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aliendes · 4 years

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Natural Borns - Chapter Four

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Series info/genre: Angst, fluff, (possible) smut NSFW due to darker themes

Pairings: ot7 x fem reader (eventual)

Warnings: mentions of sadness, indecent thoughts? maybe, if you squint. it gets a little steamy, I suppose, but mostly just fluffy sadness, if that’s a thing. This series will have different trigger warnings listed for each chapter (if there are any), but as a whole, this series will include violence, mentions of depression & other mental illnesses, cursing, abuse, drugs/alcohol, some shitty medical descriptions because i am NOT a doctor, self-esteem issues, fluff, and possible smut in future chapters (but that’s undecided). i will add more warnings/tags in the future if there are any.

Description: In the year 2613, over half of the world’s population are what scientists consider ‘designer babies’. YN is a small town girl who is a true natural born, someone born naturally without he help of a lab or gene splicing. Her DNA is greatly sought after, but what is she willing to do to protect it?

Word count: 8k~ (whoops so sorry. if you like longer chapters like this, let me know!)

A/N: *deep breath* ok here is chapter 4. things are starting to heat up, but i cut this chapter in two because it was like over 12k long.... i go back to work tomorrow, so updates may start slowing down, but i’m hoping to post updates every Sunday night. i was feeling a little bit bogged down last week, not seeing as much influx with chapter three than i have with the other chapters. if you enjoy reading, please reblog so others can see it, too. thank you, as always. xx - Des

Updated: 8/9/2020

But the second he took one look at you, standing outside, wet and bloody, saw the look in your big beautiful eyes as he so heartlessly demanded things from you, he knew he stood no chance.

Yoongi sat in his makeshift office on an old torn recliner they found in the warehouse. Surprisingly, the warehouse had been decently furnished when they found it. Granted, it was all old, worn furniture, but furniture nonetheless. The building was incredibly old, but it was also very large and had a lot of empty rooms on two levels. The entire place was made out of concrete, meaning it hasn’t seen much weathering over the years. It was a place they could call home for now.

Yoongi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest and stared at his beloved laptop in front of him. He wasn’t trying to think about you, no, in fact, he wanted nothing more than to erase the memory of you. Try all he might, his thoughts kept wandering back to the scared, small girl he saw earlier tonight. He let out a deep sigh and closed his eyes, letting his head loll back.

The blonde man was snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of footsteps outside his door. He picked his head up and spun around in his seat right as Hoseok came through the doorway.

“Hey,” Hoseok said, leaning against the doorframe, “I heard they found her.” His tone was indifferent, not happy, nor sad. Hoseok didn’t really have an opinion on you yet, voicing to Namjoon he didn’t really mind either way if they found you or not.

“Have you seen her yet?” Yoongi asked the red head knowing he hadn’t, as his demeanor would’ve changed the moment he did.

Hoseok shook his head, confirming Yoongi’s suspicions. “Good,” was all Yoongi said in response.

Hoseok gave him a puzzled look, cocking his head to the side. A bright grin started to take over his face as he took in the disgruntled look on Yoongi’s. “Are you letting her get under your skin that quickly, Yoongs?” He asked the older man in a teasing voice. “Is that why you’re hiding away while they fix her up?”

Yoongi’s blonde head snapped up at Hoseok’s words. “What do you mean ‘fix her up’?”

Hoseok’s smile started to slowly fade from his face, leaving a knowing smirk in its place. “She was pretty banged up from what Jungkook said. Poor boy was distraught when he came running into my room earlier.” Hoseok watched Yoongi’s face closely as his lips pursed into a thin line and he tried to act as if he didn’t care about you. Hoseok could see right through him.

Yoongi tried to keep his breathing steady and stared Hoseok right in the eye. “Who cares,” he shrugged as he turned back around in his chair and started typing away at his laptop.

“Who cares?” Hoseok asked rhetorically, “I think you do.” The red head walked over to Yoongi’s chair and put his hands on the back of it, pulling it down a bit so he could look into Yoongi’s eyes. He raised a questioning brow at the hacker, waiting for some kind of response.

“I don’t care about her,” he scoffed, “I don’t even know her.” Yoongi looked away from Hoseok as he spoke, knowing his closest friends would be able to see his lie. He didn’t want it to be a lie, what he was saying he wanted wholeheartedly to be true, but he knew it wasn’t. Why did he care about you? He really didn’t know you. But as Hoseok chuckled and walked away from the chair with a breathy ‘yeah right’, Yoongi’s thoughts just drifted to you.

“Please stay still,” Jin pleaded with you for the third time. You were currently laying on what you assumed was his bed while he took a look at all your wounds. He was looking at your bruised, and possibly fractured, according to him, ribs. It was painful and you weren’t sure how he expected you to stay completely still.

You had been laying here for the last twenty minutes, staring up at the ceiling, going over your conversation with Namjoon prior to letting Jin take a look at your wounds. You had learned that the five of them had been staying here for the last three weeks. They stumbled upon the place when exploring the surrounding forest. It was devoid of life, but a lot of furniture and supplies had been left from workers or from kids who threw parties here in the past. They made it into a base of sorts, where they could live and work. Work, you learned, was mostly Yoongi trying to hack into Big Hit’s, and other companies, systems, while Namjoon dealt with contacting people and said companies to get more information. Apparently, they had found out about you through Jimin, who had overheard some of the lab techs talking about a female natural born living on the outskirts of Seoul. You still weren’t certain what exactly made you all ‘special’, but Namjoon had said it had something to do with the markers in your DNA that made you desirable to these designer baby companies.

Namjoon had also told you that they were planning on going to Big Hit soon, in hopes of getting Jimin and Taehyung out. As they helped you limp to Jin’s room, he told you that he and Jungkook were going to help Yoongi and Hoseok with the planning tonight, and told you to get some rest.

When you first got to Jin’s room, you were pleasantly surprised by the cleanliness of it. For an old warehouse, they really tried to make it feel homey. Seokjin’s room was small and looked like it used to be some kind of office or file room. There was a small double mattress in the corner, which you were currently laying on, a small desk on the opposite side of the room, a small wooden end table, and a couple of backpacks and duffle bags laying about. While everything in the room looked old and worn down, it still smelled nice. It smelled like Jin, like pine and soap. Speaking of soap…

“Hey - how do you guys have lights and running water here?” You were curious, previous experiences made you think this place was totally abandoned.

Jin looked up from poking at your ribs, “Oh - Yoongi. He was able to get the electric and water companies to turn stuff on under a fake name,” he trailed off after noticing the apprehensive look on your face, “I know it’s not the most ethical way to go about things, but we don’t really have much of a choice right now.” The solemn look on his face told you that he regretted their actions, but truly had no other choice.

You nodded at his answer and jumped a bit when he went back to putting cream on your ribcage. “Please - stay still YN.”

“Sorry, sorry. It just hurts,” you groaned out and he finished his work. Jin let out a short sigh before pulling your shirt back down your torso. He picked up one of your hands and started to unravel the bandages to clean and rebandage it.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ll try to be quick,” he gave you a quick smile and gently ran the back of his knuckles along your bicep. You tried to ignore the way his action made you feel, he was just trying to comfort you, right? He was a caring person, and he probably just felt bad seeing you in pain. That’s what you told yourself anyway.

You went back to staring at the ceiling, biting the inside of your cheek and Jin disinfected your cuts and scrapes. The feeling of his hands on you leaving you confused.

Once Seokjin had finished tending to your wounds, he gave you an old t-shirt and some sweatpants to change into before giving you a little privacy. After you had changed, you hobbled back over to the mattress and sat down. You stared around his room for a moment, finally letting the events of the day sink in.

You inhaled a deep breath as you thought back to everything that had happened. In just a few short hours, you had met these strange men who took you out to a forest and made you question your entire existence, witnessed your father make some kind of deal or exchange with a man who was likely trying to take you away, and ran away from your life, your family, and your friends. You didn’t even know who you could trust anymore, aside from probably Mina and Woo, but who knew when, or if, you would ever see them again. The thought alone made tears prick at the back of your eyes. You looked up to the ceiling to try and stop the hot tears from falling, to no avail. What were you getting yourself into?

As you felt a tear roll down your cheek, you heard a knock at the heavy door of Jin’s room. Quickly, you wiped the back of your hand at your face with a sniffle, before telling whoever was knocking to come in.

To your surprise, it was Jungkook who walked through the door, not Jin or Namjoon like you had expected. You blinked owlishly up at him for a moment as he shut the door and ventured into the room. He took a few steps in your direction, hands behind his back, and looked even more shy than you had seen him earlier.

“H-hey, noona?” He timidly asked, eyes locked on the floor.

Your eyes softened at his hesitancy. You made a sound of affirmation, urging him to continue speaking. Slowly he brought his hands from behind him back and extended them in your direction. He was holding a water bottle and a container of what looked like pain relievers. “Jin-hyung wanted me to tell you to take two of these,” he started, walking towards you with his hands outstretched like he was feeding a tiger, “and to drink the whole bottle.”

You gave Jungkook a small smile as you took his offering. He seemed so sweet in that moment, you couldn’t stop yourself, “Jungkook?” Your voice made the poor boy jump a little, but he relaxed as soon as he saw your smile. His big doe eyes somehow got slightly bigger as he nodded his head at you. “How old are you?” You asked him, head cocked to the side.

“Twenty two,” he said easily. He’s only a year younger than you, it was odd to you he was so timid, almost childlike at times. You hummed in approval. You truly did want to get to know these men, and Jungkook seemed like such a sweet guy. He was shy, but you could tell he had a kind soul. You wondered what had happened to him to make him so quiet. You hoped you would find out with time. You had a sort of affinity toward him. Maybe it was because he had literally carried you through a forest without so much as a complaint. You weren’t entirely sure.

The boy hesitated for a moment before turning around to walk out of the room. Just as he was about to reach the doorknob, he stopped and turned around to face you. “Noona?” His voice was so small, you almost asked him to repeat himself. Instead, you made a noncommittal noise, urging him to continue. “How old are you?” You wanted to coo at how cute Jungkook looked right now. Cheeks rosy, head slightly cocked to the side, eyes wide with mirth, almost like he was thankful for a reason to speak to you.

You gave the boy a bright smile before answering, “Twenty three.”

Jungkook stared at you for just a second longer, before nodding once and leaving the room.

“Who the fuck is Pearl?”

Hoseok shrugged his shoulders, not even looking up from the game he was playing on his phone.

“Are you even listening to me Hobi?” Yoongi was aggravated, to say the least. Namjoon, Seokjin, and Jungkook brought you to their base last night and he hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep. Namjoon brought him your phone, asking him to remove data from it so it couldn’t be tracked. He did so immediately, but the damn thing was burning a whole in the back of his head while he tried to sleep on the old, black leather couch in his room. Eventually, he got up from tossing and turning, and decided - against his better judgement - to look through the device. He knew it was wrong, knew it was a huge invasion of privacy, but he didn’t particularly care for you. Besides, he was curious, who could blame him?

The red head, currently sitting upside down on Yoongi’s couch, just huffed in response. Yoongi just rolled his eyes and spun around in the old, squeaky rolling chair. He had your phone open on his desk. It was early in the morning now, he figured you and the rest of the boys, aside from Hoseok, were probably still asleep. Hoseok tended to be an extremely early riser, yet still went to bed late at night. Yoongi never understood how he had so much energy with so little sleep.

Yoongi had already looked through your apps and photos. You didn’t have any social media that he could tell. Your apps were incredibly boring, just a few games and a notepad app that he found some of your notes on. Mostly things like grocery lists and dreams that you had. Nothing too interesting. Your photos weren’t very exciting either, mostly pictures of trees and fruit. You had some photos of your mom and dad and a couple of animals he assumed were yours. You seemed to live a pretty boring life, based on what was on your phone. The cynical side of him wanted to tell himself this meant you were a boring person, but he knew that was an unfair assumption.

The last thing Yoongi decided to snoop through, were your text messages. While he hadn’t found much there, aside from conversations with your mom, dad, and a group chat with someone named “Mina” and “Woo”, he did notice how everyone seemed to refer to you as ‘Pearl’. Aside from when your mother called you by your name yesterday, you were almost always referred to as Pearl. This piqued Yoongi’s interest, but he wasn’t sure why. Maybe this was evidence as to why the others shouldn’t trust you? It’s a simple nickname, but Yoongi was suspicious of you from the beginning. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but he knew he was looking for reasons to hate you, to make the others hate you.

Yoongi nearly jumped straight out of his skin when the door to his room was swung open with such ferocity it slammed into the wall. Hoseok jumped straight up from the couch and Yoongi nearly fell out of his chair at the noise. “Jesus kid!” Yoongi yelled as he righted himself.

Jungkook had the graciousness to look ashamed as he entered the elder’s room. “Sorry hyung, I- I didn’t mean to,” he murmured without meeting the eyes of his older friends.

Hoseok sighed and relaxed a bit before pushing a hand through his bright locks and announcing he was going to ‘find something better to do’. Jungkook nodded at him as he left and took Hoseok’s previous spot on the couch. Yoongi surveyed Jungkook as he sat down. He looked tired, like really tired. He could see the small bags forming under the youngest’s eyes, a purple tint to his nearly perfect skin. Yoongi also noticed how skinny the kid was looking these days. He narrowed his eyes at the boy, “You doing ok, kid?”

Jungkook lowered his head into his hands and rested them on his knees, shaking his head back and forth slightly, “No hyung. I- I miss them,” Yoongi could hear the tears that were threatening to fall. He always did have a soft spot for Jungkook. He rose from his seat and sat down gingerly next to Kook on the couch, making the leather creaked beneath him, and slung his arm around the dark haired boy.

“I know, I miss them too. We all do,” he bagan, running a soothing hand up and down Jungkook’s upper arm, “we will get them back, Jungkook. I promise.” Jungkook lifted his head and looked at his hyung, eyes glazed over. He believed him, he really did, he just missed his best friends.

Jungkook nodded his head as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth. Yoongi thumbed at the younger’s lip sweetly, prompting him to release it. He knew Jungkook’s stress, he understood it. He missed the twins too, and he was working his hardest to get them back. Soon. He could feel it.

Last night had gone about as well as you thought it would. After Jungkook left you alone, Jin never returned to his room. You took the painkillers they offered you, but you thought for sure someone would be back to check on you, and you didn’t feel comfortable enough to wander around the place. You also felt a little bad for taking Jin’s bed when he had been so gracious to you. So after a while of waiting - and mentally hoping - for someone to walk in, you tried your hardest to fall asleep, to no avail. You tossed and turned in Jin’s small bed for what felt like hours, but you didn’t really know how long it had been. There was no clock in the room, you didn’t have your phone, and there were no windows. You guessed you finally fell asleep sometime in the early morning and had a very short, fitful rest before Jin was coming in to wake you.

“YN?” You heard Seokjin’s soft voice from the doorway. You blearily blinked away sleep as you tried to fully regain consciousness. As you rolled over in bed to face the door, you saw Jin standing there with a plate of something that smelled absolutely delicious. You hadn’t realized how hungry you were, but your stomach was beginning to rumble at the sight of food. You remembered the last time you ate anything was yesterday morning at breakfast.

Jin walked a little further into the room and sat down at the edge of the bed. He wanted to laugh at how entranced you were by the food in his hands, and at the erratic way your hair was sticking up. “Hungry?” He asked, arm outstretched towards you with the plate. You let out a small yawn and reached your arms above your head with a small pout. The large t-shirt you were wearing - Jin’s t-shirt - rode up slightly as you stretched and Jin thought you had to be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. As you finished your much needed stretch, you nodded your head with one eye open, taking the plate.

“Thank you, I’m so hungry,” you mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. Jin’s plump lips upturned into a bright smile as you started to eat a piece of toast from the plate. “You’re able to cook here?”

“There’s a small kitchen,” Jin nodded as he spoke, “it looks like it was an old staff lounge or something? We aren’t entirely sure what this building used to be, but it seemed like some people used to live here. There were beds, couches, even an old television when we got here.”

Now, feeling a little more awake, you nodded along with Jin, “Where do you get the food?”

Seokjin didn’t even miss a beat before answering, happy you were coming out of your shell a bit, “I go to the market at least once a week,” he smiled, “I take Jungkook with me sometimes…” he started to trail off a bit, looking away from your eyes, almost like he was embarrassed. “That’s actually how we found you.”

You stopped chewing, mid-bite of scrambled egg, “Found me?” You mumbled, mouth full.

Jin nodded, looking bashful, “Jimin told us he overheard people at the lab talking about a girl, a natural born living in this town. We honestly didn’t think we would find you here,” Seokijn rubbed the back of his neck as he continued, still avoiding your gaze, “We came out here and found this warehouse, it ended up being perfect for us to stay in,” as he continued his eyes finally met yours, he mentally noted how cute you looked, cheeks puffed out with food staring at him, “we needed food, so me and Jungkook went to the market. When I saw you, I knew.”

Your stomach was doing flips at Seokjin’s admission, and you weren’t entirely sure why. They were harmless words, maybe even a little reassuring. They weren’t stalking you, they happened to stumble upon you. So you weren’t sure why you were suddenly feeling so shy. His words almost sounded like a love confession you would hear in a blockbuster movie about soulmates. You could feel your cheeks heat slightly as you finally swallowed the eggs. “What do you mean, you knew? I don’t remember seeing you, or talking to you,” you prodded for some more information.

For a moment, Jin just stared into your eyes, and you thought he wasn’t going to answer you. Then, his plush lips parted as he quietly murmured, “Well, YN, you’re breathtakingly beautiful. I hope you know that,” he never broke eye contact as he uttered his next words, “and now that I’ve gotten to know you more, I can say you have a beautiful soul, too.” You were reeling. Were you the female lead of this made for TV movie your head conjured up?

You stared back at Seokjin with wide, glazed eyes, lips slightly parted in shock. No one has ever said anything like that to you, aside from Mina telling you how beautiful you were and how jealous she was of your skin. Jin was gazing at you as if you were the only person in the world, and you would be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel incredible. You were high on his attention, you loved the way your stomach was erupting with butterflies.

You were still seated on his bed, legs crossed and hands sitting in your lap, food forgotten next to you. Seokjin was still staring intently into your eyes, with an intensity you’ve never felt before. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lifted his hand and went to lightly brush his knuckles against your cheek bone. The action made you flush, eyes closing at the soft feeling of his hand. Just as you were leaning into his touch, a soft smile on his lips, the door to his room opened, causing both of you to jump backwards, eyes shooting towards the person intruding on such an intimate moment.

“Jin,” Namjoon looked slightly embarrassed, cheeks pink realizing what he walked into, “we need you in Yoongi’s room.” He bowed his head once at you both before turning on his heels and walking away.

Seokjin cleared his throat and you found it endearing how his neck and ears were turning a beet red. “S-sorry,” he sputtered out, “I - I’ll be back in a little bit?” He sounded unsure as he scrubbed a hand down his face. You gave him a small smile and nodded, a little sad at the loss of companionship you were just starting to get used to. You couldn’t quite place the emotion you were feeling, but you knew it was nothing like the platonic friendship you felt for Woo or Mina. Jin stood up from his bed, making his way towards, before giving you some parting words, “I’ll have Jungkook come show you where the showers are.”

After your encounter with Jin this morning, you were reeling from the onslaught of emotions you were feeling. You weren’t given much time to think too much about it though, because once you finished your breakfast, Jungkook came to give you a short, and rather quiet, tour of the building.

Like Seokjim promised, Jungkook showed you where the one bathroom was located, which looked more like a gym locker room than a bathroom. There were shower stalls, benches, and a couple of toilets and sinks along with a wall of lockers. It looked to be a changing room for employees of the mill. Jungkook had brought with him your black linen pants, washed by Jin according to him, and another large t-shirt. He didn’t want to admit it was his this time, and blushed fiercely as he handed them over to you, along with a clean towel.

Jungkook kindly showed you how to work the showers, helping you turn one on because of your hands. He also sweetly helped unwrap your hands and feet so you could properly shower and clean the cuts and scrapes. After he was done, he turned away, telling you he would wait on the benches for you to finish. As he was retreating, you reached out your hand to grab his forearm, “Wait - I- I can’t really lift my arms up,” you mumbled, warily looking up into his wide deer-in-headlights eyes, “can- can you help me?” You’ve never been shy about your body or nudity, but something about Jungkook seeing you nearly naked, made you feel like a shy teenager again.

You thought Jungkook was about to spontaneously combust the way he was staring at you. His shoulders were squared and nearly meeting his ears, lips pursed into a tight line, and eyes the size of dinner plates. You almost laughed at his expression, but then remembered how awkward this situation was for the both of you.

“I- I - ye- yes,” Jungkook was a stuttering mess, but wanted to offer you his help regardless. He felt like he was on fire with the way his cheeks and neck were heating. Slowly, you retracted your hand from his forearm when you felt like he wasn’t about to bolt out of the room. Jungkook carefully reached for the hem and your shirt and you turned around so your back was facing him to make this all less embarrassing. The boy audibly gulped as he slowly pulled your shirt upwards removing it from your head first, pushing it towards your front. He stepped closer to you so there was barely an inch of space between your now bare back and his front. Reaching his arms around you, he gripped the shirt and slid it down your arms, removing it from you completely. His fingers ever so slightly brushed the skin on your arms and made a shiver run up your spine. Jungkook didn’t miss the way you let out a strangled breath, almost inaudible.

He needed to cool off, quickly.

You quietly thanked him, quickly covering your breasts with your arms, as he turned away still holding Jin’s shirt and made his way out of the bathroom without another word.

After your much needed shower you struggled to dress yourself, but you would rather cut off your own arm than go through the embarrassment of finding Jungkook to help you again. Once you were finally decent, you found Jungkook sitting on the benches outside of the shower room, just like he said he would be. He has visibly calmed down, now wearing a calm expression. When he noticed you walk into the room, he gave you a small smile. “Feel better?”

You nodded enthusiastically, happy to feel clean again.

Next, Jungkook showed you the small kitchen that Jin spoke of earlier. It was more like a kitchenette, almost like an employee break room. It had a tiny refrigerator, cabinets that were filled with dry goods, a sink, and one electric burner. The building was so old, you were shocked to see the kitchen in such great condition. At the shocked look on your face, Jungkook told you that Jin really loved to cook and worked really hard to clean it up and keep it that way. Your face flushed at the reminder of the older man who was making your heart feel things just this morning. The thought of him caring so much about his kitchen, moving about in here cooking the delicious food you ate for breakfast, made your stomach twist in a pleasant way.

The last place Jungkook showed you was a mostly empty room on the second floor of the building. He told you that they didn’t use the second story much, considering the state of disrepair of the place, they didn’t want to risk getting hurt up here. But this room, Jungkook told you, was his favorite place to hang out. It was a rectangular concrete room that had a large expanse of windows on the far wall. Some of the windows were broken, allowing the breeze from outside to enter. In front of the windows sat a small tan sofa that looked like it had seen better days. Jungkook led you over to the windows, and you quickly realized why he liked this room so much.

You could see the entire quarry from up here. It was beautiful. At the bottom of the quarry was water that took on an incredible aquamarine color, turning almost green in the sunlight. The water was completely still, no disruptions on the surface, making it look serene. Along the bank of water, there were lush, green bushes and trees swaying slightly in the wind. On the other side of the quarry, you could see a small patch of yellow and purple flowering plants. Along the steep sides of the cliffs, you could see the smooth surface of exposed marble. Over the years, the marble has become weathered and looked smooth to the touch. The late morning sun, high in the sky, was reflecting off of the stone in a way that made it sparkle. It was an incredible sight, and you were surprised you’d never seen it like this before, having been out here in the past.

As you stood there, taking in the breathtaking scenery, Jungkook was taking in you. You had a look of mirth in your eyes, and he mentally patted himself on the back for bringing you up here. He took in your side profile, admiring your sharp features that looked as if they were carved from the very marble you were currently staring at. He loved the way your soft lips were forming a small pout, eyes focused on the sight in front of you. He didn’t realize he was grinning at you, until you turned around with a look of shock on your face.

A grin spread across your face as you saw Jungkook’s smile for the first time. It reminded you of a bunny, large front teeth on display for you to admire. You stood there for a moment, smiling at each other before you both started giggling. “Thank you for showing me this, Jungkook,” you crooned once the laughter had subsided. He just smiled at you in return before looking back out towards the quarry. You stayed in a comfortable silence after that, before Jungkook deemed it time to head back downstairs.

Downstairs, Jungkook led you to a room that was right in the middle of the long hallway that contained all the other rooms. “This is Yoongi-hyung’s room,” he cautioned, hand on the door, “don’t worry, Joon-hyung told him to be nice,” he rushed out, seeing the fearful look on your pretty features.

You were still uncertain, but nodded at Jungkook anyways, prompting him to open the door. Jungkook waited patiently for you to enter the room on your own with no pressure from him. You peeked around the corner to find the occupants of the room all staring right at you. You purse your lips into a tight line and avert your gaze to your newfound safe harbor, Seokjin, who was sitting on a black leather couch. His eyes softened at your uncomfortable look before scooting over to make room for you on the couch, patting the seat next to him, inviting you over. You hesitantly walked over and plopped down on the soft cushion.

Jin rubbed a large hand on your shoulder briefly to calm you down before placing both hands in his lap. As you felt yourself relax a bit, you took in your surroundings. Jungkook was still standing near the door, leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked oddly stoic, shedding the shy persona he usually wore. The room was fairly large, or at least, larger than the rest of the rooms you’ve been in. Against the right wall was the black leather couch you and Jin were currently sat on, and to your right against the far wall were two arm chairs, one of which was occupied by Namjoon. Sat in a desk chair in front of what looked like an old corporate desk, was Yoongi, with multiple laptops and devices sprawled out in front of him. Leaning against the wall behind Yoongi was another man, one you didn’t recognize, but you assumed was Hoseok. He was staring intently at you. His expression was unreadable, not cold, but not welcoming either. He looked intense with bright red hair, a sharp jawline that looked like it could cut diamonds, dressed in all black. He was a little intimidating and not at all like the golden retriever type boy Namjoon had described to you last night.

As you took in the men around the room, you hadn’t noticed Yoongi and Namjoon discussing a possible plan to break the twins out of Big Hit. “Jimin said there might be a window of time where no one is around,” Yoongi scoffed, “but you remember what happened last time he said that.”

Namjoon nodded his head. Now you were listening intently to their conversation, as were the other men in the room. “We need to trust Jimin, Yoongs. He’s the one inside there, he sees what’s going on, we don’t,” Namjoon sighed, running his hands over his knees, apparently a self-soothing mechanism, “if you think you can get in and knock out the cameras, we might as well give it a shot. We will make sure we’re better prepared this time.” Namjoon seemed defeated. You weren’t sure what happened ‘last time’, but it didn’t sound good.

“It doesn’t matter how prepared we are, he was wrong about the window last time. By two hours. If he’s wrong again we could get caught, or killed,” Yoongi snapped, anger apparent in his eyes, “I’m not willing to risk you guys again.”

“What about her?” This time, it was the redhead who spoke. You hadn’t noticed his eyes on you throughout the entire conversation, assessing you.

“No!” Both Jin and Jungkook barked at the same time, making you jump in your seat. Jin set a soothing hand on your shoulder as you looked at him, and then at Hoseok with wide eyes. Jin shook his head aggressively before looking at Yoongi and Hoseok, “No way. She’s never been there, she would have no idea what to do. You’re not willing to risk one of us, but willing to risk her?” He snarled, you haven’t seen him angry before, and you were positive you didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger.

Over by the door, Jungkook had uncrossed his arms and was walking towards Yoongi’s desk. “You can’t send her in there, hyung,” he started, placing both hands palm down on the desk, “please.”

Yoongi looked up at the maknae with soft eyes before pursing his lips and sighing through his nose. Behind him, Hoseok raised his hands in surrender, “It was just a suggestion,” he sighed out passively, “we’ve all lived there at some point or another, they would recognize us immediately, just like last time.”

“They know her too. Hyunwoo has been scouting her for months, according to Jimin. We can’t let her go in there.” It was Namjoon who was being the voice of reason this time, causing both Jin and Jungkook to let out a collective sigh of relief. The five men continued to argue while you got lost in your thoughts. Hoseok wanted you to navigate Big Hit? Alone? You mulled it over in your head for a minute, remembering Yoongi’s words. If he was able to hack the cameras, they wouldn’t be able to see you, right? You felt so grateful towards Jin and Namjoon, and even Jungkook, for helping you, you wanted to contribute in some way. You wanted to help them, ease their pain at the loss of their friends.

With this thought in mind, you spoke up, “I could do it…” you trailed off, voice quiet. All five of the men’s heads snapped towards you, most with looks of disbelief on their faces. Even Hoseok hadn’t expected you to agree, he was testing you, to see how you would react. Yoongi looked at you curiously, waiting for your next words. He couldn’t deny the clench in his heart at Seokjin’s words. No, he wasn’t willing to risk you, but if you were offering... “I mean.. I want to help,” you hesitated, looking between Jin and Jungkook who were now looking angrily at you. You shrunk in on yourself a bit, awaiting their response.

“Then it’s settled,” Yoongi remarked. He was trying hard to contain the fear he felt at allowing you to enter Big Hit alone. He knew it was dangerous, and he really wanted to not care about your well-being, but try as he might, he was terrified of allowing you to do this. He assumed he hid it well though, because everyone bar Hoseok was looking at him with incredulousness.

“No way,” Seokjin spoke first, his tone leaving nothing up for discussion, “this conversation is over.” Jin stood up abruptly, looking directly at Namjoon, “You aren’t ok with this, are you?” The look in his eye was intense, and Namjoon could feel it. He could feel the emotions Jin felt towards you, that he was going to do whatever it took to protect you. Namjoon would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t feel the same way.

Namjoon let out a short sigh and closed his eyes before setting his gaze on Yoongi, “We can figure this out without involving YN.”

“You heard her,” Yoongi growled, “she’s willing to risk her life. Who am I to tell her no?”

