your roommate’s food, but this really isn’t out of character for her. She brings up the fact that she’s half italian more than Lele Pons blames her behavior on being latina.

She’s wearing sweatpants that say chaser on the leg in red and gold varsity font, and a tight tee shirt that says “it’s okay to love them both” with silhouettes of the male love interests from one of the vampire shows she always watches. You collect the plastic bags to put in recycling, and see a piece of paper on the counter.

It reads as follows:

Drowning in my mind

No one hears me cry

Who was I before society

Before society put me in a pink dress

And handed me blonde hair dye

And told me to lose ten pounds or be labeled a freak?

The happiest people cry the most

Let the lyrics be your story

But I’m not like the other skinny blonde pretty girls

I’m

Different

-b.g. xox

You hold back a sigh.

“I think this is yours.” you say, handing it to her.

“Oh, it’s just some of my poetry I left lying around, that’s so embarrassing.”

I know, you think, you do that all the time.

“Did you read it?” She asks, hopefully.

“Nope.”

“Thank god, that would have been so embarrassing. My poetry is something really… deep, and personal to me.”

“Uh huh. Hey, I’m going to be doing a lot of self care this weekend, so-”

“Oh!” she interjects, eerily similar to Phoebe Buffay - you guess she’s been watching friends again - “I wanted to ask… is Leo coming over later?” Her voice is riddled with subtext, the expression on her face a little too invested in your answer.

“Uh, yeah. I told you the other day we’re spending the weekend together…”

She cuts you off again, a sudden, intense look on her face.

“When will he be here?”

You check your phone, scrolling through your recent texts.

“By 7 at the latest.” It’s around 6:40 now.

“Oh my god, I have to change,” she rushes back to her room, presumably digging through her recent additions to her closet.

You’re frozen for a minute after the interaction, left with a furrowed brow and the beginnings of a headache. You blink, then choose to reschedule processing why she feels the need to change for your boyfriend to a more convenient time. That’s enough of that for today. You don’t care what else happens, you’re not talking to anyone besides Leo for at least the rest of the day. You retreat to your room to finally shower and change into something comfy. As you pass by Isabella’s room, you hear her talking to Regan.

“...There’s something almost… supernatural about him.”

You bite back a laugh.

“Do you think he’s a…” Regan begins, ending the sentence with something too quiet to hear, but you’d bet almost any organ she said vampire.

So close. So, so close, and yet… here you are.

Not much later, Leo texts you to let you know he’s here. You read his text, and run out to hug him in the living room before even typing a reply. He picks you up, and spins you around. The embrace is warm and fulfilling and familiar, and you wish it would last forever.

“Hi, Sparky.” you murmur into his neck.

“Estrella…” he says, rocking you back and forth gently and pressing a kiss into your jawline, “I missed you so much.” He punctuates the sentence with another kiss, this one to your lips, and you smile more genuinely than you have all day. You’re about to agree when you remember the good news you’ve been saving to tell him in person.

“Guess what I got on sale for like, half off,” you start, excitedly, continuing at his invested expression, “the Assassin’s Creed bundle I showed you!”

“No way,” he starts, and you nod.

“I’ll go get everything set up, drinks are in the kitchen!” He watches you retreat into your room, disbelieving how he could possibly get someone as perfect as you to fall for him. He’s not going to question his luck. He grabs a couple caffeinated sparkling ices, and meets you in your room, setting down his bag and grabbing some comfy clothes to change into.

As you both get settled in, you fill each other in on all the ridiculous shit you’ve been through this week. You finally conclude the bizarre - yet somehow standard - Isabella escapades.

“So I will be avoiding all contact as much as possible,” you laugh.

“Yeah, no shit,” he agrees, “Consider me your human buffer.” You thank him, hugging him again and pressing a kiss to his lips.

The next couple hours are spent cuddling and finishing season 4 of Castlevania. Both reeling from the season finale, you agree this is a good place to take a break, get some food, and decide what game you should start with. It’s already 10pm, which most people would consider too late for dinner, but you have all weekend to fuck up your sleep schedules.

“Let’s review,” Isabella says, holding up two red lipsticks. She turns to Regan. “Which one?”

“That one,” Regan says, pointing to the one on the left, then turns to her list, and continues. “Here’s what we know; we’ve never seen him eat, and he never seems tired. He’s really smart-”

“Almost too smart,” Isabella adds, selecting black rose dangle earrings from her jewelry. Regan agrees, and continues.

“He’s almost hypnotically attractive, and his smile is a little too dazzling.”

“There’s something… supernatural about him. Like he’s not… all human.”

Regan writes this down.

“Plus he’s always wearing black and red, and those flowy button up shirts? It’s all adding up, Ree. That dream that someone was outside my window, the ring, everything…” She says, referencing the black and red cocktail ring she’d found with her stuff when she’d first moved, “I’m not saying it’s definite, just that… there’s a chance.”

“What about…” Regan says hesitantly, nodding toward your room.

“Please,” she scoffs, “he’s only with them to get close to me, like Damon and Caroline. Edward couldn’t have just approached Bella out of the blue, he had to infiltrate her friend group first, to seem less suspicious. Not to sound mean or anything, but they really don’t seem like the type someone… like him… would choose.” her voice gets dreamy when she mentions him.

In spite of having seen most mainstream vampire media almost as many times as Isabella, Regan still considers her the expert on these things, and decides not to point out that Edward didn’t infiltrate Bella’s friend group. Maybe it comes up in one of the retellings she hasn’t read yet.

“So, what now?”

Isabella sets down her lipstick, and turns to her friend.

“I tell him.”

Regan’s eyes widen.

“You’re going to tell him you know?”

“No… not yet. It’s too soon, we don’t have enough evidence. I’m going to tell him I know he’s in love with me, then once he’s secure in our relationship... we’ll see where it goes.”

She stands up, assessing herself in the mirror. She chose her outfit carefully; short red dress with black roses and black mesh collar, black rose bracelet to match her earrings, snug faux leather jacket, and black stiletto ankle booties with a very skinny heel, the zipper on the outside gold, not silver. She fluffs her wavy hair and turns towards the door. She looks back one more time, holding onto the doorway.

“Wish me luck.”

Leo enters the kitchen, seeing Isabella already there, leaning against the counter seductively. She’s wearing an outfit and jewelry this late at night that makes Leo wonder if she’s going to an emo tea party. He puts the takeout in the microwave. She’s still staring at him.

“Uh… hey.”

She lets out a dainty giggle, looking him up and down.

“... Hi.”

At a loss for words, and really wanting the awkward silence to be over, he continues, “Did you need something?”

“What I need,” she walks closer to him, tracing her finger over his collar, “is you.”

What the fuck?

His brain seems to stall for a moment, and she uses this opportunity to continue.

“I know why you’re here. I know that you’re only using them to get closer to me. I know-”

“Woah-”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Okay, double what the fuck.

She takes his stunned silence as shyness, and steps closer, putting her arms around his shoulders.

“You don’t need to play so coy, I-”

This time she’s the one that gets cut off. He grabs her arms and gently steps away, trying to make it abundantly clear that he’s not into this.

“Woah, okay, slow down. First of all, you’re 17 and I’m turning 20 in a couple months, so that’s a hard no. Second, I don’t know where you got this idea, but I am not dating them to get closer to you. We’ve known each other since we were like, 15, and have been through everything together. I’ve only known you for a couple months. I love them. Probably more than I’ve loved anything ever. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

He doesn’t want to be mean, he really doesn’t, but he can tell from the look on her face that she still thinks this is all part of some game.

“So why don’t I ever see you eat? Why are you so smart, and always up at night? I know what you are.”

He has to physically hold back a laugh. He takes a step back, and places his hands on the counter.

“Isabella, I have adhd. And I’m literally an engineering student. Why wouldn’t I be smart and have a shitty sleep schedule?”

She starts to protest, and he pulls out the reheated take out from the microwave.

“And for the record, I do eat.”

Exiting the kitchen quickly and retreating back to your room, he hands you your food.

“I got the game set up!” you say excitedly.

“Nice!”

You take one look at his face and can tell something happened. He sees this, and continues.

“I just had a very… interesting interaction with Isabella,” before he finishes the sentence, your head is already in your hands. You let out a groan.

“What did she do?” you mutter from behind your hands.

He pulls you into his lap, rubbing your back.

“I’m not totally sure,” you laugh, “but I think she thinks I’m secretly in love with her…” you’re both laughing before he can even finish the sentence.

“No…” you laugh, “no fucking way…”

“Believe me, I put an end to that as soon as it started.”

“Oh, I do.”

He runs his hand over your back, and you’re quiet for a moment.

“You know,” he continues, “I think getting our own place has definitely moved up the priority list.”

You couldn’t agree more.

[beewolfwrites]

The Oar in the Sand - Chapter Seven: The Second Day of Nostos

@cheshiya @tenseoyong @szallejhscorner @something-more-original-please @ofsunsetsandpoetries @nek0dzuken @allozaur @serenzippity @hiqhkey

Another update! This was supposed to be posted yesterday, but life just kept getting in the way. But thank heavens it’s here now :) 

I’ll stick the AO3 link here  for the ones that want it. Thanks for reading <3

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

There were two things I had come to enjoy here in the Borderlands. The first was the freedom I had now that the old world and all of its problems were gone. The second was waking up beside Chishiya.

Usually I was the first to fall asleep and he was the first to wake up, so it was rare that he was still around when I opened my eyes. This morning was different. His face was angled away from me, and his hair was splayed across the pillow, almost obscuring his face from view. Almost, but not quite. Curling up at his side, I observed the way his sly smile had become slack, disappearing entirely as it made way for something far different. 

He probably hadn’t intended on sleeping in like this, but the exhaustion of the previous day was overwhelming. I remained there for a long time, peeking out at him from beneath the sheets until his breathing lightened and he started to stir. One eye cracked open, squinted, then slid over to mine. 

‘What are you doing?’ 

‘Just enjoying the fact that you’re not dead.’ 

He raised a brow. ‘Between the two of us, you’re more likely to get shot than I am.’ 

What should’ve been a snarky comment came across flat and uninterested. Now that he was awake, the shadows beneath his eyes were more pronounced, and I could see the dark roots of his hair had grown longer. It was strange to see him looking this weary, but even Chishiya was only human. He was no more immune to bullets than I was. 

‘What are you thinking about now?’ 

I could tell by his tone that he was trying to taunt me. But my thoughts were detached. I couldn’t stop thinking about the game. ‘Yesterday, it wasn’t just me who cleared it. An was there too, with two girls from the Beach. They said that the King of Spades attacked their camp right after the second stage started.’ 

He quietly considered it for a moment. ‘And we were close enough to hear the gunshots. He probably started with the camp before heading over to us.’ 

Heading over to us? 

‘You don’t mean…’

‘He knows the location of all the players,’ Chishiya said. 

That’s not… 

No, it was fair. Once a player knew about his game, it was easy to avoid him just by mapping out the location of his blimp and remaining as far from it as possible. Him knowing the players’ locations only evened out the playing field. 

‘An told me something else too. Apparently he moves all across Tokyo. Aside from the other game venues, the whole city is his arena.’

I thought this would’ve piqued Chishiya’s interest more, but as expected he was already a step ahead. ‘I realised the same thing when he chased you. It makes sense they would plan things this way. They’re trying to drive players into the game venues.’ He sat up a little, resting against the headboard and lacing his fingers together. ‘While you were in your game, another one was cleared. The King of Clubs.’ 

The hardest of the Clubs games. It made sense that those ones would be completed pretty quickly, given the chance of survival was the highest. ‘That was pretty quick.’ 

‘I suppose it was,’ Chishiya retorted. ‘But I have a feeling I know who cleared it.’ 

‘Hm?’ 

‘Arisu.’ 

Arisu? The last time I had seen him was when he was with… ‘Kuina was probably there too. An said when their camp split up, she got into a car with Arisu and Tatta. They must’ve gone to the game venue together.’ 

And if they cleared it, that meant they were still alive. They had to be. Knowing Arisu, he would’ve taken Usagi with him too. I almost felt like I could rest easy if the four of them were safe. Although they must’ve met the King of Clubs while they were there. 

‘The Queen of Diamonds died.’ I hated how thick my voice sounded. ‘But I wish she didn’t. Is that okay?’ I looked up, meeting Chishiya’s stony gaze. ‘I mean, is it okay for me to like her?’ 

‘I don’t see why it matters whether you do or don’t,’ he replied. ‘The outcome is the same.’  

I could still see her smile right before the wood gave way, a sort of peace mixed with relief. ‘I thought she was going to be evil or scary, kind of like Mira.’ The way she’d picked out the footage of mine and Arisu’s first games, the provocation was like a test. The Queen of Diamonds though, had been totally different. ‘She wasn’t like Mira at all. Right from the start, she wanted us to win.’ 

Chishiya was watching the dust motes glide in the sunlight, idly listening. ‘Did you find out anything?’ 

‘I’ve dedicated my whole life to the pursuit of knowledge, but I’ve learned to be satisfied with not knowing.’

‘She was a player,’ I told him. ‘She didn’t know about the Borderlands either.’ 

He mulled it over quietly. ‘I thought so.’ 

Chishiya knew they were players? 

I sat up in bed. ‘There’s no way you could’ve known that.’

‘It was just an idea,’ he replied. ‘I’ve been here longer than you. I’ve thought a lot about the possibilities.’ He paused for a minute, then smiled ironically. ‘It’s very possible we could all be dead.’ 

It was a horrible idea, the thought that all our efforts to survive were in vain. Or perhaps, it was one big test of character to determine our place in an afterlife. And if we died in a game, would it be a second death, or would it allow us to proceed to a further level of some kind? Was it a true death at all? 

‘I’d like to think we’re still alive,’ I admitted. ‘You probably don’t care, but I’d like to go back to the real world with you.’ 

‘Oh? And what makes you think there’s a way back at all?’ 

Hatter’s theory had been only half correct. But while the Queen had avoided telling us everything, she’d revealed even more than she perhaps intended. ‘The Queen of Diamonds said she went through the same thing we did, found all the cards, and then completed the face card games like we’re doing now. But then she called the others citizens. If we’re currently here on a visa-basis, maybe clearing all the games gives us the chance of a permanent citizenship—’

‘If that’s so, it’d only prove my point.’ 

‘No.’ I shook my head, thinking back to the game. ‘She also mentioned that she chose to stay here. If there’s a choice to stay, it means there’s a choice to leave.

I could see Chishiya’s mind working, taking it all in. It was as if he absorbed all the knowledge he encountered, storing it up and processing it for use later. He didn’t respond to my theory, but simply accepted it, and relaxed against the headboard, staring at the ceiling. As he tilted his head back, the dressing over his neck was exposed, and I suddenly became aware that we were still wearing our old, bloodied clothes. 

I really, really need a wash. And new clothes. And new bed sheets. 

Climbing out of the bed, I left Chishiya and made my way to the bathroom to clean up a little. However, when I passed the mirror above the sink and saw the face staring back at me, my mouth fell open. 

This can’t be me. 

My skin looked thinner and sallow, and without the Beach’s constant food supply, I’d lost weight, only not in a good way. The girl in the mirror was haggard and I barely even recognised her. While Chishiya had cleaned the dried blood from my forehead the night before, there were still flakes in my hairline and my face was dirtied. 

I reached for the bottle of water beside the sink, except the plastic crinkled, empty. Throwing it away, I then checked the bathroom cupboards for our extra supply, but they too were empty. 

You’re kidding me… 

A quick search of the store revealed that we’d run out of water entirely. If our little hideout were closer to the river, it wouldn’t be a problem. However the river was too far away to collect water on a daily basis, and with the King of Spades out there, it wasn’t worth the risk. There had to be some way of storing water for the long-run. 

Standing in the small kitchen, I could hear the muffled creaks of Chishiya moving about upstairs. And then the idea hit me. Walking out into the hallway, I called up the stairs, ‘I’m just going out to get something! I won’t be too long!’ 

There was no reply, but I knew he’d heard me as the noises quietened. He then appeared at the top of the stairs, leaning against the banister with an unimpressed smirk. 

‘Are you sure that’s a good idea? The last time you ran off on your own, you stole the Queen of Diamonds game.’ 

His words stung, even if they’d been said teasingly. I hadn’t intended to steal the Queen of Diamonds Game. I only ran inside the building because there were others sheltering in there. I desperately wanted to tell him this, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. Chishiya may not have directly blamed me for what happened, but there was clearly some resentment that he hadn’t been able to complete the game himself. In his eyes, it didn’t matter. 

And that hurt. It really, really hurt.  

‘I’ll stay away from the King of Spades,’ I called out before leaving the furniture store. 

It was warm out here in Tokyo, but not a pleasant warm. The air was dull and sticky, as if the city was thirsty for rain. 

There must be a storm coming.

I took my time wandering through the silent streets and deeper into the city centre. Even here, the only sound was that of the birds building homes in vacant office blocks, and aside from a deer grazing on the grass in an empty lot, there was nobody around. 

Luckily, I had explored this side of Tokyo enough that I’d formed my own mental map of the area, and I easily found the camping store where Kuina had picked up our current stove. Inside, the place was scavenged, and I had to step over several boxes until I found the section I was looking for. There were several water containers, but none of them were quite what I had in mind.

I ambled further down the streets until the road opened up into a car park. It was lined by several walkways leading into large, white interconnected buildings. Two tall clocks stood above a disused bus station and taxi rank. And as I walked further down the road, there were ambulances lined up outside. 

I followed a series of steps led up to the main entrance, but once I was inside, the sunlight cut off. While an abandoned Tokyo was eerie, a dark, dusty hospital was a thing of nightmares. Just inside the entrance was an international poster stuck to the wall, with the same phrase written in different word-art fonts and various languages. 

‘Welcome to Nihon University Itabashi Hospital!’ 

I walked further inside, passing a reception desk and a waiting area. It was evident that other players had been inside here, as there was litter on the ground, and some of the store rooms lay open, their contents emptied out.

Strolling along the corridors, I explored the theatre facilities. There were drawers upon drawers of syringes and sterile metal trays of surgical tools, and aside from a thin layer of dust, the hospital beds were all intact. If it weren’t for the King of Spades and the danger of other players, the hospital would make a decent camp for a group of survivors. But on second thought, I wasn’t prepared to give up the warmth and comfort of waking up next to Chishiya. Retreating back out of the wards, it was in a main corridor where I finally found what I was searching for. 

A water dispenser. 

Unlike the others, this didn’t open from a cap in the top, but rather the container had a tap at the bottom. It was perfect for Chishiya and I. Rather than having bottles of water lying around, we could simply fill it up and keep it as a main water source. It was balanced on top of a platform, unattached. But the container was filled with water already, and barely budged when I tried to lift it. Wrapping my arms around the body, I lugged it forward, right as a loud clap resounded through the hall. 

The echo of a drawer slamming. 

Someone’s here?! 

Holding my breath, my arms slid away from the water container. I could hear it clearer now, the rustles of someone rooting through drawers of supplies. It was coming from the ward opposite me. Every instinct told me to leave quietly the way I came. My thudding heart screamed at me to get out now. 

I should’ve listened. 

Inching forward on tiptoe, I peered around the doorway into what looked like a recovery ward. On the right, the door to a stock room had been kicked open, the rustling growing louder as I approached. A tall man with dark fabric wrapped around his head was hunched over a desk. He muttered something, and my heart stilled. 

‘What the hell’s this shit? Ah, forget it.’ 

No. 

He was dead… wasn’t he? 

‘Where the fuck do they keep the morphine anyway?’ 

He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive. 

My eyes gaped, unblinking, at the stock room door. I didn’t want to look but I couldn’t bring myself to look away either. The memory of his eyes burned through my mind. The sheer, unrestrained rage, and the desire to kill, I’d seen it all through the tatters of his singed shirt as he looked up at me from down below in the hotel lobby and pulled the trigger. I needed to leave. I needed to leave now. 

I took a step back. 

Clink. 

The tiny, hollow clatter of a syringe rolling across the vinyl had never felt louder. It rolled across the width of the hall, before tapping against a doorframe. The rustling inside the store room suddenly stopped, and at that moment, we both knew. 

[vminity21]

+1 | kth

Pairing: HighschoolCrush!Taehyung X StillProcessingIt!Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre: angst/fluff/smut

Warning(s): slight language use, angst (if you read b/w the lines), pretty much smutty kissing, hand groping, mention of alcohol, breast worship, nipple play; Rated: 18+

Summary: When a crush you had in high school unexpectedly returns to your life six years later, this is the experience you have with him when you collected the courage to invite him over to hangout.

Credit to: @suhdays​ for the amazing cover!

Inspiration comes in the form of little expectancy especially when life seems to throw a curveball you never dreamed would be a potential possibility; but, here you are, tapping upon the keyboard of your five-year-old laptop decorated in stickers of celebs you've admired over the years mingled with relevant quotes that have bustled yet again- inspiration that motivates you day by day to continue to be the human being that you are. Inspiration though can appear in lyrical melodies broadcasted globally for millions to pine over; or, published in numerous pages creating imaginary worlds where ones can escape to; or, sketched in a meticulous design to build whatever idea had been desired to come to life; or, filmed in scenes of an edited story by talented persons determined to enter the spotlight in any way they can; or, painted along a canvas in colors of calculated detail bringing forth the picture of accomplishment. Inspiration derives from a mere moment- one that sparks the instinct to gather the materials needed to pour out your heart in ways that may bring a sense of peace.

For you, it used to be in the lines of a song penciled into a crinkled notebook from your backpack hidden away for no one to discover; it used to be countless childhood journals where you expressed your inward battles in order to find enough solace to sleep at night. You've lost your touch over the years because life changes in the blink of an eye, as you grow older, and work can distract from the time taken to focus on yourself; thankfully graduating college to gain the degree you now behold landed you a job, one you hope lasts for many years, and you are currently living in a two-bedroom apartment with your best friend, Monica, who's presently slumbering as you brush some loose strands of hair from your vision.

Your dog is curled at the end of your bed as you write, which is something that you haven't done in what feels like forever, but the reasoning behind this sporadic urge ignited when the familiar pair of brown eyes from six years prior, re-entered your world without your preparation and his presence from a recent night shared seems to echo in every space of your brain to where you've finally had enough. It's about time to reach out, the devil on your shoulder whispers, but the angel sitting on the opposite begs to differ. Shaking your head, you pause momentarily, cracking your knuckles before resting your forehead on the desk, exhaling slowly while the memory of his touch seems to haunt your skin.

He was someone you once admired in high school- roaming the hallways where girls giggled giddily each time he'd pass by; star of the basketball team, rising popularity to the point everyone knew his name, collecting homework answers from budding friendships, and it all began once he started his junior year at a new school- the school where you attended. But the difference that set him apart from the typical cliché's of the prevalent students you never seemed to relate to, was that he talked to absolutely everybody and anybody- no judgment on what group the person took part in, his kindness won the hearts of many other than the evident attraction of his physical features. He didn't care who you were or what you were into, he would be your friend, and that, considering he was viewed on a higher level, made him even more special.

Despite never admitting it then, you had a crush on him. He was more of an acquaintance, but you enjoyed his company when he came around, and when a past friend, who is now married with a few kids, used to have a crush on the same person, your heart sank, because with every guy thinking she was hot, you felt as though you would never stand a chance. Especially not with this guy who made your hands jittery and the beat in your chest skip- the guy who is none other than Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung would frequent the chorus room at times when you and your past friend would practice music pieces and he always was fond of your singing voice- something he praised you for often, while his attention was received from his talent regarding sports. Something he was so good at that it was spread that he may have gained quite the scholarship for college if he decided to go. There were memories of bravery where you seized the day just to steal a conversation and a hug; at one time, scribbling the words 'hot af' with an arrow pointing where he signed your friend, Min Yoongi's, yearbook; Yoongi playing it off as though he had no idea who the culprit was when Taehyung asked who wrote it. Utter surprise can't even fathom when you along with Taehyung were voted 'Most Likely to be Famous' by your graduating class when senior year was conquered. The inside joke was for you to hold the basketball while he placed his hands upon the keys of a piano, the picture you still couldn't process happened, but always remained grateful for.

Six years flew by and the conversation never necessarily held, but there were the rare messages from social media where he'd reach out hoping all had been well with you. Interestingly enough, a cover you posted harmonizing with a fellow singer happened to be his absolute favorite, one of the few Instagram posts he'd commented on, and one of the few singing videos he continuously would listen to repeatedly without your knowledge until a few weeks ago when he revealed that to you. A cover that is now near to be a four-year-old video that he still finds uplifting when he hears you and the way your voice blended so well with the other female. Your mind is reeling because after all this time, and even now, there are remains of the aftershock, trying to forget the feel of him, when there's no way you can, not with everything so fresh on your mind. So fresh on your heart.

It all occurred when Yoongi, who kept in touch with you occasionally after graduation brought you up to Taehyung who happened to think of you earlier when listening to his favorite cover of yours, and he agreed he'd like to hang out. He asked if his friend, Hoseok could join you, Monica, and Yoongi which of course you said yes to learn how sweet you found it, that he had traveled within the span of a day after visiting his grandparents, because he is a man of his word, planned to come see you even though the drive was five hours out of his way. The night was filled with so much laughter mixed with serious conversations to the point the card game that was supposed to be played was never finished, and it sprung the desire of wanting to see Taehyung again, and you couldn't come to terms with never knowing so after some encouragement from Monnie and Yoongi, you messaged T to hang out a few days later, but never opened his reply until you were safely home from work.

Taehyung: Gotcha! Hmmm, I haven't decided on what I intend on doing. Either being with family or hanging out with friends. If I don't hang out with family, you could be my plus 1 or bring whomever or vice versa

[Y/N]: Sorry I just got home from work! I'll definitely be your plus 1 if hanging with family doesn't work out! Sounds like a plan!

He asked if you wanted anything from the store when it was confirmed he was on his way which you responded with your typical answer of no, and with music playing from your Bluetooth speaker, you were highly humiliated when you lost track of four minutes of time, opening a message from him to see that he had been there, at your door. Heart racing you rushed to unlock it, head spinning when you saw he leaned against the stair railing with a plastic bag of two Arbor Mist wine bottles dangling from his hand, him promising everything was fine despite your profuse apologies- him slipping his phone in his back pocket while he followed you into your home.