From there, the argument got even more heated, Jungkook even getting involved at one point. You were starting to feel uncomfortably hot in this cramped space. You understood both sides. You wanted to help, but you also knew that whatever you were volunteering yourself to do was dangerous. You needed air.

Suddenly, you stood up from the sofa announcing to the others that you ‘needed space’ and bolted out the door. Jungkook turned to run after you, but Hoseok, who was now standing next to the youngest, put his hand on his shoulder to stop him. “Let me go Hobi-hyung, I need to make sure YN is ok,” Jungkook rushed out, turning to the elder.

“Let her go, Kookie. This is probably a lot for her,” Hoseok told the boy, who looked like his heart was breaking at his words, “She’ll be ok, give her time.”

In your haste to remove yourself from the situation, you missed the look of absolute devastation on Jin’s face. He didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything to repay them. He didn’t want you to feel like you owed them. He couldn’t believe how strongly he felt for you after only one day, longing for your presence next to him, now that it was suddenly gone. He could see that Jungkook - and to some extent, Namjoon - felt similarly.

Namjoon’s heavy sigh could be heard by everyone in the room, even over the loud chatter between the boys, as he slowly rose from his seat. As he made his way over to the door, he looked over his shoulder at the hacker. “Fix this.” His words held a finality that made Yoongi gulp. The blonde had a stoic outer shell that was hard to crack, but no one in this building could deny Namjoon was the one in charge, the one they wouldn’t defy. Yoongi nodded, biting the inside his cheek to hold back his retorts as Namjoon left the room.

After you burst out of Yoongi’s room earlier, you ran towards the big metal door that led outside the warehouse. You didn’t really want to go home, you were way too scared of what might be waiting for you there, but you did need some fresh air and some time to process everything that has happened to you since yesterday.

You made your way down the long winding path that led back to the fork in the path at the edge of the forest. You were thankful Jungkook had found you a pair of slippers earlier and you were no longer barefoot. You passed the broken fence blocking the dirt road down to the quarry and carefully hiked down until you were at the embankment and sat on the edge of the water. It really was beautiful and now that you were up close, you could see how clear the water was. It looked like liquid gemstones, barely rippling in the slight breeze. The marble looked so pretty up close, nearly snow white with swirls and lines of grey. It was calming out here. You took a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of the water and the trees.

You have never done well with crowds of people. Not that five men were a crowd by any means, but you weren’t used to being around more than a couple of people at a time. Growing up, you had severe anxiety, especially while at school, and it carried over to adulthood. You also haven’t had many chances to socialize as an adult, outside of Mina and Woo. Being thrown into a situation with five men, two of whom you don’t think even want you around, is a lot. It’s only been twenty four hours and you’re already starting to regret leaving your home. You thought about your mom, and the huge breakfasts and dinners she would make for you and your father. Your father, who you didn’t know if you could even trust anymore. You’ve lived your whole life putting all your trust in your parents, as one should. But now you were questioning everything. Were they aware of your genetic rarity? Did they know about Big Hit all along? You had so many unanswered questions that you would probably never have answers to unless you went home.

Your mind wandered to Mina and Woo. How you weren’t sure if you would ever get to see them again. You were worried about them, worried that they would look for you and find themselves in some kind of trouble. They were your only friends growing up, and you didn’t even get to properly say goodbye to them. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt something wet and warm drop into your lap. You were wearing the pants that you got dressed in yesterday morning before what could’ve been your last breakfast with your family. At that thought, the dam within you broke and the tears started flowing.

While staring at your damaged hands, you were reminded of Seokjin, and his caring nature. The tall, broad shouldered man who has shown you nothing but kindness. He was so gentle with you, like no one ever has been before. He made your heart flutter and your mind blank when he spoke to you. You thought back to how angry he had been with his own friends, over you, a girl he just met. He was defending you, and it made you feel like you were tearing a family apart. You didn’t want to bring him, or anyone else for that matter, any pain or harm. But then you thought back to how nice his large hand had felt against the delicate skin of your face this morning, and how his words had made you blush with fondness. You’ve never loved someone outside of your family, never even had a crush before. You weren’t sure how to define what you felt for Seokjin, but it felt good.

Then you thought about Namjoon, the well spoken and intelligent man who was the reason you were brought in with welcoming arms. From what you’ve gathered, he was the one who pushed to find you, to make sure they did something to stop Big Hit from getting to you. You were thankful for him, and you didn’t want to put him in a position where he had to choose you or his brothers. He cared for them deeply, you could see that clearly.

Jungkook was mysterious to you. He seemed so shy and timid, yet he was so angry with Yoongi earlier in defense of you. He had shown you one of the most beautiful places you’ve ever witnessed before, and given you one of the most precious smiles you’ve ever seen. You wanted to learn more about him, get to know him, be his friend. You felt drawn to the boy and wanted to protect him. It was odd, you’ve never felt an instinct to take care of someone else before, aside from maybe your cat. You wondered if that was how Seokjin felt towards the rest of them, the thought causing your heart to clench, emphatic towards him.

The red haired man, Hoseok, was the one you knew the least about. It felt like he didn’t really like you, but he was so hard to read. You remembered what Namjoon said about him being excitable and friendly, but you had yet to experience it yourself. As much as you felt unwelcomed by him and Yoongi, you still felt inclined to get to know him better, a pull to him, much like the others. You couldn’t explain these feelings, and they were confusing you.

The last man of the group, the blonde. Yoongi. He definitely didn’t want you here, and definitely made you feel unwelcome. But could you blame him? You weren’t mad at him. No. You understood completely how he felt. You were a stranger, disposable, and you weren’t his friend. He had no reason to care about you. None of them did. You mentally berated yourself for allowing your mind to conjure up the idea that they owe you anything, that you deserved their care and affection.

As you sat and cried silently to yourself, you let the dark thoughts take over your mind. Were you some kind of charity case to Namjoon? Like he felt the need to save someone who was like him and that’s all you meant to them? Maybe they felt sorry for you, and that’s why they were treating you so kindly. Seokjin acted caring towards everyone, why were you anything special? You were acting crazy, it’s only been a day with these men and you’re already feeling such a strong pull to them. You need to get a hold of yourself. You continued to sit there, on the edge of the water, shoulders hunched as you cried silently. As the day went on, and the sun started to set beyond the hills, your mind was plagued with the thoughts that this was all a horrible, horrible idea.

To be continued….

A/N: if you made it this far, first of all, THANK YOU! If you want to be added to the taglist, make sure you’re following me and send me an ask. if you enjoy the series consider reblogging so it can reach more readers. i’m feeling a little down about writing right now, so i’m trying to make sure to update next sunday. we will be meeting the twins in the next couple chapters, depending on how long they get, and you will be getting some steamy scenes between YN and (a) boy shortly. much love

xx Des

taglist: @minifruity @mrcleanheichou @arantxaglz @chim-possible

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thepencilnerd · 4 years

Text

– a budding romance | part 1 –

➵ After moving into a new apartment, Min Yoongi stumbles across a flower shop down the street who’s radiant bouquets and even brighter personality catches his eye. What happens when two completely different worlds collide?

➵ pairing: min yoongi x reader

➵ genre: fluff, angst, slow burn, strong friendship/family dynamic, strangers to lovers, barely a soulmate AU

➵ word count: 16.8k

➵ warnings: swearing, very heavy angst, alcohol consumption, discussions of mental health and past emotional trauma—if you are in need of help, please please seek out professional care. there is hope out there and people that are here to help you. you are not your illness and always remember that you are not alone.

➵ a/n: I finally decided to get back to writing since I was on spring break for a short period of time (and because staying home is cool :) this story was inspired by my newly developed passion for houseplants, of which I’ve amassed a collection of over 30 in the past few months and totally don’t have an addiction to... This chapter turned out to be a very filler-heavy introduction to the universe it takes place in; although there’s not much romance in this part, I’m very happy with how the friendship dynamic between our main/secondary characters and their backgrounds turned out, so I please forgive me ^^

I’ve missed you all so freaking much, and I cannot thank you enough for showering Melophile with so much love throughout the past year. Thank you for being patient with me during my hiatus, and I hope you and all of your loved ones are staying safe, healthy, and happy ❤️enjoy, and please stay tuned for part two ❤️

“Where do you want the shelf?” the mover asked while holding one end of the wooden bookcase.

The sleep looked up from his seat by the kitchen island and “Right by the window,” Yoongi directed, guiding him to the west-facing window that opened up to his balcony. “Thanks.”

Tipping each of the movers, he thanked them once and bid them goodbye, shutting the door. The whoosh of the door closing left him alone in his new apartment with nothing but hastily arranged furniture, the quiet murmur of traffic outside, and of course, his thoughts; he was finally moved in.

Yoongi had thought about moving out for years now, but never brought up the topic until Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook were traveling out of the country more. By the time university had started, he and the guys had all agreed to move into a duplex a few minutes away from campus for time, money, and friendship’s sake. It was only a matter of time before the three boys were scouted off the street by the head of a modeling agency. Might he add that it was a late Friday night, post-finals season of senior year, and all the boys were more than inebriated, so how the man decided that giving contracts to three loud, wild, and utterly wasted uni students was astounding. Either way, the three stooges dropped out to pursue a career in modeling faster than you could say ‘show in Europe.’

After graduation, Namjoon brought up the idea of moving into a smaller building, to which Jimin and Hoseok disapproved of with arms crossed and pouty faces. Taehyung and Jungkook tried to come to an agreement and schedule what times of the year they’d be in town, but with their unpredictable schedules, it was a pointless compromise. Seokjin—the oldest of the seven—was expected to move out before any of them, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he eventually offered to share a place with Taehyung and Jungkook. They were still employed under the same agency and manager, so understandably, they would all share similar shows, shooting schedules, flights, and time spent in and out of town. It was also pretty close from here, so the seven would still be able to spend time together when they had the chance to.

Yoongi was the first to offer moving out so the four of them wouldn’t have to be crammed into a small condo. He had booked a few producing jobs here and there while still at university, so he practically had a contact list of full-time connections. Plus, Jimin had decided to enroll in a master’s program for traditional dance while teaching at a nearby dance studio, Namjoon started his first semester towards a postgraduate degree in literary criticism (again, how the boy had even passed his G.E. chemistry class in sophomore year was beyond anyone’s wildest imagination), and Hoseok had landed a solid job teaching hip-hop classes at the same studio Jimin was at.

“You’re sure you’re okay with it?” Jimin asked Yoongi with worry laced in his voice. The four were lounging in the living room of the quiet apartment. Seokjin and the two younger ones had moved out earlier that morning, and they were probably still getting settled. It was only a ten minute drive from Namjoon, Hoseok and Jimin’s new place. Thankfully they’d all be living a relative distance to one another even after moving.

Patting him on the head, Yoongi’s lips formed a small grin. “Don’t worry about me. At least I won’t have to deal with Hoseok’s late night gas bombs...”

Hoseok’s face burned bright red and his eyes grew wide as a storm of curse words flew out of his mouth. “Hey! Don’t blame me, tell Namjoon to learn how to cook raw food all the way through!"

To this, Namjoon threw his comforter at Hoseok, nailing him square in the face. Jimin held back his giggles while Yoongi stared wistfully. He would miss them more than he thought.

“It’s only a few minutes from your place so I’ll come and check up on you guys every once in a while,” Yoongi sighed, leaning into the couch. With everything packed and sent off the day before, it was the only piece of furniture left in the apartment. A distant memory resurfaced as his eyes drifted to the dented armrest. He and Jungkook had bought it at the thrift store on 5th Street after weeks of Seokjin complaining that there was no place to sit and watch TV; a past time he required to “relieve him of his grievances.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, redirecting his attention back to the present moment. “You know, just to make sure you haven’t all starved or strangled each other.”

The four shared one last month together and even helped Yoongi find his new place eight blocks down. According to Yoongi, the day Hoseok ran into Yoongi’s room with the crumpled piece of paper was a match made by hell and granted by heaven.

Snapping back into the present moment, Yoongi’s watch read 12:45 p.m. He rubbed his eyes at how dreadfully early in the day it was and his body was already begging for sleep. By the magic laws of the universe, the familiar sound of his ringtone reverberated through the barren apartment—his new apartment. Walking to the kitchen counter, Hoseok’s name flashed across the screen and Yoongi swiped to answer the call.

“How’s our big boy doing?” Hoseok immediately shouted through the receiver.

Yoongi scrunched his face in displeasure at the volume but couldn’t hide the slight smirk that grazed his lips. “I’m doing great mom, thanks for checking in.”

“We wanted to know if you needed any help settling in!” Jimin’s soft voice, as usual, offered with nothing but joy. Judging by the distant sound of complaining and forced laughter, he had taken the opportunity to snatch the phone away from Hoseok, and Namjoon was now holding him hostage with the force of tickling.

“I second that!” Namjoon’s voice boomed in the background.

Yoongi allowed himself the barest hint of a laugh. “I already had help from the movers, so the furniture is decently positioned already.” Opening up his fridge, he saw that it was unsurprisingly empty other than a few bottles of water. “I might need to run to the grocery store though. Can I call you guys after I get back?”

“Jimin, I swear to god you’re going to regret sharing a room with me!” Hoseok’s voice echoed closer from the other end.

“Call us when you get back! It’d be nice to get to know the shops around the neighborhood,” Namjoon backed up with confidence but he suddenly yelped in pain. Yoongi pictured Hoseok jabbing him in the side like he always did whenever they fought.

Hoseok huffed as he brought up the phone and was in possession of the device once again. “We’ll swing by your place at 6 with food, so don’t worry and buy some basic groceries. Namjoon, I swear—”

“—and make some neighborhood friends!” Namjoon blurted out. “We’ll see you soon!”

“See you soon!” Jimin added cheerfully.

“Miss you bud!” Hoseok chirped.

“Bye guys,” Yoongi chuckled. "Don’t kill each other.” Clicking off, he sighed once more before admiring his new place. The one-bedroom penthouse came with a decent sized-kitchen, in-unit washer and dryer, and included utilities. Not to mention the extra room that he had already moved his studio equipment into and man, that balcony view. It wasn’t considered budget-friendly for it’s square footage, but for the amenities and the part of town it was centered in? A steal.

Even though a job in the music industry didn’t exactly pay well, Yoongi considered himself lucky to have gotten the exposure he did so early. He had been bound to music for as long as he could remember, and it was during his middle school years that he discovered the editing software that changed his life. By junior year of high school, Yoongi had accumulated hundreds of thousands of followers and millions of listens on his streaming account. After he declared his major in university, renowned musicians from all over the world were flooding his email with requests for new songs, collaborations, editing, and everything in between.

As fame and status quickly began consuming his every waking thought, a dark cloud loomed over him. There had been a period of time when sitting in his studio was no longer enjoyable and felt like pure hell. Slowly but surely, it was the same cycle over and over again: get a request from a record label, make a new song, send it back to the tone-deaf money hungry CEO’s of the music industry, and then get feedback on how it’s not catchy enough or "up with the times.” God, that pissed him off more than anything. Good music shouldn’t have to be labeled as such because it fits into the typical mold of some teenage trend; that’s what makes it good.

That’s all they cared about these days. No meaningful lyrics or real talk about everyday life and how the world goes around—only songs about meaningless sex, regretting one night stands, repetitive ear worm tunes, unrequited and dumb young love, or things that talentless, plastic Instagram models could lip-sync and stick choreography to. It’s hard to pursue your passion in a field that you love when it’s hellbent on destroying itself.

Don’t even start with the controversies Yoongi dealt with on a daily basis. Flashy yellow headlines that talked about who this mysterious producer Min Yoongi was, where he was brought up, who he’s dated/is dating, his sexuality, and even his family members and their backgrounds. All of these were topics that every single news and social media outlet had the audacity to stamp on hundreds of magazines covers and copy/paste on their blogs, yet if given the chance, none would have the real guts to ask him in-person, face to face.

Yoongi found himself falling into periods of constant downward spirals. What would he become if he gave in? Who would he be if just shut up and took the money? If he listened to what everyone had to say and gave them everything they wanted? Would they love him any less or hate him even more?

It was half past one when he realized that he still had to go to run errands. Another 30 minutes of the day spent lingering on things that can’t be changed and don’t matter, he noted to himself. Wonderful.

Despite the chilly weather, Yoongi opted to throw on a hoodie and call it a day. His decision to wear ripped jeans was poorly made, but he refused to admit that laziness was the culprit for not packing some spare clothes into a suitcase before moving day. Before stepping out, he quickly slipped on a beanie and a face mask for privacy’s sake. He was really not in the mood today.

Murmuring a quick thanks to the cashier, Yoongi walked out of the grocery store as fast as he could. Within minutes, people had gathered in a crowd around him asking for pictures, autographs, voice memos, and the works.

Every single time he had to turn down someone’s request for a picture because he could not miss the last bus; constantly hiding in fear of someone catching him and finding out where he lives, or worse: his family members; always trying to leave the house at the most awkward time of day so he could actually walk around and get basic shit done. No one knew it, but he hated himself for feeling like the biggest asshole that ever existed when in reality, he was just trying to live a normal life.

Yoongi loved music, but more than anything, he loved how there were people who truly empathized with his songs and the effort he put into making them. He missed the days before fanbase culture mobbed those who genuinely understood what he was trying to say. He missed going out with the guys and not having to worry about strangers following him home and leaking his address for publicity and likes. He missed having the decency of basic privacy and boundaries. Yoongi was grateful for everyone’s unnecessary unconditional love for his work and lifelong devotion to music, but after all, he was nothing but a human being who needed some space to breathe.

Today was no different. He got lucky and managed to snag enough fruits and vegetables to fit into a single paper bag before the overwhelming screeches and overlapping voices forced him out of the mart.

One of the security guards and a few cashiers were kind enough to hold back a few of the people who tried following him out. Giving them a quick bow before scurrying out, he felt like an even bigger nuisance.

What kind of a prick like me disrupts people’s day-to-day life just to get some food...

Should’ve worn a damn ski mask.

Yoongi was two blocks from his apartment complex when the smell of smog and car exhaust was replaced by a tidal wave of—roses? The fragrance of fresh flowers flooded his nostrils with a vibrancy and sweetness that he had never smelled before. Trying to find the source, he stumbled across what appeared to be hole-in-the-wall flower shop.

Treading carefully towards the vivid assortment of colors and warm light, he glanced over at the array of plants that graced the outside shelves. It wasn’t until he started feeling hot that he noticed a patio heater beside the entrance, which doubled as a lamp.

As he admired the wide variety of colors, leaf shapes, and aromas, Yoongi picked up a weathered terra cotta pot. The gritty surface of the pot was splotched with discolored patches of white, probably from water and rain. It housed a plant with small, plump, ovular, dimpled emerald green leaves, and it was vining up the bamboo stick that was staked in the center.

A delicate shuffle of shoes on hardwood accompanied a soft voice. “Need help finding something?”

Looking up, Yoongi’s eyes met the young woman’s gaze. Even through his mask, her friendly smile seemed to glow brighter than the embers from the patio heater. Underneath her apron, she was wearing a fluffy white sweater and a pair of comfortably loose jeans that were decorated with colorful paint-splatters.

Blinking hard after catching himself staring too long, Yoongi shook his head and put the plant back. “Just looking around. Nice place you got here.” If he spoke any quieter, he’d have a new job singing lullabies to babies.

Knitting her eyebrows with an inquisitive stare, he felt his pulse start to pick up. Did she recognize him? Was she going to freak out? Was there something on his face?

She brought her finger up to her quirked lip and widened her eyes. “Botanophobia is my area of specialty!” she exclaimed with joy. “You don’t have to worry about killing a single plant under my wing.” Picking up the plant he set down, she held it out towards him with a warm grin.

Yoongi won’t be the first to admit that of his absent green thumb. When he used to visit his grandmother, she’d always tug on his ear for picking at the hanging pots draped underneath her patio. He didn’t even have a plant near his vicinity until Taehyung brought home individual cactus for each of the guys. Something about keeping it on their desks for focus and oxygen or whatever.

Needless to say that Namjoon and Yoongi both learned very quickly that cacti don’t like water as much as you think.

“Oh,” Yoongi waved his hands in defense. “ I’m not really a plant collecting type of guy.”

The girl rolled her eyes teasingly and handed him a ball of twine from her pocket.

“Stay here until I get back,” she commanded with a stern look and playful confidence. “I’ll be but a moment.” Retreating back into the shop, Yoongi was frozen in place. Guilty if he leaves, not guilty if he stays—

Right as he was about to put the twine on the shelf, the girl came out of the shop with a paper-wrapped package. “Water it once a month and keep it by a window, preferably brightly lit but not necessarily,” she instructed with nothing less than an energetic smile. “They kind of thrive on neglect.”

He was taken aback. “But—”

She held her hand up to halt his rebuttal and took back the twine. “Think of this as a little welcome to the neighborhood gift. I know all of my locals by heart and I’ve never seen you around before.”

“I can’t just take a plant from you,” Yoongi huffed, slightly annoyed at her stubborn nature. She was determined, he’d give her that.

Shaking her head, her hands didn’t move. “You can pay me back the next time you visit, and if you still haven’t fallen in love with this guy—” her head motioned to the paper-wrapped plant in her hands. “—then I guess I’ll just have to work harder.”

Yoongi bowed his head in thanks and accepted the parcel with a tightly pressed smile. She was definitely not one to give in. He couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy that there were still people in the world who loved their jobs as much as this woman.

The dimming sky signaled that it was time for him to get back home. Waving goodbye, the sound of his steps grew louder as the echo of her voice faded farther away. “See you around!”

Sure, the pessimist in him spat.

You awoke to the gentle sound of rain pattering against your window. Drops bounced off of the glass as the sound grew harsher, the water droplets ricocheting off of the already-streaky pane and onto the surrounding leaves of the tree whose branches caressed your small windowsill. The freezing cold air whistled through the crack between your window pane and the latch, causing you to shiver reflexively.

Stretching out your limbs, a large and clearly gracious yawn left your mouth, which harmonized in tandem with your outstretched palms and scrunched face. The warmth of your rumpled and disheveled sheets made you groan, your body naturally refusing to leave the comfort of your own bed. Did you really have to go out today? Using the rusty spring of the mattress to swing your legs over the bed, your feet grazed the cold, damp fabric of your carpet—

“Crap.” Partially awake, your aching limbs dashed across your small studio apartment and rummaged through the pile of rubbish in the spare closet, fishing out an old bucket. You ran back to your room and placed on top of the wet patch of fabric just underneath the foot of your bed. The sound of water hitting the carpet soon turned into muffled pangs. The culprit? A leaky spot in the ceiling of your humble abode that you had so graciously discovered months after you’d moved in.

Your landlord/makeshift, of course, said he couldn’t do anything about it. Something told you it wasn’t that he couldn’t, but rather, he couldn’t be bothered to...

The pleasantly dull morning heaviness that weighed your body slowly retreated, and left you fully aware that your feet were still wet and freezing cold. Very, very cold. It was Monday, right? A sigh escaped you as your hand came up to rub your eyes. Definitely a Monday. Stretching once more, you sat silently and found a moment of peace in gazing at the pouring rain that battered your window.

There was something oddly relaxing about watching the water droplets slowly slide down the glass. Whether it was the transparency of the glass against the clarity of the rainwater, or the different textures of sound as the droplets bounced off of the window onto the tree leaves, one thing was certain: overcast skies and the fresh smell petrichor was one of nature’s many great gifts.

Since the day was still immersed in the early hours of the morning, you were compelled to stay inside and burn through a book or two while in the comfort of your own bed. However, your fairytale fantasy was shattered by the reality that was your day job. You washed up, got dressed, and didn’t bother adding any extra layers to combat the cold. It was, of course, the sensation of the icy biting air against your flushed cheeks that made you treasure this kind of weather all the more. The haphazard toss a mini-umbrella into your bag and the clink of a lock and key was quite complimentary.

Ever since you were young, you’d loved flowers. Red roses, to be exact. It was in your best interest as a 6-year old to tag alongside your dad on his trips to the hardware store. Each time you came home, you ended up bringing a 99-cent fern home that ended up dying a week later. No matter how much your little heart adored each tiny gem, it was only a matter of time before you drowned the plant with too much water. In your pre-pubescent mind, taking care of a plant meant watering it. Every day. Little did you know that tending to a garden meant leaving it alone and giving it time to grow by itself.

Hundreds of plant funerals were held from the tender ages of six to fourteen. Years of experience, tears, frustration, determination, and love ended up raising your brown thumb well. Who knew that you’d end up majoring in biology and horticultural studies? Not to mention starting up an independent business as a flower shop and nursery. Now that was something to be grateful for.

It might seem strange to many; working a job that doesn’t pay a ton or have a stable workload, sitting in a humid shop some days with nothing but the rustling of dried bouquets to keep you company, or learning to appreciate the quiet solitude of white noise against morning traffic. It may have seemed like torture for anyone with some ounce of sanity, but to you, it was home.

Nothing excited you more than when you received the bi-weekly shipment of new plants. You were lucky the rain had stopped by the time you made it halfway to the shop. Marco, your go-to greenhouse guy, was just in time. He was wearing a blue sweater and the navy scarf his wife, Lucia, knitted him for Christmas four years ago.

You’ll never forget the gifts they exchanged that year. It was two days before Christmas and Marco was so busy with deliveries, he didn’t have time to get Lucia a present. Of course, seeing him ramble his worries to you while bringing in the day’s shipment made a lightbulb go off in your head.

As he was unloading boxes, you ran inside and whipped up a somewhat-simple but ever-classic arrangement: red tulips, white honeysuckles, baby’s-breath stems, and a mix of myrtle and lemon leaves to balance out the flower to foliage ratio.

Before Marco could leave, you put the finishing touches on the lush bouquet and finished it off with a gold-dusted bow for added holiday spirit.

“All done!” Marco bellowed. Running out of the shop, you handed him the box that sheltered Lucia’s gift.

“Merry Christmas,” you whispered with a giddiness that couldn’t be held back.

“Oh, bella...” His reaction was priceless. With a mouth parted, sparkling eyes, and a wonder-struck smile to top it all off, this was why you loved your job.

“Red tulips for a perfect love, honeysuckles for devoted lovers, and baby’s breath for everlasting love.” The words rolled off of your tongue like a second language.

Marco was still speechless. “You shouldn’t have—”

“Marco, my business would not function without you and neither would I,” you hushed. “This is the absolute least I could do for you and Lucia.”

“Bella!” His deep voice brought you back to the present day. The nickname always made you feel fuzzy. “How are you?”

“I’m doing wonderful, Marco.” Your eyes beamed. “How are Lucia and the girls?”

He laughed, shaking his head with a grin. “As wild as always. Fia and Gianna just started 2nd grade a few days ago. They’re growing up too fast.”

Your heart melted. “It’s always like that, isn’t it? Time flies...” The wistful tone in your voice didn’t go unnoticed. “Anyway, what’s in today’s box of treasures?” Rubbing your hands together like an animated cartoon, your eyes lit up at the sight of all the new varieties that peeked from the boxes.

“Oh you’ll love these!” Pulling out one of the 4-inch grow pots from the boxes, he revealed to you a healthy Hoya bella. The delicately draped stems with spear-shaped leaves and grooved foliage was breathtaking. A few of them even had a few peduncles, which was where flowers bloomed from. Hoyas were known for their delicate, candy-like flowers, and Hoya bella was a prolific bloomer.

If you had to choose a favorite type of tropical genus, it’d most definitely be the wax plant family. There are hundreds of species within that range from your typical waxy, thick and succulent leaves to thin, hair-like sparse leaves that looked like grass. Expensive grass, might you add.

You couldn’t hold back the excitement. “You brought me hoyas!” Jumping up and down with an overzealous amount of energy, Marco bowed for dramatic effect. Today was already off to a great start.

He counted all the boxes one more time, summing up the numbers in his head. “There are also some krinkle 8′s, compactas, variegated and green carnosas, more bellas, australis, curtisii, pubicalyx, burtoniae, lacunosa, and only a couple linearis. You know how popular those are these days.” Each time he listed off another set of species had you spinning. “The bottom boxes have some pothos, rubber trees, ferns, tradescantias, and peperomias.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” you exclaimed while giving him a big hug. “Don’t count me guilty if I run home with a few of these.”

A hearty laugh reverberated from his chest. “Always a pleasure, bella. I have to get going. Watch the rain! I’ll see you next week!”

Bidding him a goodbye, you reminded him to drive safe before he was off.

The first customer of the day was a regular; you could spot her bright red lipstick and pinup elegance from a mile away. If she hadn’t said anything, you could have sworn she was related to Marilyn Monroe.

“Good morning, Ms. Simmons!” you greeted as the chime on the door jingled. “How are you?”

Her bright red lips curled into a grin that revealed her immaculate smile. “I’m doing very well, thank you dearie.” Did you mention that she had an Irish accent?

Stepping out from behind the counter, you pulled out the freshly wrapped parcel and unfolded the top to show her. Cupping your hand to speak, the words came out in a whisper. “I got the new shipment of linearis.”

At this, her eyes grew bigger and mouth rounded into an O. She’d been waiting for these grass-leaved hoyas for months now and you had made a promise to her that she was the first on the waitlist.

“You are an absolute jewel my love, an unreal star!” Handing you her usual payment method of cash, you made sure to choose the fullest plant for her before she arrived. Also, you may have added in a begonia and African violet or two. All in the name of agape love, truly.

Even though she celebrated her 70th birthday over the winter, Ms. Simmons was a regular ever since you opened the shop. She always made the two mile walk from her home to your shop every Monday and you couldn’t understand for the life of you why. All you could do was be the best at your job and treat your customers as well, if anything, better than they treated you.

“I’ll see you next week, Ms. Simmons,” you smiled, holding the door open for her as she went on her merry way.

The rest of the day was business as usual. Mary, another regular, came in looking for a rubber tree and a peace lily; she’d just moved into a bigger house to accompany their newest family member, and needed some green so the place didn’t look so sterile.

Isaac, the pastor who worked at the local church, was in need of some rose arrangements for this weekend’s sermon. He always loved how full the ones you had out on display were.

Kat was an old university friend you had stayed in touch with and a fellow “hoya head.” She was the sweetest girl and always brought you coffee and a perfectly toasted bagel whenever she visited. The doorbell always chimed at exactly 12:25 p.m. and she never missed it once ever since you opened the shop’s doors.

“You got a perm?!” you gawked. She’d gotten another haircut. Her once long, pin-straight dark brown hair was now shoulder length and curled like Shirley Temple’s signature look. “You look a-freaking-mazing!”

Tussling the curls with one hand while pushing up the bridge of her cat-eye glasses with the other, she reminded you of a revamped 70’s Betty Boop. “Thank you darling, I’ve been meaning to chop it all off for a while now but the weather has had me down in the dumps,” she remarked in an over the top, received pronunciation accent.

Shaking your head and appreciating her choice of clothing, you couldn’t help but applaud at how she always chose fashion and style over basic comfort.

"We got some bellas and compactas so grab ‘em and go before you get a cold.” Her red dress and black cardigan ensemble was an eye-catcher but did not bode well considering the cloudy sky.

She rolled her eyes in an exaggerated manner. “Yes mom, I’ll take those two and a krinkle, if you please.” You will admit, her energy was something you never got tired of.

The wrapping of planters had become muscle-memory now. Wrap around, fold over, crease the edge, tuck in the sides, and tie with some twine. A snip here and brushing off the excess soil there and voila.

Before she left, you handed her the umbrella you brought from home. “Get home before it starts raining!” you nagged. “I only live a few minutes from here so just take it before you ruin your clothes.” Kat definitely needed it more than you.

She wrapped her arms around you in a familiar hug and promised she’d call you back at home. “Love you!” Perfect timing, too. Right as the door shut, the slow patter of rain had started sprinkling the rooftop, and cars started whooshing by with an added splash.

Cradling your warm cup of coffee was a routine on Kat’s visiting days. The rain was now trickling down the ridged shingles of the roof and down the gutter, droplets of water blurring into coiled trails. Absolutely mesmerizing. After making a dozen bouquets that were on today’s order list, Sara, Louie, Timmy, Kyle, and George visited one by one to pick them up. Soon after that, the day started slowing down and the rain showed no signs of stopping like you had anticipated. It was nearing closing time too, so maybe it was a good idea to head home a bit early.

You rushed to bring in the buckets of pre-cut flowers and ready-made arrangements from outside. You ended up wrapping everything up right on time. Even better, a few new faces showed up. All of your linearis and bellas had sold out today (no surprise), and you got to meet some new customers right before closing time. It was nothing but a joyous and success-filled day in your eyes.

Gripping the cold metal, goosebumps prickled your skin as soon as your fingertips rolled down the gate over the store windows. A smile of triumph grazed your lips. The quietest of goodbyes escaped your lips.

Until tomorrow.

The buzz of alcohol and smell of grease wafted in the air as they all got crazier by the minute.

Namjoon had already burned through three bottles of beer and was on the verge of losing his sense of direction. Hoseok was two sips in before his face flushed a bright red. Jimin was prancing around like a fairy after his third shot of tequila. Taehyung and Jungkook were singing and dancing to bad karaoke songs, nearly knocking over the TV a few times.

Seokjin was the only one who was mildly sober. Again, mildly is a word that should be used very lightly. "Since when did you have a green finger?”

The five paused their shenanigans to glance over at the single plant that decorated the otherwise empty bookshelf.

Yoongi chewed silently, unable to come up with any response.

Jimin hiccuped before talking. “Didn’t you kill a cactus a few years back?”

Again, Yoongi chose to stay silent and give an unbothered shrug. Hoseok’s face still looked like he was contemplating the meaning of life, but he managed to nod his head in confirmation.

“Yeah, Namjoon drowned his, too,” the youngest spoke with a ditzy tone. Taehyung giggled like a child at Jungkook’s strangely accurate description and pointed at Namjoon. Some comment about his messy hair or turtle glasses, or a combination of both.

“I’m old enough to take care of myself so I should be able to take care of some stupid weed.” For some reason, Yoongi’s mouth burned saying those words.

Namjoon rolled his eyes at the comment and got up to grab some water. Of course, his drunk state amplified his clumsiness and caused him to bang his knee against the corner of the kitchen island. Hoseok and Jimin burst out into cackles and snorted as Yoongi rolled his eyes. The alcohol was beginning to pass like water. He should slow down.

“Apparently that one thrives on neglect.” Yoongi finally broke his vow of silence, changing the topic and directing his attention to Jimin and half-there Hoseok. “How’s teaching going?”

Leaning on each other as the alcohol sleeps finally kicked in, they could only raise their thumbs-up with half-lidded eyes.

Coming back with a tray of water cups that remained miraculously intact, Namjoon collapsed down into his seat. “They’ve been working every single day for the past month now. Jimin has his mid-semester show coming up and Hoseok got booked for some choreography with a local theater group.”

Yoongi downed one last mouthful of the bitter drink before calling it quits, enjoying how it burned his throat as it made its way down. “And you guys?”

Seokjin and Jungkook all murmured something about an upcoming shoot in May for the spring catalog.

“Jungkook and Seokjin got booked for a perfume ad and I got an acting gig,” Taehyung explained. The excitement was evident in his voice. Yoongi congratulated the three, cheering them on with another shot.

He turned to the boy rubbing his bruised knee. “And you, Joon?”

It was Namjoon’s turn to shrug. “School is school. Always studying, reading, writing, nothing new,” he droned in a monotonous voice. “How’ve you been handling everything?”

He was talking about all the new deals that Yoongi was offered in the last couple of weeks. Every post on social media was rampant with news of Min Yoongi’s latest tracks and upcoming collabs. Although the boys would never fully understand his stress, their sympathy for him was plenty enough.

“Same old same old. Money hungry bastards trying to get my advice on shitty tracks that have as much depth and complexity as a poptart just to get my signature stamped on it.” Yoongi spoke with painful honesty, causing everyone to sober up and focus on him. He took a final swig of his drink. “Whatever sells, I guess.”

Namjoon and the others shook their heads in agreement solemnly, showing his wordless support and understanding. “You’ll get out of it, Yoongi. Trust me.” He patted his friend’s shoulder in vain, but only Yoongi knew it.

Trying to swallow the words, Yoongi looked over at the snoring bundle that was Jimin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Taehyung. Seokjin was probably passed out in the bathroom. His upper teeth raked across his lower lip, savoring the dull sensation that felt more real than the situation he had gotten himself into.

“Yeah. I’ll get out of it.”

Spring was always the best time of the year. All of the flowers were in bloom and sunlight was streaming through everyone’s window without being unbearably hot. To top it all off, it was also the busiest time for you and your business. The shop was always flooded with customers marveling at the colors that decorated the exterior. When the inside of the shop finally cleared out, you were able to take requests for individual bouquets, parties, and weddings.

“Need some help?” a familiar someone shouted through the crowd of people.

Your head snapped over to the upbeat and bubbly voice you knew by heart. “Kat!” Hugging her over the counter and bringing her behind the register, you quickly thanked her before running around frantically with a notepad in hand.

This became a routine about two springs after you opened up: people piling in by the masses for a chance at bringing home the freshest roses, tulips, and succulents you had to offer, Kat making her weekly visit and seeing you overwhelmed, weaving her way through the horde of people crammed inside the shop and lined up outside, and finally putting on an apron of her own and managing the register while you paced back and forth getting people’s orders.

“What would I do without you?” you mouthed to her as you formed your face into a meme-worthy cry face.

She stuck her tongue out and managed the register like a pro, fingers pressing buttons left and right at lighting speed. You giggled and went back to jotting down everyone’s orders.

1x assmt/ peace lilies; red and white in ceram. pot

2x 4-inch maiden hair ferns delivered

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/ filler foliage

1 bqt/dozen red roses w/o filler foliage

1x dozen individually wrapped W roses with gld. ribbons

R, W, PRP, PNK tulips w/ queen anne’s lace

Succ. terr. for bday, round jar, colorful

Over the course of one day, you used up three ballpoint pens and couldn’t feel your fingers or your cheeks. Writing and smiling at the same time should be an official sport for next year’s Olympics. Kat fared no better. Slung over the register like a floppy piece of bacon, the only indication of any remaining energy from either of you was the heavy sound of breathing.

Stretching out your hands, you set down the notepad and groaned. “Kat?” Checking to make sure she was alive, she groaned back in response. “Thank you.”

She looked up and rested her cheek against the gold glass of the counter. “Welcome,” she mumbled, flashing her signature smile. It was a quarter past seven but you usually closed the shop by five, so why were you and Kat still here? After the commotion of today, both of you were too exhausted to close up, so you just brought whatever flowers from outside remained and ordered some takeout to eat here.

Standing up, your body needed to step outside and get some fresh air. Kat was knocked out comfortably on the counter, so you decided to leave her alone to nap in peace. The first step you took outside made your body tingle. You were constantly running back and forth earlier, but being out of breath and in a mental flux with all the orders made you feel like you were floating.

You inhaled the cold air as deeply as you could and breathed out with an equal amount of force. The sky was tinted a coral pink color and the sun was barely kissing the horizon. Thank you spring for yet another marvelous attribute that only you can provide.

Right before you were about to step back inside, a familiar masked figure entered your field of vision. “Hey!” Calling out through cupped hands, you prayed he could hear you over the few cars that were driving by. His head perked up and even behind his covered face, you could see that he was surprised. Ducking his head in a makeshift greeting, you waved him hello and goodbye, happy to see his masked face again. No point in calling him over this late at night. He probably had things to do. Didn’t we all?

Jungkook and Taehyung were the first ones to point it out.

“Yoongi...” Hoseok uttered.

“How could you?” Seokjin continued, mouth agape in pure disbelief.

Namjoon shook his head. “I can’t believe you’ve done this. ‘Responsible adult’ my ass.”

“You’ve had it for two weeks and it’s already dying!” Jimin was the one who finally blurted it out.

Yoongi rubbed his sore eyes. It was 11 in the morning and he was exhausted from staying up all night. The deadline for his upcoming track was this Friday and contrary to popular belief, making a horribly repetitive and catchy song was a lot harder than you’d think. The guys managed to find some time in their schedules to come visit him. He never thought the day would come where he wanted them to stay home.

“It’s fine,” he grunted.

“When was the last time you watered it?�� Hoseok asked, inspecting the sick looking plant. He was making that weird face. The one where his nose wrinkled at an invisible stench and eyes narrowed into slits.

“Don’t know,” Yoongi shrugged while chugging a few mouthfuls of water and relished the feeling of cool liquid coating his parched throat.

They all surveyed the state of the place. There were crumpled scraps of paper that littered the hardwood floor like confetti. Empty water bottles were spread across the bathroom, music studio, kitchen counter, and balcony shelf—and who could forget the pile of worn hoodies and shirts that were nestled in the sofa corner and had slowly been growing bigger, congregating to form a laundry mountain.

Namjoon was the one to point out that the fridge was still pretty much empty. “Did you even go grocery shopping, Yoongi?” He spoke with the tone of concern now. If anyone knew how persistent Yoongi was, it was Namjoon. This wouldn’t be the first time he’s skipped meals and sleep just to work on a song.

“Yoongi, we can go out for you if you need us to,” Jimin offered as usual. Hoseok and Namjoon voted in support of his idea, already mouthing a list to Taehyung and Jungkook.

“We’ll go to the supermar—” Jungkook was cut off by Yoongi’s sudden spike of anger.

“I’m fine,” Yoongi replied a bit too harshly. He could only hold in pent up frustration for so long before he burst. “I don’t need you to go grocery shopping for me. I don’t need your help. I appreciate it, I really do, but it’s not your job to bear my burden of being a nuisance.”

They stayed quiet. The ball was already rolling and he needed to get it all out.

“You think I don’t want to go out? To step outside for one day and have nobody recognize me?” Yoongi scoffed, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. “I want—” he paused. “No, no. I crave that more than anything. The anonymity I had in high school when I was a nobody and only had you guys by my side.

“Back when I didn’t have to bury myself underneath hoodies and beanies, suffocate myself underneath scarves and face masks, or wear sunglasses when it wasn’t the slightest bit sunny out.” Yoongi held back a scream and ran his hands through his hair in anger, tugging at the strands so he could feel tense pain nip at his scalp; he needed to feel anything other than this—this thing inside of him. Realizing that he had directed his vexes toward the wrong people, he sighed. Yoongi buried his face into his hands, disappointed at himself for doing it again.

Sinking into the ground, he couldn’t find it in himself to shed a single tear. In a fit of blind rage, he had just yelled at his childhood friends for absolutely no reason. Guilt was starting to eat away at his conscience; he’d fucked up—bad. What the hell was wrong with him?

The six kneeled down beside Yoongi and enveloped him in a silent hug. The boys had formed their group of seven in middle school and were forever bound by their loyalty to one another. Pushing past the temper tantrums of adolescence and living through the toils of university was all accomplished by the means of what connected them as a whole: friendship. Friends were there for each other through thick and thin, and they knew that none of them were free from the confines of daily life; friends were family

Yoongi pressed the palms of his hands harder into his eye sockets and blinked back the ache that was diffusing across his muscles.

I’ll get out of it.

It was an unusually cloudy day for spring. The grey clouds that were spread out across the sky didn’t seem to bode well for the day ahead. Today went by slower than usual. Granted it was a Sunday, but still—it was an off day.

You were in the middle of pruning the plants that were set up outside the shop when a hand tapped your shoulder. Turning around, you were greeted by a doe-eyed young man and his equally handsome friend. You had never seen them around before and they were each carrying two insulated grocery bags by their sides.

“Good afternoon.” The latter greeted you with an immaculate smile, bowing slightly. His friend mirrored the greeting, also presenting himself with his own charming grin.

Starstruck for a moment, you blinked a few times before gulping nervously. “Pleasure.” You mentally face-palmed your brain. Great job.

The big-eyed one spoke with a certain shyness you couldn’t put your finger on. “We were looking for some advice on plants. For a friend.” Chuckling, he scratched the back of his ear. It was only after a few moments to process their appearances did you realize that they were both attractive enough to be models, or something of the sort. Maybe your eyes were tricking you, but you felt like you’d seen them on last month’s fashion catalogue...

“I’m Jungkook by the way.” Shaking his hand, you couldn’t help but be aware of the pink that crept up your face. You tried to hide it with a nervous smile.

Act professional, you mentally scolded. “______,” you introduced yourself.

The other apologized for his manners and shook your hand as well. Your small fingers paled in comparison to his. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you.” His blinding smile made you blush furiously and you were dying inside.

“So uh—our friend, he has a plant like this one,” Taehyung continued, stopping to point to the tray of green carnosas beside his knee. “—and it’s starting to turn brown?”

“Hmm...” you frowned. "Does your friend always have the air conditioner or heater running? Something that might cause the air to dry out?”

The two stared at each other at a loss for words. “Not really, he always complains that the weather is too hot to turn on the heater yet too cold for the AC,” Jungkook elaborated.

“Oh!” He gasped as if a mind-blowing thought had struck him. “There’s a humidifier by his couch. Remember? He always used to complain about nosebleeds when we lived by uni.” Jungkook shook his head up and down like a cartoon, probably recalling this as well.

You were stumped. “You’re sure they’re brown leaves, right? Not yellow?”

They nodded. Damn. Yellowing leaves almost always indicated over watering or under fertilizing. Browning edges and tips usually meant that the plant needed more humidity, but full blown brown leaves?

Sighing in defeat, you packaged a small packet of water-soluble fertilizer with instructions and handed it to doe-eyed . “Try this and see if it helps,” you instructed, praying it would. Hoyas were known as bullet-proof plants, so why a carnosa of all species was starting to decline was alarming.

They thanked you for your help and asked you a few more questions before leaving.

“By the way,” Taehyung asked. “Do you do arrangements for large-scale productions? Like photoshoots?”

You said yes with a gentle smile. “Occasionally I will, but being such a small shop, I try to limit it to only during the springtime. It’s harder to fill out orders for big events when there aren’t that many materials to work with.”

Jungkook’s eyes got bigger than you thought to be possible and beamed, still running his hands through his hair shyly. “Would you be interested in helping us out?”

Raising your eyebrow at their request, you were curious. “What exactly would I be helping with?”

Taehyung started stuttering, his turn to be shy. “We actually have a spring photoshoot coming up for our modeling gig, and we thought it’d be cool to have an actual set full of flowers. Not just a big, white room with oversaturated fluorescents.”

“So you are models?” You felt like Sherlock Holmes had cracked the case.

This time, they were the ones who turned tomato red and cleared their throats, scratching their heads nervously. Humble folks.

“Don’t fret, your secret is safe with me,” you comforted. “What kind of theme are you trying to go for?”

You conversed for the next half twenty minutes about their ideas for the shoot and a little bit about their backgrounds, and you managed to exchange numbers. It turns out they were quite the dynamic duo.

If you hadn’t reminded them that they had groceries that needed to be taken home, you could have easily talked to them for another couple of hours. They were the welcoming social butterflies, not the typical annoying ones that felt the compulsive need to blabber on about nothing.

After saving their contacts into your phone, Taehyung and Jungkook thanked you once more for your time and said they’d see you around.

What an interesting day it turned out to be indeed...

“We come bearing gifts!” Taehyung announced grandly in his signature deep voice. Setting down the bags, the six got to work organizing the food stash. Jungkook, Taehyung and Seokjin were fortunate enough to be in town for a while before their next shoot, and Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok were on spring break. Basically, all of them had been camping in Yoongi’s living room for the past few weeks, and he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Jungkook and Taehyung had bought enough food to last all of them for a month had they still lived under a single roof. Jimin got to work on washing and slicing up the vegetables, Seokjin was dividing up the cuts of beef, and Hoseok was boiling some water and sauce for the pasta. Meanwhile, Taehyung was busy figuring out how to set the temperature dial on the oven and Jungkook was scolding him every few seconds for not letting him do it.

Namjoon was keeping a keen eye on the water to make sure it was boiling.

“Do you think he’s still sleeping?” Sat on the bar counter of the kitchen, he propped up his chin while resting his elbow on the table.

“I hope so,” Hoseok sighed. “But you know he never sleeps even at the best of times.”

Jimin shook his head. “He was snoring a little earlier, but he might just be swaddled underneath the covers,” he added, the satisfying crunch of the vegetables timed perfectly with his words.

“He’ll be okay, right?” Jungkook asked with worry evident in his voice.

“He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to, but until then, it’s not our place to pry.” Seokjin was the class clown of the group, but every so often he let the wise part of his brain come out. “Let’s cook up a feast, pop open some bottles, and have a good time just like the old days.”

“The water is boiling!” Namjoon shouted, a bit too loud for Hoseok’s taste. He jumped at the sudden spike in pitch like a cat. Bursting into a fit of laughter, Hoseok whacked Joon on the forehead with the wooden spoon, making him howl. A spitting image of siblings fighting on Thanksgiving.

In the other room, Yoongi let out a deep sigh from beneath the jumbled mess of covers. The smell emanating from the kitchen made his mouth water and fooled him into thinking he was still dreaming.

Sitting up slowly so the blood wouldn’t rush too quickly to his head, he stared outside at the glimmering lights of the city that lit up the dark sky. Across the street, he could barely make out the flashing shadows of people’s TV screens behind their blinds and the monotonous, undecorated, cement balconies. For the most part, the sight was nothing extraordinary.

If he shut his eyes and listened closely, he could hear the faint hum of sirens; feel the quiet murmur of the heartbeat that lived and breathe in the city. If he silenced his mind entirely, he could smell the wet cement through the crack of his open window, still damp from the rain that poured hours earlier.

His footsteps were light as he made his way to the kitchen, but not before sneaking a glance at his friends from the hallway. Hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi listened to their voices; somehow even throughout puberty, he could still tell exactly who’s voice belonged to who just by the energy their words radiated.

“You told me to tell you when the water was boiling!” Namjoon defended with a whine, still rubbing his forehead from where Hoseok struck him with the spoon. He swore it was turning red.“I told you the water was boiling!”

Jungkook hung his head down to hide his wide-toothed grin. He was trying his hardest to hold back the snort that threatened to escape. “I think Hoseok meant to let him know with some bit of sanity, not intentionally scare him.”

“Either way, Hoseok definitely knew the water was boiling,” Taehyung chuckled with his mouth half-full. He always liked sneaking bits of food whenever they cooked something.

“Stop eating all the carrots, Taehyung!” Jimin yelled for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I hope your nose turns orange.”

His hand stopped midway, the carrot a mere centimeters away from his mouth which was still open. “Can—can that actually happen?” he sputtered.

Yoongi could picture Jimin’s smirk down to the last dimple. “I don’t know Taehyung, ever wonder why some babies turn orange?

“It only happens if you only eat carrots for a long time, like a carrot juice detox or something.” As usual, Seokjin was the voice of logic and mild reason in Yoongi’s absence.

Taehyung pinched Jimin’s cheek as revenge, popping the carrot into his mouth.

“I don’t know Taehyung,” Hoseok warned, sucking air in between his teeth for added effect. “Now that you mention it, your nose is starting to look a little bit—”

“What?!” A few chunks of carrot came flying out of his mouth, causing the boys to explode into snickers and simultaneous “ew’s.” Taehyung ran to the nearest bathroom and nearly ran face-first into the mirror trying to get a good look at his face.

“Hoseok!!!” he screeched like a demon. “You are so freaking lucky we don’t share a room anymore!”

Jungkook was starting to hyperventilate and clap like a seal, while Jimin, Seokjin and Hoseok sounded like they were on laughing gas from all of their snorting. “How do you fall for that sort of thing?” Seokjin forced out while clutching his stomach and nearly bursting into tears.

“God you guys are so stupid,” Namjoon facepalmed. In reality, he was hiding his ear-to-ear grin and his cheeks were sore. “I don’t know how we dealt with each other for twenty years.”

This made all of them laugh even harder.

Still hiding behind the doorway, Yoongi felt a bruising pain bloom from within his chest. It started deep down in his ribs and moved up his chest, crawling up his throat and contracting every muscle and scraping against every bone as it made its way farther up. The ache grew into a bubble, inflating itself bigger and bigger until it hurt for him to swallow or breathe. His knees buckled from beneath him as his back slid down the wall, his body curling into a crouched position. He looped his hands behind his neck and tugged his face into his knees, the familiar darkness comforting him. He wanted to scream until his throat refused to; punch something until his knuckles were pink, kick a box, bite down on a towel until his gums ached, throw a glass at a wall and watch it shatter into pieces, thrash around until his limbs went numb from the buzz of blood circulation.

He wanted to cry but he didn’t; he wanted to feel the tears as they trailed down his face. He wanted to feel the burning sensation of them trailing down his skin each time he wiped them away, cheek stinging even more after he did.

He needed to cry but he couldn’t.

“Do you wanna go wake him up, Taehyung?” Seokjin asked, his voice waking Yoongi up from his daze. It was more of a gentle command than a question, really. “He never gets mad at you for waking him up.”

On cue, Yoongi walked into the kitchen and pretended to rub his eyes as if he were still sleepy. Sitting at the table, he blinked a few times to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. “Wow, you actually managed to cook something and not burn my place down.” His chest was still sore and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed, but there was also a part of him that was genuinely impressed by the setup.

“Hey, we’re not all like Namjoon.” Hoseok poked fun at him again and twirled his spatula as if it were a hypnotist wand.

“At least I made sure the water was boiling,” Joon mumbled under his breath.

Yoongi had no energy to smile, but he managed to lift the edges of his lips into the ghost of one. “I’m starving,” he spoke as his voice cracked a little.

The dinner table was already set and they just needed to bring some spare plates over. As everyone began gathering around the food, Yoongi felt the swelling in his chest begin to calm down. He was still having trouble breathing deep breaths, but it was better. Better than nothing.

“Want some water?” Jungkook offered, face still flushed red from laughing earlier.

“Thanks,” Yoongi accepted. He patted the youngest on the head and ruffled his hair like the high school days. Looking around, he studied every single face of his friends, admiring traits he hadn’t really taken the time to appreciate before.

Pouring him a glass, the boys soon joined Yoongi at the table, wine glass in hand. Hoseok handed the extra one he had brought to Yoongi, sneaking him a wink. A grin spread across his lips.

Jimin passed around the bottle of white wine as Taehyung cracked open a mini bottle of red for himself. All eyes darted towards the second youngest, causing him to raise his hands in defense. “Chardonnay gives me a hangover sometimes!”

“Mhm,” Jungkook hummed. “Totally the chardonnay.”

Another circle of laughter encompassed the table. Right as they were about to start eating, Hoseok remembered that he forgot to take the pasta out from the saucepan.

Namjoon stood up so fast, he didn’t have time to voice his pain when his toe struck against the table leg. “I’ll get it!” he volunteered before anyone could stop him. The dining table was right beside the kitchen so why was he in such a rush?

The others trusted him enough with a simple task like pouring something out of a pan into a dish. At least, that was until the boy decided the pasta was lacking a little bit of “zest,” so to speak.

“Jungkook, where’d you put the basil?” he asked while shuffling through the refrigerator.

"In the fridge, second drawer,” Jungkook answered, going back to take a bite of his steak. “Why?”

“The pasta needs some green!” he said with far too much energy in his voice.

Jimin, Taehyung, Seokjin, Hoseok, Jungkook, and Yoongi all looked at one another with the same puzzled expression before shrugging it off. That classical fiction analysis class was probably making him go kooky. The peace lasted for about half a second until Namjoon asked where Jimin had put the knife.

Their calm expressions immediately turned into ones of sheer terror as they looked at each other and scrambled out of their seats at the speed of light.

“Namjoon!” they screamed in unison.

Kat nearly dislocated her jaw. “He texted you again? What did he say? Did you text him back? What did you say? Was he being a dick again? How—”

You smacked your hand across her mouth in an effort to shut her up. Her overzealous energy was really a double-edged sword. On certain days, you absolutely thrived on it. On days like this, you hated it with a burning passion more than you hated maidenhair ferns. They were beautiful in theory but were a bitch to keep happy.

“Kat,” you stopped. “I love you and I would do anything for you, but I really need you to just shut up for right now, okay?” Nodding slowly at your request, you carefully peeled your hand off of her mouth.

“Are you okay?” she asked instead, much calmer than before. “You seem a little off.”

Sighing, you decided it would just be better if you showed her the texts.

Douchebag: hey ______, is this ur number? [ 2:22 p.m.]

Douchebag: i got a new phone that’s y [ 2:23 p.m.]

You: yea [ 2:29 p.m.]

Douchebag: how’ve you been [ 2:35 p.m.]

You: good, you? [ 2:42 p.m.]

Douchebag: {download image.jpeg} [ 2:44 p.m.]

Douchebag: I wanted to snap u this cuz I was wearing the sweater you got me but I guess u don’t have snap lol [ 2:45 p.m.]

You: I deleted all of my apps and never got back to reinstalling them, sorry [ 2:50 p.m.]

Scrolling through the rest of the messages, Kat scoffed in disbelief. “I knew he was scum, but catching up after three years of nothing and acting like everything is peachy keen is a new level of assholery,” she rambled on.

You rolled your eyes, resting your elbow on the counter and palm cradling your temple. “What can I say. I definitely know how to pick them well.”

“And the goddamn audacity of him to send a shirtless pic, masking it as a ‘thank-you for buying me that sweater’ schtick?” she growled, fist clenching around nothing while picturing his face.

“An absolute disgrace,” you tagged along.

“It’s not your fault, ______,” Kat soothed. “I would’ve fallen for his mind games too if he charmed me like that.” She took a sip of her iced coffee and shook her head vigorously. “God he makes me want to punch him in his stupid ugly face with that stupid dumb grin and those stupid poofy curls in his stupid misshaped head—”

“Kat,” you warned again, begging her to calm down. Her vernacular wasn’t the best, but damn was it amusing at times. “We just texted back and forth to kill some time. It didn’t mean anything and it’s not happening again.” It felt like you were trying to convince yourself more than her.

She studied your expression carefully before deciding what to say next. “If he ever crosses the line again, call me.” Placing her hand over your free hand, she gave it a good squeeze. The edges of your lips curved into the tiniest smile and you instantly felt at ease.

“Have I ever told you how lucky and grateful I am to have met you?” you chuckled, ignoring the throbbing in your temple that started early in the morning.

Tossing her hair behind her shoulders like an actress from the Golden Age of Hollywood, her teeth glimmered like diamonds against the bright red lipstick she had on. “As am I, my pumpkin patch sweet pea,” she beamed.

Covering your face to hide your painful grin, the door chimed, welcoming a customer. You fanned your face to calm down your rosy cheeks. “Welcome!” you greeted with your usual bright tone.

“Don’t touch anything,” someone criticized, the quiet sound of a hand smacking skin resounding through the small shop.

“I didn’t!” another voice, most likely the one who was scolded, replied in an irritated whisper.

Sitting up straight, you saw three young men standing right by where the glass terrarium displays were set up. You’d recognize that toothy smile and round face anywhere.

“Jungkook!” Finally getting out of your chair, you couldn’t help but be excited to see his face again. Kat’s eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she stared back and forth between you and the guys with a blatant, “are you kidding me, you met a cute guy and didn’t bother mentioning it to me” face.

Poking the shoulder of his friend who was scolded, Jungkook greeted you with his signature smile and energetic wave. “______! Namjoon, Jimin, this is ______.”

The taller one shook your hand. “Nice to meet you,” he spoke gently with a close-lipped smile and sensed a child-like wisdom from him that you couldn’t exactly put your finger on. It didn’t help that his horn-rimmed glasses made him look like a teacher and a student.

“Jimin, wonderful to meet you.” The shorter-statured boy addressed you with a nearly angelic tone, voice softer than what you’d imagine clouds to feel like between your fingertips. His silver-dyed hair added to his overall ethereal aura.

Still sat at the counter, a starstruck Kat greeted the three with more confidence and gusto than you could ever muster. “Honored to meet you, I’m Kathryn but please call me Kat.” She strummed her fingers in the air as if she were plucking a harp. Jungkook, Jimin, and Namjoon grinned, already sensing the quirky nature of her personality. Yup, Kat’s so-called “Kat-Attack” was definitely contagious.