Monnie happened to be staying the night with her family, so it would be just the two of you tonight, besides your dog who bounced at his legs while he reached down to pet her fluffy head. Taking in the sight of him, now that was something you found hard to believe. Just a simple pair of jeans, a gray t-shirt with a black jacket complementing the dark tendrils of hair spread across his forehead leading to the carefully sculpted lining of his jaw nearly brought you to your knees, but you held it together long enough to settle across from him at your dining room table. He had taken off his shoes at the door remembering upon a few days prior, and he set out the wine while you jumped to retrieve wine glasses (Yoongi happened to purchase for you) while banter still related to greetings.

One thing that truly intrigued you when first seeing Taehyung after six years were words, he had said that touched your heart more than you'd like to profess. "That's why I try to enjoy every moment with people because you never know what day will be your last," and you knew right then, that if there was anyone you wanted to share a moment with, it was him, and there he was, right before you, smiling about something you said while the sound of the fruity liquid-filled each glass.

"I really truly do not understand what you are so afraid of. What do you even have to lose?" Monnie tinkered with the lens to her camera while she sauntered through the living room. Exasperated from anxiety, you sucked in your lips before teasingly throwing her the side-eye.

"My dignity,"

"Oh c'mon," she paused, lifting a brow. You had been talking nonstop on how bad you wanted to invite Taehyung over, but fear of rejection including the fear of humiliation seemed to overwhelm you, although deep down you knew your best friend in the entire world was correct. You did not nor do you have anything to lose.

"Well!" You squawked, raising your palms dramatically in the air before slapping them to the sides of your thighs, "Why the hell would Kim Taehyung ever want to hang out with me anyway? Do you not see how farfetched this all is?"

"Bold of you to assume that my life isn't already farfetched enough as it is-"

"Not! The point!"

Monnie sighed, and when she saw the way your shoulders slumped in disappointment that shouldn't have been an issue, to begin with, she stepped closer, placing her hand on your shoulder, "First off, you are overthinking this, and you shouldn't. Besides, I think after hanging out as a group, he only sees you as a friend, meaning no expectations. So, go into it with that mindset okay? I'm sure he'd love to hang out with you. Secondly," she smiled, her serene expression filled with promises she always kept, "You've waited six years for this. I think you should ask him to hang out."

"You really think so?" Your grin reached your hopeful eyes, and the feeling in your chest seemed to react more positively despite your earlier turmoil.

"Yeah. The dude owes us a chair anyways,"

"Ah!" You cackled, back pressed against the dining room table as you remembered literally a few days ago when Taehyung accidentally broke a spindle of the chair in half with his foot when Yoongi scared him just by suddenly walking down the hallway. "I don't think I've ever seen a man so embarrassed."

"I'm not saying to hold it over his head, but," Monnie held up her index finger, "I think that gives him enough reason to come back," she giggled, setting her camera on the dining room table before waltzing into the kitchen.

You shrugged, "At least we can still sit on it."

"Look at it, it's staring at me," Taehyung pointed swiftly at where the vacant spindle would have been, your laughter reverberated throughout the space.

"T, really, you do not owe us new chairs. I promise, it's fine," you reassured him, realizing your cheeks were sore from how much you'd been smiling since he entered your 'realm of refuge' as you liked to describe your apartment. He snapped a picture of it, probably with the intention of getting a new chair for you and Monica regardless, and you found that appreciative although you would be happy if he didn't.

Shit. You pause from the computer screen, leaning back into your chair before folding your arms tight across your chest. Eyeballing the cursor, your vision narrows as it blinks, waiting for you to add more words to the memory that seems to spin in a cycle with the subtle goal of not stopping. Or, so you figure. If recalling every little detail isn't already hard enough, reliving the reminiscence of his fingers twirling in your hair, his sweet laugh when he looked at you, or the way he held you so tight-

But, everything in between, leading up to those mesmerizing flashes are just as important to you as what it led to. Maybe it was the conversation- the three hours of conversation before the move to the sofa which it was hard to fully focus on what else was being said because how could you properly concentrate when the one person, you'd been so worried about spending time with was seriously conversing with you like the pair of you had been friends your whole lives?

Miraculously, you were able to gather the stories of past vacations that resulted in mild disappointment revolving around the complaints of people surrounding him, or the goal of visiting as many places as possible leading Taehyung to scribble down a list of where he'd been to reveal you both have equally been to the same amount of places. Of course, the thrill of going on a mini adventure with him brought an excitement you haven't felt in a while; even the story of why he was transferred to your high school years ago due to a misunderstanding, and when the pair of you made your way to the couch, he nestled into one corner while you gladly took the other, wishing you could snuggle closer but fear prevented you from doing so.

It seemed as though that he didn't want to watch the movie anyhow, because he talked to you as though he never wanted to stop, and eventually it led to you asking one too many times if he was okay with spending the rest of the night with you. "It's up to you, I'll stay if you want me too," he promised, the way your heart fluttered when you replied, "Yes, can you please stay? I don't want you to go."

"Alright, alright! I'll stay," he smiled widely, both of his large hands reaching out, and there was not one ounce of hesitation from you- your hands grasped his before your dog jumped to beg for attention, trying to lick at his face causing your hands to undo. Laughter was contagious with Taehyung, and still cuddled into the corner of the couch, you were so elated that he was going to stay, you reached to hug him, his arms wrapping around you, the feel of your bodies aligning putting the biggest smile on your face. It was crazy how everything was seeming to fall into place- the stars aligning as though it was all magic; and, you couldn't get past how right everything felt. How right he felt. Pulling away, his smile never left him, "Are you shy?" His arm remained draped around your shoulders, and timidly you peer at his surprised gape, his black hair almost covered his crescent eyes.

"I mean... Yeah, I can be," you murmured, reaching to hug him again, but something washed over you this time, a thought that had crossed your mind repeatedly that you just couldn't take it anymore. The side of his face was blurred, placing your palm upon his cheek, and without even a moment of doubt, you kissed him. A sudden decision, but one of the best ones you could have made.

His lips were so soft, the way his mouth just seemed to mold with yours for only a few mere seconds, and the shock on his face when you pulled away, paired with the realization that his hands were held in the air, you hadn't expected his reaction. Shit! You cursed inwardly, immediately jumping back to persistently make sure he was okay; even when he moved to cuddle with you, him claiming everything was fine, but that he couldn't believe you kissed him being the both of you never once saw this coming especially six years ago during the high school days. His hand was fidgety as he swiftly rubbed your shoulder, your head buried on his chest while your mind spun in a continuous loop of how you could not believe that you kissed Taehyung. The Kim Taehyung.

He became quiet- too quiet, concern etched in your expression, maneuvering yourself back to the opposite corner of the couch, so you could face him. "T, are you sure you're okay? Did I freak you out?"

"No, no, I just can't believe you kissed me," he was in awe, eyes dazed as he ran his slim fingers through his hair, "Like, really I never saw this coming,"

"I mean, have you looked in the mirror?" You teased, knowing damn well he'd been aware of you finding him attractive, and he shook his head in dismissal of your compliment as he chuckled; it took you a whole sixty seconds to realize you were holding his hand, fingers linked, and him asking if you were nervous due to your clammy palm, though you tried to swear up and down you were not, the next round of words he said nearly brought you to tears when he finally spoke.

"You shouldn't sell yourself short," he looked you in the eyes without any faltering, although you tilted your head in mild confusion as to why he was saying this, to begin with, "I don't think you realize how much of an impact you've made on others, especially guys," ah, he was letting you down easy, and you knew it, but you're too stunned to speak as you listened, "I don't think you give yourself enough credit either. You're a great singer, you're pretty much a musician, you love animals, you have a job, you live on your own. Really, you shouldn't sell yourself short-"

"T," you breathed, pleading almost, but trying not to make it obvious, but he never broke eye contact, "We don't have to date or anything, I just- I just wanted a moment with you." You mentioned what inspired you to spend time with him- exposing how a few nights ago when he said he wanted to enjoy every moment with people- you knew you wanted to have a moment with him, too. Memories from high school were spoken momentarily, thirty minutes passing by which included a made-up handshake as well as the subtle twirl of his fingers in your hair- him complimenting how good your hair looked which made you blush even more.

Just when you thought he wasn't already smooth enough, you noticed Taehyung started teasing your dog, her pouncing at his chest before he'd lean in closer to you. Eyebrows scrunching, it took you a hot second to realize what he was doing. Each time Taehyung would scoot closer to you, he'd kiss you, sending the pair of you in boisterous laughter when your dog would try to break the kisses by jumping in between your faces. The more your lips would touch, it'd last a bit longer and longer, your hand clinging to the side of his jacket to pull him closer when things really started moving fast, eventually your dog left the room with the hint that attention was no longer available for her.

Still lip-locked, Taheyung's hands gripped your hips while you willingly moved to straddle him, arms resting on the top of the couch on either side of his head, the tip of your tongue glided along his, while he fanned his hands along your ass. You refrained from moaning into his kiss despite how bad you wanted to, yet you held yourself together, involuntarily grinding your clothed heat where his erection was felt. T smacked your ass before slithering the tips of his fingers to your shirt, slowly unbuttoning one by one.... One by one. His eyes were hazed from how much he was craving your mouth, and with a seductive nod in his direction, he continued until he made it to the final goal, your kisses never planning to stop, the sides of your shirt being brushed away for him to take in the sight of you.

"Ooh my God," his eyes darkened in evident lust when he saw the way your black bra cupped your breasts, "Oh my God," his voice deepened, him hardly knowing what to do with himself while your smirk remained subtlety on your mouth. Though you hadn't needed him to ask, he politely waited for your permission to touch your chest, a quick pang of frilly nerves ghosted your stomach.

"Yeah," you breathed seductively, gradually moving to capture his lips, trying to hold back a giggle when he gently moved his hands to your back, "You're not going to find it there," you mused, referring to the clip. He paused as if panicked, "It's in the front," you finally admitted, but failing miserably, Taehyung let you take initiative, you unclipped your bra uncovering what is now widening his brown eyes. "Oh my God!" His reaction made you want to cum right then and there, especially when his fingers made their way to squeeze your nipples when his mouth returned to yours. Taehyung worshiped your breasts, and for some odd, yet arousing reason, you lived for it.

You're uncertain of when the tv was switched off, and even now, as your hands continue to fly across the keyboard, one thing you do recall, one of the lingering memories of the evening was your shirt being off, thrown onto the floor mingled with your bra, and without any warning, Taehyung hoisted you in the air, your legs instinctively wrapped around his torso while he tightened his hold around your body. His steps were painfully careful, kissing you roughly while your arms kept their place behind his neck, and the direction was being taken to your bedroom where your heart pounded so anxiously to be. His jacket was shed before the bold act, and all that was left was his gray t-shirt and jeans. Laying you down with a bounce from your mattress, he remained above you, and your eyes refused to stray especially when he reached to remove his shirt- his smooth skin greeting yours sending waves of goosebumps spreading among your limbs.

There was no one like him in your eyes, and there never would be. Not in your heart. And with how perfect everything was going; you were not prepared for how hard it was going to be to stop before things went too far. Because what if he doesn't exactly feel the same? He was letting you down easy not even an hour ago, and here you were, hopes so high, you weren't sure how you were going to erase them back down. He kissed you until you couldn't breathe, your fingers dug into your comforter, while his palms glided all over your frame for however long you let him, but when he went to remove your leggings, you halted him.

Now, this is where your heart aches when you relive this part, because a conversation was held, one where you mentioned what if someone catches feelings if the both of you decided to solely be just friends with benefits? Taehyung said all you had to do was communicate with him because he was easy to get along with, and you've known this about him for six years. He was always someone easy to talk to, and you knew he would never treat you poorly over a situation like this. And, he hadn't. You made the executive decision to not sleep with him for you wanted him to remember you as the woman you are, and the woman, you've always been, and with the fear of going all the way being something that could change his image of you, you were satisfied to hear the loud echoes of his snoring after you changed into pajamas, gazing at his sleeping demeanor before you drifted into slumber as well.

When the morning came, you were not ready for him to leave, but he asked if you would walk him out, him throwing on his shirt and jacket while you rushed to brush your teeth. T asked if you had any other plans for the rest of the day which you proceeded to answer honestly with a no, as he mentioned that he was going to get breakfast.

"Let me know when you make it home," you said tenderly, "I want to know you're safe,"

"I will," he promised before you embraced him, turning just enough to place a peck to his cheek. It was his smile that decided to enter your recollection- the boxy smile that would plague you until the day you accept that you will never forget it.

And when you opened the door to the apartment where he gracefully waltzed through, you merely caught a glimpse of him leaving, ahead of you quietly shutting the door to whatever could have been.

Or, what could have started a beautiful story that has yet to unfold.

[angelguk]

dynamite!jaykay at the record store falling in love with a pretty girl (yes that’s you). if the song lyrics in this r wack that’s my fault. yoongi is yoongi. 1k words listen to the louvre by lorde

It was by sheer serendipity that he even saw you; a fluke in all honesty. Jeongguk’s eyes never wandered beyond the rows of records bordering the shelves in Yoongi’s store. He usually came in with a purpose, the records he intended to purchase listed methodically in his head. His feet only paused to linger in the backroom where Yoongi stashed the ‘good stuff’ — a myriad of rare vinyls, cherished cassettes and CDs that cost more than his entire life, as Yoongi liked to tell him —  but never for long. Just to see, experience being in the same room as them.  His older friend didn’t appreciate his hands grazing the collection. So Jeongguk kept his curious fingers stowed away in the pockets of his baggy jeans as Yoongi raved about his new find, brown eyes bright with delight. Eventually, Jeongguk meandered over to the counter, the records he’d selected tucked in his grasp as he haggled Yoongi for a discount.

(He never got one. Not even on his birthday).

But today is different. From the moment he stepped into the store, the low hum of the fan buzzing in the air, Jeongguk felt it. He’s not searching for anything in specific, gaze idle as he wanders through the lanes of records, fingertips skipping the sheath-like plastic hugging them. His headphones are on as well, ears cushioned as they drowned under the smooth sound of Lila Mac’s silvery voice seeping from the speakers. It’s a new single, a soft little love song that has wormed its way into his head. He’d caught himself singing the lyrics out loud more than once, voice timid and untested, unlike the surety of Lila’s. Perhaps he should practise, upload a cover online for the hell of it. Yoongi had suggested it the first time he'd heard Jeongguk sing. But Jeongguk always felt like something was missing in his voice. You don't just have to sound nice, your voice had to make others feel things too; he could never replicate the tender sentiment coating Lila's voice. It's rather difficult to sing about something you’ve never really felt. That something in question being love.

“Yah! Jeongguk!”

The song in his ears drifts to a pause, headphones dropping to rest on his shoulders. The last line lingers, a faint wandering melody.

this could be easy

if i let it all go

promise you'll see me

even what i can't let you know

but im afraid

im afraid

im afraid

i'll make you my home

“Jeongguk! Do me a favour, yeah?” Yoongi yells again, impatient as he always is. Jeongguk twists, unsuspecting of what awaits him, ready to yell back that if Yoongi wants him to work, he might as well hire him. But that thought evaporates as fast as it formed into existence.  It punches him square in the heart, knees nothing but mush the moment your eyes lock. Yoongi’s beside you, wearing the beat-up Pink Floyd shirt Jeongguk knows has a hole in the armpit, his elbows propped on the battered wooden counter. There’s a band sweeping his dark hair out of his face, fierce eyebrows on display as his gaze settles on Jeongguk, a command already falling from the tip of his rosebud lips, unaware of the inner turmoil wrecking through his friend. “Run to the back and get the Aaliyah vinyl you see on the boxes for me. Make it quick too.”

Jeongguk nods, tongue tying itself into knots in his throat. It gets immeasurable worse when you smile at him, a dainty little thing, your eyes luring him to the edge of a cliff he wasn’t aware he was standing at until a moment ago. He doesn’t know how his legs move, pumping forward even though his vision is swimming with shock. He keeps you in his peripheral, taking in your lax choice in fashion; baggy jeans like him, beat-up sneakers and a tote bag with a multitude of colourful pins stabbed into it. A sudden part of him longs to know what they mean to you. Or whether you simply like them because they’re pretty. But he forces himself forward, picking up on the pleasant tone of your voice as you turn to chat to Yoongi, words too low to make out thanks to the bungled ceiling fan whirring in the air.

(He told Yoongi he should hire someone to properly fix it. Yoongi said no).

He finds the record exactly where he's told it is, grip delicate as he brings to you. A special order, Yoongi states as he rings up your total, the two of you murmuring together. Jeongguk drifts aside, exiled from your relationship, feeling unsure of the bones in his body, his stance, his presence. He yearns to move forward, lean in to your space, ask for your name, maybe learn the feeling of your hand in his. He doesn’t know who you are; he knows all the regulars by now and he would never forget a face like yours. He tries not to stare, plucking through a stack by the register so he wouldn’t appear odd. You probably already think that of him, considering the way he choked on his words when you took the record from his hands, tone amiable as you thanked him. His heart thumped so hard he was sure the both of you heard it, shattering his rib cage with every wild hard beat.

It’s with the mellifluous tinkling of the entrance bell that he watches you leave, mind plastered with every image of you he’d committed to memory. He feels weird for thinking about you like that, his heart stuck on a pretty face with no name. But he can’t help it. There’s a clamminess in his palms as he rocks against the counter-top, blatantly ignoring the aggravated glare Yoongi shoots his direction. He’s too busy mustering up the courage to ask, tongue dry and heavy in his mouth. But his heart wants too much to allow him to wait, pushing past his discordant emotions.

“Hyung, who was that?”

[whump-town]

In His Eyes

Warning: abuse, mental health, lots of talk about food and starvation, hospital, suicide attempt, suicidal ideations, cutting, and self-harm, cursing, and it’s just very dark

Listen, this might be a little much. The themes are dark and it’s far from a happy story

Main Characters Are Aaron Hotchner, Jessica Brooks, and Haley Hotchner

Probably OOC but I don’t care

His pulse is slow against her fingers but there. She calls 911, sobbing. Choking around the weight of his name on her tongue. Will they let her back this time? To hold his hand? He gets nightmares. He won’t like being alone. “He’s--He’s twenty-two,” she rasps, brushing his hair from his eyes. “This is his first year of law school.” And he’s so fucking smart. She needs them to know that. He’s kind. Always remembers her favorite foods and makes her laugh. He’s just a kid. They’re just kids and he’s the only person she’s ever loved. So, they have to help. Please, God, just help.

Final warning for themes of abuse, mental health, food, starvation, hospitals, suicide attempts, suicidal ideations, cutting, and self-harm

Word count: 9,137

For as long as Jessica Brookes has known her brother, he’s had the thin scars marring the pale, milky flesh of his arms. The first time she’d seen them, she was sixteen too old to play stupid but too afraid to call them what they were. At the time, he hadn’t been her brother. In fact, to the world, he had been no one at all. A ghost that walked the halls of their high school with his pained, sluggish movements and seemingly unseeing eyes. Sweaters dripping down his skinny frame and jeans that were made to fit someone nearly double his size. But, for what little credit it’s worth, no one had ever said a thing about him. He was no one. Nothing.

Haley had seen past all of that. Of course, she had. Haley had never loved anything whole. She drank from cracked plastic straws for fear of what would happen should she leave them behind. Thrown out, that’s what. The world has no use for a straw that can not do it’s one feasible job. Not to Haley, though. Their father used to call her Saint Haley, the patron saint of the discarded. And naturally, Haley clung to the idea of Saint Jude. Another lost soul, seemingly just like her, out there to collect others. A reminder that even the lost aren’t alone and that they may not be as lost as they think. And so how could any of them be surprised when Haley, who hung the moon and stairs, brought home her own lost being? Stumbling in clothes too large for his lithe frame and stinking of booze and cigarettes.

Aaron Hotchner has no place in their home. Jessica had been unwavering in this. Look at him. A semester ago, he’d been kicked off the track team for pot. He can’t even go out and get drunk with everyone else. He smokes cheap cigarettes out behind the Miller’s barn and, thought no one could prove it, they all blamed him for the dead birds and cat half-buried in the woods by the school. How could it not be him? With those large, trembling hands and his inability to stay away from trouble. How many fights had he been in this year? How many times had Jessica come from one of her classes to find the student body surrounding his bowed back as he sat over the hips of another boy, mercilessly beating him? So, how could that dirty boy be worth her sister? If she’d asked him, he’d answer her with the same thought Jessica knew better than to speak around Haley. He doesn’t.

So, how could any of this add up? Aaron Hotchner like a straw bent with damage has good in him too. Jessica had never seen the other boys. The way they pick and preen at him. Smacking his head and kicking at his ankles. Calling names at his back. The teachers never do a damn thing and why should they? He’s not the smartest kid in their classes. He sits in the back. Turns in mediocre work. He doesn’t get encouragement. “I know you’re capable of more than this, Aaron.” No, he gets sighs and shaking heads. So, when he takes action. Thrown to the end of his line, he is the bad guy. Because Aaron Hotchner is just the kid no one likes. His father’s name is the only thing keeping him from getting expelled. No one ever cares to see how he flinches from his father’s touch or the pain in his eyes when new bruises form across his body. Because they don’t care. But Haley. Haley cared and her love had been her one and only rebellion.

Jessica had been the sort to fall for the beauty of rebellion, not Haley. Her first boyfriend had been a biker, a senior who would break her heart. Rolling with anger at her father’s words, that she might be too young to know anything about love, had fallen head over heels for a girl in her biology class. And while she hadn’t given a thing to her senior ex-boyfriend of three months, she gave everything to that girl. Sarah Halls with her bright brown eyes and soft blonde hair. Which had effectively taken much of the heat off of Haley and Aaron. While that had not been the intended outcome, Jessica hadn’t minded taking it for his little sister. She’d found it entirely worth it when Sarah broke up with her a year and a half later. Which, to a heartbroken sixteen-year-old, had been everything. Years and years to which she could never get back. So she did what broken people do and spiraled into every self-destructive tendency she could think, that she could buy.

And Aaron had found her. Sweet Aaron with those thoughtless brown eyes and haggard discoloration over his exhausted face. She had slapped him when he first attempted to collect her. Sloppy drunk, high, and convinced that the world should just end right here. This misery she felt unmoving and forever. Despite what could be assumed about his body beneath those oversized sweaters, old and worn year-round, he is strong. While she kicked, crying, and distraught, he had lifted her into his arms and taken her. One arm under her legs and the other braced against her back. Not so much as a blink, not a frown, or scowl of pain. He had simply looked to Haley, waiting for her to direct him. Slowly, shocked by both of them, Haley had opened the car door and allowed Aaron to place Jessica in.

She’d never forget that night. The way he’d crouched on the floor in front of her bed and wiped her make-up away while Haley held her. His eyes, she discovered, were not unseeing. Darkened with his focus, she could see every thought cross through his mind. The kind, gentle strokes of the rag in his hand over her nose and across her lips. Loving.

“Aaron?”

He had startled as if expecting her to be past the point of cohesiveness. She knew, later, he hadn’t even known that she knew his name. What had she called him in the months since Haley brought him home? Had she ever really looked at him? Allowed herself to even think about learning to love him with even a fraction of the devotion Haley has? Now, those eyes darting between hers, he hums. As he often does.

Gently, slowly (with the same apprehension she’d watched Haley show each time she reached for him) Jessica places her clammy palm to his cheek. He stiffens beneath her fingertips but doesn’t avert his gaze or move to pull away. “Thank you,” she whispers, dragging her fingers against his cheeks. Here, she can see more than she needs to. The deep scar on his cheek and another that runs with his jaw. How each movement of the rag moves the sleeves on his shirt just enough to allow her a hint of what lies beneath. The skin of his wrist raised. Scarred.

She looks back at his face. Haley and Aaron may only be slightly younger than her but they seem like babies here. Now. “I’ll still kill you if you hurt my baby sister,” she whispers, closing her eyes with a smile. She hears his soft puffing laughter as if a hand in his chest squeezes his lungs tightly to stop any real noise. And she realizes she’s never heard him laugh. Real, deep, unhinged. Haley squeezes her stomach and she’s pulled back to them.

When Haley is sixteen and Aaron seventeen (Jessica nineteen and struggling through the second and last year of college), his father dies. Mopping up her tears with a coffee-stained napkin, Jessica’s attention had quickly been turned upside down. How could she waste her worries on Sociology when all she can see is Aaron's skinny little wrists and the scars on his face. The bruises up and down his back. Skeletal, sweet Aaron. She returns home as quickly as she can. Though she out-right refuses it the first time, her best friend gives her money for the bus fare. Her father could not spare her the money. She’s only in college because of a scholarship, they just have the money to spare. No matter how many times Haley called, voice thick with tears, and promising things were okay there at home could Jessica stand to believe her. So she took the money.

She arrived back to their silent quaint town on Tuesday to find Aaron had been in the hospital since Saturday. Refusing to eat or move. Restrained like an animal. She might have thrown a fit. Maybe she should have. The nurses stand at the doors of the intensive care unit and inform her that the floor has strict rules. That Haley can not come back. They don’t allow minors onto the floor but had they not broken that very rule allowing Aaron in? So, why not let the rules slip one more time? For Haley, for Aaron, unless they really want to watch that boy die. Is that what they want? And still, they declined her. Sensing the end of the nurse’s patience Jessica had pulled herself together and succumbed. Fine, yes, she’ll go back. Just her.

And there he is. Sweet Aaron. With those eyes and the bruises. The hospital gown leaves nothing to the imagination. She’s nineteen and he’s seventeen. Children. Too young for the pain of life and the coil of death. It isn’t until this moment that she realizes she loves him. There had been a time when she thought it was even crazy that she might love Haley. So, she’d been startled and hesitant with the idea of being inclined to love Haley’s future spouse. And it would not matter if Haley and Aaron broke-up today, she would still love him. As she suspects Haley would too. Because Aaron is a fighter and there’s something about him that just draws you in. Perhaps it’s the surprise he exhibits when you’re kind to him. Taken aback by gentleness and love. Never understanding how you might have come to love his thoughtfulness. Him.

“What are you doing?” The room is silent. There is no need for a heart monitor, just the IV fluids snaking into the back of his hand. Her father had told her about the doctor’s threatening an NG tube which, at seventeen, he doesn’t have the legal authority to deny. So, if this tirade of his goes on he’ll have to suffer through the procedure. But she knows not to waste her time on a speech about his actions and their consequences. Aaron isn’t stupid.

The moons of distress under his dark eyes look daunting on his handsome face. He’d grown into his body while she was away and it had made her proud to see. Her mother’s apple pies had done wonders for him. Having a steady place to come home to, even if it’s the couch in their living room, had transformed him. Now, he takes a moment to understand her. All the weight he’d put on melted right back off. “I’m tired,” he answers. It requires a breath that pulls his shoulders to his ears. His thin, pale lips parting.