If you had a dollar for every time you blushed because of Jungkook and/or his friends, you’d have enough money to buy your own greenhouse—and live in said greenhouse. It wasn’t until Kat forcefully coughed up her left lung out that you registered how long you had been shaking Jimin’s hand. Pulling away abruptly, you let out an awkward chuckle. This was totally not weird at all—just three attractive, charming, attractive young men who waltzed into your shop on an ordinarily quiet day. Nothing weird. God, you were making it so weird—

“I’m gonna go get some coffee, do you guys want anything?” Kat asked out of the blue. If she was going to do what you think she was about to do...

“No, that’s alright,” Jimin turned down kindly. “We stopped by a café on the way here, but thank you for offering.”

“No problem at all!” Kat smirked just the slightest bit while saying this as if she’d gotten away with a bank heist. “I’ll see you after work, ______!” As she was walking outside, you saw her shoot you a mischievous wink through the glass before running off.

“So,” you started, trying your best to carry on the conversation as if you weren’t the most socially awkward human in the world. “What brings you and your friends in today?”

Jungkook, still as shy as ever, ruffled his hair lightly out of habit. “Well, you see, me Taehyung, and another friend of ours moved into an apartment a while back, and it still doesn’t feel...” he paused, trying to think of the right word. “—homey enough.”

While listening to Jungkook, Jimin and Namjoon were exploring the shop, taking in everything they could with their eyes, smelling what they could with their nose, and feeling every leaf and petal with their fingertips.

“We’re not the roommates,” Namjoon joked. “He dumped us ‘a while back.’” He acted out air quotes around the last three words. You held back a snort.

“He didn’t dump us, Joon,” Jimin corrected. “He found someone else who makes him happier.” Jimin pouted, raising the back of his hand to his forehead and sniffling like a kid.

Jungkook rolled his eyes and scoffed. “These two goofballs are with my other friend,” he clarified. “Taehyung, Seokjin and I have a pretty hectic schedule because of, you know...” Jungkook’s face was dusted with a shade of pink, clearly still too bashful to admit that he was a model.

“I understand,” you nodded, still biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from smiling too much. “So you, Taehyung, and Seokjin share an apartment while Jimin, Namjoon, and—?” Trailing the sentence off with a higher pitched voice, Jimin got the message.

“Hoseok,” he finished for you. “He’s an even bigger dolt than me and Joon combined, trust me.” The image he painted made you giggle.

Eventually, you arrived at the best conclusion you could form with the information given. “Right, so the six of you are best friends and live in two apartments.”

“In theory, yes,” Namjoon established. “But we also have Yoongi who lives by himself.”

“He’s the guy who Taehyung and I came in asking advice for?” Jungkook clarified, helping you recall back to the first time you met them.

You heard Jimin exhale deeply. “He’s sort of like the dad of our group, if you know what I mean. Quiet, kind of emotionally detached but in reality just doesn’t know how to express himself—that kind of thing.”

“Oh.” It slipped out by accident and sounded more melancholic than you thought. You tried coming up with something to neutralize your slip-up. “I’m really glad he has you guys as family.”

Jimin and Jungkook gave you a heartfelt smile—then there was a thud.

Turning around, Namjoon was hiding his face behind his hand while rubbing his temple. The grow light that was hanging still from the ceiling was now swinging back and forth like a pendulum.

You were wincing as if you felt his pain secondhand. “Are you okay?”

He nodded too quickly as if trying to convince you that he was really okay. “Fine. Good. Flower shop. Plants need light. Forgot about the dangling lights. A lot of them.” he sputtered like a morse code machine.

Turning back to Jungkook and Jimin, they too had their faces buried in their hands out of sheer embarrassment. Sometimes, people found it hard to believe that Namjoon was that clumsy in his actions, but even harder for Jungkook and Jimin to tell them that he was their senior.

“Anyway,” Jungkook coughed. “Our new place looks kind of uninviting and Jimin thought adding a couple of plants might make it more cozy.”

Jimin had made his way to the syngoniums and rhaphidophoras. “We have better luck with plants than Namjoon and Yoongi. They don’t exactly have the greenest thumbs.”

Chuckling, you directed their attention to the macrame the 6-inch pothos n’joy that cascaded from the ceiling. Coincidentally, Namjoon was inspecting that exact one. Perfect. “Actually, he’s a pretty forgiving little guy.” Stepping up the ladder and bringing him down, Jungkook’s eyes grew big and his hands flew out to hold the ladder steady. “Thanks,” you blushed again.

Holding the plant up close now, you let them admire the creamy white variegation, watercolor patches of green, lighter patches of green, and the lush leaves. You also showed them the golden pothos, which was a more of a typical chlorophyll green, but it had beautiful yellow and white specks of variegation throughout the foliage.

“I’m assuming you’re all still beginners,” you inferred, to which they all nodded in agreement. “These guys need lots of bright light, but don’t press them up against a window or they’ll get sunburn,” continuing to explain.

“Water them every few weeks and wait until they’re bone dry, then give them a good, thorough drench. Don’t overwater them or they’ll hate you for it, trust me. They rarely ever need fertilizer, but I’ll give you guys some packets to last you a couple of months.”

“Can we take them all home?” Jimin gawked, head tilted up towards the sky and staring at the ceiling that was ornate with vining, trailing, hanging, and branching foliage.

An amused laughter left your lips. “I wish you could, but the next time you come and visit I’ll let you take one of those home,” you promised. “If you want another eye-candy foliage one, you could also take home a brasil.” Holding up the heart-leafed philodendron, the neon yellow stripes down the median of each leaf and clusters of light and dark green looked like they were hand-painted.

“Oh me, me, me!” Jimin’s hand shot up in the air, flapping it back and forth vigorously.

“Could I take one of these too?” Namjoon inquired with a 6-inch pot in hand. “Rhaphid—off... fera—?” he tried to sound out, earning another giggle from you.

“Rhaphidophora tetrasperma but it’s more commonly known as a mini monstera,” you clarified. He formed his lips into an o shape, caressing the delicate split-leaved foliage. “I think you’d be more than able to take care of that one.” Jungkook coughed to hide his snort.

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t drown it,” Jimin assured, throwing you a sly wink. Add another dollar to your bank account, would you?

“Hello, last time I checked we came here to buy housewarming gifts for my house?” Jungkook reminded them in the form of a rhetorical question.

You patted him on the shoulder to wipe the pout off his face. “There’s more than enough plant love to go around.”

“We’re gonna be here all day...” Jimin sighed in content, gently feeling the fuzzy leaves of some African violets. “Say sorry to my bank account for me, will you?”

“I second that,” Namjoon added. “What on earth is this?” Holding up a 2-inch grow pot, you pursed your lips at his dumbfounded expression, eyebrows raised and wrinkled at the odd looking succulent.

“It’s a lithops.” His face contorted more at your reply “They’re also known as living stones. As they grow, they split in half and pop out little baby lithops.”

Blinking to process what he had just heard, Jimin groaned and shielded his eyes. “Don’t say it, Joon.” Looking closer at the plant Joon was holding, Jungkook parted his mouth—

“It looks like a lil’ol buttcrack,” Namjoon pointed out bluntly. The three of you let out a synchronous sigh and buried your faces into your hands, but couldn’t help and burst into laughter right after.

“We are going to be here all day, aren’t we,” Jungkook said muffled through his hands still covering his face.

After the last crappy 72 hours, you were more than grateful to have them keep you company for the day. "I’m more than happy to make some new friends while doing my job.” The words flowed freely from your mind, excited to get to know them better.

After sending each of the guys home with enough plants they could manage to carry, you closed up the shop for the day. Kat texted you right after the guys left in a panic. She completely blanked about the gala she had to attend for her design and commerce class and was running to catch the metro. You could tell she was still adamant on wearing her fashionable but not functional cube-heeled oxfords, as her texts were a mixture of all-caps lock and garbled, choppy sentences.

As you made your way back to your apartment, you couldn’t help but hear a jumble of voices arguing with each other in your head.

Text him back, he misses you.

Don’t. He’s just using you to get what he wants again. He’ll leave just like that last time. Remember last time? You don’t want that to happen again do you?

Scum. Dirtbag. Trash. User.

What if he means it this time?

Asshole. Player. Heartbreaker.

Maybe he’s changed.

Don’t do it. Put your phone down.

What if he actually misses me? What if it’s different this time? Just text him. Nothing bad will happen if you text him once.

Everything bad that can happen will happen, it’s only a matter of—

The slamming of your door seemed to silence the conflicting pieces of your collective conscience. Leaning against the door, you clicked your lock and pressed your hand against your chest, willing yourself to calm down.

You tossed your keys onto the counter and jumped into the shower as soon as you threw your clothes into the laundry basket. The steam engulfed your body with a pleasant heat, releasing the tension in your neck and shoulders that had built up from the sleepless nights in bed.

After spending a little less than an hour in your makeshift steam sauna, you remembered that you actually had utility bills to pay. You quickly got out of the shower and slipped on your usual attire of joggers and an old shirt. The place was chilly, so you slipped on a cardigan for good measure. With your hair wrapped in a towel, you searched through your fridge for something to eat.

“Damn.” The words left your lips before you could stop them.

Of course, it was pretty much empty. You were so caught up with spring orders for the past few weeks, you didn’t get a chance to stop by the grocery store on your way home. Settling on half of a turkey sandwich leftover from yesterday, you were grateful you still had a few cans of soda left to compliment tonight’s gourmet feast.

You made yourself comfortable on your couch that was arranged right across your balcony. There was no use in having a TV if you couldn’t afford to pay the electric bills, and you wanted to utilize the limited space of your studio to its fullest. The fizz of the soda nearly made you choke. It had been a hot minute since you had soda, relying purely on coffee for the past few years to give you that caffeine boost.

The sound of sirens wailing echoed throughout the city and pierced through the hum of traffic with ease. Leaning your head back into the dense cushion, you closed your eyes and listened; the relentless thumping of your upstairs neighbors, probably having another night of friends over; the faint shouts from the restaurant across the street that was overflowing with diners, typical of a Friday night; the gentle whisper of cold air that bled through the crack of your sliding balcony door. You needed to get that fixed ages ago.

The food wasn’t going down well. It was that damn soda. Putting down the last few bits of the sandwich, you stood up and stepped outside onto your balcony. The lights flickered on and you admired the plant shelves you’d set up a few days after moving in. It was a teeny tiny space, but the luscious array of green, pinks, reds, white, and every color in between made it all the more bearable.

You propped your elbow up against the rail that guarded the edge and breathed in for four seconds, held it for five, and exhaled for six. It was working, right? Your hands came up to the sockets of your eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure to them. There were days where you really wanted to sleep for days on end; a hibernation, if you will. Today was most definitely one of those days. There was one problem—how were you supposed to fall asleep if you were too afraid to?

You were scared of seeing him in your dreams. Not even dreaming about him, no—the fear of encountering him as a random stranger while you were on your way to the floral market or a jogger passing by on your stroll in the park. His face resurfaced in flashes The glimpses of your favorite memories together were now inescapable bursts composed of your worst nightmares.

You hated him. You loathed him with all of your heart, despised him with every fiber of your being and with every single living cell in your body. You wanted to forget about him; you wanted to forget he ever existed and that he ever met you. Every single moment you shared with him and every second you wasted pining over whether he loved you back; you wanted those years of your life back.

But you knew better than anyone that time was never forgiving, and you would never get to relive those years ever again.

The funny thing—actually the hilarious thing—was that you hated yourself more than you hated him. You hated yourself for being the one who introduced yourself to him at that stupid party; you never should have gone to that stupid fucking party. You were such an idiot, what were you thinking?

All those days, months, and years you spent constantly hovering over your phone, begging and pleading for him to send you a text. Something, anything to acknowledge that he still knew your name and to give you the opportunity to manipulate it into meaningless signals, then use that to convince yourself that he actually did care about you.

You couldn’t remember for the life of you how or why you started falling for him. You both agreed to it no-strings-attached. No cuddles, no aftercare, no dates, and definitely no kissing in front of other people or hugging each other. He said his reputation would be ruined if his friends found out about you two.

In love with the idea of being in love, you agreed without a second thought. No feelings, no crossing the line. Simple.

Until he started breaking the rules.

He’d get jealous of you hanging out with other guys, blowing up your phone with questions and angry paragraphs along the lines of “You’re not going to parties anymore unless it’s with me” and “I can’t believe you hung out with Aaron of all people. You know he’s a complete fuck up, right?”

Then he started caring—at least, acting like he did. Pretending. Faking. Lying. Masquerading. Call it whatever you will. He held you close to his chest after spending time with you in his bed, wrapping you under the covers to keep you warm. You’ll never forget the warmth of his chest as his heartbeat thumped against your ear. His fingers traced the outline of your face when he thought you were asleep, never knowing that you did everything in your power to hold back your smile. Then there were times when he’d leave you right after, making an excuse about a night out with his friends or a project due tomorrow. It was always due tomorrow. Other times he would go to the bathroom and then come back to throw you a towel.

“My roommates will be here any minute. You should hurry up,” he’d warn.

Case and point, his games worked. After three years, you were head over heels for him. The memory of how it ended was blocked from your mind. Anytime you tried to remember that day, you always ran into a concrete wall. It was almost as if you built it to protect yourself from something, but what?

The only thing you could recall were the tears. Maybe they were his too, but you vividly remember yours. They flooded your vision with a cloudy film, overflowing in streams and trails down your face and even causing you to choke on them. And the screaming—god, the screaming... More memories flooded in as your hands cupped your ears.

“I’m sorry, okay?! I’m sorry that I want what’s best for you and that you can’t see how much I care. I’m sorry for being so blind and seeing you for who I wanted you to be, that I couldn’t see you for who you truly are! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

Shutting your eyes tightly, you felt a drop of wetness fall dribble down your cheek. You were crying again. A sniffle followed the scoff that came out of your mouth. What, three years have already passed since then? Three years and you were still crying over that asshole?

Wiping at your face with the rough fabric of your sleeve, you bit your lip to concentrate on something else. You stared at nothing to the point where everything looked blurry and your eyes stung. The temperature suddenly dropped, indicated by your shivering. You couldn’t afford to get sick and hurried back inside.

Before you knew it, the clock had struck 11:00 p.m. and you were not the slightest bit sleepy. Sheltered in the safety of your own home, you had an idea that would not only get your mind out of the rut you’d fallen into, but also . Digging through scraps of loose paper, dry pens, and trash in general, you found your old earbuds. They worked perfectly fine, okay? Why fix something when it’s not broken?

Plugging them into your phone because yes—you had a phone which was one of the dying species that still had a headphone jack—you turned on your favorite playlist (appropriately titled stre$$ed) and commenced dancing in your room like someone from the 70′s. The only thing missing was a pair of flare-cut jeans, a splotchy tie-dyed shirt, and a pair of Kat’s over-the-top disco boots.

Even though your neighbors were assholes about keeping it down after lights out, you chose to be the bigger person and take their residence into consideration. Mouthing the words silently and jumping as softly as you could, your damp hair stuck to the edges of your face and flung around, hitting your cheek a couple of times. Truth be told, you were far past the point of caring.

Each time your foot came thumped against the plush carpet was an invigorating strike; every head bob was a liberating release; each labored breath and winded puff felt like the exact opposite, a breath of fresh air.

An escape.

You flopped onto the bed with a heavy exhale, trying to catch your breath. Panting, your face felt hot and every part of your lungs burned like you were being roasted alive on a bonfire. The back of your hand felt cool against your forehead and your eyes began drooping at the soothing touch. Before you could pull the covers up, darkness engulfed your senses and you were out like a light.

Yoongi couldn’t sleep. He had counted backwards from one hundred, two hundred, five hundred, and maybe a thousand. He tried listening to a random playlist full of rain sounds, alpha waves, crickets, and a fireplace crackling. All that came from that was an unnecessary number of bathroom trips, ear scratching, skin itching, and throwing off the covers from the heat he was imagining.

Sitting up in annoyance, Yoongi sat on the edge of his bed with his forehead resting on his hand, elbow propped up on his elbow. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about his job, the deadlines he had to meet, the songs he had to make, lyrics that still needed to be written, phone calls and emails he needed to send out—he was supposed to call his mom during lunch.

“Fuck,” he swore, rubbing his eyes again. Looking at his alarm clock, the time 12:12 a.m. was outlined in blue. He initially settled on the traditional red one while at the store, but Hoseok convinced him to opt for a more “peppy color.” Yoongi’s lips curved into a soft grin at the memory. Within seconds, his eyebrows knitted together into a frown and his eyes flickered, the subtle expression he bore moments ago now a stone cold gaze.

No matter how hard he tried and how badly he wished and prayed, he couldn’t compel himself to cry. Despite his adamant concentration and determination, he didn’t shed a tear. Not being able to force it out without knowing what it was, proved to be absolutely suffocating.

He tried focusing on something else. The lights, the city, the sounds—he needed to focus on something else. Gazing through the window he’d familiarized himself with, Yoongi took in the view. From his room, he was able to see a picturesque layout of where the biggest main streets of the city intersected. Through the fog, he could also make out the faint edges of the longest footbridge that ran across the skyline. Looking down, the warm glow of street lamps and building lights twinkled through the dark night like man-made stars.

Lifting his head up to the apartment complex directly across from his, there were still a couple of lights on here and there. Yoongi felt validated in the sense that he wasn’t the only one who had sleepless nights. One by one, they started to fade, each apartment light turning off as someone’s hand flicked a lever and went to sleep. It was strangely relaxing to watch. After about twenty minutes of staring intently at every person tune out for the night, he narrowed his eyes at one that remained.

Directly across from his apartment was the faint yellow glow of someone’s balcony light. He imagined the wonderful warmth radiating from it, closing his eyes to immerse himself in the imagination. Looking closer, Yoongi saw the shadow of a woman leaning on the railing. She was shivering.

Bringing her hand up, she wiped at her face and started laughing—crying? He couldn’t see in the dark all that well. Trying to get a closer look, he forgot about the glass that separated him from the outside world and face planted the pane. Wincing in pain, he wrinkled his nose and inhaled sharply through his two front teeth.

He shook it off and centered his vision back to the balcony opposite to his room, remembering to open the window this time. Cold air bit at his cheeks but he ignored it, determined to find what he had witnessed seconds ago. The girl was still leaning on the rail and was staring at seemingly nothing. Her shoulders hiccuped up every few seconds and hands came up to wipe her face again.

Definitely crying.

Yoongi was awestruck. How good did it feel to finally get it out? Was it worth it? Did it feel like you could breathe again? Yoongi soon realized that he was jealous—no, he envied her ability to weep; her ability to shed real, painful, cathartic tears.

He envied the one thing he couldn’t have and would never be able to get.

Following your movement back inside, he should’ve gone back to bed himself, but for some reason, he just couldn’t. His gut told him not to, but then again, that way of decision-making was a 50/50 bet.

Whether it happened in the blink of an eye or this was all some sleep-deprived dream, she ended up going from crying her eyes out to dancing her heart out? She reminded Yoongi of Seokjin’s drunk dancing; good but not good, sane but not entirely, and so rhythmic yet incredibly off beat. Her vibrancy was contagious and made Yoongi smile a real smile for the first time in a while. If you told him that she had bawled herself delirious two minutes ago, he would have snorted. It looked as if she didn’t have a single worry or care in the world....

He felt like a creep. He shouldn’t be up, period. He should be sleeping, not spying on his neighbors. Worse, they weren’t even neighbors, had never met before, nor did they even come a foot close and live in the same building.

Hell, that made it so much freaking worse.

He sighed at how pathetic he felt. Was he that desperate for something he didn’t even know? Yoongi decided to call it a night. Crawling into his covers, they never seemed to keep him warm, no matter how tightly he wrapped himself in them. It was either searing hot discomfort paired with cold sweat or ice cold feet and teeth chattering.

That night by whatever random laws of the universe he slept soundly. Not once did he shoot open his eyes from nightmares or stir in his sleep out of discomfort. Maybe it was from witnessing someone’s emotional outpours and experiencing them vicariously through his own means, or maybe it was the satisfaction of selecting all of his unread emails and archiving them until tomorrow, one thing was for sure—Yoongi had accomplished his goal of sleeping through an entire night; something he hadn’t done for years now...

I’ll get out of it.

“I never thought I’d ever say this,” you started, trying to close your agape mouth. “But I think you guys might have one too many plants.” Looking at their coffee table, it was overflowing with the eight boxes you’d delivered this morning. Yes, there were eight boxes full of plants delivered to a single apartment. Marco would have the time of his life restocking for next week. Jungkook, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon, and Jimin helped you carry up the boxes and were all staring at the ground sheepishly, their hands clasped behind their backs like children who were caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar.

You offered to deliver the boxes to their places separately, seeing as they had different spaces and floor plans, but that cheeky bugger Taehyung convinced you to rendezvous at his place. Then you wouldn’t have to go through the trouble of walking back and forth between the shop and their corresponding buildings, and the guys would get a chance to meet you.

Guilt gnawed at you for making them interrupt their daily schedules just to bring home some houseplants, but Jungkook insisted that they were all free for the next two weeks; spring break for Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok, pre-season break and scheduling bookings for Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.

Meeting Seokjin for the first time and Taehyung for the second was a memorable experience, to put it lightly. You walked in on them running around half naked and throwing crumpled balls of clothes at each other. Turns out they had been arguing about who’s turn it was to do the laundry and neither of them were having it. Long story short, you lived life by the rule that first impressions were a good indicator of someone’s unfiltered, raw, underlying disposition, and in this case, it proved to be entirely true in the best way possible.

“We’ll share, we promise.” Jimin was the first to break the silence but still had trouble meeting your gaze.

Jungkook pointed an accusing finger at Seokjin and Taehyung, his turn to talk. “They didn’t believe us after they saw how many plants we came home with, so we figured we’d invite you over to meet them in person and see whether they convert or not.”

“Safe to say that we are officially convinced,” Taehyung raised his hands in surrender, elbowing Seokjin to do the same.

Hiding your smile by pressing your lips together, a tingling sensation spread across your face at his odd choice of words. When you reminded them about their hectic schedules and voiced your concern about them being able to keep up with care, Seokjin revealed his contract agreement with Hoseok. “He promised that he’d come by and water them whenever we’re out of town for longer than a week,” the eldest explained while biting back a smirk. “He kind of owes me a lifelong debt...”

Forcing out a tight-lipped sideways grin, Hoseok slung his arm over Jimin’s shoulder, bearing a smirk of his own. “Don’t worry, Jimin here owes me a debt of his own.”

A sly grin crept along Jimin’s face. "Considering that my lifelong debt doesn’t have to do with the fact that you bl—” Before he could finish, Seokjin and Hoseok’s hands flew up faster than lightning to cover the boy’s mouth. Taehyung nearly spit out his water and the others were near tears and clutching their abdomens, their mouths sealed tight and refusing to let out one of their pact’s biggest secrets. You admired how loyal and strong their bond was, a rare thing in this day and age.

Shaking your head to distract yourself from their incessant laughter, you pressed your hand over your forehead and widened your eyes in concentration. “Well, let’s get to organizing, shall we?”

Unpacking the boxes one by one, each contained an array of species from pothos, philodendrons, syngoniums, hoyas, pileas, peperomias, baby rubber trees, rhaphidophoras, sansevierias, ZZ plants, money trees, and finally, two mature, green monsteras for each of them to keep in their living rooms. Not knowing what kind of lighting situation they had going on, you tried to limit your recommendations to medium-light tolerant plants. After they alerted you about their east and south-exposure windows, you were relieved in your selection.

“I call the big guy,” Jungkook cooed, picking up the staked rhaphidophora and clutching it to his chest and smirking coyly. “For my room.”

Seokjin whined loudly. “We live in the same apartment!”

Taehyung let out a disappointed sigh and shook his head. “You see what I have to deal with every day?”

Namjoon reached for the philodendron micans. “It’s like velvet!” he commented in awe as he felt the leaves. It was nicknamed the velvet-leaved philodendron after all, but his reaction made you feel fuzzy with plant love.

“Woah this looks like an alien’s flying saucer,” Hoseok noted. Picking up the pilea, it never struck you that the round, green disks did, in fact, look like flying saucers. Once everyone was satisfied with what they were taking home (it ended up taking a lot less time than you predicted), you went to work arranging them around the living room, bedroom, and kitchen, all while explaining to them the water and light requirements, periodic maintenance, and looking out for pests.

You urged Jimin, Namjoon, and Hoseok to go back to their place first, assuring that you’d meet them there. They said it was no bother and wanted to witness your working process. You were just doing your job, but seeing them fascinated by your passion and vigor was much more endearing than you thought it would be.

Just as you were hanging the macrame pot by their balcony, you heard the front door click open. Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon were holding the step ladder steady for you.

Since you were concentrating on getting the nail at the right angle, you paid no attention to it, assuming it was Hoseok or Jungkook going to recycle the used wrapping paper and packing materials.

“Yoongi!” Jimin called out.

“Good to see you dude,” Taehyung beamed. “Sorry, our hands are kind of full.”

“Could’ve given me a heads up that you had a guest over,” he grumbled, but you couldn’t hear through the rustling of the leaves that smacked your face.

The sound of footsteps grew louder from afar, then paused when you felt a presence behind you. “Jungkook,” you called out, turning your shoulder and looking down to where he was standing. “Do you mind grabbing the pliers from—”

Here’s the thing you never understood about step ladders. Standing on them is considered a safety hazard, yet it’s method of use and reason for existence is to be stood on. You wished you remembered this when you decided to turn around and look down at Jungkook, except, it wasn’t Jungkook. It wasn’t Hoseok either. Despite not wearing a mask or beanie, you instantly recognized that cold gaze, piercing through yours like daggers.

He was equally shocked and mirrored your exact reaction, eyes growing wide and mouth parting as if you were staring through double-sided plexiglass.

“Yoongi, this is _____,” Jungkook introduced comfortably, conversation flowing freely from him. “______, this is Yoongi. The dad Jimin talked about.” While the boys broke into convulsions of laughter, you and Yoongi were still shellshocked. Of all the people that could be in this friend circle, it had to be the guy who crossed paths with you a few of times on the street?

You didn’t register that you’d lost your footing from the ladder until the familiar weight of gravity tipped you over. The last thing you saw were multiple pairs of hands reaching out to try and catch you, but it was too late—your body collided into his before crashing onto the floor as one whole, the clear thud of wood against flesh echoing throughout the apartment.

That’s definitely one way to make a first impression.

154 notes · View notes

alexthepartyman · 4 years

Text

The Bleeding: Plain Sight

Hi guys! My name is Alex, and I like to write fics. This is the fic that used to be known as Fine Line, but for creative reasons, not anymore! This idea has really meant a lot to me, and the amount of times I restarted this fic I-

That means something, right? I’ve gotten to various points in this story before, but I could never tell it the way I truly wanted to tell it. THis time should be it, but don’t be surprised if I start over again.

This is The Bleeding! The chapter is under the cut, and it’s 3600 words, last I checked.

CONTENT WARNINGS: MURDER, MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEATH. READ AT OWN RISK.

“Make a wish,” Elle says. I look up to where smoke is ascending from Spencer’s desk.

“Come on, man. Blow, baby! Blow!” Derek yells with a chuckle.

“I thought you were full of hot air, Reid,” Elle teases.

“Come on, Reid!”

“They’re trick candles, Spence. Okay?” JJ cuts in. “They’re gonna come back on every time.”

“Oh, Mommy to the rescue,” Derek coos, shaking Spencer’s head.

“Mommy?” Spencer asks.

“Hey, James. Come join the celebration,” Elle says. I shake my head and look away from the Latina woman smiling at me. “Oh, you’re no fun. Ignore him, Spencer.”

“This is work time, not fun time,” I dryly comment. “The distinction between the two is very important to me. And no, I won’t have any cake.”

“Okay then, suit yourself.”

“Hey, Reid, does this make you legal yet?”

“Uh….”

“Hope you like chocolate,” Elle says, turning her attention back to Spencer. I can hear a phone ring.

“Agent Hotchner?” Grant asks across the bullpen.

“Aw, look, you blew wax on the cake, man.”

“That slice is for Derek,” I comment.

“What? No way, why do I get the slice with wax on it?” Derek asks me. I look up from my work to see Spencer walk over to Gideon and watch their lips move.

“Hey, Spence, first piece for the birthday boy,” JJ says, holding a piece of cake out to him. “Spence, get over here. James, are you sure you don’t want some cake?” She turns to me, and I snap out of the zone I just went to.

“Huh-uh, no. I’m sure.”

“Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

“Birthday boy.”

“JJ, why don’t you feed it to him?” Derek teases.

“Sorry, guys. Party’s over,” Hotch says from the phone. I close the notebook I was working in and slide it into my bag, slinging it over my shoulder and heading up to the round table. The rest of the team meets me up there, and we take our seats. “We’re going to San Diego,” he tells us.

“Not for the surfing, huh?” Derek asks.

“Nope,” I comment.

“They’re calling him the Tommy Killer,” JJ says, handing us each files.

“Six women raped and murdered in their homes in the last three weeks.”

“Six in three weeks?” Elle asks.

“Two a week,” I add. “Short fuse.”

“And getting shorter. The first two were eight days apart, then the next four in two weeks.”

“Rapid escalation,” Spencer comments. “Do you think he’s regressing to a psychopathic frenzy?”

“No, he’s too controlled for that,” Hotch answers. “See you on the plane.” I raise my eyebrows and look up from the file, watching our boss leave. Okay, weirdo.

“Why the Tommy killer?” Derek asks.

“You know the rock opera?”

“Uh...that was by The Who, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. This unsub glues his victims’ eyes wide open,” Hotch answers as he walks away.

“Tommy was blind as a result of psychosomatic disability, though…”

“He wants them to see him.”

“And feel him,” Gideon adds.

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

“Brenda Samms was found yesterday by her children when they got home from school,” Hotch says. “She had been strangled with a thin ligature, possibly a wire.”

“No weapon left at the scene.”

“Residue on the wrist and mouth indicate that duct tape was used and removed.”

“Also not found at the scene.”

“Brought it with him, took it with him.”

“Why?” I ask, looking over the crime scene photos.

“He also started leaving messages at the fourth scene. This was on the mirrors,” Hotch says, holding up the picture of the mirror covered in lipstick. “Fire lady, lay your costly robes aside. No longer may you glory in your pride. Take leave of all your carnal vain delight-”

“I’ve come to summon you away this night,” Spencer finishes.

“That’s not in Tommy,” I comment, looking at him.

“No, it’s a ballad from the late 1600s. A Dialogue Betwixt Death And A Lady,” he answers.

“Lovely.”

“A seventeenth-century ballad?” Elle asks.

“Yeah, a woman essentially begging death to live.”

“What kind of person knows this ballad?”

“Are we looking for a literature professor?” JJ asks.

“Anyone with an internet connection, actually. You should see what comes in when you type the word Death into a search engine.”

“Reid, no wonder you can’t get a date,” Derek teases.

“Reid, Balian, you two stay on the messages. See if there’s a deeper meaning,” Gideon says.

“Well, it definitely looks like he ransacked the crime scene pretty well.”

“Lot of damage, but nothing taken.”

“The eyes are the thing, the signature.”

“The behaviour that isn’t necessary for the murder, but necessary for the emotional release...that’s what he’s there for...” I comment, pulling out my notebook and writing notes in it. “It’s one collar, two sleeves, right?” I ask.

“What are you talking about?”

“There’s a trick to how to spell necessary. It’s like explaining a shirt. One collar, two sleeves.”

“Yes, it’s one collar, two sleeves.”

“Thank you, JJ.”

“There used to be a widely held belief that the eyes record a snapshot of the last thing a person sees before they die,” Spencer cuts in.

“Yeah, that’s right. People used to write poems about talking to death.”

“Ballads.”

“Whatever.”

“You think they’ll ever run out of new things to do to their victims?”

“Well, finding new ways to hurt each other is what we’re good at.”

“Right. Spencer, can you write down the poem for me? I’d ask you to recite it, but I couldn’t keep up,” I ask, sliding my notebook his way.

“Uh, sure.”

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

“My name is Death. Have you not heard of me?” Spencer whispers, staring at one of the verses pinned to the evidence board. “You may as well be mute…”

“Creepy, huh?” JJ asks.

“Actually, conversations between death and his victims was a fairly popular literary and artistic theme throughout the Renaissance…” He peers over to JJ’s face. “Yeah. Creepy.”

“Thank you for making this James-friendly. So, uh, if this pattern sticks through, this is how it plays out?”

“Yeah.”

“Why not include the lady’s verses?”

“If the unsub is writing as Death, then it wouldn’t make sense for the lady to respond,” Spencer replies to me.

“Why start with the messages now? There were three other murders, why no messages until now?” I ask.

“Maybe he’s evolving.”

“Why would he evolve? He’s spending more time at the scenes now, what with writing the message, and the cool off period is getting shorter... Gideon? Where are you going?” I ask, trailing off at the sight of Gideon and Derek following someone out.

“We’re going to the crime scene. Come on.”

“Cool.”

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

“This profiling really works?” The detective asks as we ride down a street.

“It’s a tool,” Derek replies.

“You can tell all about a guy from looking at the scene?”

“The scene’s only part of it. We also use victimology, precedent. We can usually get a fairly clear picture of the guy.”

“Our guys went over it pretty well.”

“I’m sure they did.”

“Local officers aren’t trained to look for the things we look before.”

“What’s that?”

“Hate, insecurity, fear, anger.”

“That’s all in the scene?”

“It’s all in the behaviour,” I comment.

“You know anything about our guy yet?”

“Yeah,” Gideon replies. “He isn’t gonna stop until he’s caught.” We pull up beside the house with perfectly trimmed green grass surrounding us, in every yard. As we get out and walk to the house, a cruiser drives by us. “You increased patrols in this neighbourhood when the pattern was identified?”

“After the fourth victim. Bosses cancelled days off, vacations.”

“Neighbourhoods full of cruisers, and he still struck two more times,” Derek comments.

“He blends. Gideon,” he answers his phone. “Attempt?”

“Damn,” I whisper to Derek.

“Well, we’re already at the last crime scene. Let us know if you identify a suspect,” Gideon replies, ending the call.

“Suspect?”

“There might have been another attack not far from your station.” I watch as the detective turns back to walk to the cruiser.

“Hey, hey, hey,” I cut in, stepping in front of him.

“Where are you going?” Derek asks.

“Over there.”

“Sir, units are already heading that way. There’s not much you would be able to do there, we can get more accomplished here -”

“You’re kidding me, right?” The detective stares down into my eyes.

“No.”

“If there’s an arrest, what we find here will help you prosecute,” Derek answers.

“This scene won’t be pristine forever,” Gideon adds.

“Guys, knock yourselves out,” the detective responds, putting the house keys in my hands.

“Thank you-”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Derek asks, stopping the man from running off. “The unsub went through the back, right?”

“The family room. It’s the one full of print dust,” he replies before turning to run away.

“Gideon, we’re going around the house.” I then toss the keys at Gideon and chase Derek around the side of the house, we climb over the gate and head to the family room window that was propped open, and we climb through it, carefully climbing the furniture until we get to the floor.

“Okay, it’s not that easy to manvuever.”

“Athletic,” I reply, helping pull him off of the armchair. We head to the kitchen, and Derek hands me crime scene photos.

“Alright, he messed with something in here.” I look around at the modern kitchen, feeling like I had walked into a friend’s house in Alexandria again.

“Microwave door’s open,” I comment, looking inside and closing it.

“Broken cappuccino machine. Took the appliances, which are upstairs. Why?”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why would I take the time?” We continue our tour around the house, leaving the kitchen and heading into the dining room. “Here's where I got the china...the silver.” I look to the open silverware box. “I didn’t take it, I broke it.”

“There’s a scene in Tommy where he throws all his mom’s riches into the water,” I add.

“Why wouldn’t she hear me?”

“Because she was blaring something upstairs.”

“Or I did it after.”

“Why stay afterwards for that long?” I follow Derek up the stairs, to the bedroom, where we meet Gideon staring at the TV.

“She had a workout video on,” he tells us. “Stepaerobics.” I told you so.

“Stepaerobics? With the platforms? Step up, down, step up, step down?”

“It can be fun,” I retort, looking around the bedroom floor. “Where’s the platform?” Gideon turns to the bed, getting on his knees and peering underneath it.

“He spent a lot of time here.”

“What, so he vacuumed? I mean, there’s no marks from the platforms.”

“A lot of time. We established this. The broken things, the message, the vacuuming-”

“The broken things. She must have been dead or incapacitated when he did that,” Derek cuts me off. “Cappuccino from the kitchen, dishes, vases, broken jewellery.”

“Symbols,” Gideon answers, sitting on the bed. “Your riches, gold, garments, jewels bright. Your house and land must on new owners light.”

“Is it just me, or do I just not understand that sentence?” I ask.

“Her riches,” Derek replies.

“Right.”

“You ever feel like there’s something obvious right in front of you, you just can’t see it?”

“A lot,” I nod.

“Yeah, usually right before a woman dumps me.”

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

“The verses,” Spencer walks up to us as soon as we come back.

“You found something?” I ask.

“Uh, not an answer, a question. I found the full text. He’s pretty much following it to a T, a least the death side of the conversation.”

“Okay. What’s your question?”

“Why didn’t he leave them at the first three murders? I mean, this ballad is ten verses long, just on the death side, he’s got plenty to work with. But if it’s not part of his signature, if it isn’t something he has to do for an emotional reason, then, I mean, why start?”

“JJ,” Gideon asks, grabbing her attention. “Find out when the press ran the first story on this unsub.”

“When?”

“After which victim.”

“Yeah, you got it.” She picks up the phone.

“What are you thinking?”

“He wasn’t getting enough attention.”

“Narcissist? I mean, claiming you’re speaking as Death is a pretty big grandeur. It’s saying that you control life, you’re the thing to fear.”

“Police departments sometimes don’t even know they’re looking at a pattern.”

“Yeah, until somebody tells them. Balian, see me, feel me. Remember that. Tommy.”

“The first story ran the morning after the fourth victim was found,” JJ tells us.

“The increased patrols didn’t begin until after the fourth victim, either,” Derek adds.

“Yeah, the police didn’t realise what was happening, he writes his verse.”

“And everyone knows he was there.” I look behind me to see Hotch and Elle walking in.

“The offender in this new attempt is a black male.”

“Black male? Cross racial- that doesn’t happen.”

“What about Herbert Mullin, he killed fourteen people of completely varying ages, races, and creeds.”

“There was no sexual component to his crimes, he was a paranoid schizophrenic that was under the delusion that he could prevent earthquakes with murder,” I ramble.

“This attacker wore a ski mask,” Elle adds.

“Tell em we’re ready?”

“For a profile?” I ask Gideon.

“We’re gonna make Tommy contact us.”

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

“The unsub brought his weapons with him. Tape, glue, wire. He did not leave them at the scene,” Gideon says. “He took them when he left. He has a kind of killing kit that he carries.”

“Organised killers usually have a skilled job, likely technology related, which may involve the use of the hands,” Hotch adds with his arms crossed. “The crime scenes are far enough apart that he needs a vehicle. This will be well kept, obsessively clean, as will be his home.” Gideon has found a spot, sitting next to me on a desk. “He’s diurnal, the attacks occurred during the day, so the vehicle may be related to his work, possibly a company car or truck.”

“We believe he watches the victims for a time, learns the rhythms of the home, knows his time frame,” Derek comments.

“You’re not gonna catch him accidentally,” Hotch continues.

“He destroys symbols of wealth in the victims’ homes,” Gideon gets up and paces to the boards at the front of the room. “He harbours envy and hatred toward people of a higher social class. He feels invisible around them.”

“Class is the theme of the poem which he left at the various crime scenes,” Spencer cuts in. “At one point in the poem, the woman attempts to bribe death, but he doesn’t accept it, he says this is the one moment when riches mean nothing. When death comes, the poor and the rich look exactly alike.”

“So, he’s poor?”

“Probably middle class,” Hotch answers. “A lower-class person would significantly stick out in a highly patrolled neighbourhood. This guy appears to belong there. He blends in.”

“Why does he glue the eyes open?”

“The unsub is an exploitative rapist,” Elle interjects. “Most rape victims close their eyes during the attack, turn their heads. For some rapists, this ruins the fantasy. For this type of rapist, the goal is more related to the victim watching him than the act itself.”

“The verses, the staging, the aggressive language, “I am death. This is a guy who, while being in control at the crime scene, almost certainly feels inadequate in the rest of his life.”

“That’s why he couldn’t wait for you to figure out what he’d done. Why he needed to make sure all his crimes were counted. His victims,” Gideon stands up again from a chair, “they represent whatever it is that’s controlling him, and he wants that control back. He is under the thumb of a powerful woman who frightens him. And a final point. He is white.”

“We have witnesses that identify him as a black male,” the chief argues.

“The attacker was black, but he’s not the Tommy Killer. Mrs Gordon’s husband came home at the same time he always does. The Tommy Killer would’ve known that-”

“And Mrs Gordon’s attacker wore a ski mask,” Elle cuts me off. “The unsub knows when he walks into a house, he’s going to kill the woman who lives there. If you’re not leaving any witnesses, why wear a ski mask?”

“And he wants the victim to see him anyway.”

“Your attempted rapist is a garden variety, disorganised young man.”

“As the victim’s age goes up, generally, the attacker’s age goes down. Mrs Gordon is about sixty, which puts her rapist at about twenty.”

“And it takes years to develop the level of calm and sophistication that Tommy displays at ta crime scene, and the rapist is far too young for that.”

“Mrs Gordon told me that there’s a young man who delivers groceries to their home. He fits a lot of what we’re describing here.”

“Great. So we’re back to zero on Tommy.”

“Not at all. May I see you in your office for a moment?” Hotch asks, walking off with the chief.

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

“You really watched the opera on the plane?” Gideon asks me.

“Yeah. I didn’t exactly remember it all, and I wanted to be able to determine if this unsub really fell like he was Tommy,” I answer. “And I figured I could do that by comparing details of the movie to the unsub, you know, since they call him the Tommy Killer… you know, that bugged me the most.” I turned to Gideon, facing him. “I couldn’t figure out how this was connected to Tommy at all, except for the riches in Brenda Samm’s house being destroyed and Tommy throwing his mom’s riches into the sea.”

“I could tell you found the opera fun to watch,” Gideon replies.

“Elton John caught me off guard, and I love rock music.”

“He confessed to Mrs Gordon’s attack before we even got to the car,” Elle struts in.

“Thanks, Elle.”

“Should just make the eleven o clock news,” JJ states.

“Did they get good footage?”

“Yeah. Couldn’t miss him.”

“Good. Now we wait.”

“Call Garcia.”

I pull out my phone and speed dial, reaching her in moments.

“Go for Ms Penelope Garcia,”

“I got her on,” I say, handing JJ my phone.

“You ready for the trap and trace?”

“Peaches, this is the office of unmitigated superiority. I am always ready. With the awesome power I have in this room, all I need is fifteen seconds on the phone to nail this skeevy perv.”

“Fifteen seconds.”

“If that.”

“That’s not bad,” I comment.

“Not bad? What do I have to do to impress you, Agent Balian?”

“Didn’t mean it like that, you are already impressive.”

“Uh-huh.” She then hangs up on me, and I pocket my phone. “I’m no Derek Morgan.”

“Yeah, clearly. You need game with the ladies.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I don’t need game if I’m not gonna play,” I retort.

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

“Still waiting, Garcia,” JJ says into a phone.

“God, I hate waiting like this,” Elle complains from the desk I’m at, flipping something over.

“Do you think it’s weird that I knew that ballad?”

“Spencer, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but everybody has that tidbit of knowledge that nobody else has,” I state. She scoffs.

“I don’t know how it is that you know half the things you know, but I’m glad you do.”

“Do you think it’s why I can’t get a date?”

“Don’t listen to Derek. What works out for some people doesn’t work out for others,” I don’t even look up from my book.

“Have you ever asked anyone out on a date?” Elle asks.

“No.”

“That’s why you can’t get a date.” A phone rings from another desk.

“Detective Martin.”

“That’s what that guy’s name was? Martin?” I ask quietly. “Did I even introduce myself?”

“Hey, hey,” I hear a whisper, and Derek throws his hand up.

“Line six, Penelope, line six,” JJ says. Gideon gets up from the chair he’s chilling in, and we take the call as Hotch and Gideon run over to us.

“You stupid, incompetent sons of bitches! I don’t make mistakes! I am death! You hear me?! I am death! You’ll see now. Tomorrow. Mark my words, you will see. And while I’m taking her, I’m gonna be thinking of you.” He then hangs up, and I pull my head back in disgust and confusion.

“Anything?” JJ asks. “She says she got nothing.”

“Nothing?” Derek exclaims.

“We missed him?” Hotch asks. Thinking about the FBI while you’re getting off? What kind of statement is that?

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

“We have an undercover car for each of your teams, and the entire damn department out there, too.”

“Remember, a truck. Maybe a work truck, in excellent condition.”

“Everyone knows.”

“Alright, he might make a mistake today.”

“He’s angry, and he probably hasn’t done the surveillance he’d like.”

“Yeah, well, neither have we. Let’s go, Reid,” Derek says, claiming the beanpole.

“I’ll bring the car around,” Elle sighs, then leaves. I look to Gideon, then to Hotch. He gently pat’s Gideon’s arm.

“We’ll find him,” he says before leaving.

“There’s no way we just gave Tommy another victim,” I sigh.

“Profilers make mistakes, too.”

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

A cell phone rings, bringing Hotch and me out of our silence.

“What you got?”

“Put it on speaker,” I comment, and he does so.

“He’s a phone technician, Hotch. Police are looking for someone walking around the neighbourhood in broad daylight. Who notices a phone guy up on a pole?” I look from the phone to the phone poles, connected by miles of wire.

“He can watch for husbands leaving for work, watch for police patrols, know when the neighbourhood’s quiet.”

“He knows when he’ll have plenty of time. He can even tap into a phone line to make sure someone’s home. How about routing a call through twenty-five substations?”

“Twenty-five?” I ask.

“Yeah. Backyard? Hey, he’s just looking for a pole. Got tape? Of course he does. Wire? He’s a repairman.”

“Sounds right, Jason.”

“It is right. And we have his name.”

“We do? We have his name?” I ask Hotch as he looks at me and flips his phone shut.

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

“Oh, I almost forgot. I have something for you,” Gideon says, pulling something out of his go-bag. “Forgot to give it to you at the party.”

“But you don’t give birthday presents,” Spencer remarks, taking the blue box with the red ribbon and opening it. “Wow...the Red...skins…”

“Reid, you got football tickets. And if I can count, there’s two of them,” I explain. “Why the Redskins, though?”

“It’s a VIP box,” Gideon explains.

“Whoa.”

“Thank you so much.”

“Ever been to a pro football game?” Gideon asks.

“No, I honestly didn’t even know this was football,” Reid laughs, examining the tickets.

“You’re gonna love it.”

“We are, you’re coming with me, right?” Spencer asks.

“No. Someone else on the plane is a huge Skins fan.”

“It’s not me,” I volunteer.

“Who?”

“Only person in the whole world who calls you Spence.” I look over the back of the seat at JJ, who reads a newspaper.

“No way, dude.”

“JJ?”

“She’s a huge Redskins fan.” Spencer looks back at her.

“Wh-what should I say?” Gideon just stares at him, and he tucks the tickets into his shirt pocket, getting up from the seat. He stops and stares at the board. “Checkmate,” he moves a piece.

“What? What?” I exclaim, looking back as he goes to sit with JJ. “Why did you just do that to him?”

#Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminalminds #spencer reid #derek morgan

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exhaustedfander · 4 years

Text

First Comes Love: Epilog

a03 link

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / epilog

word count: 1,898

“Is that the last of the boxes?” Logan asked, leaning against the wall. Remus scoffed from where he was on the floor, opening a box of cups and plates.

“Hell no. There’s still a fuck-ton in the truck; go on lazy bones, get going.” Logan shook his head, sending Remus a teasing glare.

“Is that a very nice attitude to have with your husband?” He asked, knowing it made Remus’s heart skip a beat every time he said it. Even after being married for a few months, the word ‘husband’ threw him like nothing else.

“C’mon, Dragonfly.” Logan sighed, though more out of fondness than exhaustion.

“Fine, but only to get you to shut your mouth,” Logan said, opening the door and heading back to the moving truck.

“Hey! Who’s being mean now?” Remus called, but Logan was already outside.

In actuality, Remus knew there was no way they were going to manage to fully unpack, at least not tonight. But they’d do the essentials, and likely order pizza after being too tired to make dinner.

They’d been looking for houses the moment they were engaged, eager to have a bit more space for whatever – or whoever– came into their lives in the future. Finally, Remus had an office where he could write in peace and fill it with as much horror memorabilia as he wished without cluttering their shared space with posters and action figures. Remus’s latest novel was a best-seller, which certainly helped cement the fact that purchasing a house was exactly what they wanted to do.

Remus looked around the still fairly empty living room, aside from a few pieces of furniture, knowing it would soon be filled with clutter and liveliness. It was homey, really, genuinely homey. He’d always thought people were being dramatic when they walked into a house and said they just knew it was perfect for them, but that was exactly how he’d felt the moment he’d walked in. He could see himself living in it instantly, could see Logan with him, and somewhere down the line, kids.

The house wasn’t huge, but it was nice, and it felt right, and there was even space to put in a garden in the backyard. Remus couldn’t believe he was considering taking up gardening of all things; he’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t ever become so painfully domestic and cliché, but he couldn’t make good on that promise.

He thought back to the years before Logan when he and Roman were apart and he felt like he was alone and scattered to the wind. It was almost impossible to contemplate now, having been surrounded by so much love, unlike what he thought he’d ever be able to receive.

Remus could hardly recognize his past. The man he’d been lived on in memories, but they were fading more with each passing day. Remus didn’t necessarily like to consider his life before Logan a blur. There were certain people he’d considered friends at the time, and accomplishments he was at least a little proud of, but all of that paled in comparison to what he had now.

“Are you alright?” Remus peaked up from the box he’d been staring absently into, seeing Logan standing beside him with a look of concern in his eyes.

“I’m fine. Great. Like, really, really great,” Remus announced a dopey grin on his face.

“If you’re so ‘great’, then why have you stopped helping me? You were just chastising me a moment ago,” Logan said, before pausing, a concerned look creeping onto his face. “Remus, what’s the matter?”

“Absolutely nothing,” Remus said, offering Logan’s extended hand and making it to his feet, “I’m just feeling particularly sappy right about now. Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Logan chuckled lightly.

“I’m wearing a stained T-shirt, my hair’s a mess, frankly we’re both quite a mess.”

“And yet you’re still the prettiest thing I ever did see,” Remus said with a smile, wrapping his arms around Logan and pulling him close.

“I could say the same about you,” Logan said, pressing a kiss to his husband’s lips before pulling back, “Now, why don’t you help me finish unpacking some more, and then we can both be as sappy as you’d like. After all, you were just complaining about my lack of intuitive.”

“Sure,” Remus agreed, “Yeah, okay. That sounds good.”

The couple takes in several more boxes, unpacking a while longer, and set up the TV before settling down on the couch and ordering some pizza. The days ahead would include a fair amount more of unpacking, but for now, they were content with the work they’d done (and too tired for much more).

“Still feeling particularly sappy, are we?” Logan asked once they’d finished their dinner and were sitting together watching a film neither of them were paying too much attention to. Remus blinked; unaware he’d been staring.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Remus said, grabbing Logan’s hand and lacing their fingers together, “How can I not? I mean, look at you.”

“What’re you up to, Mr. Knightly-Sanders?” Logan asked, his voice light and teasing, though there was a hint of suspicion that made itself present. Remus pressed his free hand to his chest, gasping like a dramatic starlet.

“I can’t believe you! I’m complimenting you, and profess my boundless, unyielding love for you,” Remus paused to press a drawn-out, slow but passionate kiss to Logan’s lips, “And you doubt my intentions?”

“I doubt your intentions when you get that look in your eyes,” Logan said pointedly.

“A look? Whatever do you mean?” Remus asked batting his eyelashes.

“Remus.”

“Okay, fine. I’ll just go ahead and ask.”

“By all means,” Logan said, “What is it that you wanted to discuss?”

“Can we get a dog?” Remus asked, his eyes almost comically wide, “Pretty, pretty please?” Logan sighed.

“We just started moving into the house today. Life is fairly hectic at the moment.”

“We don’t have to get one tomorrow,” Remus pointed out, “Just soon. C’mon, Dragonfly, we talked about getting a pet before.” Logan nodded.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

“And we could train them to be a watchdog! Wouldn’t that be the coolest! Can we get one Logan, please!”

“…Maybe.” Remus grinned widely, climbing into his husband’s lap and kissing him senseless (Remus knew that ‘maybe’ was a surefire yes. Within a few weeks, they’d have brought home their rescue German Shepard, Duke, who Logan became incredibly fond of almost immediately).

Once their movie had finished and the pair still sat together in a tangle of limbs on the couch, Logan spoke up.

“What’re you thinking about?”

“Huh?” Remus asked, peaking up from where he’d been lying on Logan’s shoulder.

“You’ve been quiet. What’s on your mind?” Remus smiled, snuggling back into Logan’s side and laying his head back on his husband’s shoulder.

“Absolutely everything. How much I love you, and how fucking happy I am being with you, and how right this house feels. I didn’t think I was the type to get such a domestic happy ending… did you ever think this would be you? Married, a house, sappy as all fuck?” Remus already knew the answer, but he couldn’t help but ask.

“No,” Logan said, running a hand through Remus’s frazzled hair, “No, not at all. I didn’t have any kind of expectations like this for my life. And yet here we are, and I can’t be more pleased with how things have turned out. I love you too, my dear, more than anything.”

“Remember when you claimed you were ‘emotionless’? That wasn’t that long ago.”

“Claimed? I don’t know what you mean. I’ve never felt a single emotion in all my life.” Remus laughed, loud and unabashedly happy, weighed down only slightly from exhaustion.

“Oh, how silly of me to forget. I’m married to a robot.” Logan hummed, laughing lightly as he pressed a kiss into Remus’s hair. “A robot with a fantastic ass.”

“As I am a robot who feels absolutely nothing, that statement means nothing to me.”

“Oh yeah?” Remus asked, a teasing infliction infiltrating his voice. “So you don’t feel anything when I tell you you’re the smartest, most beautiful, most incredible, best robot husband in the world and that I love you more than anything?”

“Of course, not,” Logan lied through his teeth, though he couldn’t suppress the smile be broke out into when Remus kissed him. Remus smiled, yawning as he leaned against Logan. “Tired?”

“Mhmm. You’re comfy.”

“Our bed will be far more comfortable than my shoulder.”

“Maybe,” Remus said, already beginning to shut his eyes.

“I refuse to sleep on the couch in our first night in this house,” Logan said, moving Remus off of him and making it to his feet. Remus whined at the loss of contact before Logan grabbed his hand and helped him up.

“Come on, we’ve got a lot more unpacking tomorrow. We need to rest.” Remus let out another groan before allowing Logan to lead him out of the living room and start getting ready for bed.

Within minutes, Remus was back in the security of Logan’s embrace, lying in their darkened bedroom beginning to drift off.

Some level of unfamiliarity still buzzed in the air. Sleeping for the first night in a new place is always an odd experience, even if it’s somewhere you want to be. But Remus knew that soon the familiarity and comfort of their apartment would be replaced with this house, and all of the new memories they were sure to make.

As he clung tightly to his husband, Remus pondered all that had led up to this moment, and all that lay ahead. He wasn’t usually the type to have grant expectations for how life would turn out. For so long, he’d had so little left to hold on to. Hope was a fleeting thing; and yet now, Remus couldn’t help but look forward to what the future had in store.

He thought of what life would be like with Logan from here on out, married, tending a house together, soon owning a dog, and somewhere down the line, adopting children. Remus had been so sure for so long that such a future lived on only in the minds of the delusional, but here he found himself, hoping for those very things.

Less than two years ago, Remus had been at a point where he had so few people to turn to and nothing that particularly excited him in life, and now he had Logan, his brother, and the wonderful friends he’d made.

Soon, he’d be walking Roman down the aisle just like his twin had done for him, seeing him marry his emo nightmare and get his very own fairytale ending. And if his suspicions were correct – and they most certainly were; he’d caught Patton browsing Jeweler websites – Patton and Janus would soon be engaged too.

Remus drifted to sleep, lying against Logan’s chest and whispering a final exhausted declaration of love before being greeted with unconsciousness.

And in the morning, when the sunlight shone through the window, illuminating the half-furnished bedroom with boxes on the floor in all its glory and he saw Logan, hair ruffled from sleep and eyes bleary, he’d feel just the same he did the morning he decided he wanted to marry him.

The End

=+= Taglist (Sorry, I forgot to add this when I initially posted this chapter):

@nadiestar, @unoriginalgayboyalex, @maryann-draws, @bella-in-a-bag, @igonnatalknothing, @elizabutgayer, @wishthefish916

If you want to be added to my general taglist, let me know! I’d be happy to add ya!

#first comes love #first comes love epilog #sanders sides #human au #intrulogical #romantic intrulogical #that's a wrap!#Gosh I'm gonna miss this story #it was a lot of fun #exhaustedfander #exhaustedfander writes

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

Text

Why not kill two birds with one stone?

---

The way they'd established supply runs was an intricate ordeal. It was an effort split between a group and a solo act of sorts, with the group scavenging for anything useful (like food , tools, or any bits and bobs that might come in handy later) while one lone soul would run around leading the Ink Demon in circles to keep it well away from the supply run's path. That "morning", after the usual breakfast of bacon soup, stale coffee and ink brew, Henry had assigned the roles through the drawing of straws (actually just pieces of paper he'd tried to cut as evenly as possible) among the few toons that did not have a particular task to complete for the day. Norman, Buddy, Shawn and Grant had thusly ended up together as a group, while Sammy was the unfortunate bait of the day. Not that he had any trouble getting around mind you... He could run faster now that he had a stable body, and he knew the layout of the top floors pretty well now that some of his memories as the Prophet ressurfaced. He could also sense the demon's presence more acutely so he could run circles around the damn thing without it realizing it was being duped.

Overall it was a solid team. Too solid even.

Which of course called for some action on 'Wally's part.

'Wally' had it all figured out or at least that's what he liked to think. He was, for a matter of lack of words, a wolf in sheep's clothing... Or... a sheep in wolf's clothing? Or was it an idea in sheepish wolf's clothing?

Ok maybe he didn't have it all figured out, but who cared? He didn't have to do the big thinking anyway because there were two people doing that for him anyways. All he really needed to do was play is part as the clumsy but charming guy that got everyone else to laugh. Get all cozy and cute with these people and get the plot running real smooth without them realizing it.

Simple in theory but very difficult in practice for, you see, 'Wally' was the idea of Wally Franks constructed in the image of an off-model Boris with a goofy grin, a Brooklyn accent, and a love for pranks and foods he'd never tasted before. Every single tape the Ink could find it used to create him. Including one very specific trait: Wally Franks was a bit of a dick sometimes, but he was genuinely nice to those he care for. And it just so happened he cared for all these other dicks who were currently living cartoon characters. Yes even Sammy Stick-Up-The-Ass Lawrence... What a dang predicament...

Sabotaging them on Joey's and the Ink's command was getting harder and harder each time, and both his creators were not happy with this.

He either did as he was told, or he'd be in a world of trouble. He needed to do something big, and fast!

Thus came the idea to sabotage the supply run. A plan that quickly went off the rails big time because he'd turned off his brain for just a second...

Sneaking off was really easy. Tom had told him to fasten some of the bolts on the less stable pipes upstairs and, after some very convincing grumbling under his breath, he'd gone up to do just that. Except he kept on walking right past where his stop was at. He had eyes on a much bigger task than fiddling with some faulty pipework that was gonna burst later anyways.