She wants to scream at him. Of course, you’re tired! When was the last time you ate? The last night you slept through? But she looks back at those eyes, little mirrors filled with tears, and she leans down and kisses his forehead. It requires no thought, no hesitation to pull him to her. To wrap her arms around him. He pushes his head against her chest, face pressed into her sweater. “I’m sorry,” he whispers thickly. And with her eyes closed, she apologies too. For not coming back sooner. For not being here when they needed her.

“I know,” she answers, running her fingers through the back of his hair. He sleeps and she stays right there. He wakes a few times. Mouth too dry to speak but those dark eyes are always seeing. Always taking in every bit of information he can. She doesn’t leave. Sometimes she’s reading from textbooks. Stalking around the end of his bed with a phone in her hand, angrily speaking to whoever it is on the other end of the line. He looks up and finds her sleeping a lot. Her long legs pulled onto the chair with her and he wished he could move. Find the strength to wake her and move her to the bed.

His mother never comes. Sean calls but it’s bitter and Jessica can see how upset Aaron is getting so she hastens it’s end. Those calls stop coming when Jessica can properly defend that they only make him worse. Proof that getting better isn’t linear even though she wishes for it to be. She just wants Monday when he eats a snack and laughs at her silly joke for Wednesday to come and him still to be light. Not wrapped like a tight coil, arms around his stomach and crying in pain. But health isn’t linear and Aaron has never done anything the easy way.

Three months. For three months after his father’s death, Aaron sits in that hospital. He spends a month in the ICU and two more in general. Seeing Haley both helps and impedes. Jessica finds herself parenting the both of them. Leading Haley to show her when Aaron needs them to step in versus when it’s just best to leave him to his own devices. Because it looks cruel but he needs the silence. Slowly, he finds his feet once again but he’s fallen behind in school and if he wants to graduate on time he’ll have to spend all summer making it up.

But that wasn’t the problem with Virginia summer’s.

“Aren’t you hot?”

Wearing his signature long sleeve, Aaron goes without comment to help Roy dig the ponds up. He hasn’t spoken since being released but he didn’t speak too much before. It’s hardly noticeable to anyone but Jessica and Haley but they both have their own problems to attend to. Jessica is once again taking their heat with her larger news: she’s dropping out of college. So, Aaron’s silence has taken the back burner.

Looking down at his clothed arms, Aaron shakes his head. Continues digging.

Jessica looks up from the porch, waiting for the moment she needs to step in. Legs outstretched on the wooden swing, Jessica looks at the words on her book but takes nothing in. She’s pretending to read. Her father pushes Aaron some more. Offering a tank top or even just a white t-shirt.

“It’s too hot for all that nonsense,” Roy comments, motioning to Aaron’s worn sweater.

Before Aaron can even start doing his rapid, panicked blinking Jessica clears her throat from the porch. “Stop patronizing him, dad.”

Roy huffs but lays off.

For that exact moment, she’s the hero but she’s just a coward. Too afraid to allow the conversation on. Perhaps she should have let her father push him a little more. Make Aaron realize what he’s doing to himself. What he’s doing to all of them. Things aren’t what they used to be. He’s not alone. Can’t he see that?

No. He can’t see that. What he sees is a family he’s not a part of. Painfully reminded around every twist and turn just how alone he is. On Christmas the traditions of theirs that he stumbles over. He’s never decorated a Christmas tree or baked an apple pie. Haley does it without blinking, smiling to encourage him along but he just doesn’t know.

They change. He graduates on time and a year later she does too. With Jessica right there, always encouraging, and positive they both go to college. Haley falls for the science of psychology and Aaron falls head over heels for political science.  

For four years its as if that boy never existed. He gets a second wind. A new chance.

But the damage is there and habits are so hard to beat.

Haley comes home early from class. Tuesdays usually mean her days don’t end until nearly seven at night. She’s got study hall and a sophomore that she tutors in Chemistry. Today, the kid had canceled their appointment, and the snow forced her home. Coming in, she’d been excited to find his coat already on the rack. Eagerly she’d torn through their tiny apartment to find him. He wasn’t in the kitchen, despite that being his favorite room in the house. He seems to always be making something, perpetually hungry. The living room had his things, briefcase open, and papers a mess. He can’t seem to think in clean rooms, always has to dirty them up. Their room was barren, not even his half of the bed disturbed. Leaving the bathroom.

Knocking against the solid door, she eases the doorknob open when he doesn’t call out. “Aaron?” Something deep had ached in her chest when she saw the living room. The papers wrong or maybe his shoes discarded almost looking tripped over? Desperate. The apartment felt desolate, cold. Stepping in her breath catches in a gasp, “Aaron!” Sinking to her knees beside the tub, she pulls him up. Moving his face from where he’s so dangerously allowed it to sink into the warmth of the water. Clutched in his hand, submerged beneath the water, a single bottle of Advil.

He’d bought it only two weeks ago. She’d been there, right beside him. Budgeting has been hard and she could see the apprehension in his face when they’d stopped near the aisle. She had mistaken it for fear that they didn’t have the money to waste on something like Advil and now she can’t help but wonder if he’d wondered something else. Would Advil be painless? How fast would it be? But she’d taken his hand and squeezed it, reassuring him a bottle of Advil would be okay. He was getting headaches, bad ones. She assumed he was just too worried to admit he needed them. She hadn’t thought he was suicidal but when has she ever been able to hear the thoughts racing through his mind?

“Aaron,” she runs her knuckles across his sternum. No. No, she hadn’t thought he was suicidal but had she ever really thought he was okay? Don’t be stupid, she’d think, as she sat in the library late at night. Reading books, consuming every bit of knowledge she could obtain without ever admitting to herself that maybe, just maybe the man she’s loved since she was fifteen might be suicidal. Not Aaron who lights up rooms and loves picnics and, on more than one occasion, has woken up to climb onto the roof and watch the sunrise. But maybe he’s not in love with life enough to want to stay here. “Aaron,” she calls, her clothes as soaked as his. “Wake up, baby.”

His pulse is slow against her fingers but there. She calls 911, sobbing. Choking around the weight of his name on her tongue. Will they let her back this time? To hold his hand? He gets nightmares. He won’t like being alone. “He’s--He’s twenty-two,” she rasps, brushing his hair from his eyes. “This is his first year of law school.” And he’s so fucking smart. She needs them to know that. He’s kind. Always remembers her favorite foods and makes her laugh. He’s just a kid. They’re just kids and he’s the only person she’s ever loved. So, they have to help. Please, God, just help.

At the hospital, they give him so much medicine that she can’t even think straight. The whites of his eyes all she can see as a nurse guides Haley through what they’re doing. “It’s a seizure,” the nurse says, unwavering as she watches Aaron’s body jerk and shake. Everyone works around him but no one touches him. Simply moves things away from where he might hit them. “Tell me about him.” She puts herself between Haley and Aaron, averting Haley’s gaze so she doesn’t have to watch the staff move him. Hurt him.

Haley struggles to come up with a thing. “When we were seventeen he--he stopped eating,” Haley manages. Maybe, that will help? “He was hospitalized. He almost died.” Suddenly, all Haley wants is Jessica. Her sister to pull them out of this mess like she always does. Protecting them.

The nurse shakes her head. “No,” she clarifies. “No, tell me about him.”

About Aaron. “He loves blueberry pancakes,” she chokes, an inappropriate laugh forcing its way up. “Really loves them.” She smiles and the nurse nods, smiling too. It’s easier to think of him like this. The boy who used to climb up a tree outside her dorm to wave at her from her window. “He will make himself sick eating them.” His childhood had been so bleak, so bland. He’d known only oatmeal as a breakfast food. The first time her mother made them, he’d eaten so many he had been sick and she’d sat right by his side rubbing his back. “Still,” she adds with a shake of her head. “To this day, twenty years old and he still makes himself sick eating blueberry pancakes. Like--” she starts to cry. “Like he’s afraid you’ll take them away.”

Standing in that emergency room, Haley wonders how much of what she knows about Aaron is true.

“Has he tried to do this before?”

He wants to be a lawyer. A better man than his father putting away the bad guys and fixing the system. He’ll never graduate. No one wants a suicidal lawyer. She’s torn between morals. He’s spent the last few years fighting for this and this one silly mistake could unravel it all. Just a silly mistake. “No,” she chokes. “No, he’s not-- he’s not suicidal. He gets migraines.” She looks up from the tiled floor. “He had a migraine. That’s all. He forgot how many he took and I wasn’t there. I should have been there. He was just confused. I told him to take a bath. Really, he was just confused. That’s all.” Haley had never been good at lying.

They leave her, after that, perhaps having realized they won’t get anything from her. The truth will not come from her, not today. She ignores the tired look they give her when she asks for a note to give Aaron’s professors. So that she can get his work or maybe just make sure he’s not being too penalized. And again, as the doctor signs, he asks if Aaron’s ever done anything like this. “This--this accident.” And she knows exactly what he’s doing. Trying to guide her to the right answer. Her answer is solid. No. Never. And she leaves him to go sit with Aaron.

The nurses come in and out. Looking but never saying. They move over his body and he lets them so long as she is there. Within reach and she always is. She finds magazines and books and spends too much of her time convincing herself that if he’d meant it, she would have noticed. That everyone else is wrong. If the signs are there then it’s not that hard to notice! Fuck this cognitivie dissonance. She’s smart. She would see.

Right?

He’s just smoking more because he’s stressed out.

Normal college students struggle to balance a sleep schedule.

Aaron is always withdrawn.

He’s moody because he’s not sleeping.

These signs aren’t meant for him. They mean nothing. And she repeats it again and again until she starts to believe it. The signs don’t mean anything.

Now, she stands with her back to Aaron. Her arms crossed on her chest, finding the courage to dare them to question her. What lie will she conjure for the fresh cuts on his arm? Not even healed. Probably done last night in the bathroom with the kit he taped to the bottom of the sink. With the razors she pretends not to see wrapped in toilet paper. But she’s afraid to say something. They’ve been together for half a decade and he’s only just now started sleeping without a shirt. Only just allowed her to see his body. The cuts and the scars both from his own hand and his father’s.

But they don’t say anything. Perhaps it’s too taboo but no one says anything.

The signs mean nothing. He smokes because he always has. He’s withdrawn because he always has been. Aaron is and always has been these signs. So, he’s fine.

He’s fine.

They get married at the end of the next semester. He’s had months to recover but the body isn’t so quick to forgive. His voice is rough from where they had to intubate him for so long but the therapist all assure them that with time his voice will lose its rasp and he’ll sound like himself again. His classmates poke at him for his “time-off” and he’d prefer they think him a spoiled brat off partying than what he really is. A disaster. One misstep away from trying again.

He never voices this. He doesn’t tell the therapists or Haley.

“I want to apply to the academy.”

Marriage is not even marginally the hardest thing he’s been forced to understand. He knows what he’s doing when he makes Haley his sole beneficiary-- asides from his textbooks which he wants to go to Jessica because she’s still bitter he “wasted” himself with the bitterness of law. But marriage is easy. Giving himself is second nature. He never thinks about the little things she clings to. How he always remembers to put the seat down and cooks dinner or washes the dishes. He’s not normal.

But this sudden change of pace takes her by surprise. “The-- The academy?” At first, she thinks of films and actors and actresses. That sort of academy but bitterly, sickly she remembers how close they are to Quantico. About David Rossi & Jason Gideon, who he met two weeks ago and hasn’t stopped talking about since. There’s a flush to his face, excitement she hasn’t seen in the longest time. And she wants to say yes but she can’t be certain this isn’t some new method he’s found to hurt himself.

He nods, shoveling corn and green beans into his mouth. Happy, she realizes. He’s happy.

“It’ll be in the fall so I’d have a few more months left with the District Attorney.”

No. She wants to say no so badly. The last thing they need is a gun. As if she doesn’t already check the knives over, counting and recounting the razors he uses to shave. Convinced he’ll try again. But she can’t say no because she doesn’t have a good reason. They’re financially stable. She’s working at a school only down the street and joining the academy won’t be taxing. It’ll be a bit of a money cut but he’s not making bank with the DA anyhow. He’s too smart to fail the courses but, as twisted as she knows it is, she thinks he’ll get hung up. He’ll need a physical and have to pass psych evaluations. There’s no way they let him through. 

“Okay,” she decides, returning back to dinner. It kills her to see him smirk and celebrate while she sits certain that they won’t allow him in. There she plans what she will do to protect him of the recoil. Of what will, undoubtedly, occur. A safety net that he can fall into.

But the call comes and the cake she’d been making-- vanilla with rainbow sprinkles and blueberry pancakes cooling by it’s side-- to console him turns into a celebratory one. He’s done it. Training and evals, passed. Made records won awards. She’s got herself one hell of a federal agent.

Jessica comes down, smiling and with a bag in hand. She hates this development nearly as much as Haley but is much better at hiding it. “Look at you,” Jessica mumbles in amazement. She turns him over, fingers finding his hardened muscles through the sleeves of his sweater. Looking for something, anything to clue her in one what’s happening behind his dark eyes but all she sees is happiness and she can’t help but wonder how long that will last. “You were nothing but a scrawny kid and they’ve turned you into a man and a half.”

There it is, that half-strangled puff of laughter. He smiles, dimples, and chin, and whole face. A man, she is reminded, not that fifteen-year-old prone to drinking in the woods and getting knocked down in the halls. He quit smoking that month and Haley did too. For once, he started taking care of himself. Not as if he never had before but suddenly there were just things he did that he had never before.

He stopped cutting. Which had been harder than losing the cigarettes. She only noticed in passing and could never really pride him on the achievement. Never draw attention to it. But she’d see the scabs healing when he wrapped an arm around her bare hips. Eventually, there were no scabs. Only scars.

“I love you,” she reminds him because she’s not sure if this will last.

And his eyes always twinkle just a little when she says it. Pleasantly surprised each time. “I love you too.”

He gets posted in Seattle and as they’re preparing for the move she watches him closely. As it turns out, she’s the one afraid not him. The world seems to open up, right then, for him and selfishly she thinks about everything she’s just left behind. No, she realizes. It’s not selfish. She worries about him, he worries about her. She’s worried about herself and he worries about himself. It’s a balance and no good things come without a little give.

Seattles is okay.

She tutors a young boy with epilepsy that has fallen behind do to a spout of recent hospitalization. He reminds her so feverishly of Aaron that she naturally takes to him. His name is Sam and his hair is blonde and his eyes the same soft brown as Aaron’s. He’s smart and funny one day and sad and silent the next. The last decade she’s spent living at Aaron’s side has made her ambidextrous to this behaviour and she doesn’t blink.

Aaron spends his days folded into case files, not all that different from when they were in Virginia but he’s lighter. They both are. He doesn’t seem even bothered by the rain. Smiling each time he comes in soaked to the bone to chase her around, shaking the rain from his hair onto her.

One night, she rolls over and attaches herself to his back. She’s antsy and he’s an insomniac so she’s not too surprised when he tangles his fingers with hers over his stomach and hums to answer the question she hasn’t asked yet.  Breath ghosting over the back of his neck, she asks, “Do you still want to have kids?”

He chuckles, turning slightly so she can see the silhouette of his nose and lips as he answers her. “Mmm, ten.” Slowly, moving her legs and twisting, he faces her. So that his forehead is against hers and kisses her. “Wanna make one?” he asks teasingly, fingers skimming the skin peaking out from under her shirt. “I hear it’s pretty easy.”

She hits him but deepens the kiss, allowing her hand to slide over his hips and squeeze his butt. It makes her laugh and he just shakes his head. “I want to talk about kids,” she reminds him, breathlessly as his hand snakes up underneath her shirt to cup her bare breast. “Not ten,” she whispers, pulling his head closer as he kisses her neck. “One or two. At least one boy.” He hums and she doesn’t even need to consider if he’s listening or not because he always is. “We could adopt.”

He smiles, placing a hand on both sides of her head, completely overtop her now. She whines a little as he sits up, extracting his body from the tangle of hers. “We could foster even more,” he offers, because he’s thought about it. “Have a few, adopt a few, and be one of those sweet old couples that fosters every kid they can find.”

She squints her eyes at him reaching up and bopping his nose. “You have a savior complex,” she whispers. Which they both know isn’t true. He’s a helper, a watcher. What else would you have him do? He’s never been one to sit by. But she thinks about it. Long after that night and later that night. When she rolled over and he’d fallen asleep in a massive tangle like he always does. This man doesn’t know how to exist without creating a mess. His desk is never neat and he can’t sleep without one half of his body stuck in the sheets.

She considers having a child exactly like him. With his exact brown eyes and those dimples. Adopting one that slowly becomes a part of them. Learning there little habits. A child with hair to dark to be Aarons but too light to be hers that like dancing around the kitchen with her and has that soft, strong way of speaking that Aaron does. Kids. With him.

They aren’t compatible.

She knows she shouldn’t have pushed when the scabs come back. It’s not bad, well… The cuts are small and low in number but she knows they’re there long before she sees them. He starts to sleep in long sleeves again. She sees them when he’s in the shower. Three or four on each arm and he’s been wearing the shirts for a month so it’s not that bad. He’s certain done worse. He’s just got a lot of pressure on him at the moment.

She lets it go.

“I haven’t had my period in a while,” she says over dinner. She told herself to wait for those cuts to heal but they never do.

He chokes on his food. He hasn’t been eating a lot and she thinks he might be smoking again. Which she would point out but she might just be paranoid. Sam got sick last week, had a seizure that she had seen, and she’s a little ashamed to admit she picked it back up to soothe herself. Unsure and unable to tell Aaron about it. How could she? It had nearly scared her from the topic of children, what would it do to him.

“How--” his voice cuts off. He doesn’t mean “how”. He knows exactly how. They talked about children and have been careless. Two scared people hoping that if they pretend to not want this with every burning fiber of their beings they might get it. He can’t remember the last time he used a condom and her birthcontrol has suddenly disappeared from the bathroom sink.

“How long?”

She puts her fork down. “Three months.” They’ve been trying twice that long. “I have a test,” she tells him, trying to hide her excitement. His eyes meet hers and she reads him like her favorite book. “I could take it.” Their lonely kitchen is filled with the sound of scraping chair the two of them fumbling to move.

“Oh.”

It’s negative.

Aaron’s mouth is dry, he doesn’t know why he’s so disappointed.

“We can keep trying,” she soothes, trying not to shake or cry. Even though she wants to throw that stupid test against the wall. Tears fall down her cheek and she looks up to see his own gather.

He shakes his head.

Jessica comes down the next week and pretends not to notice the return of the long sleeves. Aaron greets her with a smile and kisses her cheek. Telling her about everything but that test. The hope so swiftly taken from them. She takes Haley to a clinic. They count her eggs and smile, assuring her that she’s young, healthy, and her eggs are in fantastic shape. She should consider herself lucky, it should be easy for her to have children.

Easy.

Clearly, they have never met her husband.

His sperm count is low. Enough that the doctor’s face falls a little as he explains their options. It’s still possible to do this on their own but they shouldn’t be ashamed if things need a little help.

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

But he is ashamed and he counts out each offense on his skin.

Sam, the boy she tutored, dies shortly after they learn all of this. His little body just couldn’t take all the stress.

Haley feels selfish but she’s glad she was no where near him when it happened.

A week later, Aaron comes home, hangs his coat on the rack and sits down on the edge of the couch. “I saw David Rossi today.” His eyes are haunted by the dark circles under them. She notices them but the people in his office never seem to. They comment his quick work and sharp mind which is why Dave had been so quick to accept him. Aaron’s curiosity has always been the brightest burning part of him. “He wants me to move back to Virginia. Take some profiling courses. Join his team.”

Aaron has read everything about the Behavioral Science Unit he can get his hands on. So, by extension, she also knows a lot about them. Every time he finds something worth excitement he finds her to recount each detail. He wants this, she knows.

She’s making muffins, trying to keep her mind off of Sam. When he tells her this, what David Rossi wants from her husband she’s furious. Fuck that man. What do they care about him? They have a life here. But… they really don’t. The lease on their apartment is ending and she keeps trying to decide if she really wants to renew it. Sam is dead. Aaron has a job opportunity.

“Do you want to move back to Virginia?” she turns, to him. Pressing her hips across the oven and watching him.

He looks down at the floor. Does he? He hadn’t really considered that. Does he want to work with David Rossi? Yes, very much so. So, he nods. “I want this,” he says.

She brushes the wet dough on her hands off on the apron on her chest and moves across the kitchen to him. Placing a hand on both sides of his face, she kisses him. “Okay,” she whispers. “Then lets go.”

David immediately loves him.

I work too slowly. 

I get too attached. 

I’m only good with victims. 

I am not a good profiler.

But David sees that spark. The yearning for more, fire hissing and popping and Dave is eager to throw gasoline on him. To see him rise and consume them all. “You’re a bright kid,” Dave commends, one afternoon. They’re having dinner on the way home. Dave has no girlfriend or wife to call so he’s very content to get a little tipsy and let Aaron drive him home. Aaron is wondering what Haley’s doing, Dave thinks this is adorable. 

“Um,” Aaron can feel a deflection on his tongue but Dave covers his hand with his own.

With far too much seriousness for a tipsy man he says, “alright. You’re next lesson is acceptance, alright? I give you a compliment and you say--” Aaron just stares back at him. “You say thank you, Dave.”

He nods his head. 

Dave blinks. This goddamn kid, he swears. But he’s so enchanting, charming in his youth. Bashful but always looking, watching. Dave wants nothing more than to see him smile even more. To see him grow steady and assured in his abilities. And that it almost taken from him. A sniper in some case that feels more like a movie, something that happens to someone you’re only lightly attached to. That you gasp at but forget about in a day or two. The blood that just sprays, thick and heavy and hot. Dave’s never lost an agent. 

He’s lost men but that was war. This isn’t war. It’s just profiling. His people aren’t supposed to die and the kid-- fucking Aaron, his Aaron, almost died. 

“You must be David.”

Dave is sleeping in the room when she comes. A thin little thing with straw blonde hair and a very scorned looking face. Aaron has gone on and on about her. She’s beautiful and he can see, immediately, why Aaron’s so drawn to her. As stupid as it is, he smiles when he sees her. So tiny and yet drawn up like she’s ready for a fight. 

“That must make you Haley.”

She hums, a habit he finds cute. Humming fits Aaron well. He’s a silent man but not Haley. Aaron had told him they had been together since they were kids, high school sweet hearts. It must be a bit of Aaron’s spite she has drawn up as she walks through the room to stand at her husband’s side. Stoic. 

The worst is yet to come. 

The shot had been surprisingly clean. Aaron would need a sling and to keep his arm delicately strapped to his chest to allow his shattered clavicle to repair. He wakes two hours later, to the soft hum of Haley and Dave whispering over him. He’s not coherent and he’s in pain and falls right back to sleep the moment Haley takes his hand. A softly sighed “oh” on his lips as his eyes shut and he’s gone again. 

Dave doesn’t say anything about the scars. He knows about them. (Do you really think they’d let anybody into the FBI without making notes in files, annotations for men like David Rossi to read and re-read a dozen times as they consider allowing men like Aaron Hotchner onto their teams?) 

“Haley?” The second time he’s distraught. Panicking. He remembers the warmth of his bath, the Advil bottle in his palm. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, just as he had when he woke the first time, all those years ago. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry.” He remembers thinking how uncomfortable he was in the tub. How he wished he had a pillow or was shorter so at least his knees could sink in. That he could see his clothes plastered to his skin. 

He mistakes her momentary confusion as disbelief and he grows agitated. Gasping in pain but twisting and pleading. “I-- I--,” his sentence is cut off by his strangled cry. He moves his hips the wrong way and his shoulder is pressed down into the mattress.

It breaks her heart just as much this time as it had last time. To see his face pinched in pain and confusion. But she is shocked in place. 

Dave stands, grabbing Aaron’s unrestrained hand. His hand wrapping completely around until his finger rest against the inside of Aaron’s wrist. His hand engulfing Aaron’s. The scars moving under his touch. “You’re okay,” Dave assures him softly. He smiles, priding Aaron when he manages to whisper Dave’s name in soft shock. He pats Aaron’s cheek, “there he is. My bright boy. How are you? You okay?”

His sense come back to him. The memories slipping into place. “Hurts,” he rasps. Gradually, his body calms and he stops kicking out against nothing. “My arm hurts,” he whispers, his eyes full of tears as he looks between them. Trusting one of them will stop it. One of them will help. 

Haley leans down and presses a kiss to his temple, brushing her fingers through his hair. “You’re okay sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart. He hums, turning into her touch. She never calls him sweetheart. 

She wipes his tears away and Dave says nothing. At that moment, she doesn’t know him to well but eventually, she’ll learn that his silence in that moment was new. Dave never shuts up. She’ll crave that silence in his company. But he’d been thinking, watching and she’d been preoccupied. He was taking in what he was seeing to stored for a later date. Though he had thought for theory not practice. How wrong he, in fact, was. 

He retires a year later. Aaron and Haley are just getting the courage to try again for a kid. 

When he returns he’s thoroughly surprised to find things haven’t entirely changed. The bits that have changed are encouraging. 

“How much do you know?” Morgan asks him one night, a little too tipsy to be having this conversation. But he’s been sitting on it for months and he’s got to know. It’s his job to protect the team and while he and Aaron always seem to butt heads, he won’t leave him out of that equation. “About… About Hotch.”

Not Aaron, anymore. He’s a whole new person. The Unit Chief, strong stoic and up until that moment Dave had even thought hidden. His little secret tucked beneath those multi-layered suits. Evidently not if Morgan knows. “Should we be discussing this?” he asks. It’s an answer within itself. If he knows they shouldn’t be discussing it then he knows about it. 

Morgan understand this. He pops a handful of nuts in his mouth, chewing them thoughtfully. “He’s important to us,” Morgan says after a long while. 

Dave nods. “He’s important to me too.”

Neither fully explains where they stand. How much any given member of the team knows. 

Spencer Reid isn’t stupid and even if he were, he’s not oblivious. He’s never seen the scars on the inside of his superior’s wrist. Never seen any of the scars for that matter. There’s still something about Hotch, nameless and without a good proper name, that Spencer cues in on. Self-destructive with control issues. They never talk about it. It’s safer that way. 

It hurts Penelope to think about for too long. She’s seen the scars but she’d known what to look for and she’d looked. Even though she knew what she would find and knew it would hurt. Though she was never made to be the silent observing type, she doesn’t mention them. But sometimes she places little goodies in his go bag so that when he finds them he’s forced to be reminded that he’s loved. 

JJ knows the signs now. She was too slow the first time. Now she wears that burden around her neck each day. There’s something so raw about Aaron Hotchner but she doesn’t think he’s suicidal, not anymore at least. Maybe in another life, at a different time. Today, tomorrow, yesterday… he’s okay. But she’ll keep vigil. She watches. 

Though Emily hates his guts when she first arrived, she’s found herself close to his side over the course of the last few months. Enough to know more about him than the others. Maybe not because he tells her but because she’s simply there and it’s hard to hide things once you allow someone else that close. 

The divorce doesn’t come by too big of a surprise. 

Neither does Haley’s reaction.

“I need to ask you to do something for me,” Haley whispers. 

JJ is rocking Henry when Will comes in with the phone and she’s honestly surprised it’s taken Haley this long to get around to her. “Haley,” she responds, wondering if Haley is out there someplace rocking Jack. “You know you don’t have to ask.” JJ and Haley had gotten along great when JJ first joined. JJ was the only girl on the team and Haley knows how Hotch can be. 

“He doesn’t mean it, honest.” Haley had defended. Referencing Hotch’s more elusive if not silent nature. 

JJ had brushed it off, “oh no. He’s a sweetheart.” And was and still is. He very well was probably the only person who didn’t give her a hard time. 

“I know Aaron isn’t taking… all of this well.” That is an understatement. He’s not doing anything drastic but starving away in his office running on caffeine and random sandwiches one of them forces him to eat isn’t thriving. “Can you just look after him? I would-- you know I would but we can’t do this--this balance if I am always there to catch him. That doesn’t change anything.”

JJ closes her eyes, leaning her face down to Henry. Allowing the soft scent of baby and lotion to soothe the anger and pain she feels swelling up. “You know I will,” she promises. “He’ll be okay, Haley. We’ll get him through this.” The call ends shortly after that. Haley asks about Henry and JJ about Jack. And the two part. It’s better that way. 

The divorce is the easy part. 

Foyet attacks and nine new scars find their way on his body and suddenly they all know that those aren’t the ones they need to worry about. 

“Emily, Em--Emily.” She’s sleeping in his guest room, curled under the warm sheets. A cat, he thinks dizzily, as she stretches and hums sleepy at him. Arching her back and stretching her back and arms out like he’s seen plenty of street cats do. The kind that aren’t bothered when you come marching through their alley. 

She winces at the light but finds him. The apprehension on his pained face and the dark, wet rag he’s holding with his left hand over his right. 

“I-- There was-- It was an accident,” he stumbles.

The wet rag she realizes is soaked in his blood. Crimson. She wakes quickly, suddenly cold. Throwing the blankets off her legs. He just stands in the doorway, leaning heavily to the side. “What did you do?” she demands, afraid to look and see. Afraid to see. She covers his hand with hers, pressing against the wound. Her mind turns this over slowly. His blood dropping in fat drops by their feet. “You have to go to the hospital.”

His eyes flash with something but she knows it’s not remorse for what he’s done. “It was on accident,” he rasps. “I’m sorry.”

She knows. “To the hospital,” she instructs, guiding him through the dark hall. He’s dazed, clearly confused. It takes her a moment to wrap his coat around his shoulder. “Hold it,” she mumbles, wrapping his fingers back around his wrist. Then she’s shoving her own feet into shoes not thinking twice about the fact that they’re both in pajamas and she in shorts. “Aaron,” she stands back up and he’s loosened his hold. The way she says his name shocks him. “Put fucking pressure on it.” 

She steers him to the car, guiding him by his hips. By the time she moves to the driver’s seat he’s pressed his head to the door’s cold window, turned a nasty grey color. “Aaron,” she shakes him roughly. Paying no mind to the wounds on his chest that haven’t healed. “Stay awake.” She’s not going to loose him like this. She hits him several more times, it’s one jarring him back to life. She knows she’s hit a few bruises and not healed places on his body but he’s slipping and he’s not going to die in her passenger seat. 

“You’re a goddamn idiot.” she seethes. They’re outside the emergency room. She’s pulling his thin grasshopper like legs out of the car, grunting when the rest of him comes with them. His head finds her shoulder and she stops, holding him there for just a second as they both collect themselves. “Are you okay?” she asks softly. The first truly kind thing she’s had to say all night. He nods. “Okay,” she pats his back. “Come on, jackass, we’ve got plenty more fighting to do.” 

They won’t let her back with him which she almost hopes causes a scene. But Hotch goes listlessly into the wheelchair and silently allows them to take him away. He doesn’t fight. Which is worse than if he’d begged them to let her come. But he goes, his bloody rag in his lap. Head tilted resting against his chest. 

She calls Morgan first. He tells her not to call anyone else. It’s two in the morning and they need the sleep. He’ll be there in twenty minutes. He’s there in ten and when he sees her sitting there he doesn’t say a word, just wraps his coat around her bare arms. They sit, shoulder-to-shoulder, neither saying anything for a long time. 

Eventually, he can’t stand the silence. “Did he do it on purpose?” Morgan asks. 

She shrugs. She doesn’t know. “He said he was sorry.” The raspy quality of her own voice surprises her. Looking down at her hands, she scratches at her nails. Frowning at the blood she pulls up. They all do things they shouldn’t. He just… It wasn’t on purpose. It wouldn’t… He wouldn’t…

“Emily Prentiss?”

She looks up, surprised to find a nurse standing there. How long have they been sitting here? Not saying a thing. Just thinking. Assuming the worst. “Yes?” She stands, suddenly too aware of how silly she must look. Her night shirt covered in blood and in shorts that show all of her legs and-- only after looking down-- does she realize she’s wearing a pair of Hotch’s shoes. 

“Mr. Hotchner is very dehydrated. We’re going to keep him here for the night. You can come back, if you’d like. He asked for you.” 

She glances back at Morgan and then at the nurse. “I want to but,” she motions to Morgan, “can we both go?” She can see the hesitation wash over the nurse. “You can ask Hotch-- Agent Hotchner. His name is Derek, Hotch won’t mind.” 

The nurse caves with a nod and motions for them to follow her. 

He’s in a section marked off by curtain. Asleep with his heavily bandaged hand curled on his chest and the other by his side. They’ve bandaged both, the left with a few bandages versus the heavy gauze of the right. He sleeps but it’s not deep no more than the shallow naps he’s been getting lately.

Emily moves to his left side and waits for the nightmare she know will grip him. 

“He didn’t… He wasn’t trying to, was he?”

Emily rubs her thumb his knuckles. “Morgan?” If he was, would he have come to get her? Would he have covered the wound himself, first? Trying to stop the blood on his own? Morgan looks up. “You can’t talk about it. Promise me, you won’t ask him about it.” That would kill him. 

Morgan stands in the corner, arms crossed on his chest. “Will you talk to him about it?”

She doesn’t want to. “Yes.” But someone has to. 

“If he does it again--”

Emily cuts him off with a scowl. “He won’t.”

Morgan breaks a little, sadden by how vehemently she believes this. “Okay,” he caves. “Okay.” 

He does. 

[kusagrasskusa]

Light Yagami X Reader - "Betrayal"

Sorry this isn't as good as I intended. I accidentally deleted another story, and forgot to redo it until now so this is VERY rushed- Like written in under 15 minutes rushed-

Part 1, Part 2

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Okay, deep breaths, Y/N reminded herself as she looked into the mirror in her sunblocker in her car. Just go there, sit down, talk, and confess; she reminded herself of this constantly, taking deep breaths to sooth her rapid heart beat. It goes without mentioning that Y/N had liked her best friend for years, and it's now or never now. Getting out of her car, and closed her door and slowly walked towards the cafe doors. Her hair was done and combed well, and she was wearing a short dress that went above her knees. Nothing too special, but definitely had some thought into her outfit.

She pressed her hand on the glass cafe door, taking a deep breath. She took a moment, staying in that position before putting on a nice smile and pushing the door open. Once she walked in, she scanned the room for her friend; though she couldn't help but admire the cafe she was in while in the process. Y/N had met Light here, actually; she was broke and just needed some peace at a lovely cafe. The smell of the creams and coffee was delighting to her, so her nerves easily calmed. Then suddenly, a tall brunette came by, asking if he can sit with her. They talked a lot that day and agreed to meet much more often.

Light always had some textbook with him eveytime they met. He would write things down as he spoke, not even needing to stop. He was always so smart, so focused, so calm and nonchalant. It didn't take long for Y/N to start liking him at all; after all, how could she not? However, she always kept silent due to feeling inferior to him; he was smarter, collected, and anything she isn't. It took five years for Y/N to finally muster the courage to speak, and now here she is, bolder and prepared for anything.

"I have to say, I didn't think you'd show up," a high pitch, feminine voice spoke out. Y/N's ears perked, however she was more focused on trying to find Light. He was typically against the right wall, but he was no where to be seen. Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, pulling out her phone.

"How could I not? It's nice here, don't you think?" A soft, charismatic voice of a male replied. Light, she mentally asked herself, her smile dropping a bit. He's with another woman? Why? Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, eyeing the half wall that was just tall enough to prevent her from seeing the people on the other side.

"Oh, Light-kun! Of course I do! I like anything you like, remember?" The girl responded, happiness lacing her every word. Y/N's eyes widened a bit, anxiety kicking in. She felt her stomach drop and she started to feel a little hot. Who is she? The questioned burned in her brain, and she couldn't but wonder: am I too late? Slowly, she lifted up her phone and opened her text app. She, with fighting fingers, texted him, "I'm here."

On the other side of the half wall, a notification bell rung. Y/N took a deep breath, blinking a couple times. Shit, she thought, staring down at her phone and seeing a "Read" appear by her message.

"Heh heh, Light-sama! I couldn't see you there!" Y/N spoke as she walked towards the half wall, peering over to see a familiar brunette and a new blonde. Y/N's eyes peered over at the blonde's, looking at all her features. She had never seen this girl before, and how did she know Light? "Oooh, gotta girlfriend, I see?" Y/N joked, smiling as she faced Light.

Light chuckled softly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I wouldn't say girlfriend," he responded, making the blonde across the table pout. And just like that, Y/N closed her eyes and made a close eyed smile face as to hide the pain in her eyes. I was to late, she thought. I was too late wasn't I?

"Hey! We've been seeing each other for a while, so I am your girlfriend!" The girl responded, her face scrunched up a bit. Y/N couldn't help but drop her fake smile a bit more, turning her head to fave the girl. Well, she certainly wasn't very likable so far. Pouty and noisy; who would've known Light was into that?

Light turned towards the blonde, smiling at her just as much. Unbeknownst to Y/N, he had a serious look in his eye. "Haha, well, whatever you say." He turned back to Y/N, lightly grabbing her wrist. "Please, sit down. You two should meet." Y/N nodded, sitting down besides him.

The unfortunate thing was that Y/N had absolutely no urge to talk at all. She was too late. "Well, okay. Hi! I'm L/N, pleasure to meet you." Y/N bowed her head, her head remaining slightly lowered as she rose back up.

The blonde just hummed before responding, "Hi, famous model Misa Misa here!" She smiled brightly, her face turning a bit pink. "Light-kun never told me about you. I wonder why that is," she continued, leaning her arm on the table and using it to mount her head. Y/N chuckled softly, shrugging.

The rest of the time went in a similar fashion; Y/N remaining soft-spoken and head slightly low as Misa talked all proudly of herself. Light occasionally spoke and intervened, seemingly oblivious to Y/N's pain. And God, all Y/N wanted to do was go home and just cry. Just lay in bed and cry for hours until falling asleep. Dream about how if she reacted sooner, Light could have been her's. Or if she was more annoying and rude, she could have him.

The time was nice for everyone else until a certain phrase came out of Misa's mouth out of no where. "Y'know, Light must really like models. He has magazines of them hidden in his room! Sad to say that you aren't exactly up to his tastes, L/N-san." With that, Y/N hands came crashing down the table, standing up and leaning over the table. Light jumped a bit, glaring at Misa. Before he had the chance to defuse the situation, Y/N reacted quicker.

"Please! I'd rather be single than be someone's hoe, you plastic bitch!" And with that, Y/N stormed away, growling under her breath. A few people looked at her and she aggressively pushed open the doors, walking away.

"Wow! How immature!" Misa complained, standing up and ballingbher fists. Light shot up, glaring at her before walking away from the table, following Y/N.

"Y/N-san! Wait up!" Called Light as he ran towards the pouting girl walking away. She had her arms crossed, squeezing her arms to keep herself from crying. But as Light caught up, she stopped and turned to face him.

"Light-sama, please," Y/N glared at him, her voice breaking up tears stung her eyes. "Leave me alone. Today hasn't been good, okay? I don't need some apology." As Light walked over, he sighed. He grabbed her wrist, pulling her close softly as his other hand brushed through her hair. It was common for him to do this, as the feeling of someone else brushing her hair was calming for her.

"I know, I know," Light responded, sighing. "I swear, she was just jealous. She isn't like this usually, I swear," he tried to reassure her, releasing her wrist to lightly grab her chin. Y/N sniffed, her face scrunching up from anger. She pulled away, hissing.

"God, you're so smart but so oblivious! Light-sama, I love you! I love you more than anything else in this world! Couldn't you see that?" Y/N yelled, a tearing rolling down her face. "You're too smart to miss that, aren't you? Then why did you bring her to the cafe!"

Y/N stared intensely at Light, glaring. Light couldn't find the words to reply; he could only stare with sorrowful eyes. After a few moments like this, Light spoke.

"I'm not going to break up with Misa. I'm going to keep seeing her, like it or not," he spoke, softening his voice the best he could. "As for you, there's plenty of fish in the sea, Y/N-san." Y/N remained silent, her heart dropping a bit.

"...Right," Y/N spoke under he breath, narrowing her eyes as she spun around. "I'll see you next week. I have so much work to do."

[vannahfanfics]

King of the Jungle

Category: Childhood Fluff

Fandom: Haikyuu!!

Characters: Tooru Oikawa, Hajime Iwaizumi

Hey, everyone! I am super stoked to present my story for the @iwaoibb! I had a great time working with my partner @kasiokami​, so be sure to check out her amazing art!

“All right, everyone! It’s time for recess!” 

All the kindergartners cheered in delight at the teacher’s announcement, aside from Tooru, whose mind was stewing with devious schemes. Snickering mischievously, he made sure to shoulder his way to the front of the crowd so that he was the first one out the door. It was the first day of kindergarten, and Tooru was eager to assert his superiority over the class from the get-go. 

The spring sun shone in a cloudless blue sky, and butterflies and songbirds flitted around the playground. The bright plastic constructions of blue, red, and yellow gleamed in the sunlight, promising an hour of fun before the school day finally ended. Unfortunately, Tooru’s peers wouldn’t be enjoying them. 

“All right!” he announced when he stopped in front of the crowd, his hands digging into his hips and his feet set wide apart in a power stance. “My name is Tooru Oikawa! I’m the king of the playground, and all of you are my subjects, so that means you have to do what I say!” 

The other kindergartners looked at each other in confusion. The teacher wasn’t paying much attention, thinking that Tooru had simply gotten them involved in a game, and was chatting amicably with a fellow kindergarten teacher. 

Tooru pointed at his gaggle of classmates with a proud guffaw. “Now, servants! Bring me gifts!” 

Tooru wasn’t sure if the other kids thought it was a game too, or if they were simply too scared to stand up to him. Regardless, they scrambled to do as he said. Tooru tottered off with his nose stuck in the air towards the center of the playground, where a hemispherical jungle gym shone in the sunlight. He was quite proud of himself, really; it had been easier than he had imagined to bend them all to his will. While the other kindergartners scampered around the playground to find trinkets suitable for a king, Tooru stopped at the base of the jungle gym— his new throne.

With his tongue sticking out of the corner of his lips, he began climbing the intricate latticework of plastic. It took him longer than he would have liked, as his stubby legs had difficulty stretching the great distances between the separate rungs, but there was nothing that Tooru couldn’t do. He would summit this mountain and reign supreme over his subjects! 

Tooru was panting slightly when he finally arrived at the rounded top of the jungle gym. He plunked himself down on the hexagonal bit of black plastic where all the pipes connected. He swung his legs in the open air as he surveyed his new kingdom from this appreciable height. It was quite nice indeed. 

He watched his classmates scurry around the playground like mice. The swings lay empty, swaying gently back and forth in the breeze. The slides baked in the sun with no one to slither down their tube-like tongues. The oak tree in the corner shook its leaves, begging for children to play house within its shade, but the children were preoccupied attempting to please their new lord. Tooru would give them permission to play, as long as they presented artifacts of his liking. 

Very soon, he had a line of children shuffling around in front of the jungle with their gifts. Tooru preened at the top of his throne, eager to see what offerings he would receive. A little girl in a red dress and white flats tottered up with a pink blush gracing her cheeks, averting her gaze while she held up a crown woven of flowers and twigs. 

“A king should have a crown, right?” 

Tooru nearly combusted with pride as she presented him with the crown. He half-climbed, half-slithered down the jungle gym to land in front of her, making her flinch back with a bashful look. His eyes gleamed hungrily as he leaned over, inspecting the craftsmanship of the crown. It was a bit clumsily woven with a few twigs sticking out here and there, and a few of the flowers wilted— but Tooru didn’t mind. He took it from her and laid it over his poofy, brown hair, admiring the way it sat upon his wavy locks. He puffed out his chest, placed his hands on his hips, and craned his head back snootily. 

“Pass! You can go play now.” 

The girl sighed in relief before whirling on her heel, bee-lining for the swingset. She climbed up into the seat and gripped the metal chains as she began swinging back and forth, filling the air with gentle creaks. The sound seemed to unsettle the crowd of children, spurring them to act quickly to win Tooru’s approval so they could enjoy the playground before their time was up. The next in line, a short boy with glasses, hurriedly toddled up to present Tooru with his gift. 

Tooru blinked at the large, blue-black beetle held in his hands. Its legs churned the air and its wings fluttered against the flats of the boy’s hands with snapping, buzzing noises. It had a funny-looking snout-like projection from its head that Tooru found reminiscent of a sword. A king must also have a sword to be a king, right? He grabbed the beetle by its snout, making it flap its wings furiously, and nodded to the boy. 

“Pass. You can go play too.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than the boy was running for the see-saw, but it wouldn’t do much good with no one to sit on the other end. It didn’t look like the next boy would be joining him, either, because he had the audacity to hold up a pinecone with a sheepish smile. 

“Are you serious?” Tooru asked blaisely, his eyes growing lidded with malcontent. The boy used his free hand to rub awkwardly at his shirt. “This is a pinecone. What am I supposed to do with a pinecone?” 

“W-well,” the boy mumbled with a red haze blooming on his cheeks. “My mommy told me you can put peanut butter and seeds on it to make a bird feeder.” 

“Does it look like I have peanut butter?” Tooru huffed with a stamp of his feet. “Rejected! Bring me another gift!” he demanded and whapped the boy over the head with the beetle. The boy screamed as the insect’s wings flapped against his scalp and its spindly legs tangled in his hair. He dropped the pinecone and ran off with thick, globby tears running down his ruddying cheeks. 

Tooru watched him flee with a glower, then looked back to the line of other kindergartners. Several of them broke free with alarmed squeals, presumably out of fear that their gifts would not please Tooru. The beetle continued to buzz pathetically in his fist as he stared expectantly at the remaining crowd, daring the next to present their offering. 

Tooru was a bit miffed to find that most of the gifts were no better than the pinecone, forcing the unsuccessful subjects to disperse again to rifle around the playground. Tooru stood at the bottom of his jungle gym with his small collection of trinkets.Still holding the beetle (which had accepted its fate and ceased its struggling), he admired the shiny marble, yellow rose, and other baubles he’d been presented with a pleased grin. He frowned when his crown slipped down his head. 

As he straightened up to right it, he noticed a dark-haired boy had approached. He didn’t recognize him as someone who had presented him with a gift yet, so he plastered a regal smile on his face and turned to him. 

“What do you have for me?” he asked in a sing-song voice, waggling his head and making the crown flop a little on his poofy hair. The smile fell from his face when the boy’s face morphed into a scowl. 

“I ain’t got jack for you!” he asserted and pointed his finger at Tooru, making him gasp in affront. “Where do you get off, orderin’ everyone around? Knock it off!” 

Tooru threw his beetle at him, but it just bounced harmlessly off the dissenter’s chest. Tooru’s face paled as the boy simply watched the beetle flop down on its back, rocking pitifully in an attempt to right itself. The boy sniffed and used the toe of his sneaker to flip the beetle over; it flapped its wings experimentally but was too tired to fly after suffering Tooru’s lordship, so it trundled off as fast as its six stick-like legs would allow. 

“I’m the king of the playground!” Tooru insisted. “Who are you to defy me?!” 

“My name’s Hajime Iwaizumi!” the boy declared, digging his fists into his hip and puffing out his chest. A small crowd was gathering around them, some of the students still holding their pitiful attempts at offerings. They ogled at Hajime with wide, moony eyes, and Tooru didn’t like how they were looking at him— like he was their knight in shining armor. “I ain’t takin’ orders from some prissy boy.” 

“Prissy boy?” Tooru gasped, a flush of red spreading quickly up his neck to paint up to his forehead in a crimson hue. “I’ll show you who’s a prissy boy!” With a grunt, he stomped up to one of his classmates, who was clutching a large tree limb that he had intended to give Tooru. Tooru wrenched it from his hands and held it up like a sword, clenching his teeth when he wobbled a little under its weight. He rounded on Hajime and brandished the big stick threateningly. 

“That looks a little heavy for ya,” Hajime sneered, and Tooru blanched at the fact he didn’t seem threatened at all. Hajime’s expression morphed into shock, however, when Tooru released a loud screech and charged him with the stick hefted over his head. Hajime scuttled out of the way, and Tooru slammed the branch down where he had been standing just a few seconds ago. Growling, Tooru picked up the stick again, swaying at the disbalanced weight held over his head, and ran after Hajime with a feral yowl. 

“What’s your problem?!” Hajime cried while he dashed for the oak tree in the corner, presumably to find himself a suitable weapon. 

“It’s a king’s duty to destroy his enemies!” Tooru shouted after him. Hajime jumped when the stick crashed right behind his heels, then scrambled on his hands and knees to grab a large limb resting among the roots. He rolled onto his back and thrusted out the stick, holding it horizontally, just in time to block Tooru’s next blow. Growling through clenched teeth, they glared at each other between the crossed sticks. Hajime then pushed Tooru away and, while the brunet stumbled around the roots to avoid falling, he climbed to his feet with a huff. 

“You ain’t no king, prissy boy!” he snapped before swinging his stick at Tooru. The brunet parried it with a grunt, knocking it away. “I’m gonna knock you off that throne!” 

Tooru squeaked as Hajime began whacking at him with the stick, and it was all he could do to block the blows. The crowd had followed them to the tree, and were now jeering and crowing at the dramatic schoolyard fight. Tooru grew irritated as a rhythmic cry of “Ha-ji-me, Ha-ji-me!” rose up; how dare they defy their benevolent king! He was going to show them, that was for sure!

He clambered up onto a particularly thick root, and then leaped off it with a resounding howl. Hajime let out a strangled squeak as Tooru plowed right into him. His knees slammed into Hajime’s stick, snapping it right in half and sending the useless stubs tumbling into the detritus. Tooru straddled Hajime’s waist and bore his weight down on him, leaving the ravenet to wiggle angrily beneath him.

“Who’s the tough guy now?” he teased, poking him in the cheek with the business end of his stick. He shouldn’t have let his apparent victory go to his head so soon, however. 

With a snarl, Hajime managed to snatch the stick away from him and whack him upside the head. The crowd let out a sickened yet excited “Ooooooh!” as it cracked against Tooru’s skull, sending the crown askew over his brow. Hajime used Tooru’s momentary shock to start wrestling with him. 

“You know, you talk a lot of smack for a prissy boy!” Hajime barked while he slapped at Tooru. The brunet winced as Hajime’s blunt nails dug into his cheek, scoring four parallel scratches into his skin. Tooru yelped as Hajime flipped him over, and he writhed underneath the boy’s weight. Both of them had their hands twisted into the fabric of the other’s tee-shirts as they wriggled about. That stupid cheer rang in Tooru’s ears, “Ha-ji-me, Ha-ji-me!”, and made his blood boil in his veins. 

“Stop calling me a prissy boy!” Tooru hissed, using a momentary burst of strength to flip Hajime underneath him once again. “My name is Tooru! Too-ru Oi-ka-wa!” Hajime responded by wrenching the flower crown off his head and crumpling it in his fist, which made Tooru screech in anger. 

“I don’t care what your name is! You’re a bossy prissy boy, and I ain’t gonna follow your orders!” Hajime snapped, throwing the crumpled flowers and snapped twigs away before grabbing a fistful of Tooru’s hair. Tooru screeched like a cat as Hajime tugged repeatedly at his fluffy locks. Tooru responded in kind by digging his finger into the corner of Hajime’s mouth and tugging as hard as he could. Hajime’s angry yell was garbled as Tooru stretched his lip and cheek painfully. 

The crowd around them had grown even more gleeful with the violence, stamping their feet and screaming at the top of their lungs. They probably didn’t even care who won; they just wanted to keep watching Tooru and Hajime scrap in the dirt like a pair of feral dogs. Unfortunately, all the cacophony finally alerted the teacher’s that the “game” had devolved into a schoolyard brawl. They burst through the gaggle of children to snatch Hajime and Tooru up by the backs of their collars. The boys still tried to swipe and kick at each other even while they were held several feet apart. After realizing he wouldn’t be able to reach Hajime, he crossed his arms and hunched up in the teacher’s grip while they were carried back inside. 

Hajime and Tooru gave each other stink-eyes while the principal lectured them for the fight. They were punished by sitting out the rest of recess in detention in the middle of the school office, kneeling on the hardwood floor while the secretaries strutted around them handling their paperwork. It was mind-numbingly boring, just listening to the clacks of their heels echoing through the small halls. His gaze slowly slunk over to Hajime, who was pouting at the floor. 

“Ya know, you’re pretty tough,” he said, filling the silence that had settled between them. Hajime’s gaze snapped to him, suspicious and hard as iron. “Why don’t you be my knight?” 