Sammy was awfully suspicious of him, so 'Wally' made sure to wait around to check where he was headed before searching the upper floors for Norman's crew. The Ink had whispered to him, told him that if he took Polk's reels he'd be able to cut the run short and force them to go back. Then the Ink would simply scare off Sammy by leading the demon straight to him when he least expected it.

He'd stupidly not questioned why taking the reels would force the group back. He'd been too curious to see what was on them anyways to consider they might be important to Norman in a physical sense.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Anyone else feeling a bit watched?" Grant whispered as 'Wally' crept around from within the walls, keeping his eye on the prize. Polk had fastened the reels into place before leaving, so snatching them off without being noticed wasn't going to be easy. He wasn't a dull joe, however, so he got around that issue with quite the clever grift.

Some of the walls were rotten from being soaked with ink for so long, so one careful tug was all he needed to make a part of the wall and ceiling collapse.

"Watch out!" The object-head toon turned around to shield his partners, blocking their view and being unable to see as 'Wally' quickly descended upon him and took both items in one swift motion. Using the dust clouds and sound of crunching wood as cover to flee from the scene.

As easy and sweet as pie! He could already hear his creators praising him for the good job. Now to figure out what was so damn important about these dang films that Polk obcessed over them so much...

As soon as he'd found a projector he popped them in and eagerly awaited a show. The first few minutes of footage confused him, as he wasn't seeing cartoons but real human people. Then a few more minutes of this strange "real people film" made him realize it wasn't some fictional bad soap opera that the projectionist had somehow saved.

These were moments in Norman's life. Norman's memories. They were a part of him.

Which is when 'Wally' realized he fucked up. Wait no, that wasn't true. He realized this when a terrifying roar and three terrified screams shook the halls...

---

Sammy's wool stood on end as soon as he heard the roar just one floor below him. The bellowing of the Projectionist when he was still a feral ink abomination. A screech that had followed him and Jack as they ran like their butts were on fire towards the base where a temporary cage awaited the monster Norman Polk had become.

That screech that was somehow ringing downstairs, diverting the demon's attention from the sheep toon. Something terrible had happened and the others were likely in a world of trouble. He had to move.

Rushing down the stairs Sammy listened to the horrific roars and the screams of his coworkers. He then followed the mess left behind. Splintered doors, broken furniture and a trail of ink. Someone's ink.

Someone was injured while the demon was on the prowl.

He turned a corner and stumbled as he walked into 'Wally'. He was surprised at first, unsure why the cartoon wolf would be all the way upstairs, before his eyes landed on two very familiar blank looking reels. It clicked in his mind that the roars and 'Wally' holding these two items Norman had been protective of were connected somehow.

"You..." He snarled, actually snarled, wool turning to bristled fur on the back of his neck and tip of his tail as anger replaced apprehension.

"I... I can explain!"

"What did you do?!"

"I was... I was fixin' the pipes and a wall collapsed! I swear! I found these and... I think they were Norman's? I figured I might need to give 'em back an--"

"Cut the €π@¶, you're a $#!¥ liar mutt..." Sammy hissed furiously as he grabbed 'Wally' by the ears. "I told Henry you were bad news, but did he listen? No!"

"O-ow Sammy that smarts!"

"Trust me once I tell the others, me pulling on your ears will feel like a light spanking..." The sheep toon began to drag the wolf along, continuing his search for his missing teammates.

His anger dissipating as the trail of ink (blood) continued on. And then it stopped. Right in front a little miracle station situated in a trashed room.

Sammy stared at it for a little while before pressing his head to it. He could hear muffled familiar crying.

"Grant, you in there...?" He called, hoping for anything. A meek yes, a sob, anything...

He didn't expect the station to open up and have two child-sized toons tackle him in desperation.

Shawn and Grant were terrified. Worse yet... Buddy was with them and he did not look well.

'Wally' stared at the heavily wounded toon dog, barely able to look at the extensive damage. The kid was missing chunks for Pete's sake!

"What happened?" Sammy tried to get the others to talk.

"A wall collapsed, and... £¢€&... Oh my god..." Grant was hysterical and Shawn wasn't any better.

"It was mad, madness! I can't... And Norman..."

"Words, use your words, come on! What happened? Where's Norman?!" Sammy insisted, shaking the two smaller toons for good measure. They hiccuped and sobbed, and Grant could barely hold up one of his hands to point to a corner, where a lone projector lay discarded. 'Wally's stomach plummeted at the sight, and Sammy's grip slackened as he realized the implications.

"He went n-nuts... He attacked us! Buddy t-tried to stop him... W-we could barely escape into the station and then... Oh god Sammy, the Demon killed Norman! It just..."

"Head straight off, like he was nothin'!"

The reels clattered to the floor, rolling a few feet to meet with the projector that was spurting ink like a macabre fountain piece. 'Wally' had messed up big time.

#Eps Writes:#Bendy and the Ink Machine #BATIM #Fanfic #SillyTunes AU #Wally Franks #Norman Polk

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mithranqueersmusings · 4 years

Text

Baby, You’re A Rich Man XIX

Chapter: 19/28

Rating: T

Summary: Ringo could never understand why that group of three boys made him feel so uncomfortable, or why the way George looked at him sent him into a panic. After a chance encounter Ringo discovers the truth and has no clue what to do with the information.

Tags: AU - Gangsters, Slow Burn, Smut, Eventual Romance, Violence, Angst

Pairings: George Harrison/Ringo Starr, John Lennon/Paul McCartney

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

"I think this calls for a celebration!" Paul shouted excitedly when they left the house and climbed back into George's car.

The excitement of the whole ordeal was still rushing through Ringo, his heart beating faster than normal and his fingers were itching for a cigarette. George held his hand tightly as they sat in the front, both of them with ridiculously large grins on their faces.

"What did you have in mind?" John asked, he seemed the most excited out of all of them.

"I say we head out for a real fab dinner, proper fancy like, since we're all big spenders now, eh Ringo?" Paul winked at him when he turned round with a smile "Then head out to the clubs, get borderline unconscious and see where the night takes us."

"Well you know I can't say no to that." John said with a grin.

"Not to put a downer on things, but can we at least get some sleep first?" George asked as he drove the car back onto the street "I'm still pretty knackered from last night."

"Sure, that's the reason you need to rush Ringo back to bed." John giggled like a child.

"I'm too tired even for that." George laughed.

"Poor Ringo, after all he's done for you." John frowned dramatically which made Ringo laugh.

"I dunno, I'm family now so isn't that technically incest?" Ringo joked.

"Ew, don't put it like that, please." George mimed throwing up.

"George you can't go around calling people 'daddy' then complaining about incest." Paul smirked, earning a proud look from John.

"Daddy?" Ringo asked surprised with a grin on his face, George was turning bright red.

"Wow, thanks for that Paul. Really appreciate it." George kept his focus on the road but the blush in his face wouldn't die down, yet he was still smiling.

"Uh oh, did Paulie say something amiss?" John smiled "Can't believe you haven't broken that one out yet, George."

"Remind me why I'm friends with you two again?" George couldn't look at Ringo in this moment.

"Because if you weren't we'd go airing your dirty laundry around." Paul laughed "And we've got baskets full."

"Who knows - maybe tonight's the night!" John was almost in stitches.

"No need to be embarrassed, George." Ringo teased, nudging his boyfriend playfully who finally turned to him with a smile.

"It's not like that with me and Ringo, alright? If you must know." George was trying to sound serious but John's laughter was too contagious.

"No way..." Paul gasped "You're telling me-"

"George, my boy, you're all grown up!" John cackled "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Fuck off the both of you." George glared.

"Sounds like you're doing all the fucking!" John was rolling around with laughter.

"Who could've guessed?" Paul had tears forming in his eyes.

"Come on now, lads, that's enough of that." Ringo said somewhat sternly but his tone was light "I'm sure George has got some right nasty stories about you two that he's trying very hard not to blurt out right now."

"I've got nothing to hide." John said with a smirk.

"We both know that's not true, Lennon." George smirked at him in the rear-view mirror.

"I don't like where this is headed." Paul said.

"Shoes on the other foot now, eh Paul?" Ringo chuckled.

"No, no I wouldn't dare." George held his nose up dramatically to feign his moral superiority "Our friendship is just too important to me."

"If you call what we did 'friendship' then Ringo must be getting a real lavish treatment." John giggled again.

"I won't deny it." Ringo smiled.

"Alright, alright, let's lay off now." Paul sat up straight "There'll be plenty of time for us to humiliate each other at dinner."

"Oh good, I'll make a list." John joked.

"You do that Johnny boy." George smirked.

There was a pause before Ringo spoke "This isn't gonna end in a big orgy is it?"

The whole car burst into laughter then, Ringo included.

"Not unless you ask nicely, Ringo." John wiggled his eyebrows playfully.

"In your dreams." George said, Ringo wondered how he was able to still drive with all this chaos going on.

The drive back to George's continued in this manner, the four of them joking and laughing with one another with Paul or Ringo eventually having to step in before it went too far. Ringo was surprised with how normal the conversation felt to him, with the three of them talking and joking openly about their sexual experiences. Granted, he'd spoke to his mates about girls he'd slept with but it was always somewhat awkward and a desperate show of masculinity. Now, Ringo felt completely at ease hearing in excruciating detail how John lost his virginity, or how George got cramp during his first time and almost cried in embarrassment. Even if the aspect of George having his first sexual experiences with his two closest friends was strange at first to Ringo, now he saw no issue with it as it was clear that Paul and John loved each other very much and that George had eyes for nobody but him.

When they finally arrived back at George's, they all had tears in their eyes from laughing so much. They all clambered out of the car still in hysterics and haphazardly greeted the doorman on their way in. Into the lift they all squeezed, John resting his head on Paul's shoulder as he fought off sleep. Ringo couldn't wipe the smile off his face, his cheeks and stomach hurt from all the laughing. The familiarity of George's flat was very welcome and they all collapsed comfortably onto various pieces of furniture; Ringo thought about how he'd likely be spending all of his time here now, with these three, if he was going to be living on their floor and he couldn't think of anything he'd rather do.

"Where are we gonna eat tonight?" George asked, taking off his jacket and tossing it lazily onto the floor.

"Maybe Ringo should choose." Paul suggested, he was sitting in John's lap when all eyes turned to Ringo.

"Oh... I dunno. I don't really know any fancy places." Ringo said sheepishly.

"Who says it has to be fancy?" George asked, he was lying across Ringo's lap.

"Why don't we go back to your old workplace, that could be funny." John smiled mischievously.

"Oh God, I thought we didn't have to go there anymore since George stopped stalking Ringo." Paul chuckled.

"Who says I stopped?" George winked which made Ringo nudge him with his knee.

"I don't think I'll be going back there any time soon." Ringo said somewhat quietly "My work 'mate' threatened to call the cops on me."

"What for?" John laughed, he was playing with Paul's hair gently.

"What do you think?" Ringo asked, gesturing to the slim boy laying in his lap.

"No... Really?" George sounding partly offended and partly angry.

"That seems all the more reason to go." John said, he had a stern look on his face "Teach that fucker a lesson."

"Come on now, John, how's that gonna help?" Paul asked soothingly, Ringo never thought he'd seen him looking more comfortable than sitting with John as he did now.

"I never said it would help." John snickered.

"I wouldn't mind kicking the shit out of him, but that's just me." George said.

"No, no, we can't." Ringo tried not to sound desperate "He's harmless anyway, just a hollow threat."

"If you're sure." George said taking hold of Ringo's hand "But I'm sure me and John would jump at the opportunity to beat him up, wouldn't we John?"

"It'd be my pleasure." John grinned.

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind." Ringo joked "But anyway let's just focus on having a good time tonight."

"Can we decide on somewhere to go then? I swear its impossible making a plan with you lot." Paul scoffed playfully.

"You just pick Paul, that's what always ends up happening anyway." George said with a smile.

"Only because you guys are so impossible." Paul folded his arms dramatically.

"Let's just go somewhere with good food and cheaper drinks." John suggested "We're probably gonna end up throwing our dinner up anyway, does it really matter where we go?"

"Good point." Ringo laughed.

After a little while John and Paul finally retired to bed, not without a stern warning from Paul that they had to be awake by 7 'or else'. George lay in Ringo's lap happily, allowing his hair to be played with while he allowed sleep to slowly overcome him. Ringo felt completely at peace like this, very thankful that he didn't have to work until tomorrow evening and while his brain wanted to shift into panic mode: to think about all the things wrong with accepting Brian's offer, with all the things that could go wrong the next time he went to work, but his happiness was just too powerful to overcome. Ringo noticed George slowly slipping into sleep so happily carried him to bed, he noticed him stirring awake at points but George just welcomed the gesture. Ringo drew George's bedroom curtains closed and slipped of George's shoes and belt, just as he had all that time ago when he first stayed the night here, and similarly stripped his clothes off onto the floor before climbing into bed. The softness of the sheets sent a smile across Ringo's face as he cuddled up to his boyfriend, wrapping his arms around him and resting his head on his shoulder as he too fell asleep.

Ringo had no idea how they managed to sleep that long but before he had already really noticed that he was falling asleep, he was being awoken again by some banging on George's bedroom door. Ringo shot up in alarm, George just groaning sleepily beside him, but relaxed immediately when he heard Paul's voice shouting from the other side.

"I'm coming in, you two better not be fucking!" Paul called, opening the door slowly.

John burst in the room without a care, causing Paul to roll his eyes "Aw, that's boring. I was hoping to catch something juicy."

"Fuck off John." George mumbled, still lying on his side with the covers pulled up over his shoulders.

"You should really lock your door George." Paul tutted, walking over to the curtains and pulling them open harshly. "You guys have been asleep for like 10 hours, you know that right?"

"Jesus, really?" Ringo asked with a laugh, he was holding the cover over his chest as casually as he could.

"Let me sleep!" George shouted weakly, his eyes still not open.

Ringo rocked him somewhat roughly "Come on, get up now."

John made his way over to the bed, jumping down into the centre "Room for one more?" He asked with a wiggle of his eyebrows, making his way between the two of them.

As soon as George felt John brush against him he shot up "Fine, fine, I'm up!" He rolled out of bed sluggishly, rubbing his eye and stretching with his other arm.

"Spoil sport." John stuck his tongue out at George then slipped underneath the covers to take George's place.

"No, come on John, I'm not spending another half an hour trying to get you out of bed." Paul signalled with his hand and John reluctantly got back up to his feet.

"Now clear off you two, we need to get dressed." George said, already undoing his shirt.

"Oh sorry, didn't realise you'd become so Catholic." John chuckled but headed out of the room nonetheless.

"10 minutes, no longer, alright?" Paul said sternly as he closed the bedroom door.

"Yes mother!" George called out with a laugh then turned to Ringo "Sorry about them."

Ringo finally got out of bed, feeling a little cold just in his boxers, and began to rifle through George's wardrobe to find some of his casual clothes "No, it's fine, I'm just still not used to John's..."

"Sluttiness?" George joked "He's just having you on, it doesn't mean anything. Well, unless you want it to mean something."

"Really?" Ringo asked surprised, he'd found one his dark blue jumpers at the bottom of the wardrobe and tossed it onto the bed "Is Paul alright with that?"

"He's not fussed really, he knows John will never replace him." George walked up beside Ringo to find something to wear for himself "But every so often they might bring someone else to bed, for a laugh usually. John's always the one to initiate it, but Paul has to approve o'course."

"Weird." Was all Ringo could think to say, finding a pair of trousers and sloppily getting dressed.

"If it bothers you though, I can say something to John and he'll lay off." George was in nothing but his boxers now and the sight made Ringo freeze for a moment.

"No it doesn't bother me. I just didn't know if he was serious or not." Ringo couldn't keep his eyes off George while he tried to put his jumper on.

"Fair enough." George smiled at the sight of Ringo with flushed cheeks "John's just got a lot of love, you know? He's gotta share it around somehow."

Ringo managed to bring his attention away from George's gorgeous body long enough so that he could dress himself, he evaluated himself in the mirror and decided he looked good enough. It was always refreshing to see George out of a suit, as much as he did look good in them, as he was now wearing a turtleneck which accentuated his strong jaw perfectly. Ringo had always thought George was attractive, even if it he couldn't admit it the first time he saw him, but the more he spent time with him the more George just looked even more beautiful; it was a strange phenomenon, because Ringo thought George couldn't get any more attractive.

"How do I look?" George asked with a grin, meeting Ringo's prolonged gaze.

"Gorgeous." Ringo smiled back.

They headed out of the room to find John and Paul sharing a heated kiss on the sofa, George just coughed awkwardly to pull them away from each other. Without any more delay they headed down to the lobby and into the darkening evening. Paul insisted that they walked because he didn't trust John to not get ridiculously drunk yet manage to convince the rest of them that he was sober enough to drive them home.

"It's not my fault you always believe me." John laughed "You're supposed to be the responsible one, not me."

"I know, that's why I'm removing the car from the equation entirely." Paul explained.

Paul had decided on what he described as a 'semi-fancy' place for them to eat which Ringo couldn't really decipher. They ended up at what Ringo could only conclude was a very fancy place, at least by his standards, and they got in without any trouble despite the long queue waiting outside.

"Do you even bother making a reservation?" Ringo asked with a chuckle, trying to block out the complaints the people in the queue were making.

"Of course, we're not animals." Paul laughed "Well, I'm not anyway."

They were seated at a far corner in the restaurant, the waiter seemed very happy to see them, and headed off to fetch them a bottle of wine which John asked for before even sitting down. They sat in a booth which faced the band, currently a fairly attractive woman was singing quite emotionally, with John and George sat on the outside. Ringo was once again intimidated by the menu, as he always was, and looked over at George for some guidance. While Ringo was getting more used to being in such upscale places he still wasn't surely whether he particularly liked them, nor did he think the rest of them did, and he always wondered why they always ended up in such places. The waiter returned with a bottle of wine and four glasses, John didn't even bother pretending to read the bottle to see if it was 'acceptable' or not and just drank it.

"Keep 'em coming." John said with a wink to the waiter who just nodded stiffly.

They ordered their food and began what Ringo imagined was going to be a long night of drinking. It didn't take too long for the food to arrive and they all dug in without much conversation, Ringo was absolutely starving considering he hadn't eaten all day. They got through two bottles of wine easily before they even finished their meals. The music switched up for a jazz band which Ringo greatly appreciated, he began singing along to some of the songs without noticing.

"I just realised, this is the first time we've been out as two proper couples." Paul smiled with his wine glass in hand.

"Wow, word gets around fast." Ringo chuckled, passing a joking look to George who just smiled at him.

"In all seriousness though, I'm really glad you two ended up together. Back a day when we used to get lunch at your place I worried it wasn't gonna work out." Paul paused to take a sip.

"Why's that?" Ringo asked.

"Honestly, I didn't think you were gay." Paul laughed.

"Well I wasn't technically." Ringo smiled shyly which made John laugh.

"How can you not be gay technically?" John giggled "Were you only gay philosophically? How about metaphorically?"

"I just didn't know I suppose." Ringo shrugged his shoulders.

"Suppose I just have that effect on people." George grinned devilishly, putting his arm around Ringo's shoulder.

"Must be true after all, it's contagious." John laughed.

"Well the cycle's ended now at least, unless Ringo goes passing it along." Paul winked and nudged Ringo playfully.

"Hey now, we're not like you two." George said rather defensively "All we need is each other."

"No need to get uppity George, just a joke." Paul said with a smug smile.

"And you didn't seem to be complaining about our generosity before Ringo came along." John smirked.

"Whatever." George took a sip from his wine.

If this conversation was happening between anyone else, although Ringo couldn't imagine who else would be having a conversation like this, he would've thought they were actually trying to upset one another but with these three he knew it was all done lovingly.

"You guys sure to do talk about sex a lot." Ringo said with his mouth full of food.

"Well you can only talk about the weather for so long." John quipped back quickly which made them all laugh.

After a ridiculous amount of wine, they finally got through their dessert and asked for the bill. Ringo wasn't sure whether he was drunk or not but as soon as he stood up he knew that he certainly was. He held onto to George's arm as they walked out of the restaurant partly for support but mostly because he just wanted to touch him. Ringo had a feeling he'd drank more than anyone else but once John burst out into song in the street he wasn't sure anymore. They drunkenly shuffled down the streets before they came to a club, it was one they'd never been to before - at least not with Ringo - and it was clean looking enough. From outside Ringo could already hear the music, although it was pretty muffled by the bricks and his alcohol intake. It was rock and roll music which made all of the boys very happy, especially John, and they made their way to the dance floor immediately.

After dancing for a while they retreated to the bar where they each ordered a drink. Ringo had offered to pay for everyone, considering he'd be coming into more money than he'd ever had before very soon, but they politely refused and somehow they ended up paying for Ringo's drink instead. With a drink in hand Ringo turned his back to the bar and looked out at the club and came to a realisation.

"Where's all the girls?" He asked George, having to lean in and shout over the music.

"Bored of me already are you?" George grinned but when he saw Ringo's vacant expression he felt he had to explain "This isn't the type of club girls are particularly interested in going to."

Ringo wasn't sure if it was his own fault for not understanding George, but his words almost sounded like another language "Huh?" He shouted back which made George laugh.

"It's a men's only club, if you catch my drift." George leaned in closer to Ringo's ear.

"Really?" Ringo said after a pause "I didn't know there were any."

"Ringo, love, there's a lot you don't know." George bit Ringo's earlobe playfully before pulling away to take a sip of his drink.

Paul and John had vanished off somewhere after they got their drinks and Ringo hadn't noticed their absence until now. He looked at the groups of men dancing here, and he found himself thinking how normal they all looked. Well why shouldn't they look normal, Ringo asked himself, he looked normal - or at least he liked to think he did.

"Isn't it illegal?" Ringo asked, thinking aloud more than speaking directly to George.

"Of course it is, but who's gonna do anything?" George was leading them back to the dance floor now "Brian makes sure the police stay away from the place, so anything goes really."

"That's nice of him." Ringo smiled thinking about Brian, how kind he'd been during their first meeting.

The two of them finished their drinks quickly, making Ringo shudder at the strong taste, before they began dancing again. Ringo hadn't felt this drunk in a long time, but he wasn't complaining and just allowed himself to mellow out. After a while, Ringo had no idea how long, John and Paul resurfaced and began dancing with them. Both of them looked fairly flushed, with Paul's lips plump and John's hair ruffled with a very satisfied grin on his face.

"Really, you couldn't wait until you got home?" George asked with a smirk.

"You try resisting him." John nudged Paul lovingly who gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.

"I wasn't hearing any complaints." Paul said proudly.

Ringo just laughed, he was never really sure how to respond when their conversations got like this, the three of them joking back and forth at lightning speed without any time to even think.

"Geez Ringo, you look pissed." John chuckled, lowering himself slightly so that they were eye to eye.

"I'll level with you John, I feel pissed." Ringo grinned stupidly.

John put his arm around Ringo's shoulder and hugged him into his side "You're a right sort, Ringo. Glad George picked you up when he did."

"Thank you." Ringo slurred out, looking at George hazily who was looking right at him happily.

They danced for a while longer before heading back to the bar, this time getting two more drinks each. George quickly headed off to the bathroom and in his absence another man took his place, between Ringo and John. Ringo didn't even notice he was there, he hadn't even really realised George had gone, before he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Do I know you from somewhere?" The man asked, he was blonde and rather short.

"Maybe." Ringo said with a lazy smile. "I don't know you though."

"Well I'm sure we can fix that." The man purred, moving in closer to Ringo.

Ringo stumbled backwards clumsily "Sorry mate I'm not interested."

"No need to be scared, I can show you a good time." The man moved closer again but he was stopped by a hand gripping his shoulder tightly.

It was George, he towered over the man and spun him around with ease so that his back was pushed against the bar "You heard him, not interested, now fuck off." He growled.

"Jesus, sorry. Can't hate a guy for trying." The man said with a weak smile, he wasn't hiding how scared he was of George very well, before he hurried away into the crowd.

"You alright?" George asked with a serious expression, Ringo was still processing what was happening.

"Yeah fine... Was he hitting on me?" Ringo asked and George couldn't help laughing.

"God, you are pissed, aren't you?"

"Sure am, you better catch up."

Ringo raised his eyebrow and offered his drink to George who took it gladly and downed it with ease. He slammed the empty cup down on the bar and scrunched up his face as the alcohol went down his throat which made John jump.

"Blimey, when did you get back?" John asked, he'd ordered a third drink.

"Oh just after some bloke tried it on with Ringo, thanks for helping by the way." George smiled sarcastically.

"George, I'm gonna be real with you, I don't really have any idea what's going on. So I'd appreciate it if you stopped expecting me to notice things." John slurred, Paul just looked at him and rolled his eyes.

"What are they like, honestly?" Paul said shaking his head.

"Paul you can't talk when you're giving blowies in the toilet first chance you get." George laughed as Ringo offered him his second drink.

"Hey now, I do that when I'm sober, thank you very much." Paul retorted with a drink in hand.

They stayed at the bar for a while, Ringo wasn't even sure who was paying for the drinks at this point but he was hoping that's why his money had mysteriously disappeared from his pocket. It didn't take too long before they were all stumbling around, when they tried to dance they kept knocking into people and at one point it looked like John was going to start a fight. The man who was flirting with Ringo reappeared at a point but George only had to look at him before he vanished once again. Ringo danced with everyone individually at different points in the night: when he was with George it was bordering on obscene with how they pressed their bodies against each other, with Paul Ringo felt very happy as they were spinning each other around sloppily, and with John it was the most ridiculous as they were by far the most drunk of the group as they were trying to dip one another or climb on the other's shoulders. After yet another failed attempt of Ringo trying to climb onto John they all decided to head outside for a smoke. Ringo worried that the cold air was going to sober him up but it just made him feel even drunker. He wasn't sure how late it was but he was just hoping the club wasn't going to close anytime soon.

"How's your first gay club treating you then, Ringo?" Paul asked as he lit his cigarette.

"I haven't noticed a difference, but that might be because I'm very, very drunk." Ringo leaned up against the wall as he smoked.

"I thought John was bad, but Jesus, Ringo you can really throw them back." George said, he was standing close beside him.

"Thank you very much." Ringo grinned.

"Here's hoping you can make it to work tomorrow." Paul smirked.

"Here's hoping he can make it home, more like." George chuckled.

"No, Ringo's not gonna miss an opportunity to sleep on George's sofa, are you lad?" John was currently swaying from side to side.

"I'll probably pass out before I even get my clothes off." Ringo laughed, he was just staring at the floor.

"John knows all about that one." Paul said "Once he offered to suck me off and then he fell asleep halfway."

Ringo burst into laughter hearing this which made George laugh too. John looked offended at first but couldn't help laughing with the rest of them. After they finished their cigarettes they headed back into the club, which had now significantly emptied. Ringo felt a pang of sadness in his chest at the thought of having to go home, for the night to be over, but he had a feeling that the closing of the club wasn't really going to put an end to things.

George pulled Ringo enthusiastically to dance but once they stopped in place, he pulled him in for a kiss instead. Ringo felt his head swimming as George pressed his lips up against his own, he tasted strongly of smoke and alcohol which normally would make Ringo feel sick but he just loved the taste of George. It felt like they were kissing forever, George's hand lowering down to Ringo's back, and Ringo grabbing a handful of George's hair. Eventually they pulled away from each other but Ringo couldn't help wanting more, and he felt determined to stay awake as long as possible so that he didn't risk repeating John's mistake.

#the beatles #beatles #beatles fanfic #the beatles fanfic #beatles fanfiction #george harrison/ringo starr #ringo starr/george harrison #ringo starrxgeorge harrison #george harrisonxringo starr #starrison

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vkelleyart · 6 years

Photo

For Carry On Countdown: Day 9 - Sunset/Sunrise

I’m going to level with you guys. This all started with just the bottom panel. Then I got inspired to do a short strip based on the idea for a post-canon scene in which Simon wakes Baz up in the morning. Then, on impulse, I drew the ring on Simon’s hand.

Which spawned an entire one-shot fanfic that I wrote in the middle of the night on Saturday. (Good grief, what is WRONG with me.) So... a strip-with-a-fic.

The art is above, of course, but if you want to know how that ring got on Simon’s finger, read on. :)

Title: Beginnings

Word Count: 3815

Rating: Teen+

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

BAZ

“I’m not sure I understand you, Father,” I interject. “What exactly do you find objectionable about Simon Snow?”

My father is standing at the bookshelf of our family library in the exact spot Penelope Bunce and I had once stood five years ago, consulting one another over the known and unknown details surrounding my mother’s murder. Today, I am across the room, sitting on the sofa where Simon emphatically declared no one was “seducing a vampire” within 24 hours of seducing me.

My, how times do change.

My father, on the other hand, manages to stay exactly the same.

I know the answer to my question already, but I want to force Father to stare his own bigotry in the face. His problem isn’t that I’m queer; he’s known about that long enough to have made a stink by now. I can’t imagine that the Old Families care much about that anyway.

What bothers him about my relationship with Simon is Simon himself. Nameless, Normal Simon who was raised in homes and groomed for battle against the Old Families. Giving up his only credit to a world that never quite accepted him--his magic--only stained Snow’s reputation further in the eyes of the Grimms.

My father is too sharp to be cornered by my question. Like me.

“You’re not giving this the consideration it deserves, Basilton.”

“I beg to differ,” I protest. “You made certain I thought of nothing else for nearly a decade and a half.”

Father shakes his head, ignoring me. “The Families follow our lead,” he states in his best paternal-sounding voice. “The world of mages takes its cues from us, and with that influence comes an obligation to maintain a degree of… magical integrity.”

Magical integrity?

So Bunce is right about my family after all. Bigoted purists.

He goes on, and rage surges up my throat like bile with every word. “I won’t be around forever, Basil, and your mother doesn’t have the expertise to do what I do. Maintaining the operation of our estate is no small burden. It demands an even hand, a focused approach... and a respect for the reputation bound to our name.”

Our reputation. It always seems to come back to this. Though I’m so furious I could set the room ablaze, my voice remains passive as I say the words I know will cut through all this bullshit like a knife.

“I love Simon Snow, Father.”

His stone expression cracks. (Good.)

Something about saying these words out loud to my father feels like a dam is breaking. Like stepping into the light. So I keep going. “When I think of my future, he’s in it. He is it. Whatever plans you’ve assigned me, Simon’s partnership will be part of them, and if that’s a problem, I might advise you to rethink my role in the future of the estate altogether.”

His eyes narrow as he sits across from me, lips curling in a scowl. The cool veil over his face is gone.

“He’s a Normal. He’s not a part of our world anymore - he hasn’t been for five years - and you haven’t come to terms with it yet. When it comes to ‘the future of the estate’ as you put it, I think you know that there are certain expectations that must be met, and they do not include diluting our influence by associating with the likes of Snow.”

I can’t stop my face from contorting in disgust at his words, but I refuse to raise my voice. “I do know. I’m 23 and I’m prepared to meet my obligations, but they don’t include sacrificing my one prospect for happiness just because the Old Families think Simon is beneath them. He lost - no - sacrificed his magic to save the world of mages,” I say, my voice losing some of its steadiness. “That they haven’t fallen down on their knees to thank him is a despicable show of their arrogance. If being with Simon diminishes our family’s influence, well, frankly…”

I lean back and cross my arms.

“I don’t give a fuck.”

My father sets his jaw. He knows who my every reference to the Old Families is really talking about, and he’s ready to deliver his kill shot.

Well, that’s just fine. I’m ready, too.

“Basilton, I will not stand by while the heir to the House of Pitch throws away generations of effort building our standing in the magical world. This name for which you have so little regard is what has made your life possible,” he snaps, rising to his feet so he can talk down to me like I’m a teenager again. Like I’m still the lynchpin in the master plan to take down the Mage and I’d better not fuck it up for everyone.

“If you choose to remain with Snow, you forfeit your name. Your influence. Your inheritance. Everything.”

For a moment, I stare at him. There it is. His ultimate threat. He disapproves of Simon so much, he’d toss me out of the Pitch line of succession altogether, and I’m surprised to realize that I’m not shocked by how far he is willing to go to exert his control over me. I’m far more astonished by the ferocity of his blind hate.

I pause to think.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Father,” I say at last, casually standing and straightening my suit jacket. “If that is the case, then the House of Pitch has no heir.”

They are the last words I say to him before I stride out the front door of Pitch Manor, carrying nothing but a box of my mother’s photos, jewelry, and books in my arms, my spare violin case slung over my shoulder. I can hear Daphne shouting at my father to stop me from leaving, and while the sound makes everything inside my ribs constrict, my legs keep walking.

My other belongings, the clothes, the furniture - my bloody inheritance - they can keep all of it. If denouncing everything they’ve given me is what it takes for me to earn a sliver of happiness in this world, I’ll do it with a fucking smile on my face.

Simon is waiting for me at the car, and he’s looking at me, eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and worry.

It’s all right, love, I think. I have everything I need.

I have you.

*****

Earlier, Simon and I had gone up to my room to inspect how my family had kept up the place since the magic returned to Hampshire. I’m the only one who never moved back to Pitch Manor; by then, Bunce had gotten engaged and ventured to America to marry Micah, so I took over her part of the lease and moved in with Simon. Scanning my old bedroom, I appeared my things remained exactly as I’d left them. Meticulously organized. Spotless.

Less like home, and more like a hotel room.

Father had called me to visit because he had “something of critical importance to discuss.” I agreed on the prerequisite that I would take Simon with me and pilfer some of my mother’s things. No one would miss them. I’m the only one who thinks about her anymore, it seems.

I’m the only one who thinks about anything. I can’t help it. Being a vampire, it’s a necessity to think and plan and carry out my daily life with scalpel-like precision lest I accidentally find myself in a compromised position with a mouth full of fangs.

Not like Simon. As I poured over boxes in my closet, I glanced over at him as he idly ran a hand over the carved bed frame where he sat beside me and first asked to be my “terrible boyfriend” - only a day after he first kissed me and only two days after he insisted I creeped him out.

That about-face happened so fast, I’m shocked we both didn’t get whiplash.

But that’s just Snow. Heart over head. Always.

I envy him. I’m so... cerebral compared to Simon. When your senses are constantly bombarded with the sights and smells of a blood meal, even when you’re used to it, you still need your wits about you to stave off the impulse to sink your fangs into some poor unsuspecting creature and drain them dry. (Though I’d light myself with a match before I’d ever hurt him, sometimes, that creature is Simon himself.)

Simon, on the other hand, is all intuition. He practically stumbles into brilliance because he goes with the flow and feels his steps before he thinks them through. It’s insufferable how easy he makes it look. Granted, he thinks about things a lot more now than he did before that fated night in the white chapel five years ago, but in general, he’s still unencumbered by the small anxieties and questions that plague me about pretty much everything.

Routines help. So does planning ahead.

I’m still plotting, even when I have no one to plot against.

All this mental exertion ever seems to do is delay the inevitable. The first time Simon and I made love happened two years after we’d started dating. I’d say it was because Simon was still working through trauma after losing his magic and watching the Mage die or that we were simply waiting it out because we weren’t ready - which was true for a while, I guess. But it’s more accurate to say it was my fault, and mine alone. Given the depth of my affection for Snow, it felt absurd to wait that long.

He wanted it. I wanted it. (So badly.) It came up during kisses and naps and homework and dinners, and it very nearly happened several times before I inevitably derailed us, using my “condition” as a scapegoat. But the truth was that I was terrified to traverse a line into the ultimate unknown. I tortured myself with questions. What if everything I’d waited so long for was going to change? What if my emotional failings are laid bare and he realizes I’m not worthy of the devastating sacrifices he’d made to be with me?

(Not to mention, his wings and tail practically sent me into a fucking panic attack every time I tried to factor them into the logistics.)

But when it did finally happen, it was because Snow told me to shut up and trust him and, for once, I listened. My freckled fallen angel - who will still eat butter out of the dish when he thinks I’m not looking, loves sour cherry scones with his tea, and constructs his sentences like he’s part Numpty when I fluster him - took me into his arms one night, and, in the middle of a kiss, whispered into my mouth to stop thinking.

So I did.

(Granted, he was also undressing me in torturously slow motion. The state I was in, he could have asked me to walk blindfolded into a blazing inferno and I would have agreed.)

As it turns out, I’d worked myself up for nothing. Making love to Simon felt like discovering I could breathe underwater. Like unlocking a superpower I’d always had, the way it felt when Simon first shared his magic with me, only this time, the universe was in my own pocket to give to Snow.

I look back on it now and then, and I think, even after giving it all up to the Humdrum, Simon Snow is still made of magic.

*****

We are exiting Hampshire when I catch Simon looking out the window, his eyebrows forming a straight line over his eyes.

“Should I call someone for help, Snow? You look so lost in thought, you’re going to need a map to find your way back out,” I quip, but my attempt at levity falls flat now that Simon knows the details of my meeting with Father.

“I don’t want to come between you and your family, Baz.”

“Crowley, why do you care? These are the same people who spent the whole of our time together at Watford commanding me to plot your demise,” I say.

He shrugs. “They’re still your family.”

“Well, I’m not the one who needs reminding,” I mutter petulantly, gripping the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turn even whiter. “All of this rubbish because they don’t want me to smear the family name. You’re the greatest mage who’s ever lived and it’s still not good enough for one Malcolm Grimm-Pitch.”

“Baz, you’re speeding.”

“Shit. Yes. I know.”

I ease my foot off the accelerator as Simon takes my hand off the wheel and presses it. “He’ll come around.”

“He won’t. He’s too much like me.”

“That’s precisely why he will. He loves you.”

I scoff. “One would think.”

Tears are pricking at the corners of my eyes, but letting them fall feels like giving in, and I don’t want to give my father the satisfaction of hurting me, even if there’s no way for him to know.

“Fuck, Snow, I don’t need his approval. I don’t want it even if he had it to give me. What has being a Pitch ever done for me but complicate my life and put me in the crosshairs of power hungry ingrates and monsters?”

“You don’t mean that,” he says.

“I do,” I snap back. “Anyway, I still have Fiona. I still have friends. I have you. Father has always treated me more like a political pawn than a son. I’ve fared well enough without my mother. I don’t need a father.”

Simon squeezes my hand before he lets go and returns his gaze to the scenery passing by the window. “I think you’d feel differently if you’d grown up without one.”

He’s right, but I don’t say it. He already knows.

I look at Simon, then. He’s older now, but there are traces left of the boy he was when we shared a room in Mummer’s House. It’s still there: the face I fell in love with when I was twelve and too young to realize I was already done for when it came to ever loving anyone else. He still has a mop of bronze curls I get to touch now, and those are still his eyes--ordinary but for the extraordinary way they look at me.

My Simon Snow. Brave, blundering, and chosen by something to turn my villainous life upside down and make a hero out of me. The kind of man who would be mistreated and rejected by an ignorant, snobby prat like my father and still find it in his heart--and mine--to forgive him.

Merlin, I love him. I love him so much, I ache thinking about it. If I’m only half dead, the part that’s living is alive because of him.

I pull the car over. Suddenly, I feel dizzy. Like I can’t take in a full breath of air.

Simon turns to look at me. “Baz, what’s wrong?”

“Marry me.” I say it quietly.

He squints at me, incredulous. “What?”

“Marry me. Today. I’m done waiting,” I insist. “I’m tired of thinking everything has to be just right and storybook perfect if I’m going promise you everything I am and will ever be. I’m not holding out for my family’s approval anymore. Everyone who counts loves you already. Let’s just go.”

“But-”

“We could go to town to the register’s office. Bunce is in town with Micah visiting her mum at Watford - she can bloody officiate for all I care.”

“You want to elope? Baz, do you hear yourself?”

“I admit this is one of the more half-baked schemes I’ve ever come up with. And I know everything’s shit and I’m a walking disaster and you could do far better than an arsehole vampire with an arsehole father who doesn’t accept you--and I know I’m not stopping time or whatever the bloody hell Bunce did for Micah--but none of it matters because I just want you with me always, on paper, signed, witnessed, and fucking notarized, and anything that delays it isn’t worth the trouble,” I ramble, stopping only for breath before I continue pouring my heart out over my steering wheel.

I swallow hard, and my voice softens to a whisper. “I want to spend every day forward endeavoring to deserve you. I don’t care if I’m never welcome at Pitch Manor for the rest of my cursed, immortal life as long as I get to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of yours.”

His mouth keeps opening and closing, like he can’t comprehend what I’m suggesting. So I keep going because there’s no taking back what I’ve just done, and I can’t seem to stop the torrent of words falling out of my mouth. I don’t want to.

I take Simon’s hands.

“Crowley, I love you. You only need to look at me to make me feel like I’m back in Watford being set ablaze with your magic for the first time. You kiss me and it’s like the universe is expanding in all directions inside my chest. You make me feel alive, Simon. All I ever want to do is make you happy and protect you and yes, take the mickey out of you, and I feel... I feel like this is the one thing I can’t overthink. And in my defense, I’ve had all the time in the world to contemplate this considering I’ve been obsessed with you since the day we met.”

I’m starting to tremble, so I grip Simon’s hands tighter until he’s wincing and staring at me like I’ve lost my mind. But his hands are warm and I’m losing my nerve, and he still hasn’t answered.

“There’s no one else I will ever feel this way about. If we wait for my family to accept you, we’ll be waiting forever, and now that I know there’s nothing to wait for, I just want us to belong to each other already so I don’t have to bloody think about it anymore, and Simon Snow.... do you want to marry me?”

There. I’ve done it. I’ve finally gotten my head out of the way and let my heart lead for once. Simon is slack-jawed and staring unblinkingly at me. I wonder if he’s breathing. I know I’m not.

I’m not sure he understood me.

Or maybe he did, and this is just what rejection looks like.

Oh, Merlin...

Simon’s breath comes out in a ragged gust as he pulls me into a crushing embrace. His face is pressed into my neck, and I feel his voice resonate through me as he speaks the two words I’ll remember for the rest of my days.

“I do.”

*****

The sun will be rising soon. I haven’t slept, and soon enough I’ll lose the chance to do so. I’ve been married to Simon for ten hours and it seems like such a waste to miss out on it by sleeping.

Yesterday afternoon, Bunce and Micah met Simon and me at a local register office in London after that disastrous morning spent in Hampshire. I thought Bunce might balk at the rashness of my proposal, but I rather think she relished seeing me plan something that didn’t necessitate the use of a whiteboard for once. “You smitten, sentimental berk,” she said, smiling at me as she handed Simon her father’s ring - a temporary one since we needed a ring in a pinch and Simon insists on picking one out for me himself.

I only ever had one ring in mind. I gave Simon my mother’s ring and spelled it to fit him. (“Look, how this ring encompasseth thy finger.” It’s a complicated spell, and one I’d practiced and perfected in private knowing how and when I’d use it.) She was the one who had brought us together, after all.

It was only the four of us at the register office, so we agreed to make a decent celebration of our marriage eventually and invite our friends and loved ones once we had time to plan something properly. Bunce immediately volunteered herself. (“I’ll eat pixie dust before I let you plan a wedding party without my help.”)

She cried during the vows. I very nearly did myself. They were simple - a script read to us by the deputy registrar for us to repeat back - but any mage in the room could feel the magic dripping from those words. I think even Snow himself felt it.

And thus, Simon Snow married me. Afterward, we all went back to our flat in Sutton with an enormous order of biryani and samosas to go with the champagne Micah and Bunce had brought to celebrate, and we toasted the future. I waited for them to leave before pulling SImon into my arms to dance with me. He dances so poorly, he nearly twisted my ankle.

I didn’t care.

I felt light. Free. Simon may have the wings, but last night... I was flying.

*****

SIMON

The last 24 hours happened so quickly, I feel like I’ve imagined them.

I got married yesterday. To Baz.

And somehow, like waking from a dream, we’re back in our flat and I’m up with the sun, watching him sleep like I always do. On the surface, the only thing that seems to have changed is that we’re both wearing rings now. And yet, I feel different. Everything is different. New.

I think I understand now what Baz meant when he said my instant change of heart during our last year at Watford left him both disoriented and elated at the same time.

It’s bittersweet for him, I know. Baz believes he’s orphaned now. There’s also that.

He’s not.

His dad will come around. The ones who love us almost always do. Not even Baz and I could hold our grudge, and we were meant to kill each other. But, Merlin, if that’s what it took for Baz to make a husband of me sooner than later, I’m grateful that his father is, for the moment, such a colossal fucking knob.

The sun is rising, casting long shadows in the room, and the glow off the horizon makes Baz’s skin shine gold. He looks so peaceful this way - with strands of his black hair falling into his face and one hand draped over his pillow beside his cheek, his chest rising and falling with every long breath. He often has his heart in a vice over something or other, even when he’s playing insufferably cool, calm, and collected all the livelong day. I’ve learned to read the signs that tell me Baz’s mind is in overdrive. Seems like his thoughts are always churning.

Not so just now, though. I can’t help myself; my fingers reach out to gently brush away the strands of hair on his face, and he stirs.

Baz sighs deeply and opens one eye in my direction. He grins, and the sight overwhelms me. He’s in my arms, right where I want him, and he always will be. He’s looking at me like I’m his, and that’s because I am. (Legally.) I always thought I’d be the one to propose first, but I might have guessed Baz would beat me to the punch, the competitive git. I’m fine with that.

We’ve got the rest of our lives to take turns leading.

So many of the important things we say to each other anymore are said without words, so I don’t need to say anything for Baz to reach for me. He pulls me down to kiss him, and as our lips meet, I get a fleeting glimpse at the future we’ve just embarked on together. Hundreds of moments yet to be shared rush through my mind and my breath is catching because I feel it all at once...

Joy. Sorrow. Pleasure. Pain. Ecstasy. Hope.

Love.

And then I stop thinking.

#fanart #fanfic #comic #simon snow #baz pitch #penelope bunce #malcolm pitch #first time #wedding #strip with a fic #vkelleyart gallery

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themurphyzone · 5 years

Text

Dooferella Ch 1

Summary: Heinz has to read to children at the local library as community service, but things go awry when Heinz uses a Fairy Tale-inator to spice up the story of Cinderella. Unfortunately, something malfunctions and Heinz is transported into a strange fairy tale world! Now Dooferella, he’s stuck with a long list of chores for his parents and goody two shoes brother until a summons from the kingdom’s headquarters arrives….

Ch 1: Once Upon a Time in the Danville Public Library

Musical cliptastic countdowns were not a viable way to knock out two hundred hours of community service. Monogram’s contract had been rewritten to include a Will Not Ever Co-Host with Heinz Doofenshmirtz clause, and Perry refused to cheat and add more hours onto the community service form, though he made a small concession and factored in the ten minutes of commercial breaks.

Heinz still had a grand total of 199 hours and 30 minutes of community service left.

Well, 198 hours and 30 minutes after this reading gig at the library.

Reading to children was something an upstanding citizen might do, but no evil scientist worth their salt would be doing something considered beneficial and good to society in such a public area.

Heinz’s evil street cred was taking a nosedive, though he didn’t have much to begin with.

“CAN I PICK THE STORY, DAD?” Norm asked. “I’VE BEEN BRUSHING UP ON POPULAR CHILDREN’S BOOKS.”

“I’m not your dad,” Heinz snapped. “I really gotta fix whatever bug is causing you to say that. Besides, the story-picking privileges belong solely to the storyteller, which is me. Last I checked, the Mother Goose Corner isn’t a democracy. Not that it would matter, since kids can’t vote and stuff.”

Norm crashed through the library wall, leaving a giant gaping hole and massive amount of rubble where the entrance used to be. The head librarian made several furious shushing motions in Norm and Heinz’s direction, but didn’t look up from the thick tome she was reading.

“CAN WE READ THE LITTLE ENGINE THAT COULD?” Norm asked as they headed to the Mother Goose Corner. “I THINK IT’S A VERY INSPIRING STORY ABOUT OVERCOMING HARDSHIP AND-“

“Last time I read you that story, you repeated ‘I think I can’ ad nauseam and prevented Perry the Platypus from hearing my spiel on the Banana Peel-inator!” Heinz retorted. “I’ll be picking the books from here, because chances are you’ll wind up stealing a catchphrase or mantra and I’ll be the one dealing with the copyright issues that come out of that…actually, making copyrights could make a good evil scheme one day. Doof-patented self-destruct buttons, bratwurst brands, and evil! I should definitely copyright evil. And suing and forcing people to shoulder their own attorney fees is also evil, so that’s a bonus! And with that kind of monopoly, I can take over and rule the ENTIRE! TRI! STATE! AREA!”

He cackled evilly, though the moment was rudely cut off when a group of middle-aged women shushed him. Heinz scowled. Their shushing was at a way higher decibel level than his cackling. At least his brand of evil laughter didn’t threaten to destroy people’s eardrums. Besides, the drummer from Love Handel was always rhythmically stamping books at the check-in and nobody complained about that.

The Mother Goose Corner was mercifully secluded from the rest of the library. A blue curtain decorated with waterfowl separated the small room from any prying eyes.

“Perry the Platypus would love this curtain. Remind me to ask someone where I can buy one of these things. Probably wrap it up and make it this year’s Christmas present. Alongside another vase. He liked the last one I sent him,” Heinz said.

“HI, MY NAME IS NORM. I LIKE SQUIRRELS AND EVERYTHING ELSE LITTLE BOYS ENJOY,” Norm greeted a young boy with a green baseball cap. The other kids quickly flocked to the edges of the mat to avoid getting crushed by Norm’s titanium posterior.

“I’m Balthazar Horowitz, but I’m trying to legally change it to Ballpit Kid!” the boy exclaimed.

“MY DAD IS TODAY’S STORYTELLER,” Norm declared. “I’M VERY PARTIAL TO THE LITTLE ENGINE THAT COULD. HINT HINT.”

“Real subtle, Norm,” Heinz muttered. “And for the millionth time, I’m not your dad!”

Someone tugged on his lab coat, and Heinz glanced down. A little girl with puffy blonde pigtails stared back at him, rocking back and forth on her heels cutely. “Excuse me, but may I pick today’s story?” she giggled.

She was adorable, but it was the calculating sort of adorable.

When Vanessa was little, she pulled the innocent look if she wanted something. Heinz’s resolve crumbled every time.

But since this girl was a total stranger to him, it was going to be way easier to resist.

“Nope, doesn’t matter how cute and innocent you make yourself,” Heinz said as he turned away from the girl and leafed through the stack of books by the storyteller’s chair. Thankfully, The Little Engine That Could wasn’t among their choices. “I already told Norm that I was picking today’s book and I’m not budging on the matter. Ugh, not that any of these options are any better. I don’t get how books on overeating caterpillars or uncreative ursine parents who can’t come up with better names for their kids than Brother and Sister can be engaging to kids nowadays.”

Heinz rejected five books before a tiny black shoe stomped on his hand. A pudgy hand grabbed the front of his turtleneck, and he found himself face to face with the cute little girl.

“Look, I’ll cut you some slack since you’re obviously new to the Mother Goose Corner,” the girl said casually. “But I’m going to warn you once and only once. This is my turf and I pick the stories. And don’t bother warning anyone else. The other kids won’t squeal on me. Nobody outside this room will ever believe you. Except for maybe Candace, but I have my own methods of discrediting her. Capiche?”

“Alright!” Heinz yelped, throwing up his hands in surrender. Pint-sized powerhouses were dangerous to push around, but at least Perry the Platypus was firmly on the good side. He was definitely not messing with a kid whose evil stare put the entirety of LOVEMUFFIN to shame. “You win! Just let a guy earn his community service hours in peace, kid!”

Satisfied, the girl shoved her preferred book into his face, then claimed a bean bag chair for herself. “Yay, Cinderella!” she exclaimed, as if she hadn’t just threatened him five seconds ago.

The other kids muttered among themselves, giving Suzy a wide berth as they settled on the far edge of the mat.

“Rule number one of the Mother Goose Corner,” Ballpit Kid murmured to Norm. “Little Suzy Johnson always gets her way.”

“WOW, DAD GOT FOILED AND THIS ISN’T EVEN PART OF AN EVIL SCHEME,” Norm replied.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s laugh at the soon-to-be dictator’s expense. Cause that’s gonna bode well for you in the future,” Heinz snapped as he sat down in the storyteller’s chair. “You like Cinderella, huh?”

In Heinz’s opinion, the book’s cover painted a really misleading picture of the protagonist. It contained the image of a smiling girl in a silvery ballgown, surrounded by smiling woodland critters with the Fairy Godmother and Prince Charming standing in the background.

The Drusselsteinian Cinderella was a lot bleaker, considering that the Fairy Godmother didn’t exist and Cinderella spent most of her time sobbing her eyes out over her mother’s grave. It wasn’t common knowledge that the Brothers Grimm version was adapted from the Drusselsteinian story, though they changed the ending so that the evil stepsisters were punished. The original ending stated that the evil stepsisters poisoned Cinderella at the banquet after her wedding to the prince.

In hindsight, Drusselstein fairy tales were usually designed to crush children’s dreams and traumatize them for life.

But these kids didn’t need to know that.

“She always picks Cinderella,” another girl mumbled. “We all know how it goes.”

By the time Heinz had finished the obligatory once upon a time introduction, most of the kids’ eyes glazed over. Only Norm and Suzy were paying attention.

Well, it was hard to tell if Norm was paying attention since he didn’t have facial expressions.

“Cinderella washed the dishes, fed the animals, tended the garden, swept the floor, dusted the furniture, and cooked for her stepmother and stepsisters every day and…well, you get the picture,” Heinz yawned and flipped the page, deciding to skip over the full list of chores since he was pretty sure the kids had a good understanding of Cinderella’s daily chores. “Honestly, her family isn’t even the good type of evil. They’re just jerks.”

While Heinz didn’t know of any versions of Cinderella where she was forced to pull lawn gnome duty on cold nights with only a balloon to keep her company, he didn’t think it was out of character for the stepmom.

“HER EVIL STEPSISTERS NAMED HER CINDERELLA BECAUSE SHE WAS FORCED TO SLEEP IN A FIREPLACE AMONG THE CINDERS,” Norm supplied.

“No, she doesn’t. She sleeps in a tower,” Ballpit Kid said.

“That’s too mean!” a girl wailed. “How come we call her Cinderella if it’s insulting?”

“COULD WE GET BACK TO THE STORY ALREADY?” Suzy roared, shutting up the other kids. She flopped against her beanbag chair. “Keep going, please!”

But Heinz was already getting an idea. He put the book down and brought out the Parked Car Away-inator he kept in his lab coat. Since he’d finished this device yesterday, he hadn’t encountered a parking problem where it was needed yet. But with a few minor alterations, he could easily tweak it into something that would be more useful for this situation.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I think you might be onto something, Norm,” Heinz said as he switched the positions of a blue and orange wire.

“I DON’T KNOW WHAT I SAID, BUT I’M GLAD I HELPED. IF I HAD A CARDIOVASCULAR AND INTEGUMENTARY SYSTEM, I WOULD BE BLUSHING.”

“We just need a more interesting medium. Cause happily ever afters get cliché once you’ve heard them a million times before. Granted, it usually ends up a happy ending for Cinderella, except in Drusselstein, but that place doesn’t lend itself well to happy endings anyway. Ah, there we go. Voila!” Heinz triumphantly held up his modified inator. “Behold! The Fairy Tale-inator!”

The Fairy Tale-inator was slightly slimmer than the Parked Car Away-inator and much easier to maneuver.

“This’ll give us a more engaging and realistic experience and make it way more interesting for all parties involved!” Heinz declared. “Besides, I forgot to bring a water bottle. I don’t want my throat to get dry while reading. I gotta keep it in good condition for my evil monologues.”

He blasted the book with his inator. A glowing blue residue clung to the cover as the beam died away. Heinz set the Fairy Tale-inator on his chair and picked up the book.

“Is that safe?” Ballpit Kid asked. “Television taught me that unnatural glows around objects aren’t a good sign.”

“Don’t worry. It shouldn’t be radioactive. You guys ready for an immersive experience?” Heinz grinned as he flipped to the first page. But instead of the moving illustrations he expected, he came face to face with a swirling blue portal. “You know, I don’t remember any portals in Cinderella. Kind of anachronistic for whatever ambiguous time period this story’s supposed to be in.”

A wind picked up from somewhere, and Heinz tucked his arms closer to his body as he shivered from the sudden chill.

“Hey, did it just get drafty in here or something? Does anyone know where the air conditioning unit is?” Heinz asked.

The wind grew stronger, sucking Heinz’s right arm into the portal like a vacuum. Heinz grabbed the edge of the book with his free hand and tried to yank it off, but only succeeded in getting his other arm stuck in the portal as well.

“Yeah, this looks and feels just about the same amount of awkward,” Heinz muttered, trying not to gasp as some unseen force tugged on his wrists insistently. “Norm, can you call Perry the Platypus for me and let him know I might be running late for the scheme tonight? Oh, and tell him there’s leftover shrimp pasta in the fridge if he’s feeling hungry. Thwarting’s not fun on an empty stomach.”

“SHOULD I SEND A DISTRESS ALERT TOO?”

Heinz scowled. “What do you mean distressed? I’m not distressed! Do I look like a damsel to you?”

Figures that the portal decided to suck Heinz’s legs and torso as well. Heinz had to crane his neck all the way back to see Norm.

His neck was gonna be really sore tomorrow.

“Alright, so I’m a little distressed,” Heinz admitted. “Looks like storytime’s over now. Man, they better let this count as part of my community service.”

Then the world spun around him in a dizzying swirl of blue and green. Heinz screamed as the wind battered him around like a rag doll, pushing him in every direction imaginable. His surroundings blurred together, becoming an indistinguishable mess of colors with no shape or form

He was pushed, pulled, tugged, yanked, and all the other synonyms that Heinz couldn’t think of because his brain wasn’t registering things properly. The sensations couldn’t have lasted more than a minute, but it felt like an eternity.

To add insult to injury, the universe decided to plop him face-first into the leftover dust and ashes of a poorly maintained fireplace.

#dooferella fanfiction #phineas and ferb #fanfiction #heinz doofenshmirtz

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thestuckylibrary · 7 years

Text

Mod’s Reads: February 2018

Here’s the list of everything the Mods have read this past month!

Mod Iamnmbr3

The Wedding of Bucky Barnes by stephrc79 (complete | 67,805 | T )

This is the story of how an instagramming, trolling, pain in the ass got married to an equally annoying, artistic, bossy, stubborn blond oaf.

Or, you know, how one James Buchanan Barnes, Instagram Extraordinaire, married Captain America himself, one Steven Grant Rogers.

between everything, yourself, and home by napricot (complete | 24,396 | E )

This is your home?” asks Bucky at one point. “It’s where I’m living now, yeah.” Bucky comes home. Steve's a little slower on the uptake.

despite the threatening sky and shuddering earth (they remained) by praximeter (Zimario) (WIP | 53,118 | M )

“They really didn’t want the mask to come off.” Hill thumbed through the scans, and pulled out a film that she then handed over to Sam, face mostly expressionless but for the flat line of her pursed lips.

Sam accepted the film and held it up to the light, angling so both he and Steve could see it, squinting at the outline of the Winter Soldier’s skull, and the blips of unnatural white that showed up, God, in his brain, not to mention about half his teeth, plus the mask, with its thin protrusions—

“Those are pins,” Steve realized. He looked over at Hill. “The mask—it’s nailed to his face.”

Hill’s face was as unmoved as ever. “Like I said. They really didn’t want it coming off.”

Broken White Boy by herecomesbucktofuckshitup (complete | 2,405 | T )

Shuri fixes Bucky Barnes.

ROGERS: An American Musical by HopeNight (complete | 11,317 | T )

In the MCU, instead of picking up a biography of Alexander Hamilton, Lin-Manuel Miranda picks up a biography of Steve Rogers. This changes things. While the world goes insane for the musical, Steve and the man who believes himself to be Bucky Barnes find their own ways to take control of their narratives.