“You got a huge ego, prissy boy,” Hajime snorted, and Tooru’s lips curled down into a frown. “What part of ‘I ain’t takin’ orders from you’ ain’t gettin’ through that thick skull o’yours?” Hajime straightened his back and turned up his nose, fingers digging into the fabric of his shorts. “I don’t take orders from nobody!” 

Though Hajime kind of pissed him off, Tooru also admired the sheer confidence oozing from him. He knew then that he had to be friends with him, even if Hajime didn’t necessarily want it. A sneer bloomed on his lips as he scooted closer to Hajime, making the dark-haired boy look at him in slight disgust. “What are ya lookin’ at me like that for?” 

“I like you.” 

“Ew! You really are a prissy boy!” Hajime growled, but didn’t recoil— he was smirking, almost like he was amused by Tooru’s bluntness. “So what? I don’t like you!” 

“Sure ya do!” Tooru beamed, and Hajime just gave him a weary look. Tooru wiggled back and forth on his legs, gradually growing more pleased with Hajime’s presence as he realized how interesting he was. “Okay then, since I like you, how about this? We can both be kings of the playground! How about that?” 

Hajime’s eyebrows turned up at this, poking out his lips in a thoughtful pout. What five-year-old boy could resist the promise of power and lordship over his peers? A sneer appeared on Hajime’s lips, and Tooru could see the desire welling up inside of him. The ravenet turned to offer him a bright grin and held out his hand to shake. 

“All right, then. As long as I don’t have to take any crappy orders from you.” Tooru’s smile was bright as he grabbed Hajime’s hand to shake, sealing their pact of partnership. This is gonna be a lot of fun! He thought with a happy wiggle, and then gasped in horror. 

“Oh no! I left all my pretty gifts outside…” 

“Well,” Hajime said, a downright diabolical lilt to his grin, “we’ll just have to make our servants get us more, huh?” 

So, that’s how they found themselves sitting at the top of the jungle gym the following afternoon with flower crowns resting upon their brows and their subjects scrambling around to find them suitable gifts. That dumb boy had tried to give them pinecones again, and he’d run off crying when Hajime had ripped it apart with his bare hands. Tooru had watched him in utter adoration, eyes sparkling like stars as Hajime crumbled the crunchy pinecone in his hands. 

“Ya know,” Tooru hummed in contentment as he banged a new stick against the bars of the jungle gym, each hit punctuated by a metallic ring, “I think we’re gonna be great friends!” 

“Hah?” Hajime snorted, looking at him in disdain. “I already told ya, I don’t like ya!” He scrunched up his face to emphasize his disgust, but the bright pink coloring his cheeks betrayed him. Tooru crooned as he rested his chin on Hajime’s shoulders, steadfast despite Hajime’s attempts to shove him off. “Damn prissy boy,” the boy grumbled, giving up on trying to push Tooru away and resuming his grumping at the top of the jungle gym. 

They were a pair of kings, and they’d one day rule the world together, Tooru thought with a smile.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

[aftgficrec]

Idk if y’all do this but I don’t know who to ask but your favorite aftg SPOTIFY playlists? I like the “Andrew in clubs” by rb and the “andriel/AFTG” by sunellix but so far my favorite has been “untitled 1” by palmettofoxden because they made a tumblr post that went with it and I loved how they included the reason to each song. So if you can find playlist AND post related like that one I’ll love y’all more !!! Thanks

Oh, friend, you have no idea what you just got yourself into here.  You want playlists?  We’ve got playlists (and a little personal commentary from us).  A number of fics have amazing playlists to go along with them, so we’ve included little bits of info and links to those fics; then there are playlists for characters, and some general ones for the books.  We didn’t really find Tumblr posts to explain song choices, but we hope you enjoy this collection anyway! -M

NB: Fic links go directly to AO3. You can click on ‘recced here’ to see the trigger warnings that we’ve previously listed.

Playlists Based on Fics 

Red Rabbits Universe series by bloodydamnit, Jeni182, SeaBear13, windeavesdrops [Rated M-E; 647408 words in 3 works; 2 Complete 2019/2020, 1 WIP] (recced here)

If you’re unfamiliar with Red Rabbits then you’ve probably been living under a rock. From the very beginning the team behind this true crime themed fic have been excellent at providing a playlist for the characters, for the story, and for the highly interactive blog that can also be found here. If you’re looking for explanations as to why some songs are on the lists, check out the Tumblr asks and read the fic - there are many layers to this one but you can discover a lot in both Seasons. 

TFN by The Foxhole (2019) - Short and sweet (just like our favourite characters) this is a great list and sits perfectly alongside Season 1. 

TFN Minyard by The Foxhole (2019) - Africa is really the only song you need to listen to on this playlist but this is the list designed to represent Andrew in Red Rabbits. Sit back, listen, appreciate how very very well done this list is: emo bangers sit against indie bops, Lykke Li and MISSIO clash against Explosions in the Sky and Pink Floyd.  

TFN Seth by The Foxhole (2019) - Oh Seth, our sweet baby DJ, whose journey is honestly one of the best in fanfic. Here you’ll find Childish Gambino, Jay Z and Kanye, City Girls and The Weeknd. 

TFN Dan by The Foxhole (2019) - What a queen, it’s Dan Wilds with a mix of Beyonce, Frank Ocean and many more r&b, hiphop and pop tunes. Upbeat and powerful.

Neil Josten’s Music + Mathematics / The Calculus of Nocturnes by fuzzballsheltiepants [Rated M; 7863 words; Complete 2020] (recced here)

Like everything by fuzzballsheltiepants, this playlist is as well thought out and perfectly rendered as the story itself. The fic centers around Neil Josten, a high school math teacher with a secret obsession: the classical piano he hears music teacher Andrew Minyard playing every afternoon. Eventually his secret is found out, and his world begins to open up. This playlist can be listened to along with the fic, giving you an immersive layer to the story. 

Slinging Mozart Sideways / Slinging Mozart Sideways  by justadreamfox [Rated T; 9962 words, Complete 2020]  (recced here)

Some fun facts about this one - firstly, the working title was “gay pianists need to eat” (which I love) and secondly it was part of the 2020 Gift Exchange for Willow_Bird. Excellent fic. Excellent prompt. In which Andrew is in the music business, Neil is a classical cellist (with a British accent) and they bond over Nils Fram. It’s super pretty and the classical music choices are sweet, subtle and sometimes heartwrenching. 

One writer in particular, scribbleb_red, has been prolific in creating playlists for all their longer fics, and some of their Twitter hc fics.  There’s overlap in themes and genres across most of them but here are some of my faves:

Playlist: L'amour parle en fleurs / l’amour parle en fleur by scribbleb_red [Rated M, 61919 words, Complete 2019] (recced here)

Also known as The Lavender AU, this fic is set in the lavender fields of Provence in Southern France and deals with loss and recovery, grief and hope - and that’s exactly what the playlist lays out as well. Intended to accompany the reader through the fic, this playlist is a journey just like the story itself. 

Playlist: (don’t fear) the reaper / (don’t fear) the reaper by scribbleb_red [Rated M, 73111 words, Complete 2019] (recced here) 

for the fic of the same name, in which Andrew and Neil don’t meet in life but in limbo. Andrew is a grim reaper and Neil is the soul he’s meant to be helping cross to the other side. There’s just one issue: Neil isn’t really dead.  

Playlist: monster (under my bed) / monster (under my bed) by scribbleb_red [Rated: M; 1262 Words; Complete; 2020] (recced here)

In which Neil is the monster hiding Andrew’s bed and this changes everything.

not your homeland anymore (2020) for the fic of the same name, inspired by Taylor Swift’s folklore, this angsty fic is still being written and asks the question: what if Andrew hadn’t been there after Baltimore? 

NB: We have not recced this one yet. Please refer to the fic for TWs.

Playlists Based on Characters 

Oh yes, there are some highly creative folks out there exploring their headcanons via the spotify playlist. Here are five of our favourites: 

THE FOXES DEADLIEST INVESTMENT by realpeachy (2019) - Their ain’t no rest for the wicked and this playlist is as relentless, beat-heavy and secretly instigative as Andrew Minyard himself. Some familiar themes with Billie Eilish, Ruelle, Halsey and the like, but some quirky additions like badflower and tedy as well. 

NEIL JOSTEN by Arizona Kestler (2019) - A curious collection of songs on this one, ranging from Kendrick Lamar to Radiohead, AJR to Jack’s Mannequin. It definitely leans into the new-wave emo that many associate with AFTG but it always comes back to the high octane energy we associate with our favourite starting striker. 

yes or no? by jmoriartty (2018) - Could there be a more iconic playlist for andreil? well ok, maybe that’s just this contributor’s taste but having been steadily built through 2018 to 2019, it’s one of the most followed playlists on spotify for AFTG. Two Feet, MISSIO, Twenty One Pilots and grandson are all big hits on this bluesy, gritty, alternative playlist. 

you can call me king by scribbleb_red (2019) - As if any list was complete without a villainous inclusion, like with most of scribble’s lists this one deliberately lays out a journey for Riko Moriyama, his rise and fall. Maybe you’ll also feel Sympathy for the Devil. 

Double Trouble by an.fouda (2019) - Yes, it’s a twinyards playlist and it’s full of absolutely exquisite artist choices and emo hits. Try listening to Night Knuckles by Cavetown or Plastic Joy by Raw Fabrics. It’s a whole new level to this most complex of sibling relationships. 

Playlists Based on the Books 

Some of these are classics - they’ve set the tone for AFTG playlists all over the internets - and it’s fascinating to see how even now people come back to similar tones: alternative rock, grunge, hiphop, the high energy songs that mix a sense of hope and fear and danger. Plug in your headphones and prepare for a ride. Others are more recent and you can very much see how the themes of the music line up over time. If you want a playlist to remind you of the original series, here are some great places to start:

The Foxhole Court (Nora Sakavic) by pjofangirl2  (2017) 

You Are A Pipedream by lokisarmyismydivision (2017)

This is the moment you stop being the rabbit by Warren Vipod (2020) 

[shalebridge-cradle]

When You Smile and it Tears Your Face (It’s Time for the Inhuman Race)

Warnings: Blood. Implied Violence.

“Anna?”

Anna von Kleve, former minor noble of the Holy Roman Empire, pries open her eyes. It’s well into the night – the heavy curtains are drawn, as usual, the grandfather clock is ticking away, and the electric light flickers ominously above her.

She herself is sprawled on the sofa, with her date’s head in her lap. Ah, yes. A night on the town, a few drinks (well, more than a few on her part)… she hopes he’d had a good time.

“In the drawing room,” she calls, lazily.

“Have you seen my book?”

Anna has seen lots of her housemate’s beloved books. So very many volumes she’s collected over the years – in her day, the emperor himself would be hard-pressed to afford such a selection. Still, she’s proud it was a German who invented the printing press and started the whole thing off.

“Which one?”

“Pride and Prejudice, volume three. It’s got a red-brown cover.”

von Kleve frowns, looks around herself, lifts up her date to check under him.

She grimaces.

If the book didn’t have a red cover to begin with, it certainly did now. She never intends for the whole biting-people-and-drinking-their-blood business to be messy, but it always ends up that way. Strange how that happens.

She quickly drops the man’s unconscious body back on top of the book, just as her housemate materialises in the doorway.

Catherine Parr sighs. “Seriously? What have I told you about putting down plastic when you bring your food home?”

“I know, but we get kind of… into it, you know? You know me, I live in the moment – well, not live, but… you get what I’m saying.”

“That’s the problem, hence, the need for plastic.”

A pause.

Anna knows what she’s about to say, and preempts her. “No, not your type. Not terrible, but he couldn’t talk about anything that wasn’t his football team.”

“Oh. A pity.” Another pause. “Have you seen my book, though?”

“No books here. Did you leave it at Seymour’s?”

Parr hums. “Possibly. I’ll visit later. It’s your job to get rid of the poor soul, though.”

“Yes, yes, personal responsibility and all that.”

Before Anna leaves, she tucks the first edition under the sofa cushions, and hopes her housemate doesn’t look that hard for her precious book.

~~~

The shovel plunges deep into the black, wet soil, and out again. In, out, in, out, methodical and practiced. The hole needs to be deep enough, and wide enough. She’s underestimated the size before, and that simply causes problems. There are bits that need to stay underground.

Once she is satisfied, and with great care, Jane Seymour places the rose bush into its new home.

Gardening might be considered an odd hobby for someone like her to have. Even if she rarely gets to see the fruits of her labour (which is most certainly a metaphor for something), it keeps her busy and helps her feel productive. It’s terribly easy to fall into a rut if you don’t have something to do, and caring for plants gives her plenty of that.

Just so long as they survive everything.

There is a loud bang from inside the house. Jane turns briefly, listening for something further, before she goes back to patting down the soil.

Another bang, followed by a crash.

Jane squeezes her eyes shut, and growls under her breath. That had better not be anything important.

Really, she should go in and stop them from doing any more damage, but they’d probably just ignore her like they usually do. Maybe you shouldn’t have your thrice-bedamned battle in the house, where there are things that you both like and are easily breakable all over the place. Is that such an unreasonable concept?

A third bang.

“For heaven’s sake,” she grumbles, and makes to get up, turning to her gardening tools. Initially, she shies away from some of them out of instinct, but… then again… this may the only way they’ll listen…

-

The fearsome duel is still going on when Jane reaches the hall.

One combatant has a name she knows well, mostly because she insists on using the whole thing whenever she is introduced. Catalina Trastámara de Aragón, former Spanish infanta. The other has gone by many different but similar names – Anna de Boullan, Anna Bolina, Nan Bullen, but she generally responds to ‘Anne’, so that’s what they go with.

Catalina has her hand around Anne’s neck, hoisting her up in the air, whilst Anne has a hold on Catalina’s arm, hissing up a storm. Another bang – Catalina slamming Anne against the wall – sends a cloud of dust trickling down on top of them.

Jane enters, in her gardening smock, boots too big for her, a straw hat (you must always wear a hat while gardening, though Jane isn’t sure why), and with a wooden gardening stake in each hand.

“Down! Both of you!”

Anne turns her head slightly, and her eyes widen when she sees what Jane’s holding. “Shit.”

This gets Catalina’s attention, too, but she manages to keep the quiet part quiet. She releases her grip, and Anne sinks to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Catalina recovers her regal demeanour, or at least part of it. “Have you gone quite mad?”

“Have you? Look at what you’re doing! What on earth is noble and queenly about repeatedly smacking your housemate into a wall?!” Jane stops to compose herself. “What is it this time? Territorial dispute? Long-standing grudge you refuse to talk about? Monopoly?”

“Anne? How many glasses would you say are in the sink?”

...No.

Anne rubs her neck. “Well, maybe less if you weren’t such a toff and drank like the rest of us.”

That can’t be right. Was that it?

“Unlike you, I like to keep some of my dignity about me.”

“Oh, don’t you fucking talk to me about dignity -”

Jane is between them in a blink. “Anne, do the bloody dishes.” Anne groans, probably at the unintended pun, but is interrupted. “We have the chore wheel for a reason. We have standards.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I know. Dishes now, fight later.”

Anne huffs, and stomps into the kitchen. Jane’s attention turns to Catalina, who is trying very hard to suppress the smug smile on her face.

“How many languages to you know, Catalina?” She already knows the answer to this question, but Catalina will happily tell her anyway.

“Five. Spanish, Latin, French, Greek, English.”

“Five languages, and you still don’t know how to use your words?”

Catalina simply stares at her.

“You would have been very upset if you knocked any of your paintings down, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, but we couldn’t take it outside. You would have been upset if we crushed your plants.”

“Well, that simply reinforces my point. Violence is very rarely the answer when it comes to who you live with.”

“You’re threatening me with a lethal weapon right now.”

Oh, right, she forgot about them. Jane looks down at the stakes, flinches again, and throws them unceremoniously to one side. “Fine. We all need to work on discussing things, and remember we all have our part to play. Anne’s doing the dishes now -” There’s a clatter from the kitchen – “I’ve been taking out the rubbish; can you tell me your royal responsibility, or do I have to check?”

Catalina’s eyes are everywhere but on Jane. She brushes a bit of powder off of her sleeve, and mumbles “Dusting.”

~~~

“Look what I found.”

Parr looks up. It is a whole entire person Anna has come to show off, which usually isn’t something Catherine needs to see – it does not pay to get attached. This girl has her long hair tied up, dyed an almost neon pink at the ends, and is clad in one of Anna’s oversized fur coats. She seems to be faltering under Parr’s gaze, trying to make herself look as small and insignificant as possible.

“I see no plastic in the drawing room,” Catherine says to von Kleve, as a warning.

“What? No! No, no, no. Not that. Big smile, Katie.”

The girl’s lips curl into a rictus grin, revealing a set of fangs not unlike Parr’s own.

“Oh!” Immediately, Catherine’s attitude shifts, and speaks with a soft, comforting voice (she hopes), “Okay, hello. I’m Catherine Parr, of the Westmorland Parrs, and this is Anna von Jülich-Kleve-Berg of the Holy Roman Empire. Neither of us are going to hurt you. Please, take a seat.”

She gestures to a nearby chair. The girl walks over to it, unsteady on her feet, and sits down.

“It’s been a bad week,” she mumbles.

“Tell us about it.”

“Well, it started with a night I couldn’t remember, which always freaks me out, and then I was really sick, and then I’m pretty sure I died – no, I did die… I died…” She goes quiet once more, aghast at the revelation.

“Found her ripping some dude’s throat out behind a nightclub,” Anna explains, then shrugs. “It happens.”

The girl shuts her eyes tightly, as if she is trying to block out the memory. Parr takes her hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Katie, is it?”

“Or Kate. Or Kat, or Katherine – but, that’s you as well. I’m rambling.”

“That’s alright. The transition can be stressful. May I call you Kat?”

Kat nods.

“Good. Now, from what you’ve told us, it sounds like nobody explained to you how this works. What is it that you think is going on?”

“’M a vampire. Right?” Parr hums an affirmation, and Kat laughs, without humour. “And, because I’m a vampire, and I was going insane with how thirsty I was and because he wouldn’t stop talking and he kept touching me after I told him not to…” She looks to Anna. “That man. He was my boyfriend. I killed my boyfriend.”

It’s usually cold in the house, but it seems to get even colder after that statement.

While Catherine intimately knows the feeling of wanting to murder your former significant others (Thomas – Foul rake! Blackguard! She shall curse his name after death and beyond!), she is aware that this may not be the case for Kat. Most couples these days actually quite like each other – one need not rely on a husband to vote for them anymore, after all. She’s been looking out for someone like that, but she hasn’t found them yet. Maybe someday.

There have been so very many days…

Thankfully, Anna is there with a kind word, so she need not answer nor dwell on her failure to find love. It is just one word, however, and it is not spoken with great compassion.

“Condolences?”

Kat waves a hand, shakes her head. “The only good thing about dating Francis is – was – that he gave me a place to stay. Everything else… I don’t think anyone will be that upset he’s dead, put it that way.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “It was so easy. Too easy.”

Well, it’s good to know that nothing of value was lost, at least.

“Subtlety and control are the results of practice,” Catherine tells the girl, “and that will come, in time. Until then, since the one who turned you is not around to help, I humbly request that you allow us to assist you.”

“We have a spare room. Um. Not that you have to take it, or anything, but the option’s there -”

Kat cuts Anna off. Nobody’s had the gall to do that for centuries.

“Why are you doing this? Any of this?! You want something from me, don’t you? Otherwise, I’d still be out there, dealing with my boyfriend’s corpse! Be honest with me, please. What is it you want me to do?!”

She is looking into both of their eyes, searching for an ulterior motive like she knows it’s there – Parr gets that, unfortunately, and she’s disgusted that something has happened to the poor girl to prompt such suspicion and mistrust.

Catherine does not raise her voice, speaks calmly and carefully, just like she was taught. “We are not doing this in the hopes of a favour, or any material gain. We – or, at least, I – am behaving in this way because I want to see you turn out well. Perhaps there is a vain hope of a new friendship out of this, but that is the loftiest of my wishes, and you should not feel obligated to fulfil it if you don’t want to.”

“You’re the most interesting thing that’s happened in at least a decade,” says Anna.

“But you’re vampires. Why are you helping a competitor?”

“Why not? Just because we’re bloodsucking monsters doesn’t mean we can’t be nice about it. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Okay. Okay. In that case… might I ‘humbly request’… a hug, please?”

~~~

“How do you feel about it?”

Catalina does not turn away from her painting; yet another Spanish vista. She has been told that the Inquisition is over, that she can return for a holiday, but there is no doubt in her mind that what is there now must be wildly different from what she remembers. The latter is what she puts to canvas, to show off what she knows, what mortal eyes can no longer see.

“You shall have to be more specific,” she says to Anne, her voice clipped.

“You know.” She refuses to give Anne the satisfaction of looking at her, but she can feel the fluttering eyelashes, the lazy grin, just from her cadence. “Us. What we have.”

“What on earth are you implying?”

“That thing we do. The one where I press all your buttons, and you beat the shit out of me. Great way to work out that tension, yeah? But then there’s Jane – Plain Insane Jane – putting stakes in our faces and telling us to end it.”

“Would you have listened to her if she hadn’t?”

“Nah.” No hesitation whatsoever. No hint of shame. “But it’s fun. Don’t you think so?”

…Frankly, Catalina does not know. She knows it is not a healthy way of relieving stress. She knows Jane is justified in her motivations to stop it, if not her methods (though both of them make it difficult for her to use a softer touch).

But, if she is truly honest with herself, she likes to feel powerful sometimes. Yes, she is powerful when compared to a regular human – but that was true when she was alive, too. Now, she is no longer in the line of succession, she is no longer a princess. She is ‘just’ a vampire, and that fact irks her more than it should.

But she doesn’t tell Anne any of that. She puts her brush down, and turns to the source of her self-reflection. She’s hanging in the air, as if she were watching Catalina from an invisible sofa.

“You’ve been out drinking, haven’t you?”

Their kind can, in fact, get drunk. It’s more of a roundabout process than it is for mortals – one must find someone that’s absolutely cup-shotten, take them somewhere quiet, and… share their blood alcohol content. Catalina knows this because Anne is a master of the process.

“Of course I have!” Anne replies, with a funny sort of smile. “That’s why you go out, why Jane goes out. To have a drink!”

Oh, she definitely has been. She’s wearing the silly spectacles again, the ones where you can’t see her eyes properly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you while you’re out of your wits,” Catalina carefully enunciates.

“I always have my wits. Do you even listen to my jokes, princess?”

“You’re drunk.”

“And? You don’t talk when I’m sober, you won’t talk when I’m toxed – what is it that you need me to be for you to be honest?”

There is a knock at the door, and Jane’s voice comes through loud and clear. “Catalina? We have a guest.”

That’s interesting. They don’t often have guests – well, not ones that aren’t ‘invited for dinner’, and Jane likes to keep that private, if it’s her. It can’t be Parr or von Kleve; Jane would have said as much.

Perhaps it is someone important, she thinks, and immediately her mood sours.

“Who do you think it is?” Anne asks.

“I don’t know. All I ask is that you don’t make a complete fool of yourself.”

“And what if I do?”

“Then I take no responsibility for your actions.”

-

“She’s very new, apparently,” Jane tells them, and she is doing only a slightly better job than Anne at holding in her excitement. “She doesn’t remember who turned her. Cathy thinks it’s Thomas, but you know how she is.”

Yes, Catalina does. Thomas may be responsible for a lot of things, but if he showed his face in this part of town, he’d probably find himself dismembered by his very angry ex-wife.

They reach the top of the staircase. Below them, on the ground level, Cathy is speaking quietly to – good Lord! That woman’s hair is pink! How is it that vibrant a shade?!

Anne gasps in delight. “A baby! You’ve found a little baby, Cathy!”

“I’m not a baby. I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly. Two-digit age. Baby.”

“I apologise for her conduct,” Catalina sighs. “Someone had a bit too much to drink, and she had too much of them. I am Catalina Trastámara de Aragón.”

“And I’m Anne. Sometimes.”

The girl blinks. Probably thrown off by that introduction. “Oh-kay. Uh, well, I’m Kat Howard. Katherine, actually, but you see how that will cause problems. I’m moving in with Cathy and Anna, and Anna thought it might be good to introduce myself.”

There is an image of vampires being solitary creatures, living in ruined castles and moping about in their every waking hour. It’s not untrue, but Catalina hated it when she had a go. Eternity? With no-one around her? What torture!

No. Ever since she found Jane sobbing in front of her own grave, since Anne had her chance encounter with a Spanish princess, she’s resolved never to be alone again. She shall, of course, extend that invitation to this new girl.

It’s practically her duty.

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Kat.”

~~~

Vampires own nightclubs.

That makes sense, right? They only operate at night, they attract a crowd, many people there aren’t expecting to remember what happened there, only that they had a good time and feel terrible in the morning, if they make it that far.

Well, Anna doesn’t own a nightclub. She owns a chain of 24-hour off-licences. But, she can hypnotise the bouncer into letting them in, so that’s alright.

The music thrums in place of Kat’s heart as she watches the mass of bodies swaying and jumping with absolutely no sense of rhythm. Coloured lights flash, the DJ plies his trade, glasses clink and sweat permeates the air.

Anna is watching only her.

“See anyone?”

Kat scans the crowds, a grim expression on her face. “No-one looks particularly appetising.”

“Well, of course they don’t. We’re not looking for the cream of the crop here, we’re looking for someone who deserves it.”

Kat leans her head on her hand. Anna told her she could come to her for anything – so, Kat had, when she started to feel hungry again, and so Anna planned this little night out.

“There are two choices,” she’d said. “Either you pick someone out yourself, or you go mad with hunger and some other poor sod ends up like your boyfriend.”

“You’re sure of that?” Kat questioned.

“Oh, yeah. I speak from experience – I’ve always regretted what happened to the Duke of Lorraine…”

Anna had refused to say anything more about that.

Kat has… mixed feelings about what happened with Dereham. Okay, she’s horrified that she murdered him, but she doesn’t feel bad that she wiped that arrogant look from his eyes for a few seconds (before he, you know, died). He didn’t care that she was sick, didn’t answer her texts when she told him her reflection had vanished, or that she was bleeding from her eyes – and as soon as he got back from his work trip, he dragged her to a nightclub to ‘show her off’ and pretended nothing was wrong…!

…Okay, she’s getting a bit heated. The man’s funeral was three days ago. No point in holding a grudge, now.

“What about that one?”

Kat follows Anna’s gaze. A man is swaggering over to the bar with a confidence that nothing about him implies he’s earned. She gets the feeling this man used to be handsome, or liked, and no-one has told him otherwise just yet.

“Dunno. Maybe.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

Kat automatically bites her lip, before remembering that’s probably a bad idea now. She doesn’t want to be alone, exactly, but at the same time…

“Is it alright if you hang out slightly further away?” She asks. “If I need your help, I’ll laugh really loudly.”

Anna smiles in acknowledgement, nods, and wanders off. Kat might be wrong, but she seems almost gleeful.

Thankfully (or not), the once-handsome man notices her staring, and saunters over. Kat’s skin crawls.

“Hey.”

Kat gives a small, brief smile in return.

“You here alone?”

She risks a quick glance over to Anna – she still has an eye on her. Kat isn’t alone. “Yeah. Just… needed to get out, you know?”

“I do.” He smirks, points to himself. “Henry. You know Tudor Real Estate?” She does, and the man grins at the recognition she must be showing. “I’m the co-owner.”

Kat doesn’t want to say the wrong thing, but this guy has only a passing resemblance to the man on the ‘for sale’ signs.

“Must be an important job,” she tries.

“Very. My brother relies on me for a lot.” Oh, okay, he’s the brother. Wait, the brother she’d read articles about? The one who got acquitted last year? “Sometimes I just need to blow off some steam, you know? Have some fun. Speaking of, can I buy you a drink or two?”

Wow. That look in his eyes. He clearly hasn’t changed as much as the judge thought he had.

“I don’t drink… alcohol.”

He scoffs. “Listen. You heard how important I am, right? Nothing will happen to you without my say-so. We can have fun if you just let me help you.”

This man is made of red flags, isn’t he? A blind woman could see the warning signs. He’s a creep with overly-inflated self-esteem, seems to have spent his whole life getting everything he’s ever wanted…

And that means he’s perfect.

“I guess you’re right,” she says, quietly. She doesn’t have to fear his kind any more. “I am here for a good time. If you’re offering…”

Henry grins. “Anything you want, babe! Name it, and it’s yours!”

“Anything?” Money and connections won’t protect you from me.

“Anything at all, princess.”

“Hmm…” Kat makes a show of looking him up and down. Yes, this is the one. “Maybe we can take this somewhere private?”

Henry is clearly thrilled at the prospect. He grabs her hand, roughly (though Kat is sure she could break his arm if the need arose), and leans in close.

“I know just the place.”

He leads her away, to a location where there are no witnesses, no-one to save him. From across the club, Anna gives her a thumbs up.

Kat returns the gesture.

-

She comes in the front door with her phone in her hand. Henry has a Wikipedia page. Not very long, pretty much goes on about his brief stint in custody and that he’s Arthur Tudor’s brother.

Or, was. They might have to change the tense, soon.

Cath is on the sofa, chatting quietly with… Kat wants to say… Jane…? Yeah, Jane sounds right. She’s friendly enough, but always seems like she’s on her second-last nerve.

“How did it go?” Cath asks.

Anna grins. She’s been like this all night, and Kat feels conflicted about all the praise she’s received.“Oh, fantastic! Kat was a natural; that idiot fell for it hook, line, and sinker.”

“Turns out I have a vendetta against people who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” Kat adds.

Parr’s smile grows sharp, but her eyes still sparkle. “Well, there won’t be any shortage of those. Come, sit with us.”

So, Kat does. The things they speak of are so normal, Kat is initially confused. Jane’s gardening is a topic of discussion, as is Cath’s ever-expanding collection of stuff she finds interesting. When Jane asks about Kat’s “little slate-thing”, they both listen with rapt attention at her explanation of modern technology.

Kat had forgotten what it’s like to have people listen. It’s a shame she had to die to experience it.

~~~

“Yes, I’ve received a notice recently about outstanding bills owed – no, no, don’t shut off the – listen to me. The account has been paid in full. Enter that into the system. Okay, great. Thanks for that – no, no, everyone makes mistakes. Alright, bye.”

Anne hangs up. Great, power bills are sorted.

Contrary to popular opinion, she actually does do her share of work around the house. Yeah, the dishes are her least favourite task. Vampires shouldn’t have to do the dishes. But, that doesn’t stop her from helping in other ways.

She’s just about to start dialling the telephone company, when there is a knock at the door. Few are brave enough to do that at this place. As she stalks over, she wonders if it might a debt collector – if it is, that means she can have a snack, too.

The heavy oaken door swings open with an agonising creak, and the eyes of the figure on the other side glow in the evening gloom.

Oh, it’s that pink-haired girl. Katie, maybe? Anne can’t actually remember her name, and at this point she’s too afraid to ask.

“Hi.” The girl waves slightly. “Can I come in?”

Do you really want to? Anne thinks, but she says, “Uh, sure.”

With a sigh of relief, Kiara steps over the threshold.

“Apparently I called you a baby last time you were here,” Anne says. “Sorry about that. That’s not fair to you, and you don’t scare the shit out of me like an actual vampire infant would. But, I’m guessing you’re not here for an apology.”

Kitty smiles awkwardly. “Uh, no. I’m here to try and fix your computer. Um, the little television-box-thing you never use?”

“Oh! That! Yeah, I never knew how to get that thing working.”

“Yeah, no promises,” Kelly says, “but Jane thought it might help you… connect.”

That really gets Anne’s attention. She’s not surprised it was Jane who told her, because of the way Kim described the computer, but that part about connecting.

Anne wants honesty, for once. If Kat (that sounds right) is offering, she will take it.

-

To Anne’s surprise (and shame), Kat is able to get la machine infernale up and running in just a few minutes. She explains the mouse, the monitor, and the programs built into the operating system. The computer is not to get wet, nor is it to be fed. Do not sacrifice anything to it in an attempt to make it work properly.

Why Kat felt the need to include that instruction is a mystery, but it was probably necessary.

“Now, I had this whole speech with my step-grandma – back when I talked with my family – and I’ll give the same to you. Don’t believe everything you read on the internet. A lot of it’s lies, or personal opinion. On that note, not everyone you talk to is who they say they are. Don’t do things like send money or give out personal details if someone asks, and don’t meet with someone without people around.”

“Okay, I’m absolutely going to do that last one – but for the rest of them? Sure!”

Kat genuinely smiles. Wow, when was the last time Anne did that, and didn’t eat the person afterwards? Must have been ages, because it feels like she’s come across an oasis after months in a desert.

“So,” she goes on, “what exactly is the internet? I know I pay the bill for it -” ‘pay’ is a strong word - “but I don’t actually know what it entails.”

“Okay, well, you know… books?”

“Yes.”

“You know the television?”

“Yeeesss.”

“You know those coffee shops where people yelled at each other about philosophy, in the eighteenth century?”

“Yep, yep, yep.” Even though she was never invited, the sexist pricks.

“The internet is all of those things together,” Kat explains, “but worse.”

Anne gasps. “I love it already.”

-

The room is dark. No lights, curtains shut. The only source of light is the faint white glow of the monitor.

The internet is, as Kat had warned, a shitshow. Anne thinks it’s just the best thing. University professors and the lowest common denominator share the same spaces, and send vile, scathing messages to one another over fictional characters. Maybe she should do some research, just so she can play along. It’d be just like her days at court, getting one person at another’s throat, playing them off each other… ah, she misses that, if nothing else. It’s just not the same, now.

Oh, but then there are the videos. Little mortal Anne would never have thought it possible. What an idea! What awful and wonderful things humans create when they’re not being killed!

Anne’s exploration is interrupted when the light from the hallway fills the room.

“Ah. So you haven’t left.”

Catalina? Come to check on her? Anne turns – yes, it is her, likely wondering why her evening hasn’t been ruined yet. Or, maybe not. Anne has a terrible habit of putting words in other people’s mouths.

“You haven’t been downstairs this evening,” Her housemate continues. “Jane was worried about you.”

Anne doubts that’s true. Not that Jane doesn’t worry, she worries about almost everything (who cares if her teeth show when she smiles?), but she would be thrilled to know Anne is being quiet.

“Just looking at things,” Anne mumbles.

“Hm. Ominous. What ‘things’?”

Well, the best way to explain would be to show, right?

Anne plays the video. Normal night sky, a deep navy. Then, violet, then orange, and the fiery sun rises over the horizon, accented by the crimson heavens.

There’s a thump from behind her. Catalina has flattened herself against the opposite wall, eyes wide, fangs bared.

“I will not die so easily, Boleyn!” she snarls. “I’ve survived assassination attempts before, and I’ll do it again!”

“I’m not trying to kill you, girl! It’s a video! Do you almost die every time you put the sun in one of your paintings? Because that would be a much bigger problem than me showing you this.”

She presses the button to make the video play once more, and makes a show of standing in front of the screen, conspicuously not combusting.

Catalina stares at her. Then, at the monitor. She approaches, slowly.

“Can you make it go again?”

Anne does. The sun is reflected in Catalina’s eyes for the first time in over five hundred years.

“…I miss it, sometimes.”

Oh God, it’s happening, Anne thinks. Out loud, she says, “Miss what?”

“The sunrise.” From the sound of her voice, calm and quiet, Anne gets the impression Catalina’s not really here. “My home. My family. It doesn’t matter how far away I am, in years or in miles. They’re gone, and the name Trastámara means nothing.”

Oh, that’s it. Of course it is.

Anne did not what it was like to be a princess in the early 1400s, partially because she wasn’t born yet. She knows from her own experiences with Whatever the Fuck the Sun King Was Playing At that the nobility was constantly having to be perfect at all times; not even a twitch of emotion could play upon your face, even as you drain all your resources to support the near-impossible standards of fashion, or it could easily be all for naught.

She’s just been thinking, maybe, something like that might be why Catalina has the sort of aversion to talking about her emotions that would normally be reserved for holy symbols.

“Catalina. You’re not a princess anymore.”

Catalina sneers, all traces of vulnerability gone. “Yes, you have taunted me about that many times before.”

“Not a taunt.” Sometimes. “A reminder you no longer have to try and be perfect. I’m not gonna tell any peers of the realm if you feel sad sometimes.”

“So you feel the need to drive me to madness in the hopes I accept your view?”

Okay, so maybe Anne’s been a little coarse. In fairness, she tried passive-aggressive behaviour and it didn’t work. There’s a reason she goes after Catalina, and it’s not just because it’s easy.

Anne points to herself. “Unstoppable force.” To Catalina. “Immovable object. You move, I stop.”

“…Right. Okay.” A pause. “I know, logically, that you are right – about that particular thing. But, it makes me feel like I’m ignoring part of myself.”

“Just have the good without the bad. If the King of Spain has anything to say about it, kill him and rule the country as their immortal god-queen.”

“I would never be so rash,” Catalina huffs. “I’ll try. Just… don’t mock me for it. If I’m keeping at least one good thing about my life, it will be threatening anyone who insults me with imprisonment.”

“Yessssss…”

Both Anne and Catalina jump at the voice from outside the room. Anne acts first – she opens the door a crack, and sees Jane’s eye on the other side.

“You’ve been at it for two hundred years,” Jane says. “Two. Hundred. Years. I don’t care if you don’t get along straight away, let me have this.”

And, fearing her ire, they do.

~~~

Anna’s on the roof again.

There are two main reasons for this. One, her room is in the attic and it’s the easiest way out of the house. Two, it’s a good place to sit, look up at the stars (at least the ones you can still see, anyway) and think about things.

Kat is on her right, arms around her knees, looking up at the moon. Anna does not think she’s paying much attention to it, however.

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Kat doesn’t answer straight away. “Just how things are better.”

“…They are?”

“I’m living… uh, residing in a house with people I actually like. This is the first time that’s happened since I was about eight, I think.”

Wow. Anna hadn’t had a terribly good time when she was alive – no rights, no fun allowed, go marry some dude you’ve never even met, and no you can’t have fun then either – but Kat’s life might beat out Cathy’s hopeless search for love, in terms of tragedy.

“I cannot truly speak for you, but I have found this…” Anna waves her hands, trying to find the right way to put it, “whole thing to be very affirming. There is no-one to hold you down. No-one to stop you from doing what you like. Well, except priests, but they can be ignored, mostly.”

“You don’t brood about it too much?”

“Why would I? It’s the only reason I’ve been able to see the things I’ve seen. To be here, now, talking to you.” All because she told the wrong (or right) person about how bored she was. Of course she would accept the offer to have fun, even if the whole process wasn’t. “Do you?”

Kat stops to think again, so that’s a ‘yes’. “I’m still getting used to it. But, I don’t mind it. I’m not scared of the things I used to be afraid of. That’s good, right?”

“Sounds good to me. But, if you falter, that’s okay, too. We have supported Cathy, who was the youngest before you, we can do the same here – so long as you support us in turn.”

“Oh, yeah. She’s got that thing about finding the one.” How does Kat manage to fit so much bitterness in only two words? “Don’t get it. She’s got people who love her already. You, and those three around the corner. She doesn’t need them.”

“That’s a very good way of putting it, actually.” Anna’s argument against serious dating has been that three of the people Parr’s courted have tried to murder her, and her ex-husband technically succeeded. It hasn’t worked, but maybe a more positive viewpoint might win out against two centuries of stubbornness.

“Anna von Kleve.”

von Kleve looks down. Ah, speak of the devil. She’s on the balcony below them.

“Cathy! Kat has had some good thoughts about love!”

“Oh? How wonderful.”

She doesn’t seem like she thinks it is, though. She almost looks angry, with the hard eyes and pursed lips and the red-brown mottled book in her hand -

Oh no.

“I think, Anna,” Cathy intones, her voice sharper than any stake, “that we should talk about personal responsibility first.”

[realityhelixcreates]

Dance of the Spheres Chapter 3: Mercurian Merengue

Chapters: 3/?

Fandom:  Marvel Cinematic Universe

Rating: PG 13

Warnings: drugging, kidnapping, forced marriage

Characters: Loki(Marvel),

Additional Tags:  Loki Goes Overboard, But When Doesn’t Loki go Overboard, Mature Reader, Disabled Reader, Political Intrigue

Summary:  

Starlight

I will be chasing a starlight

For the rest of my life

I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore

Our hopes and expectations

Black holes and revalations

                                           Muse-Starlight

You awoke in tremendous pain. That wasn't actually too unusual; you'd run out of your pain medication recently, and hadn't had the money to refill your prescription. It was far worse today though, and you groaned. It felt as if you had been dragged backwards down a flight of stairs.

You were having a hard time moving, like you were trying to swim through thick mud. Limbs heavy, and bones feeling like plastic, you rolled onto your side.

You were still wearing your leg. Weird. You almost never fell asleep with that thing on anymore. You must have had one hell of a night. Where had you been?

That's right! Your spineless boss had fired you. Fuck. Had you gotten wasted or something?

No.

No, those G-men had nabbed you! They drugged you with something. No wonder you were so sore and groggy: You were wasted, and those assholes had probably handled you like a sack of potatoes. You were likely covered in bruises now.

You slowly pried your eyes open to be met with an unfamiliar, dimly lit room, mostly unfurnished and uniform. There were no windows, but two doors; one open and leading to what appeared to be a restroom, and one closed.

There was an end table next to you that looked to be made of stone, with shelves carved into it. A cup of water and a plate with apple slices rested atop it. You were suddenly overtaken with hunger and thirst, having no idea how long you'd been asleep. You snatched up a slice of apple and stuffed it in your mouth, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

The bed was also made of stone, though covered with a soft mattress and warm blankets. You didn't see your cane anywhere. The bastards probably left it in the alley. You leaned against the wall instead. It was also stone, as was the floor. Everything in the room, in fact, aside from the apple, water, mattress, pillow, and blankets, was made of stone blocks, flawlessly smooth and perfect. It was a creamy gray-white mostly, with a line of pale orange blocks at about hip level.

The light came from hidden fixtures, affixed into the walls near the ceiling, covered with what appeared to be carved panels of cloudy crystal. It was lovely, and very foreign.

Where were you? You shoved more apple in your mouth, and took a swig of the water.

How odd. The apple was truly delicious, better than any you'd ever had. The water tasted of absolutely nothing. The room also smelled of nothing, nor did the hospital gown you realized you were wearing. You had been changed while you slept. Distressing.

You sat back down on the bed and ate. The apple was gone all too soon, but you were still hungry. That was nothing new. In your life, sometimes it came down to medical expenses or food. At least you'd had an apple and a cup of water. In a situation as uncertain as this, you would be glad to have had it.

But why were you here? Those two men had kidnapped you, for sure, but to what end? What for? Because you were an agitator? You'd heard stories recently about community organizers being targeted, grabbed off the streets and tossed into vans, or yanked from their own homes in the middle of the night. You weren't important like that though. You didn't organize, you just marched. You had no power, no voice, no following. You just marched. You'd borne the brunt of police brutality along with thousands of your fellows across the country, but it wasn't as if anybody knew your name.

Why had they taken you? And so violently? So brazenly? What did they want from you?

There was a light knock at the door, and you jumped in surprise, toppling over with a curse. Two people rushed into the room, and to your side, expressing concern. You flailed at them, trying to bat them away until you realized they were attempting to help you. You allowed them to haul you to the bed and sat yourself down.

“Who are you?” You demanded. “What do you want from me?”

They were children, basically. A girl and boy, teenagers. The boy had a basket on his back.

“I'm Bjarkhilde. This is Andvarri. I am an apprentice healer, and he is an artificer.”

“I've come to measure your leg, my lady.” Andvarri said politely, setting his basket on the stone end table. “We intend to make you a new one. Lighter, more functional.”

“M-my leg? A new leg? Why?” This was baffling. Why kidnap you, just to send children to see to your medical needs? “No...No. Don't touch me. What do you actually want? Who do you work for?”

The teenagers glanced at each other in clear confusion.

“We work for...the healers? And the artificers?” Bjarkhilde said.

“And ultimately the Crown?”

“What crown? What do you want? I said don't touch me! Get away from me! I'm not giving you anything!” You snapped, slapping their hands away.

Bjarkhilde grabbed Andvarri and his basket.

“We should come back later.” She said, dragging him back out the door.

It was fine. You didn't trust them. They worked for whoever had kidnapped you. You didn't owe them the time of day.

You didn't even know the time of day.

The outburst had left you worn out, that and all the sudden movement, and whatever drug was left in your system. You sat back down on the bed, head swimming. Were there guards outside the door? It didn't seem to be locked. Maybe you could find a nurse and ask for help.

You hobbled to the door, out into the hallway. But the sudden brightness of the lights out there hit you like a punch in the head, and you stumbled.

Someone caught you before your face smashed on the stone floor.

“Careful love.” That someone said. You blinked, eyes dazzled. “You might not be in the right shape for exertion just yet.” The voice was low, and carried the echo of a growl, but no anger. Whoever it was lifted you effortlessly into his arms, and carried you back to the stone bed and the dim light.

“Oh, you've already eaten the whole thing.” He said. He must have meant the apple. “That was faster than I expected. I would have liked to feed it to you myself, but...Oh well. This will speed things along, though it might be more unpleasant than it would have been if you'd eaten it over the course of a few days.”

“What are you talking about?” You demanded. He had taken a seat on the stone block end table, a crow against the creamy walls. Or maybe a magpie, as he was pale about the face and hands, but black accented with green everywhere else.

“I've given you a gift.” he said with a little smile, but gave no other information.

You scooted to the opposite side of the bed.

“Where am I?”

He blinked, the smile fading. “You are in Asgard, of course.”

The words almost slid off of you, they were so ridiculous. Asgard? Asgard was a mystery. It barely existed. It was nothing more than a collection of cosmic refugees who had been granted land to rebuild by the U.N.-but no one seemed to know where. No one was reporting new neighbors building alien architecture. No extraterrestrials were walking into local coffee shops after a long day of work. No one even knew where they could be. Even the remotest islands could be contacted, even Antarctica could be seen on Google Maps. But the greater public had found nothing.

The Asgardians had a spaceship that came for supplies every now and then, but it seemed to have some kind of invisibility device, because as soon as it lifted above the clouds, it would disappear, undetectable by telescope or radar, to fly off to whatever secret stronghold they had been granted. No one was able to trace its movements back to its home.

It made sense, of course. If Asgard wasn't hidden, they would be plagued constantly, by curious humans, by horny humans, by worshipful humans, by hateful humans, by vengeful humans. Asgard was a source of great controversy. The people of the God-Hero Thor, greatly beloved and celebrated. But also the people of the Mad Conqueror Loki, loathed and feared. What if more of these Asgardians turned out to be like him? That was the great worry of most of Asgard's detractors. What if there were more Lokis? Even though Loki had been declared dead years ago, what if he had a following?

“Why am I in Asgard? Why did you kidnap me?”You demanded. What could Asgard possibly want with you? It made no sense at all.

The magpie's eyebrows were practically beetled now. “Kidnapped? You were kidnapped? By whom?”

“What do you mean 'by whom'? By you! Your goons!”

“I don't have goons! And I didn't authorize any kidnapping! I thought it was just some Earth custom!”

“Earth custom? Custom for what? Why could Asgard possibly want some drugged out woman? Wait, are you after human slaves?”

“No!”

“You are, aren't you? Well guess what, fucker; you got fleeced. Whatever you paid for me, it was too much! I'm completely worthless!” You yanked up the hem of your hospital gown. “Check that out, eh? No leg! And on top of that, I'm incredibly disagreeable! No friends! No cheery personality! Totally worthless. Good job, asshole! You're getting nothing outta me!”

“Don't say that.” He said, rounding the bed. You scooted back to the other side.

“Sucks to be robbed, doesn't it?” You taunted.

“No, don't say you're worthless. You're not worthless!” He insisted.

���You don't know that. You don't know anything about me.”

“I know you are strong and resilient. You walk on a leg that isn't there, like an Asgardian warrior. Are you in pain? Please, we can make medicine for you. Let me help you!”

“You just stay over there!” You pointed at him, as if to keep him at arm's length. It worked too; he came no closer than the end of your fingertip. “If I'm not a slave, then I've got rights. You owe me big time, buster! You owe me answers!”

“Anything you want.” He said, hands up in front of him in a placating gesture.

“Alright. We'll start with...Who are you?”

He gave you an absolutely dumbfounded look.

“You don't know? How can you not know? Did they tell you nothing?”

“I already said I was kidnapped! You think I had a nice conversation with them?”

He shook his head, disbelieving. “Something is very wrong. Please, will you tell me what happened? From your perspective.”

“My perspective? Hmph.” This guy was acting so clueless, it was almost insulting. “From my perspective, I went into work in the morning, and by noon, I'd been fired. My boss said it was because of my arrest record, but it wasn't.”

“Arrest record?” Now he sounded scandalized.

“It was bullshit. I was at a march a couple months ago, and one of the cops sent to break it up shoved past me and tripped on some garbage. Started shouting that I'd knocked him down. Me! He dropped me on my ass and started hitting me with my own cane. Right up until my leg came off, which I guess startled him, because he stopped doing it. His buddies still came over and arrested me. Against the law to get my own ass beat, I guess. They let me go the next day, because there were a thousand phones on them and the video was everywhere, from all angles. Still had to fight to get my leg and cane back. Damn cane was a little bent since then, but it's gone now.”

The man simply stared at you, expression of shocked outrage stretching his features.

“Your lawkeepers attacked you for no reason?”

“Oh no, there was absolutely a reason. To send a message. 'You aren't people, and we will hurt you to keep it that way'. They've been sending that message for decades, but they've really ramped it up over the past couple presidential administrations.”

“Unacceptable.”

“True. But it's a lie. That's not why I got fired, or else it would have happened after I was released. No, I was fired because two MIBs came in and said so.”

“MIBs?” The mans slowly growing confusion was reaching his voice now, driving it upward.

“Men in Black. Nameless, no I.D. government agents, meant to be secret and interchangeable. They came in about lunchtime and pressured my boss to fire me. And he caved fast.”

“The spineless wretch!”

“That's what I thought too! Lower and middle management are a bunch of wet noodles. Mouthpieces. So I grabbed my stuff and left. That bitch Betty smirking the whole way.”

“Betty?”

“Don't worry about her; her kids are all gonna leave and never talk to her again as soon as they turn eighteen. But those sleazy G-men stalked me, and dragged me into an alley, and drugged me. And then I woke up here. In...Asgard? You said Asgard, but why? Why would anyone in Asgard wanna kidnap me? I'm no one worth kidnapping. I'm not even worth selling, especially not to some fairy tale kingdom. Why am I here? Tell me why I'm here!”

The strange magpie man had slowly sunk down to sit on the opposite end of the bed-still at arms length-and picked at his palms, staring down at them like he was about to cry.

“This is terribly wrong.” He said quietly. “It wasn't supposed to happen like this. I don't understand. This was a clear attempt at reconciliation, a grand opportunity to form powerful links between our peoples. Why sabotage that? Why do this? You are not even related to your nation's ruler, are you?”

“We don't have a ruler!” You insisted. “We have a temporary leader who is supposed to be democratically elected! I don't care what that guy thinks, we are going to keep fighting his takeover at every turn! And no, I'm not related to that dictator wannabe, I think I'd die of shame!”

“I see...so it was a sham from the beginning. I have been duped by your shame leader. I, of all people. And what of you, my dear? Caught up in all this, without any choice of your own. But it's already done. I can't take it back now. What terrible situation have we put you in?”

“That's what I'd like to know.” You said. He sounded remorseful, but he still hadn't answered your questions. “Who are you, and what is all this about?”

“My dear. My poor, sweet dear. I am so sorry. I can't undo it now. Please, please, I know this may come as a shock, but please do not be afraid.”

“Way too late.”

“I know. I know. I'm sorry.” He stood, formal and imposing. “My name is Loki; I am the Crown Prince of Asgard. And I asked not for a slave, but for a bride.”

[hecohansen31]

The Perks of The Toys

Modern! Ivar+Tinder Date! Reader

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

Since I saw that you quite liked ‘The Perks Of The Bush’, I decided to create a series of fics written on the ‘taboos of sex’, starting from pubic hair and moving onto involving sex toys during sex.

I have a few idea on how to continue, but I wanted to tell you that if you have any ideas or proposals of things that you’d want to see in the next chapter, I am here for it.

Feedback is more than welcome: it makes me write faster and make my heart flutter with happiness!

Hope you’ll like this!

Have a nice reading!

WARNINGS: Mention of Sex, Sex Toys, Light Grinding, Mention of Prank War

Before Ivar, you had been a single girl for quite some time.