So here's the real question: How does a half-dead orphan born in the middle of a forgotten spot in the tenements of New York without a father and raised by a single mother grow up to be the first and only super soldier?

Tender, Like a Bruise by Bohemienne (complete | 1,932 | T )

Bucky is awake and healed, but Steve’s afraid of what it will mean.

There Is No Shortage of Blood* by alby_mangroves, Dira Sudis (dsudis) (WIP | 109,855 | E ) *past noncon

The long slow recovery of Bucky Barnes after his escape from HYDRA.

(And the longer, slower recovery of his sex life.)

just goddamn marry me already, for fuck’s sake by newsbypostcard (complete | 6,376 | E )

“Do you,” Steve says, fingers newly tugging Bucky’s underwear until it starts to slide off his hips, “want to marry me, or not?”

Bucky sighs. “You know, in some circles people would consider this interrogation under duress.”

Mod Blue

In honor of v-day from spitandvinegar

For @silentwalrus1 , ANG Steve and Bucky sexting, incorporating a couple of very sensual lines from @pornhubcommentsonvalentines . I regret nothing.

The Job Between Here and There by Pohadka (complete | 40,336 | M)

He might be free from HYDRA’s command and making his own life now, but James Buchanan Barnes is far more lost than he’d ever been before. Nothing matches the vague memories he’s recovered so far, and the world has progressed far beyond needing soldiers. To find out what he wants, and how to get it, he just needs a little… Leverage.

Part 1 of The Job Between Here and There

It's Just Temporary by perfect_plan (complete | 52,615 | M)

Bucky Barnes has no idea what he wants to do with his life and is stumbling from one temp job to the next. Hopefully he can keep his new job at Stark Industries for longer than a week...

the cold never bothered me anyway by icoulddothisallday (complete | 75,562 | E)

Bucky Barnes has spent his whole life in a state of mild hypothermia. Steve Rogers has spent the last 70 years in the ice. The two things aren’t related until, suddenly, they are. Shrunkyclunks soulmate AU (AKA the awkward bb au).

The Wishing Stone by greenbergsays (onehot | 2,850 | E)

“Rogers,” Natasha said as she pushed her way into Steve’s bedroom. “We have a situation. Have you seen -- oh.”

She stopped short.

Behind her, she knew, was the sleek, expansive space of Steve’s apartment in Stark Tower; filled to the brim with the latest gadgets and sturdiest furniture Stark could find for his favorite super soldier.

The door to Steve’s bedroom, however, was a gateway to a completely different time and place.

How To Woo A Winter Demon by cleo4u2, xantissa (oneshot | 6,938 | T)

Steve slept in the ice for a long, long time. Longer than anyone thought possible. For over two thousand years before S.H.I.E.L.D. found and unfroze him. Yeah, the world was different and so were his team members. Team-creatures? Steve’s not sure what the politically-correct term is. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t know. What he does is that the demon living on the seventh sub-level is hot.

The Art Of Cooking For Two by littleblackfox (complete | 92,761 | M) (reread)

“Any questions?” “Uh. What the fuck am I doing here?” Bucky offers.

Writing His Own Happy Ending by LightningStriking (complete | 25,022 | E)

Bucky Barnes is a writer. A gay erotic fiction writer to be precise. With a successful career, a questionably functioning computer, and an addiction to watching cat videos while eating Chinese food. Steve Rogers is an editor. Of many things, not least of all, Bucky Barnes gay erotic fiction. A working relationship that was working just fine for both parties. Until, after years of communicating purely via e-mail, the two men meet in person. And Bucky quickly realizes that Steve not only has a fantastic eye for detail, he's got a smile that could melt any heart, and a body any one of Bucky's fictional heroes would die to touch. A sentiment Bucky shares. So how does Bucky begin his immediate campaign to win his way into Steve's bed, and his heart? By playing to his strengths. In other words, by writing a new series of sex filled stories staring a muscle bound blond and a seductively enticing brunet. Any resemblance to actual persons purely intentional. If editing Bucky's steamy stories hadn't given Steve all sorts of inappropriate fantasies before, it certainly does now...

seapup by wearing_tearing (oneshot | 1,765 | M)

There are a lot of monsters down in the deep dark sea, Steve included. But he is not prey and he is not about to let himself be eaten.

Into That Good Night by Nonymos (complete | 73,540 | E)

Steve Rogers has lived for entirely too long—long enough to see the world's end. The heroes are gone, and the Earth is pushing what's left of mankind towards the exit.

But when a makeshift team rises from the ashes, when a mysterious presence all but drags Steve there, he begins to think there may be hope yet. As they shoot for the stars one last time, Steve will get proof yet again that the future is nothing if not an echo of the past.

Other than that, this month Mod Blue fell into an Altered Carbon shaped hole. Please send help and/or Stucky Altered Carbon AUs with happy endings.

Mod Julia

Not the Jealous Type by justanothersong (oneshot | 3,377 | G)

“Oh, I get it,” Tony said, smug little grin playing across his features. “You’re all angsty because your partner took time off to hang out with his war buddy, and you’re cooped up here doing paperwork. Is that it?”

“Did I not just say to leave it alone?” Sam huffed in response.

Places left behind by Claudia_flies (oneshot | 7,175 | E)

As Steve approaches the door of the walk-in closet, there’s a sudden growl. It’s low and defensive, and Steve freezes. He’s only wearing a towel, he suddenly realizes stupidly.

“Jarvis?” he calls out.

“Yes, sir?” comes the clipped voice of the A.I over the comms system.

“Is there someone in the closet?”

a desert in my heart and nowhere to hide by endofadream (oneshot | 3,720 | E)

Steve struggles to push himself upright, already muttering, “Sorry, sorry, sorry,” and stops when Bucky’s metal hand clamps down onto the back of his neck. It’s hardly more than its usual gentle hold, but immediately Steve melts, tension leeching from his body even as his heart pounds in his chest.

Bucky draws in a ragged breath behind him. “Is that what you want?” he asks after a pause.

tutorial by belovedmuerto (oneshot | 2,362 | T)

“I’m pretty sure I’m a terrible kisser,” Steve mutters, mostly to his pencil and paper.

Still Learning Every Day by Nejinee (oneshot | 5,024 | M)

“Oh, don’t tell me you fell in love with a stripper. Come on, Steve. I’m too tired to go into Manhattan and fight some asshat for your virtue. Or would I have to dance for it?”

Steve loves Bucky, always has. He just never figured any other men would turn his head until he goes to a strip club and learns that it's not just women who can be strippers these days.

The Necrofloranomicon by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen) (complete | 47,569 | T)

Bucky didn't want much. Just to keep his head down, to sell his flowers in peace, and to stay off Shield's radar. His life would have been a lot easier if his flowers weren't dead and if being a necromancer wasn't illegal, but easy or not, he was getting by. Steve didn't want much, either. He was happy working for Shield, he had good friends, and overall his life was going just about the way he wanted it. Problem was, being happy with your life was generally an invitation for fate to throw a spanner in the works—and in Steve's specific case, it was going to be a spanner named Bucky.

Fuck Valentine's Day by jinlinli (oneshot | 4,218 | T)

Steve and Bucky's friends finally get sick and tired of their obliviousness, so they set them up on a blind date on Valentine's Day. But of course, they think it's just a prank because they're idiots.

Ex Libris by CloudAtlas (oneshot | 8,066 | T)

When the last customer has been dealt with, Steve turns to his new companion with, “Hi. I’m Steve, I’m new,” and finds a guy about his own height, with a kind smile and his long hair in a messy bun.

“Hi,” the guy says. “I’m James and I’m old.”

Stupid Cupid (you're a real mean guy) by chicklette (oneshot | 6,846 | E)

It's February and the weather in Brooklyn in shitty. So when his best friend Bucky offers Steve a week-long, all expenses paid trip to Mexico, he figures, what could go wrong? So what if it's a couples-only resort. Over Valentine's Day.

The Roommate by layersofsilence, Niitza (complete | 28,632 | T)

In which Steven G. Rogers, a.k.a. Captain America, gets a roommate. Who rapidly turns into his "roommate"—in the euphemistic sense of the word.

It takes SHIELD and the rest of the Avengers an absurd amount of time to notice.

No Faraway Shore by eyres (complete | 56,906 | T)

President James Barnes has spent his career saying that the defining moment of his life was when he discovered that Steve Rogers had sacrificed himself while Bucky had lain in a New York hospital bed with only one arm.

Now, Bucky would say it was when SHIELD told him Steve was alive.

The one where Bucky is President, Steve makes friends and enemies in the future, and a wedding in the Rose Garden has to wait until Hydra is defeated again.

#mod picks

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wellhellotragic · 7 years

Text

36 Questions

Summary: They say all it takes is 36 questions. 36 questions between you and a complete stranger and suddenly you’ll both fall madly in love with each other. 36 agonizingly personal questions that force you to reveal your deepest darkest secrets. Well, that, and 4 minutes of staring into the most devastatingly blue eyes you’ve ever seen.

Rating: Um, mature I guess?

A/N: This was written as a pick-me up for @artistic-writer who had a really awful shitty week. As I’m a procrastinator extraordinaire, it’s now also a very slightly b-day prezzie! I think I missed it by about 2 hours, but technically it’s still today where I am lol. Happy birthday Salem!!!

Thank you @best-left-hook-jones for making this better and for the prompt idea, even if it did come at the dignity of your grad tech!

Also on AO3

36 Questions

There were many things in life that people could describe Emma Swan as: orphan, foster kid, reformed thief, closed-off, even prickly. But the one thing Emma definitely wasn’t was a coward. She hadn’t back down from Chris Palmer when he’d tried to steal her camera in the ninth grade, and she wouldn’t back down from this either.

“You can always call chicken and take the extra shot.”

Ruby had already been three sheets to the wind when Emma arrived to the White Rabbit after work. Taking a job in the library in the evenings to help pay for bills, also helped give Emma a chance to catch up on her school work during the quiet moments, but it really ate into her social life. Not that she had much of one, but she had a few friends.

The White Rabbit wasn’t anything spectacular by any means. It was an average college dive bar, and a place where people could go to get lost, or really really drunk in most cases. The floor was covered in drink slush and the wallpaper was worn and ripped in places. It smelled stale, and there was always some idiot that would try to hit on her or Ruby.

Luckily, tonight Mary Margaret and David had agreed to tag along. Mary Margaret was already attempting to force water down Ruby’s throat, and David was in protection mode, giving death glares to every man that so much as looked at them.

Having skipped lunch, it only took two drinks for Emma to reach the point of pleasantly buzzed. By that time, Ruby had sobered up enough to function without the use of Mary Margaret to keep her upright. Pleasant conversation had drifted into more mature topics, and then, out of nowhere, the dare had been set.

It had been a long standing tradition in the group. At any point in time, any of them could dare one of the others to do something. They only got one dare per month though, so it wasn’t something to be wasted on a frivolous act. As soon as the words “I dare you” fell from Ruby’s lips, Emma knew she was screwed.

Sure, there was always the chicken option. It meant walking around flapping your arms like a chicken as you clucked for 30 seconds straight. It was a fail safe Belle had built in before she’d left for her foreign exchange program. Either way, humiliation was sure to follow.

“I dare you,” the slurred words paused as her eyes scanned the room, “to kiss that guy over there.”

Emma rolled her eyes, knowing Ruby had probably picked out some chubby co-ed or a frat boy with the IQ of a turtle.

“Wait, which one?” Admittedly, Ruby’s finger wasn’t exactly steady.

“That one. The guy in the black leather jacket.”

Emma’s eyes searched through the crowd of people and, like fate, it was as if the heavens had looked down and parted the masses at that exact moment. There he was; sex and leather. Emma had to force herself to breath. Even without catching his gaze, she could tell he had the most hypnotically blue eyes she’d ever seen before, and his hair was artfully tousled, like he’d just finished fucking someone in the bathroom. She could practically feel his lips on hers already, the burn from his scruff on her cheeks, her neck, her thighs.

It was too good to be true. None of them, Ruby included, ever put forth a dare that didn’t result in total humiliation. Emma watched for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Are you in or out?”

The goading was the last push she needed. Throwing back the last of her drink, she stood up, throwing her friend a wink before marching towards tall, dark, and gorgeous. But just as she made it to the end of the bar, the other shoe dropped in the form of a blonde bombshell.

Tinkerbelle Greene. Emma’s only real interaction with Tink was from a photography course she’d taken her sophomore year to avoid the foreign language requirement. The short blonde had been a few years older, and had zero inhibitions. For their end of year projects, each student had to submit three self portraits, something that revealed their true selves. Tink’s had all been nude, something every guy in the course responded to. And now she was sitting next him, vying for the same man she was.

Well crap. It was one thing to accept the dare when he was just some random single guy at the bar. She’d never consider the idea that he might already have a girlfriend, or even worse, a wife. Pausing to take stock of the situation, she let her eyes drift to his left hand in search of a wedding ring. Instead, she only found a black glove.

Emma turned back to Ruby, seriously reconsidering, but when Ruby tucked her arms in and started flapping her makeshift wings, Emma’s resolve returned. Stalking up to a bit like a mad woman, she barely managed to acknowledge the absolute rage radiating from Tink as she gripped the lapels of his coat and wrenched him forward.

His lips were softer than she had imagined they would be, and there was a faint trace of rum lingering, until his lips parted at the swipe of her tongue and she nearly drowned in the flavor. She could feel him everywhere, his tongue exploring her mouth, the way one of his hands found purchase on her waist, only after having grazed her ass. The other hand softly tugged on her hair, forcing her head backwards. He stepped closer so that their was no space lingering between their bodies, and had it not been for the catcalls next to them, Emma might have allowed herself to become lost in him.

“Way to go, Emma!”

Hearing her name from a slightly drunk Mary Margaret was all it took to remind her of where she was, and what she was doing. Pulling back, she felt her cheeks redden at the embarrassment of the entertainment they’d just provided the entire bar. Somewhere behind her she heard a huff she was vaguely certain came from Tink, before the sound of high heels retreating started fading away.

“That was-”

Oh God, and he had an accent.

“A one time thing.”

Without any further explanation, Emma pushed lightly against his chest, just enough to disingange herself from his arms, before spinning on her heel and walking back to the table her friends were still sat at.

She didn’t sit back down though. Something felt off. Emma was suddenly dizzy, like her entire world had be spun and turned upside down. She just needed to get home and sleep it off. To pretend like the guy in the black leather jacket didn’t exist, and to somehow forget that a random stranger has just given her the most passionate kiss of her life.

“Ok guys, it’s been real, but I’m out.”

“Really, you do that,” David started as he waved his finger around, “and then just leave like it was nothing?”

“Pretty much.” Emma shrugged, hoping to play off the way her entire body had turned into a puddle at the thought of doing that again. “Besides, I promised Professor Mills that I’d look after her son for a couple of hours in the morning, before Ruby’s thing.”

The ‘thing’ in question was still a mystery to Emma, but when she’d heard that it paid $100 for less than 2 hours of her time, she was in. Plus it helped her friend out with her senior psychology project. A win-win for Emma.

Or it would have been if Emma hadn’t spent the next two hours laying in her bed, unable to sleep with ocean blue eyes running through her mind. Just before she’d left the bar, she’d turned to give her friends a final wave, but instead he’d caught her eye. He’d been watching her, his fingertips resting against his lips, a question in his eyes she couldn’t answer.

In a fit of desperation, Emma took matters into her own hands, quite literally. She could still feel the press of is growing erection against her, and as the vibrations from her toy worked at her core, it was the image of of him above her, pummeling, whispering naughty things in her ear in his lilting accent that finally pushed her over the edge.

Sleep came easily after that.

Looking after Henry was more exhausting than Emma had expected it to be. Granted, with images of blue eyes haunting her dreams, Emma hadn’t slept nearly enough to compete with the energy level of a two year old, but Henry was extra excitable. As it turned out, Henry had found Regina’s secret stash of monthly chocolate and had devoured an entire box of Happy Hippos right before Emma had arrived, and had been running off of pure sugar right up until he crashed five minutes before Regina got home.

Emma didn’t miss the condescending way Regina wished her a good day as she took in the mess in the living room. The day was off to a bang up start and she still had to go be a guinea pig for Ruby.

The psychology building was housed behind the administrative building. Getting in and navigating the maze was easy enough, having spend plenty of afternoons searching for Ruby to grab her share of the grocery money. The lab that Ruby used was on the 3rd floor of the building, with a small window the overlooked the quad behind it. Ruby had explained that they only used the room for certain experiments as many participants often got distracted by everyone milling around outside, and that would ruin the results. For her experiment though, she wanted something with a slightly less clinical feeling.

In the room was a couch with some blankets and a coffee table with unlit candles. All of the other furniture had been removed, and Emma immediately felt her walls begin to rise.

“So,” Emma let the word linger a bit. “What exactly is it that I’m doing here? Because it looks like whatever you have planned is bordering on unethical, or you know, illegal?”

“Em, it’s not like that. Geeze, get your head of if the gutt- What is that on your shirt?”

Emma looked down to see brown stains near the hemline of her cream sweater.

“Uh, I think it’s chocolate. Or at least I’m praying that it’s chocolate. Henry was covered in the stuff when I got to the professor’s house.”

“Well you need to change because it looks like someone shat on you. Not exactly conducive to the study.”

“And what exactly is your study? You’ve been pretty mum about the whole thing.”

“Change first!”

Emma looked around, in a sarcastic response. She hadn’t brought any spare clothes with her and unless Ruby had something stashed away, there wasn’t another option. Unfortunately, Emma had failed to consider the Ruby Lucas had zero inhibitions and gave no fucks about her body. Quickly stripping herself of her scarlet colored knit top, the dangled the garment on her finger, daring Emma to protest.

She didn’t. One thing Emma had learned over the two years that they had lived together was how to pick her battles, and judging by Ruby’s wolfish grin, she knew a war was coming. With a huff, Emma grabbed the bottom of her sweater and pulled it off of her body, throwing it at Ruby. Taking the offered top, Emma struggled to figure out how to put it on so that she wouldn’t get tangled in the twisted straps in the back.

“Killian Jones reporting for duty as orde-”

Emma squealed and immediately spun around trying to hide herself from the door, keeping the top pressed again her chest, her chest that was nearly matching in color.

“Oh, I- Uh- I’ll just wait out in the hall.”

Emma was certain the noise she heard was him bumping into the doorway as his footstep hurriedly left the room. She was mortified. Scrabbling, she finally managed to get Ruby’s top on just in time for Ruby to call him back into the room.

And there he was. The man from the night before, in the bar. She man she’d fantasized about, standing 3 feet in front of her. She wasn’t sure how much of an eyeful she’d given him, but judging by the shade of his ears and the way he was nervously scratching behind one of them, he’d seen plenty.

Well fuck.

Neither of them spoke, and Emma couldn’t help but notice the vivid blue of his eyes had been replaced, only the barest hint of sapphire remaining.

“Killian, this is Emma Swan, my roommate.”

Killian stepped forward, hesitantly stretching his hand out to her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, lass.”

His hand was rough wrapped around hers, obviously used to manual labor.

“And Emma, this is Killian. He’s in my women’s study class and volunteered to help me out.”

Emma almost thought she was going to get away from more embarrassment, but Ruby wasn’t finished yet. “Or you may remember him from last night. He’s the one whose throat you had your tongue down.”

Emma let out a sound resembling a strangled cat, and Killian didn’t seem to have been faring much better and he coughed in surprise.

“So, if you’ll both take a seat on the couch, we can get started.”

“Started with what, exactly, lass? You were a bit hazy on the details before.”

Well at least Emma wasn’t the only one lost right now.

“Sit.”

Ruby was firm this time and both Emma and Killian elected to sit as far apart from each other as possible, which wasn’t as far away as Emma might have hoped. What was once a spacious couch now felt like a loveseat and she could feel his body heat radiating off of him. The scent of leather and sandalwood danced through the air around her. Even now, in the light of day he was still intoxicating, perhaps even more so now that she could properly see him.

Which is why Emma chose to sit facing straight out instead of turning towards him.

Ruby stood in front of them both, holding what looked like a full package of index cards. The top half were pink while the bottom half blue.

“I don’t want to bore you with the details on what we’re measuring here, but the instructions are fairly straight forward. In my hand, I have a set of questions. You ask each other the questions written on the cards and you must answer honestly. There is no skipping questions.”

Ruby finished with a pointed glare at Emma. Splitting the cards in half, she handed them to both Emma and Killian and started walking to the door.

“I’ll be in the next room and I can see and hear you, but please act as normal as possible.”

With that, she was gone, and Emma found herself stumbling over her words as she tried to read the first questions out loud.

“One. ‘Given the choice of anyone in the world, whom would you want as a dinner guest?’ You’ve got to be kidding me.”

She heard him little chuckle, but continued to avoid meeting his gaze.

“What’s wrong, love? Not a fan of dinner parties?”

The lilt was just a strong as she remembered it, as Emma found herself unconsciously leaning towards him as he spoke, the lust filled fantasies of him jumped back into her brain.

“Love?”

God. How long had she been day dreaming?

“Not your love. And these questions are stupid.”

“Emma Swan!” Ruby’s voice rang through an intercom somewhere in the room. “The instructions said to answer the questions. The did not say to argue their purpose.”

Felling a mix between annoyed and properly chastised, Emma felt her walls climbing.

“How about I start then, Swan? I’d have to go with my brother.”

“Seriously? You can eat with anyone in the world, even supermodels, and you go with your brother? A man you’ve probably seen everyday of your life?”

She chanced a look at him and saw a storm brewing behind his eyes as he clenched his jaw.

“Aye, your right. I did see him nearly everyday of my life,” he paused for a second, “right up until he died four years ago. I’d give anything to share one last meal with him.”

Fuck.

Not knowing how to respond, Emma decided to press on. She didn’t normally ‘do’ people, and definitely didn’t ‘do’ feelings. Especially not with greek god level strangers that she once managed to jump in a bar, only to make a complete ass of herself twice later on.

“Arthur Koehler.”

“Excuse me?”

“Arthur Koehler. He was one of the pioneers in criminal forensics and actually responsible for catching the guy that kidnapped and killed the Lindbergh baby. He solved the whole case just using a sample of wood, tracking down where the wood had been harvested, milled, and sold even.”

She looked over to see Killian giving her the most quizzical of looks.

“Criminal justice major,” she said, hoping somehow that would explain her fascination with murder.

Killian nodded along before reading out his own card.

“Number two: ‘Would you like to be famous? In what way’?”

The second question was easier, both answering that they’d each be content avoiding the limelight.

The third question had Emma nearly giddy as Killian responded.

Before making a telephone call, do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?

He hadn’t actually answered - not with words, anyways - but when his cheeks filled with a beautiful shade of rose, Emma knew immediately that the answer was ‘yes’.

“Oh my god. You totally do that don’t you!”

The questions became easier as they went on. There was an odd sense of comradery in having to spill your guts with a complete stranger, even if looking at him made Emma’s stomach do somersaults. It wasn’t until twenty minutes later that the questions started getting more personal, making Emma uncomfortable. If it weren’t for her loyalty to Ruby, she’d have gotten up and left.

“If you were able to live to the age of 90 and retain either the mind or body of a 30-year-old for the last 60 years of your life, which would you want?”

Emma didn’t hesitate. “Body.”

She watched as Killian’s head tilted to the side, obviously surprised by her answer.

“I’m not vain or superficial or anything. It’s just, sometimes it might not feel like the worst thing to forget parts of your life.”

Parts like the ex who tried to frame her for theft, or the guy who cheated on her. Parts like the parents who dumped her on the side of the road. Parts like being bounced around from one hellish foster home to the next.

Killian didn’t seem to need her to explain though. Somehow, he just got it, like he could read her. She was an open book to him. His hand moved to rest over hers, and had Ruby not come in at that precise moment, she probably would have found herself in his lap. She’d allowed herself to get so wrapped up that she forgot where she was, or that she didn’t know him.

She jerked her hand back as Ruby informed them they’d have a five minute break. She took the time to wash her face off in the bathroom and recompose herself.

It wasn’t enough. Immediately after the break, the questions got even harder.

If you could change anything about the way you were raised, what would it be?

If you knew that in one year you would die suddenly, would you change anything about the way you are now living? Why?

How do you feel about your relationship with your mother.

Emma could sense Killian’s hesitation each time he had to ask her a question, especially after she was forced to tell him about her past in excruciating detail. Each new detail she had to give him felt like a knife to the heart. For his part, he hadn’t had the picture perfect life either. His mother had died of cancer when he was seven, then his father took off in the middle of the night when he was twelve. But through it all, he’d had his brother. Emma hadn’t had anyone.

Ruby gave them another break after the second set of questions, and this time Emma chose not to leave the room. There was something calming about Killian’s presence, and although she’d never see him again after the experiment was over, the irony of it not lost on her, she wasn’t ready to give him up just yet.

So for the five minute break, they sat together side by side, thighs brushed up against each other. On more than one occasion his hand had found its way to her leg in an attempt to soothe her. Emma found herself surprised each time he did it, as she never felt the sense to brush him off like she had so many guys before him. Affection wasn’t something she found comforting in a man usually.

Ruby warned them that the final set of questions would push them even more. They’d have to look even deeper into themselves and reveal stuff they’d both kept hidden deep down.

If you were to die this evening with no opportunity to communicate with anyone, what would you most regret not having told someone? Why haven’t you told them yet?

Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire. After saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be? Why?

Of all the people in your family, whose death would you find most disturbing? Why?

Emma had never felt so alone in her life. Before, she’d always told herself that if she didn’t let people in, she couldn’t be hurt by them, but as the questions continued, she realized that one day she would die, bitter and alone, and she’d only have herself to blame. It was a hard realization.

She hadn’t even noticed the way she’d drifted into Killian, resting her head on his chest as his arms wrapped around her. At least not until Ruby came in again and gave them the final instructions.

Four minutes. They’d have to stare into each other’s eyes for four minutes. No talking. No moving. No looking away. Just four minutes of getting lost in his eyes as she thought back over everything she had told him, and all of the things he shared as well.

He was studying marine engineering so he could build boats after graduation. He had his heart broken by a woman who didn’t tell him she was married until he’d proposed to her. He’d fled England to escape the memories of Milah and Liam. He was kind and loyal. He’d even sang to her in his angelic voice.

And as she stared into his eyes, all she could think about was what it would be like to give him a chance. To wonder if he was worth lowering her walls for. To wonder what could have happened between them if she wasn’t so damn broken inside.

“And that’s it. You guys are done.”

She wasn’t sure what to say or do, so out of instinct the wall rose once more, and Emma left, running away before anyone could stop her. She hadn’t meant to let anyone in, and she was terrified of the fact that she wanted him for something more than just one night. She wanted forever.

When Ruby returned to their apartment, it was hours later. Emma was slightly furious with her for roping her into something she knew was going to be so emotionally draining. They argued for what felt like ages. Emma had kept everything bottled up so tightly for years, that she didn’t know how to close the dam again now that it had been opened. They were barely even on speaking terms when they parted ways to go to bed that night, and when Emma woke again it was late in the morning to an empty apartment.

She had cried herself to sleep and the exhaustion of it all had lingered. Rolling out of bed, she started for the kitchen, but stopped short when she saw an envelope that had been slipped under her door. She didn’t recognize the looped handwriting, but there had only even been one person who called her Swan.

Dear Emma,

Please don’t be too cross with Ruby. This is actually my fault, you see. I’ve noticed you on more than one occasion with the lady Lucas, and having fancied you, I asked her to introduce us. She warned me that your heart would not easily be won, and I fear I may have pushed her too hard as a result. I hadn’t realized the purpose of Ruby’s study until we were half way through it and it was too late to back out. I never meant for any harm to come to you. Please accept my sincerest apologies.

Killian Jones.

It took Emma three days to muster up the courage to find him. Over those three days, thoughts of him had invaded every part of her being. She could still smell him on the top Ruby had loaned her. She could still feel his scruff against her cheek. And worst of all, she could see the way his eyes nearly pooled as she told him about her pathetic past.

It took some searching and some internet stalking, but she had figured out his favorite place was a small little harbor on the outside of town. He’d checked-in to a tiny seaside restaurant about a dozen times the previous month, and posted multiple pictures from the dock outside.

He was sitting alone on a bench overlooking the water. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in colors of pink and orange. It was a moment her mind wanted to capture for some reason.

“Mind if I sit?”

If she’d startled him, he gave no indication. He only gesture to the open spot next to him. They sat together, silently taking in the sunset until only the barest hint of a golden halo crested the sky above the water.

“So what was the purpose of the experiment?”

It wasn’t a perfect opening line, but it was safer than blurting out how much she missed him when she hardly even knew him.

“To fall in love.”

There was a pause that seemed to stretch to the end of time.

“It’s this thing I read about in a newspaper. Someone created this list of questions that are so deep and meaningful, that when two strangers answer them to each other, they’re supposed to form a bond. Some people argue that it only causes you to feel affection for the other person, but other believe that you’ll fall in love.”

There was another pause as the last hint of light dipped below the water.

“And did you?”

She felt him stiffen next to her.

“No.” She felt her heart beginning to crack. “No, I promise, I didn’t know that’s what Ruby’s experiment was about until it was too late-”

She cut him off, grabbing his hand in a moment of courage.

“I meant, did you fall in love?”

His tongue came out to wet his bottom lip as he stared out at the water before them.

“I felt affection for you the moment I first saw you. You were amused at something Ruby had said and your laugh was like music to my ears. But I think-” He turned to look her in the eyes. “I think I fell in love you the moment you kissed me. I felt something that I’ll never be able to explain, but I knew, Emma, that I only ever wanted to kiss you from then on out.”

She couldn’t say anything back. She couldn’t tell him that she’d fallen for him over the course of thirty six questions and four minutes. Her walls were still too high, but for the first time ever, she felt ready to start pulling them down, brick by brick. So when she kissed him again, it was to show him all of the things she couldn’t say just yet. It was to show him that she loved him too.

#36 questions #wellhellotragic #happy belated bday Salem #I can't write fluff #cs ff #thanks for eating the cut line tumblr

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