This meant that you had had to satisfy yourself in some way.

And whenever your own fingers weren’t enough, you had learned to discover a new world: sex toys.

You had been pretty skeptic about it all.

There was no way a thing in rubber and plastic could make you feel as good as a man could.

But apparently it could.

And you had found yourself falling down that rabbit hole, collecting quite the impressive number.

And it had been quite, back in those crazy days.

But now you had a real thing, which was better than any toy.

And yet, although they simply laid unused in a bag, you hadn’t been able to part yourself from them, thinking that you couldn’t simply throw them away, because not only it’d be a waste of money, but also you thought it’d just be bad for the planet.

You didn’t know how to properly ‘dispose’ of them but the fact that they kept on hiding on your wardrobe felt heavy on your conscience, even more now that you and Ivar had moved in together.

Mostly because… a girl with a boyfriend didn’t use toys.

If she did, she wasn’t satisfied with her man.

Which wasn’t true with Ivar.

It was more like a sentimental value, because of all the ‘good moments’ you had spent with them.

But at the same time, you were well aware that if Ivar ever found out about ‘your little secret’ it’d destroy him and that small sexual confidence he was slowly building up, since your relationship had reached that level.

So, you had been trying to find a proper way to dispose of your sex toys, eventually finding out that a local sex-shop was organizing an event to collect sex toys and to give them ‘new life’, recycling them, through some new process.

That morning you had gotten the bag out of your wardrobe, as Ivar slept in a bit, since it had been a tough night for him his legs paining him thoroughly and stopping him from sleeping properly.

You thought of bringing it there after work and you could already feel lighter as if you had already solved the problem.

And you had felt so light… that you had forgotten the box at home, leaving it to a rather curious Ivar…

… who checked the box worried you had forgotten something important, just to make a rather… weird discovery.

He certainly wasn’t clueless to your time as a single woman and even more certainly he recognized the objects in the bag.

But he was shocked of finding out that after moving in together and having what he thought was an ‘healthy sex life’, you still had them.

Anger followed his insecurities and he wasn’t able to stop himself from throwing the bag down the small coffee table it was set onto, and as he did so, although the toys stayed in place, a small piece of paper came out of it, and curious investigator Ivar immediately lightly crouched down to collect it.

Maybe you hadn’t solely hidden a stash of sex toys, but also a relationship…

As much as Ivar tried to keep his calm, knowing that most of the time it was just him being paranoid, he couldn’t help but rush to irrational thoughts.

But the small piece of paper wasn’t any admission of guilt.

It was a form for the donation of some objects to a local sex shop (yeah he had definitely had to wait for Hvitserk outside of it) to recycle them, listing your name and your number, with a quick description of the products you intended to donate.

And then there was a small note about the reason behind why you had decided to donate.

And that was what struck him.

You had written:

“The toys are still functioning, and I am not donating them because of any malfunction, but I found somebody who makes me feel like I don’t have to use them”.

He wasn’t completely blushing.

And he was feeling just a tiny bit guilty of having gone through your stuff and for having mentally  accused you of something you obviously didn’t have any say in, although he still felt like he needed to talk with you.

And as he was thinking all of this, his eyes fell on the various ‘toys’, shifting swiftly past them, till he found a few ones that he couldn’t help but be curious about.

… and something more as he imagined you using them.

He licked his lips, and quickly closed the bag, throwing out the donation form.

Maybe these toys might still have some use between you two.

As you came home that night, you finally realized what was the task that you had forgotten about: taking the toys to the sex shop.

And worst of all, you had left them on the coffee table, for everyone to see, hadn’t they been shielded by the fabric bag you had stashed them in.

So, you literally huffed out a breath of relief, as you found the bag untouched where you had left it and smelled the wonderful perfume of a homemade meal, as Ivar came to greet you from the kitchen, an apron over his pajama, signaling he had worked from home.

You immediately came to him, gently kissing his lips, as he giggled at your eagerness, answering your kiss and then proceeding to bring you closer as he took in a good look at you.

Something was making him strangely affectionate.

“… welcome home” he huffed on your lips, as you tried to dive in for another kiss, just for him to turn around as a timer went off.

“Gosh aren’t you a little housewife?” you made fun of him, just to be threatened by a jokingly harsh look “… ok ok, man of the house”.

“How was work?” he asked, as he went to check on the meat, before he disposed a few appetizers for you to snack on, as you waited for everything to be cooked.

You opened a bottle of wine, pouring yourself a big glass, trying to appear as calm as you could, avoiding to think about the fact that your secret was still out in the open.

You should have set a note on your phone to bring it with you, so you wouldn’t forgotten about it anymore.

“… pretty nice” you mumbled, pouring a glass also for him and bringing it to him “… what about you? Did you work from home?”.

He nodded, as he came to get his glass from your hands, just to be stopped by your lips, as you held out the glass.

“… did you take some medicines?” you reprimanded him, since he wasn’t supposed to mix alcohol with the medicines he was taking.

“At lunch” he replied with a quick look at you, before stealing the glass, as he instead kissed you to distract you, finally gaining the upper hand “… so I am cleared to drink”.

“Not too much”.

“Ok, mom” he mumbled with a grimace, accompanying you back to the table, as he went to grab the food, which appeared delicious solely from the smell and you were quickly served, as you tried to understand if your lover was just trying to be romantic…

… or there was something behind it.

You didn’t in the slightest link Ivar’s behavior with your ‘toy collection’, thinking he had probably screamed at one of his brothers and he was trying to get you to apologize to them from him.

“What is this for?” you mumbled with a full belly, as you finished your second glass of wine, feeling definitely relaxed and sending a small look to your beloved, who had a sly smirk on his face, lightly teasing the board of his glass.

“Can’t you accept the fact that I am a decent boyfriend?” he shot back, as he held an hand out for you, but you sent him a questioning look.

“I hope that you know that I won’t help you in any prank way you have put yourself in” you retorted, as you gulped down your glass of wine, just for you to choke onto it as Ivar replied.

“… then you won’t help me understand what is in that bag on the coffee table”:

Fucking busted!

You risked choking on red wine eventually spluttering it everywhere, aware that Ivar had looked through your stuff.

“… you shouldn’t have opened it” you tried to shift the blame, but he just sent you a look as if to say ‘don’t even try’ “… it isn’t what…”.

“I do have to say that it bothered me at first” he mumbled, and although his tone was evidently playful you could hear the brutal emotion he had felt when he had found your stash of sex toys “… I mean why use a silicon model when you have the real thing”.

“Ivar…” you tried to plead with him to let you explain, but he raised a hand to tell you to let him continue.

“… and then I found the note, and I thought that… that maybe I should think before always assuming the worst”.

You were speechless but had to say something witty.

It was simply how your relationship with Ivar worked.

“And you had to find my stash of sex toys to realize this” you blurted out, as you both soon erupted in laughter and you couldn’t help but feel the blush on your cheeks dampen.

Maybe you didn’t have to talk about this…maybe you could just laugh it off…

“… you shouldn’t throw them away”.

… or maybe you had to endure a rather confusing talk with Ivar.

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to use a silicon substitute” you challenged him, and he smirked at you wolfishly.

The kind of smirk that made you clench your thighs in anticipation.

“No, you certainly like me better” he smirked confidently and although you muttered a light ‘asshole’ under your breath, you loved seeing him so sure about himself.

It was definitely a strong aphrodisiac.

“… but we could use some toys together” he continued as he sent you a shy look, looking out for your validation softly “… I mean I do have to know how you can use some…”.

“Ask away, boy” you mumbled, making him laugh, as you moved yourself for the ‘exploration’ in the bedroom.

Part of you couldn’t help but feel like it was nice to know that Ivar hadn’t taken it personally, but instead had tried to incorporate it in your sex life.

You found it sweet.

And fucking hot.

A lot of men would have shamed you, made you feel horridly for feeling the need to come without them, but it honestly made you feel good.

Even more as Ivar looked at you like you were a sex goddess as you explained the use of the various objects.

A few were non-working, because the battery had died down, and you’d definitely have to clean a few more because they hadn’t been used in such a long time, but it was definitely becoming a possibility the more you talked about it.

“What is this?” asked Ivar picking a small steel butt plug, with an aquamarine heart handle, making you smirk lightly.

“Butt plug” he immediately dropped it, sending you a worried look “… never used it, don’t worry. I got it in a flash sale on a black Friday a bit of years ago…”.

“You do buy sex toys, as other women buy bags” he mumbled, sending you a joking look, as you swatted him lightly on the shoulder.

“These ones give me much more satisfaction” you replied as you sent him a lightly reprimanding look “… and don’t look at me like that, like if you, yourself, don’t collection little vintage cars…”.

“Guilty” he mumbled, before he picked up the butt plug as you set up a small bullet vibrator, your favorite toy since it was sleek and cute but had led you in so so much pleasure that you were glad its battery wasn’t destroyed “… and about the butt… the plug… not interested in butt things?”.

Ivar’s malicious gaze definitely made it quite the trick on you.

“… never had anybody to try it on” you led him on, as you kneeled closer to him, taking the plug from his hand and nearing your lips to his mouth “… want to try it on, my might Viking?”.

“You mean on you, right?” he tried to protest, but you simply sent him a smirk.

“… not exactly, but we can discuss about it”.

“It is not open to negotiating” he growled as you lightly grinded yourself against his straining cock, his pajama pants doing literally nothing to hide it.

And if Ivar hadn’t changed his usual habits, he certainly wasn’t wearing nothing underneath them.

“The prostrate is there for a reason!” you joked and he sent you an even harsher look “… ok we’ll try it when you are ready, in the meanwhile what about a bit of the old love-making?”.

“I think that I can agree on at least that” he muttered and he pushed you down onto the bed, making you giggle at his eagerness.

But he still reached out lightly for one of your toys set in your bag: a big and very purpley dildo.

“Can I use this as a joke to Hvitserk?”.

And sometimes you wondered whether your instinct was ever wrong.

---

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[out-of-jams]

Press Play || knj

Summary: You didn’t mean to. Didn’t intend to fall in love with a dying man.

                         Pairing: Namjoon x Reader.                       

                         Word count: 9k

                         Warnings/Genre: Fluff, alluded smut, cursing, angst, character death.

All of my works are purely fiction. Everything I write is my intellectual property and therefore belongs to me. ©out-of-jams. Do not copy or repost without permission.

                               | | Masterlist | |

Beep. Beep. Beep.

With a sigh, you shifted on the uncomfortable chair’s hard plastic. It creaked beneath your weight in protest, as if judging you for the powdered donut pressed to your lips. The obnoxious beeping from the heart monitor belonging to the patient behind the curtain next to you continued on, blaring loudly over the annoyance wafting off you in waves.

You hated hospitals, hated everything about them. From the sterile smell of disinfectant, to the unnecessarily bright walls and fluorescent lighting, and all the way to the way the stench of disappointment hovered right on the precipice of hope. The sound of footfalls could be heard from outside the door of the room, left half-open as if to try and air out the reek of hopelessness.

Another breath of hot air left your lips as you attempted to relax further back into the chair that apparently had some sort of vendetta against your numb rear. The crinkle of the plastic wrapped mini donuts was the only sound that could be heard over the beeping of the heart monitor behind the curtain. The white sheeted bed to the left of you was empty, the covers drawn down messily.

Somewhere in the cold building they called a hospital was your sister, hooked up to the same machine that was trying to save her life, only to pump deadly chemicals into her bloodstream. She’d left you alone thirty minutes ago, practically stiff arming you into staying behind while she got treatment. Soohee, your sister, absolutely refused to allow you to see her in what she liked to joke was her cyborg form.

Even though the joke made no sense, you didn’t have it in you to refuse anything that came out of her mouth. Especially when that request came at the cost of you not having to witness her skin turn a sickly, pallor white while the machine at her side filtered her body with the white hot fire that they called medicine.

While your tongue flickered across your lips to collect the white powdered sugar at the corner of your mouth, you hand stayed busy absentmindedly scrolling through your Instagram feed. It was right as you were liking a vacation picture of some old highschool acquaintance that the door to the room swung the rest of the way open. Just like the chair under your ass, the door protested at the movement.

You were going to ignore it, you really were. You knew it couldn’t be your sister, seeing as how she still had a little ways to go to finish her treatment. But a flash of silver caught at the corner of your eye and refused to let go. So there you were, the final half of your last powdered donut pressed to your parted lips, that you saw it. No, not it.

Him.

He shuffled through the door in a pair of white slippers the same shade as the boring walls, with one hand holding on to the IV pole wheeling along beside him. Dressed in a pair of comfortable looking black sweatpants and a baggy grey hoodie, the boy’s attention was somewhere over his shoulder. You couldn’t make out any facial features from the way he was turned, but his mop of messily styled silver hair caught the fluorescent light almost teasingly. His tan skin that poked out from the sleeves of his hoodie looked a little pale, the veins in his hand standing out as it grasped onto the IV pole.

“Really, don’t worry.” Even without seeing his face, you knew that his voice matched him perfectly. It was deep, but with a rasp to it that made it soft around the edges. “I’ll be fine.”

Somewhere outside of the room someone responded. Your ears couldn’t make out who it was or what they said, but the slightly high pitched lilt of the voice told you it was female. A nurse, probably. Or a doctor. Whatever, that wasn’t really what was important. What was important, however, was the scratchy chuckle that flowed from the boy’s mouth like water.

“Promise.” He lifted his free hand in a wave, jokingly shooing whoever was on the other side of the door. “I’ll ring if I need anything.”

The nurse, or doctor, or shaman, or whoever the hell it was, must have taken the boy’s word because his hand reached out to draw the door back to its half-shut position. You really should have averted your eyes, or politely looked away or something as he finally turned, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You didn’t believe in love at first sight or in soulmates or whatever mumbo-jumbo bullshit people liked to put their faith in to feel less lonely. Attraction at first sight though? You definitely believed in that. It was hard not to. Especially when your eyes caught the dark brown ones of the boy standing in the doorway.

Almonds. That was your first thought. Almonds that had been left out to sit in the sun for too long and now radiated warmth. He may not have had long eyelashes that brushed gently against the apple of his cheeks or whatever stupid bull that was written on the pages of romance novels. But god, he didn’t need them anyway.

Your second thought was of the perfectly shaped slope of his nose right above plush pink lips. And the natural golden, sunkissed hue of his skin that should have clashed with the color of his hair, but somehow didn’t.

His ears were pierced. Small silver hoops dangled from his earlobes, catching the light. Not all men could pull of the whole pierced ear thing without looking like a giant, raging douchebag, but somehow he managed to make it look soft, handsome even.

The boy stood frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, eyes wide and lips slightly parted in surprise. He must not have been expecting to see you there. Not when the room was normally empty or at the very least usually had the curtains around the few occupied beds drawn closed in a semblance of privacy. He must have been new. You’d never seen him before.

“Uh,” the sound left his lips as he blinked slowly, short eyelashes dark against his skin. “Hello.”

God, he must have been freaked out by the weird ass girl with powdered sugar clinging to her lips with the staring problem. But it wasn’t like you could help it. Not like it was everyday that you got the privilege to lay eyes on a boy--no, man--who looked like he could grace the cover of GQ magazine.

His voice snapped you out of your silent analyzation and you gave your head a light shake to bring yourself back to the present. You lifted your fingers in a little wave with the hand still holding on to the mini donut, powder flaking off onto the hard tiled floor. “Hey.”

He gave an awkward smile at that. Either he didn’t know how to respond or didn’t have the desire to. Because that was the end of that short conversation. With a small nod of his head, the man shuffled further into the room, the squeak of the wheels of his IV pole trailing after him.

Your eyes dropped from him at that point so that he didn’t think you were some sort of weirdo. But you couldn’t help but glance at him out of the corner of your eye while you pretended to scroll through Instagram again. It wasn’t like the beach photos from Gabby’s vacation four months ago could spark your interest anyway. Especially not while the first splash of radiant color that you’d seen in that dreary hospital shambled towards the bed right across from you.

How cliché.

It would have been at least, if the man’s slipper hadn’t caught on the edge of his IV pole. With a yelp of surprise, the man stumbled forward, free arm pinwheeling in attempt to regain his balance. Whatever backwater physics he was trying to pull failed him and down he went, sprawling across the full-sized mattress with limbs splayed in the most undignified manner you’d ever seen.

He’d somehow managed to drag the pole down with him. It rang loudly as it fell half-onto the bed and the floor, the bag of fluids swinging wildly. One of the man’s slippers left his foot with the fall to take shelter underneath the metal bed frame.

The deathly silence that overtook the room was brief, but voluminous.

“Are you okay?”

You shot to your feet, almost empty donut package forgotten as it fell. The soles of your shoes scuffed against the tiled floor as you raced over to his side of the room. You stopped at the foot of his bed, hands awkwardly hovering over his prone form.

He was tall. So tall that his legs hung halfway off the bed and dragged against the floor. His lips were parted in surprise as he gaped at the IV pole like it’d insulted his mother. Like he couldn’t believe what just happened.

“Blink once for yes, twice for no.” Your concerned voice must have snapped him out of the confused daze he’d been left in, because he blinked once and lifted his eyes to you. “Ah, I’ll take that as a yes then.”

“Yeah. I’m..,” he cleared his throat awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Nice to meet you, Yeah.” The corner of your lips perked in amusement at your own joke, eyes trained on him as he scrambled to sit up. “Sure you’re okay? Need me to call someone?”

“I’m okay.” He finally regained his balance to sit up properly, feet planted firmly on the floor: one slippered and one bare. His slendered hands reached out to return the IV pole to its proper upright position. Though he kept his eyes averted from you, likely in an attempt to hide the heated pink blooming across his cheeks.

“You sure, Yeah?” You crossed your arms across your chest. The fabric of your denim jacket did little to chase away the cold air conditioning that the hospital somehow insisted be blasted on high at all times.

“Namjoon.” His voice sounded muffled as he bent over to retrieve the lost slipper underneath the bed.

“What?” The tilt of your head couldn’t be helped as you stared down at him in confusion. A golden ring on one of his fingers caught your attention as he slipped his footwear back on.

“My name.” The man finally looked up at you, a small smile tilting at the corners of his plush lips. “It’s Namjoon. Not Yeah.”

“You sure?” The expression on your face was deadly serious, mouth pursed. “I think Yeah kind of suits you. Very unique.”

The man, Namjoon, lifted a dark eyebrow in response. His smile grew in amusement, forcing the two dimples on his cheeks out of hiding. “You saying I’m unique?”

Namjoon’s warm eyes glistened teasingly and now it was your turn to feel warmth blossom across your face and down your neck. You cleared your throat. “Well, you sure know how to make an entrance, that’s for sure.”

Eyes widened in shock at the words that just spewed from your lips, you clamped your jaw shut. Why the universe had cursed you with the sarcastic humor of a bitter 90 year-old widow, you had no idea. But wow, talk about putting your foot in your mouth. With an internal cringe, you waited with bated breath at the offended look that was sure to overtake his face.

Namjoon groaned, both hands covering his face in embarrassment. He didn’t explode in anger however. A chuckle left his lips and he shook his head back and forth like he could wipe the memory from his mind. “Please pretend you never saw that.”

You sucked in air through your teeth jokingly and shrugged in fake apology. “Sorry, no can do, dude. It’s seared into my brain. Cursed to forever play on repeat.”

“Talk about embarrassing.” Namjoon’s voice was muffled by the palms of his hands.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.” You leaned your thighs against the metal bed frame, hands finding the pockets of your jacket. “I’ve seen worse here, trust me.”

Those seemed like the magic words, because Namjoon finally freed himself from the cage of his fingers and lifted his eyes back to yours. His dark eyebrows shot into the messy bangs that shifted with his fall and now fell across his forehead. “Worse? What could have possibly been more embarrassing than what just happened?”

“Well,” your tongue ran across your lips, eyes raising to the white ceiling in memory. “There’s this old woman in one of the rooms a few doors down. I’ve heard some of the residents call her Crazy Shorts Cathy, but between you and me, I think that’s kinda rude.”

“Crazy Shorts Cathy?” Namjoon interrupted your story with a snort of amusement. “Why do they call her that?”

“Trust me, once you see her, you’ll know.” You nodded sagely, a smile gracing your lips as you reached up to twirl a piece of your hair around a finger absentmindedly. “But anyway, back to the topic at hand. So, Crazy Shorts Cathy had surgery a little while ago. And afterwards she was so doped up on anesthesia that she was somehow convinced that she was a medieval knight.

“Poor woman tried to joust the nurses with an IV pole. Caused a huge commotion in the hall. Like, there were doctors and nurses everywhere trying to wrestle the pole from her without opening her fresh stitches. So many casualties. Too many. May they rest in peace.”

A loud laugh left Namjoon, filling the cold room with warmth. It didn’t sound like bells, or windchimes or some other stupid romantic simile. No, Namjoon’s laugh was a roaring, throaty ha-ha-ha! Like it couldn’t leave his lips without forming each syllable perfectly.

“What?” His eyes were wide in disbelief, staring up at you with shoulders shaking in laughter.

Your own ugly, obnoxious laugh joined his, sounding more like a squeaky toy than anything else. That only seemed to spur his amusement further until no sound left him, just quiet intakes of air as he completely lost himself. Namjoon was bent over at the waist, elbows braced against his knees and eyes squeezed shut with mirth.

“That can’t--” He had to pause in order to get the breath to speak. “That can’t be true.”

With teeth biting into your bottom lip to try and contain your giggles, you shook your head. “It’s not.”

“What?” Namjoon lifted his gaze back to you, eyes shining with unshed tears of glee. He pointed a finger at you and tried his hardest to give you a stern look, but the silent laughter shaking his chest gave him away. “You lied!”

“Ah.” You pointed your own finger back at him. “But I made you feel better though. Just don’t tell Crazy Shorts Cathy that I’ve been soiling her name.”

“Oh, so she’s real?”

“She most definitely is.” You nodded in fake seriousness.

A short silence overtook the room once again. But instead of being filled with awkward air, it was comfortable, infused with a homey warmth that threatened to chase away the chilled ice of the air conditioning.

“Hey.” Namjoon’s voice had sobered and he leaned back on the bed on his hands, head tilted back to look at where you still stood at the foot of the bed. “You never told me your name.”

You simply shrugged one shoulder in response. “Maybe I’m the mysterious type.”

He snorted, silver hoop earrings glinting teasingly. “Mysterious people don’t go around telling people that they’re mysterious. That kind of goes against the whole ‘mystery’ thing.”

“Does it?” You wiggled your eyebrows playfully, slowly shuffling backwards and towards your  abandoned hard plastic chair.

“It definitely does.” Namjoon sat back up properly at your retreat, a frown pulling down the corners of his lips. “Where are you going?”

“That’s a mystery, Namjoon.” You were almost there, feet away from your sister’s bed.

“Ah, of course.” He nodded knowingly, as if you’d just told him the answers to the universe. “Whatever you say, Sugar.”

That halted your feet. “Sugar?”

Namjoon hummed and shifted himself on the bed so that he could lie down properly, even though the bottoms of his slippers still hung over the bed. Long-legged giant that he was. “That’s what I’ll call you.”

Your eyebrows drew together in confusion, head tilting to the side like a dog waiting for a command. “Why Sugar?”

He tapped the corner of his mouth and his eyes glinted with amusement once again. Your own widened as you quickly reached up to brush away the powdered sugar still clinging to your face.

God damnit. Talk about embarrassing yourself. “Please pretend you never saw that.”

Namjoon simply propped himself up on the wall behind his bed.  “Sorry, no can do, Sugar. It’s seared into my brain. Cursed to forever play on repeat.”

You groaned, foot stomping against the floor in protest at his mocking words. How dare he. “I cannot stand you.”

His plush lips parted to give a retort, but Namjoon was abruptly cut off as the door to the room swung open. Your attention was immediately pulled away from the adonis across the room and to the girl that stumbled through the door.

Whatever fire that Namjoon had ignited in the room with his presence disappeared with the entrance of your sister. Her pale skin seemed even more sickly underneath the ugly fluorescent lights. The top of her head was covered with a pretty pink, sparkly scarf, as if the bright pop of color could somehow chase away her sickness. And the grey sweats and matching sweater she wore that drowned her tiny frame did nothing to help either.

Soohee sent you a shaky smile once she caught your eyes. She dragged her own IV pole behind her as she slowly shuffled inside. You met her halfway, arms extended to wrap around her and guide her back to her bed.

“I’m fine, really.” She tried to reassure you, but the weak, frail way her voice left her throat told you otherwise. Soohee followed without further protest however, and let you tuck her into bed until the covers were pulled up to her chin.

Your fingers brushed the end of her scarf away from her face with gentle fingers. “You should get some sleep.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Soohee rolled her eyes, but let them slip closed anyway. Her treatment always seemed to suck the energy right out of her until only a lifeless shell remained.

With a sigh, you leaned back once more into your uncomfortable chair. Your eyes flickered up to glance at Namjoon, only to see him with his head on his pillow and a book open between his propped up knees. The cords of white headphones flowed from his ears and connected to his phone in order to give you a semblance of privacy.

As you distractedly thumbed through Instagram once again with eyes glazed over, you couldn’t help your thoughts from circling around the man across the room.                                         

Silence greeted your ears as you slowly pushed the door open. It let out a squeak and you grimaced at the sound, turning your gaze to glare at the rusty hinges. You’d think that someone would have fixed that already, but alas, noisy doors weren’t exactly a priority in a busy hospital.

Your eyes lifted to scan around the room, the curtains around all of the beds were closed, shielding the residents from view. The tips of your boots creased as you tip-toed into the room, slowly closing the door behind you. Whether the occupants were awake or asleep you didn’t know, but it was the thought that counted at least.

The charms on the bracelet clasped around your wrist shook as you reached up to brush back your sister’s curtain. All of the lights above her bed were shut off and you could just barely make out her figure underneath the pile of blankets on her bed. As you shuffled to your normal seat, you couldn’t help but reach out to gently brush your fingers against her prone form.

The time on your phone read that it was only 3:37 pm. While that wasn’t exactly prime time for sleeping, you knew your sister tended to take frequent naps due to the exhaustion that constantly overtook her.

Your jeans hit the cold, plastic chair as you slid the bag on your back to the floor at your feet. You tried your best to muffle the sound of the zipper in order to pull out your laptop. There was a seven page English paper just begging to be written. Well, the paper wasn’t begging, but the 11:59 due date definitely was. And of course you hadn’t even started.

It wasn’t until the small digital clock in the corner of your laptop read 4:53pm that you finally heard a noise other than the clicking of your laptop keys. Your fingers paused, hovering over the keyboard as you heard the sound again.

A curtain sliding open.

You tried your best to ignore the feeling of...something pulling at your chest and set your laptop carefully on your chair once you stood up. The soles of your boots squeaked as you snuck over to the curtain and peered out. Across the room stood the very person that had been unrelentingly having a one man show in your thoughts since the day previous.

Namjoon stood next to his bed, hands patting the pockets of his Adida joggers in search for something. A grey beanie was on his head, unknowingly matching the same shade of his hair until both blended into each other. The too-long sleeves of his red hoodie hid half of his hands from view as he continued to search for whatever it was that he’d lost.

A noise left the back of his throat as he finally located the wallet that he pulled out from in between his bed sheets. He slipped it into his pocket and turned abruptly, coming to halt as he caught you peering at him from behind the curtain. Your eyes widened in surprise, having not expected him to turn so quickly. And once again, you felt the burning heat of a blush spread across your cheeks.

Namjoon’s mouth quirked up at having caught you. “Hey.”

His voice was quieted in an attempt to not disturb anyone. But god, someone really should have told him that he was shit at whispering.

Your hand rose on its own accord, fingers wiggling in a wave. “Hey.”

Namjoon slowly made his way over to you with his hands in his pockets, this time wearing actual shoes instead of hospital slippers. “How long have you been here?”

“A while.” You finally slipped free of the curtain separating the two of you, head tilting back in order to maintain eye contact.

He hummed and jerked his head towards the door in silent invitation. “You hungry, Sugar?”

 “Maybe you should wear a bib.”

Namjoon glanced up from his tray of lukewarm hospital food to give you a dry look. But you only raised an eyebrow in response and glanced pointedly down at the barbeque sauce stain that now graced the fabric of his hoodie. The piece of chicken that he’d speared onto his fork was barely hanging on for dear life, threatening to take a nosedive onto the wood table at any moment.

“Maybe you should take your own advice, Sugar.” Namjoon smirked at the feigned insulted look on your face. His deep, raspy voice threatened to drown itself in the loud chatter of the hospital cafeteria and you had to lean a little closer to hear it clearly.

People were scattered throughout the room, queuing behind glass covered food and seating themselves in the tacky chairs and booths. Whoever designed the cafeteria must have been going for a 70s-disco-meets-retirement-home look. It took all you had to keep the high school lunch-esque pepperoni pizza down.

Why hospital food had to be as depressing as the atmosphere, you had no idea.

“I came here to have a good time and I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.” The cardboard, plastic free straw of your chocolate milk was pressed between your lips.

“Uh-huh.” Namjoon shrugged. “Then I rescind my invitation.”

With a fake gasp of anguish, you slammed your container of choco milk down onto your tray, just narrowly missing the edge. “But then who will I grace with my clever, astounding wit?”

He tilted his head side-to-side as if contemplating your question. With a hum, Namjoon finally, finally saved the piece of chicken on his fork by shoving it into his mouth.

“Crazy Shorts Cathy.”

Namjoon just had to say that right as you were taking a sip of milk. He did it on purpose and you knew it.

You couldn’t help the snort of laughter at his stupid joke, which of course, caused the milk to get caught in the back of your throat mid-swallow. A yelp left your lips at the cooling sensation of milk shooting from your nose. Coughing, you covered your face with one hand and hastily reached over for a napkin from the pile in the center of the table.

Namjoon’s obnoxious ha-ha-ha! drew curious onlookers and you hurriedly attempted to wipe up your embarrassment before it could further stain your non-existent reputation. The silver haired man was bent over, elbows and hands supporting his weight against the table as he laughed himself into hysterics.

“You did that on purpose!” You dropped the used napkins onto your tray and glared up at him. Or you tried to at least. It was hard to stay mad at a man that laughed like a happy baby.

“Maybe you should wear a bib.” Namjoon only slipped harder into laughter at the unamused look on your face.

But the accompanying smile slowly slipped from your face as his laughter turned into coughing. And then the coughing turned into vicious hacking, until the hands that once braced himself against the table now clung to the edge to dear life.

“Namjoon?” You questioned, concern lacing your tone as worry began to take over as his coughs ceased to end.

He shook his head, reaching out to grab up a handful of napkins to press against his mouth. Leaning across the table, you laid a hand on his one that was still grabbing at the table, eyes wide and panic catching in your throat. “Namjoon!”

The man shook his head once again, attempting to take deep breaths to stop the coughs from racking his frame. You were about two seconds away from jumping up from the table to try and help him somehow when he finally stopped. The coughs turned into wheezing and then finally ceased altogether.

“Namjoon?” His name left your lips once again. You tried to catch his eye, but he averted his gaze to a flower print booth across the cafeteria.

“I’m fine.” Namjoon’s voice came out scratchy, the normal rasp accented into something deeper. He took a deep, shuddering breath and moved the now crumpled napkins away from his mouth.

“You sure?” The knit of your brows spoke of your concern for him, lips parted and voice quiet.

“Yeah.” He sent you a weak smile, finally lifting his gaze to yours and dropping the crumpled up napkins onto his tray. “What were we talking about?”

It wouldn’t take a genius to see it. The same look that sometimes graced your sister’s eyes shone in his. A pleading, begging look for you to just forget about what happened and move on. To ignore what you’d just witnessed as if that would somehow erase the memory from your mind.

A smile that didn’t meet your eyes lifted your lips. “Crazy Shorts Cathy.”

“What are you reading?”  

Namjoon glanced up from where he was lounging across his bed, back pressed up against the headboard. His warm eyes met yours as you sat on the end of his bed, legs folded under yourself. Your fingers had paused on the keyboard of your laptop, lips pouted in a desperate attempt at drawing the man into conversation.

“You already asked me that.” Namjoon flapped his book and raised an eyebrow. His plush lips lifted in amusement as you huffed and leaned your head back to glare into the ceiling. “Three times.”

“Amuse me.”

“Paper that rough?”

You finally moved your harsh glare from the ceiling and to the man across from you. Eyes softening unknowingly, your shoulders jerked up in a half-assed shrug. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” Namjoon chuckled in amusement, now raising both eyebrows to give you the look. His bullshit detector look. You’d been on the receiving end of it a multitude of times throughout the month that you’d known each other.

A mumbled response left your lips accompanied by a put upon sigh.

“What was that, Sugar? You’ll have to speak up. Couldn’t hear you over all that grumbling.”

With a stretch of your leg, your kicked at his thigh playfully with a socked foot. “I just don’t understand why a 10 page paper is necessary. Who gives a flying fuck about why some stupid author transformed his stupid character into a cockroach.”

“Stupid author?” You didn’t even have to open your eyes to see the look he was giving you.

“Sorry,” though the grin that overtook your face negated your apology. “Did I offend thee, thine book nerd?”

Instead of receiving a verbal answer, you felt the tickling pressure of Namjoon’s fingers against the bottom of your foot. With a squeal, you jerked your foot back out of his range.

“Hey! You know I’m ticklish, you traitor!” You ignored Namjoon’s laughter to send him a glare instead. Who cared if it lacked heat? It would get the point across anyway.

He merely rolled his eyes before placing his bookmark into the spine of the book and slipping it closed. The glossy cover hit the end table next to his bed and he reached out a hand to wave you over.

“Come here.”

“All the way over there?” You really hoped the sarcastic tone of your voice drowned out the loud pounding of your heart beating against your rib cage. Hoped that it hid the butterflies that took flight in your stomach.

“Yes, all the way over here.” Namjoon wiggled his fingers in invitation. “Or do you want to keep writing your paper?”

The lid of your laptop closed in response to his question and you shifted to your knees to slowly crawl your way to the head of the bed. With the mattress dipping at your weight, you settled on top of the rumpled blanket and leaned your back against the wall to mirror him.

While you’d been friends with Namjoon for weeks, that was the closest you two had been in proximity to each other. If you shared the same bed, you’d be at one end and he’d be at the other. Not side by side. Not so close that the skin exposed by his short sleeved shirt brushed against yours. Not so close that you could smell the scent of fresh laundry that wafted off of him.

You weren’t sure whether you wanted your sister to wake up from her nap or not. Weren’t sure if you should be feeling how you were feeling. Weren’t sure whether the frantic beating of your heart was from the way Namjoon’s voice caressed your eardrums, or if it was from fear.

“Here.”

Held in between his slender fingers was one end of his earphones. The other was already pressed into his ear closest to you. You took his offer without hesitation, pushing the bud into your ear until half of the white noise in the room disappeared.

“What are we watching?” You asked, eyes tracking as his thumbs flicked across the bright screen of his phone held up between you.

“Not watching.” Namjoon opened up Apple music and didn’t even pause to read over the song titles like he could navigate his playlist blindly. “Listening.”

“What are we listening to then?”

His thumb finally stopped on whatever song it was that he was looking for. Seeing him move to look at you out of the corner of your eye had you turning to meet his gaze. His almond eyes shone with something, something, before his dimples revealed themselves with a smile.

“Just listen.” The warmth of his voice blended in with the gentle, melancholy song that drifted in from your end of the earphones.

You slipped your eyes closed in an attempt to block out Namjoon’s soft, soft, soft look and concentrate on the harmonizing vocals. At least that’s what you told yourself. Your head found his shoulder, bringing with it the scent of his warmth.

And if his cheek pressed onto the top of your head and his breath ghosted the baby hairs brushing your forehead, well, at least your eyes weren’t open to witness the heavy sigh leaving his lips.

But you could feel it.

You could feel it.

Something.                                                   

“I’m so sorry for ever doubting you.”

The disbelief in Namjoon’s tone was almost palpable. You leaned back into the vending machine behind you, back pressed to the glass and shoulders shaking as you held back a laugh. Namjoon’s expression mirrored his tone, dark eyes wide and mouth gaping.

You hummed, unscrewing the cap of your iced tea to take a sip. “I told you. But you didn’t believe me.”

“I-” Namjoon’s voice stuttered in his throat as the topic of you conversation passed by once again.

With long salt-and-pepper hair pulled back into a low ponytail, the short woman pushed open the door across from the alcove of vending machines. She looked normal, sounded normal, hell, even smelled like normal flowery perfume. But the knee length shorts covered in a multitude of rainbow colored horses spoke otherwise. The door shut behind her, taking both her perfume and loud shorts with her.

“Holy shit.”

Pushing off of the vending machine, you reached up and closed Namjoon’s gaping mouth with a finger. His wide eyes flickered over to you as you leaned in close as if telling him a secret. You told yourself that you didn’t care when his gaze moved to your mouth for the briefest moments. Told yourself that he didn’t lean his head closer to yours. Told yourself that you didn’t want to close the distance and see for yourself if his lips were as soft as they looked.

“If you want.” Your lowered voice brought Namjoon’s attention back to your eyes. “I can buy you a pair.”

Namjoon groaned in exasperation as you leaned back onto the heels of your shoes, hands clasped behind your back, eyes wide and expression innocent.  

“Let’s leave the crazy shorts to Crazy Shorts Cathy please.”

Your laugh echoed down the hospital hallway, drawing glances from some of the passing nurses. But you ignored them in favor of the fake annoyed expression that crossed Namjoon’s face. For the soft smile that graced his lips. For the way his tongue caressed your name to pull you back to the hospital room.

For the way your heart pounded a tattoo into your rib cage. 

“Joon.” Your voice was whispered, stretching out across the nonexistent space between your bodies.

“Hm?” Namjoon’s sleep filled hum filled the darkness encompassing the room. The curtain hiding the two of you blocked out the light from underneath the hospital room door. Soft breaths could be heard from the few occupied beds in the room, accompanied by the beep, beep, beep of the heart monitor hiding behind another curtained section.

The blanket thrown over the both of your shoulders shifted as you turned onto your side. Barely, just barely, you could make out Namjoon’s profile in the dark. The soft slope of his nose turned a little in your direction as you moved.

“Why..,” you took a breath, voice fading as you tried to find the words that failed you.

Namjoon’s fingers trailed a line of fire against your shoulder, his thumb drawing light circles onto your skin. The sound of his heartbeat was calming and you slowly inhaled his comforting scent, the soft cotton of his shirt caressing your cheek.

“Why?” He prompted. You felt the deep rumble of his chest more than you heard his actual words.

“You never told me.” The fingers of the hand thrown across his waist plucked at his shirt helplessly. “Why you’re here.”

Silence.

The beeping of the heart monitor.

A sigh.

“Sugar.”

You shook your head as much as you could with your limited range of movement. The fingers of your hand fisted the material of his shirt, bunching it in a way that you knew would wrinkle. “No. Don’t coddle me.”

“I’m not--”

“You are.” Your nose met the soft skin of his neck, the warm breath of your words causing him to shudder. “We’ve known each other for six months. You know you can tell me anything.”

Namjoon’s fingers halted their movement against your shoulder. He let out another sigh, turning his face and burying it into the top of your head. “I can’t.”

“Why?” If your voice broke, neither of you mentioned it.

“Because, Sugar.” He threaded his fingers into your hair, burrowing themselves in the glossy strands. “I don’t want to ruin this.”

“Please, Joon.” The words were more of a shaky exhale than anything else. “Please.”

Namjoon’s chest shuddered. His nose buried itself further into your hair, his lips brushing the crown of your head. The silence was stifling, lingering so long that you thought he wouldn’t respond. Thought he would deny you of the one answer that had been tormenting your mind for months. That had been mixing fear into the euphoria that churned your stomach.

But finally, finally his voice met your ears. And you’d never wished for someone to take back words more than right then, in the darkness pressed to his chest.

“Cancer. Lung cancer.” Namjoon’s fingers tightened in your hair to where it was almost painful. But you couldn’t complain, couldn’t move away. Forced to face reality. “Terminal.”

“Joon.”

“Sugar.”  

“Why don’t you do chemotherapy? I’ve never seen you go. You’ve never--”

“Sugar.”

“It could help. It could--”

“Sugar.”

The hitch of your breath brushed the skin of his neck and your fingers tangled themselves even further into his shirt. As if that could somehow force him to take the words back. Force the reality back into something else. Anything else.

“It won’t help.” Namjoon’s lips pressed to your forehead and they lingered before he pulled away. But only so he could pull you harder against him. “It won’t do anything. I’m too far gone.”

“How long?” You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. But you needed to. Had to.

“A few months, maybe. At least that’s what the doctor says.”

Not even the beeping of the heart monitor could drown out the cries that fell from your lips. The salty tears that left a trail of anguish down his neck. The sound of your heart slowly breaking. 

The soft scritch-scritch-scritch of pencil on paper filled the room. It was almost masked by the hard beat that bled from the speakers of Namjoon’s phone.

“Stop corrupting my little sister.” Your voice was filled with amusement as you looked up from the book open on your lap. Something that you normally wouldn’t have read, but did so at Namjoon’s insistence.

The gray haired man sent you a smile, dimples revealing themselves. It was bright in the room for once. The curtains spread across the window looking outside that were normally closed were pushed open to let in the sunlight. It filtered in, bringing its warmth with it.

Namjoon shifted in his hard plastic chair, amused eyes throwing you a look that said not my fault. “Hey, she’s the one that told me to put this on.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t have to listen to her.”

“She can make her own decisions, thank you very much.” Soohee didn’t look up from the sketch pad settled across her lap. The pencil in her hand continued to move as she drew the portrait of the main sitting in a chair at the foot of her bed.

“She also has taste.” Namjoon didn’t even try to hide the cheeky smile he sent your way.

“You saying I don’t have taste?” You narrowed your eyes at the man as the opening sound of another 2Pac song flowed from his shitty phone speakers.

Namjoon’s eyes creased into half-moons as a blinding grin graced his lips. The white of his teeth was almost blinding in the sunlit room. Or maybe that was just Namjoon himself. You didn’t know. “You said it, not me.”

“Hey!” You looked around for something to throw at him, but failed to find anything that wouldn’t accidentally break his perfect teeth. So you settled for crossing your arms across your chest instead, pout overtaking your features. “Bully.”

“You love it.” Namjoon teased, slouching further down in his chair in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Stop moving!” Soohee ordered, slapping a hand to her sketchpad in exasperation.

“Sorry, sorry.” The man apologized, his warm eyes moving back to meet yours.

You couldn’t avert your gaze. Couldn’t move. Didn’t want to.

Only hoped that the look in your eyes expressed all of the things that you couldn’t.        

“If you could be anything in the world, what would it be?”

Namjoon hummed in thought, his face so close to your own that you had to close your eyes to avoid going cross-eyed. It was dark yet again, the curtain around his bed drawn to a close. You liked to imagine that it could stop time. That the flimsy material hanging above your heads could freeze you in that moment forever.

“A rapper.”

“A rapper?” You opened your eyes in disbelief, mouth falling agape. “Really?”

He shifted, fingers tapping out an imaginary beat against your hip. “Yes really.”

“Hm.” Your own fingers traced nonsensical shapes against the skin of his exposed collarbone. “Wouldn’t have expected that.”

“Is it really that far fetched?”

You paused in thought, tongue flickering out to wet your lips. “Nah, I guess not. I could see it. You get all poetic sometimes.”

Namjoon’s breathy laugh fanned against your face. “What would you be?”

A small shrug lifted your shoulders. “I dunno. I’d like to travel, even though that’s not really a career.”

“Where would you go?” His hand moved from your hip and upwards, his thumb caressing the apple of your cheek. Your eyes slid closed on their own accord as you leaned into his touch.

“Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“That sounds nice.”

You smiled. “Yeah. But only if you came with me.”

“I’d like that.” Namjoon’s thumb drifted to your bottom lip and you shuddered at the feeling of his skin against yours. "For you to take me with you."

“Yeah?” Your question ghosted against his thumb. “Where would you wanna go?”

“Mm. Seoul.”

“Korea?”

“Yeah.”

“Why there?”

“My parents were born there. I think I’d like to see it. See where they came from.”

“I think I’d like to see it to.” Your breath hitched when his head shifted against the pillow, breath mingling with your own.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Soft.

Namjoon’s lips were softer than you imagined they’d be as they pressed gently against yours. He tasted of the strawberry chapstick he loved to use. Tasted of hopelessness, of heartbreak turning bitter on your tongue. You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, pressed your lips harder against his.

His kiss forced the thoughts from your mind. The feeling of his hand sliding up your shirt extinguished the cold rush of despair from your veins. His shirt hitting the floor buried the soul crushing anguish. The feeling of skin-on-skin spoke of desperation. His mouth on yours stifled the moans that threatened to escape your throat as he made you feel what neither of you could say aloud.

The darkness swallowed up the heat of his gaze as the curtain shielding you from the rest of the world stopped time.

“So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Wow, that’s a surprise.”

Namjoon snorted at your sarcastic reply, lips pressed together to try and hide his mirth. But the happy gleam that sparked behind his eyes gave him away. “As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted.”

“If this is you trying to get into my head, think again.” You mumbled distractedly, shuffling around the cards in your hand. The fact that you didn’t even need to look up to see Namjoon’s eye roll was scary.

“Like I even need to. You’ve lost the past five rounds.”

“Shut up!” Tongue in cheek, you glanced up to see his amused expression before looking back down at your cards. “Got any 3s?”

“Go fish.” Namjoon smirked at your groan of exasperation, ignoring your mumbled you’re cheating. “As I was saying. I was thinking.”

“About what, cheater?”

He paused before answering, eyes lingering on you as if gauging your response to what he would say next. “I want to show you something.”

Looking up at him over the tops of your cards, you wiggled your eyebrows. “Yeah? Like what?”

Namjoon gave a deep, put upon sigh that only you could pull from him. He jokingly called it annoyance, but you called it an accomplishment. He shook his head at you, the purple of his newly dyed hair clashing violently with the orange shirt he had on. Why that man chose to dress like a chic hobo with no fashion sense was beyond you.

“You know what? Nevermind.”

“No! Tell me!” The cards in your hand dropped to the table between you and you leaned forward, hands outstretched to grab onto his forearms.

The two of you were in one of the lounges in the hospital’s ICU. The other chairs were empty, leaving just the two of you together. You would go there together sometimes to escape the boring white walls of the rest of the hospital. At least here someone had thrown up brightly colored wallpaper. Even if it didn’t match the ugly polka-dotted upholstery of the couches.

Whoever the interior designer of the place was really needed to be fired.

“No, now I-” Namjoon cut himself off, a hand pressed to his lips to try and stop the sudden coughs from forcing their way out. They overtook him, his wheezing, violent coughs.

“Joon!” You stood from your chair in alarm, rushing around the small table separating you. Knees hitting the carpeted floor painfully, you kneeled in between his legs, hands coming out to rub at his shoulders.

Namjoon bent at the waist, wet coughs hacking their way out of his throat. His forehead met your shoulder and you raised a hand to run through his hair. “I’m here, Joon. I’m here.”

You didn’t know how long his attack lasted, but it was too long. Too long that he was without breath. Too long that he sat there coughing and wheezing and shaking. But like everything, it eventually came to an end. And Namjoon sat back, swiping a hand across his lips and smearing blood.

“Joon.” Your voice came out choked. Alarmed. The red on his skin didn’t belong there. Shouldn’t have been splattered down his chin.

“I’m okay, Sugar. I’m fine.” But Namjoon’s voice didn’t sound okay. Didn’t sound fine. His breath shuddered as he inhaled, like his lungs were protesting against the intake. “I’m okay.”

He wasn’t.     

“This one’s a favorite.”

“You’ve said that about all of them.”

“Duh. That’s because I mean it.”

“They can’t all be your favorites.”

“Yeah, Joon? Says who? You the favorite police?”

“What even is that?”

“Exactly.”

Your fingers flipped the page, eyes reading over the words penned into the white spaces. Namjoon’s neat handwriting stared back up at you, the poetic lyrics drawing you in, pulling you deeper into his thoughts. His hopes. His dreams. His fears.

“Let me see which one you’re reading at least.”

Jerking the leatherbound journal out of Namjoon’s line of sight was harder than one might think. The tall, long-legged giant had height on you. But you managed, somehow. “Nope. Now let me read in peace.”

His sigh harmonized perfectly with your laughter.  

Namjoon’s dry stare bore so deeply into you that you swore you could feel his gaze in your soul. He rolled his eyes skyward as if asking the divine why he was forced to deal with you.

“Why?”

“You don’t like them?” You pouted, kneeling onto the mattress of his bed to peer up at him with puppy eyes. Your lips met the soft skin of his cheek. “Don’t want it?”

Namjoon sighed as you kissed your way across his jaw, stopping just before you reached his lips. “Want me to take it back? My gift that was so painstakingly difficult for me to get?”

“For fucks sake.” He rolled his eyes yet again, ignoring your your face will get stuck like that. Namjoon turned his head and captured your lips in a chaste kiss. “I’ll keep it. Happy?”

“Will you wear it though?” It was hard to contain your giggle, even between the pecks he littered onto your mouth.

“Don’t push it.”

Your giggles turned into full blown laughter, eyes landing back on the ugly, rainbow colored cat printed shorts drooping in his grasp.

It was raining.

That much you could remember.

The icy droplets had poured from the sky suddenly as you hopped out of your car and rushed into the hospital. It pelted your skin, drenched your hair, dampened your clothes. But you didn’t feel it. Didn’t care.

The white tiled floor squeaked underneath the soles of your shoes as you ran straight past the reception desk. The white painted walls blurred together as your chest heaved with the effort of running. You knocked into a nurse. Or a doctor. Or a shaman. Fuck, you didn’t know. Didn’t care. Didn’t stop to check.

It wasn’t until you saw the familiar door. Until you flung it open with so much force that it bounced into the wall and ricocheted back towards you. Breath leaving you in pants, your eyes stared, stared, stared at the empty bed. At the curtains drawn neatly back as if taunting you that there wasn’t enough time. That there had never been enough time.

Your feet were glued to the floor, stuck as if you could rewind time if you didn’t move. As if reality wouldn’t come crashing down on you.

Movement caught your eye and you whipped your head around to stare at the small frame of your sister. She stood by her bed, hands grabbing at her own curtain like a lifeline. Soohee stared at you, eyes filled with a sadness that you didn’t want to see. That you refused to accept.

“When?”

“Last night.” Her voice was small, but the words were obnoxiously loud, filling the room with dreadful silence.

“Why?” You may as well have been screaming, but the question barely even left your lips. The room was cold. So cold.

“He didn’t want you to see it.” You could have sworn you saw her move, inching her way over to you. But you weren’t sure. Couldn’t see past the blurring of your vision. “Said that he didn’t want you to remember him that way.”

“That’s bullshit! It’s bullshit and you know it.” You were screaming now, hands clenched in the damp fabric of his hoodie drowning your frame, as if holding something of his would bring him back. “Why didn’t you tell me. Why?”

“I’m sorry.” You couldn’t see her. Couldn’t see anything. Nothing but darkness. And it was cold. God was it cold. Why was it so fucking cold? “I’m sorry.”

The headphones pressed over your ears and buried into your hair drowned out the sounds of city life. Around you people shuffled, brushing against each other as they hurried to their destinations. But you stood still, eyes glued to the silver device resting in your palm. It’d taken you a long time to hunt one down.

But you’d been determined. He’d always said you were obnoxiously stubborn.

The thought brought a small smile to your face, the sharp twang in your chest reminding you that it’d been real. That he’d been real. Your fingers ghosted over the plastic warmed by the time it’d spent in your pocket.

A family rushed past you, the youngest child almost ramming into you. But you ignored it, blocked it all out. Instead, you took a deep breath, eyes closing to brace yourself. The voice of your sister rang in your ears as if she was standing right next to you, voice carried by the wind.

He left this for you. Said he’d wanted to show it to you someday.

With one last inhale, you opened your eyes once again to gaze down at the device in your hand. The black cassette tape rested innocently in the slot of the small cassette player. Written messily across a piece of gray duct tape was one simple word: Mono.

And beneath that, scrawled on another piece of tape that looked newer than the one above it.

Take me with you.

Your thumb hesitated over the play button.

He made it for you. Spent hours holed up in one of the hospital lounge rooms. Writing out the lyrics. Recording on some equipment he borrowed from one of the nurses. Your sister had said as you stood on the front steps of your shared apartment. Her short hair had been on full display, likely her way of showing the world that she was in remission. He’d want you to listen.

Eyes looking back up to the sidewalk in front of you, at the storefront signs written in foreign characters that you couldn’t understand, you paused.

The streets of Seoul were busy.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward.

And pressed play.