#i could go on and on sorry i’m fucking beyond any word in the dictionary about him

[hadeljoshi]

zachs giggle is so contagious especially when he starts slamming shit

i love when he laughs… :’( his laugh is like when an angel sings i think…especially when he laughs really hard. i love the wondercon interviews because michael makes him laugh so hard and he scrunches his nose and eyes oh my god don’t even get me started

[sexualsam]

What's Lost is Lost (Pt. 2)

Ok ok I’m back and with part two. I kind of let myself get carried away with this one and im sorry if it got away from me. This will most likely be the last part so let your imaginations run wild. I have been binging Black Clover so I kind of started this and then completely forgot about it. My requests are open loves!

Word Count: 1,413

Imagine: Imagine: Meeting Geralt for the first time in a tavern you work at. At least to you it’s the first time. (Semi angsty Geralt) CONTINUED

This was her fault, at least she knew that. At least she could admit that.  

If stubborn had a picture next to it in the dictionary, her photo would be right next to it. Smiling like all hell, even if she knew that all hell was about to break loose.  

There weren’t many things she was good at, but with the things she was, she wasn’t just good, she was amazing.   Lying, manipulating, being cold and calculated. These were all things she went above and beyond in.  

This was different, however. She was in a situation, a bad one. One that not only put herself in danger but also someone she cared for.

She stood there in the middle of a windowless room, with a knife pressed against her throat.   She stared in front of her. There stood the most important person. Him.  

He was the one person she truly cared about, loved, even. He could pull her out of her own head in an instant. But she would never admit it.   She wanted to think she was heartless.  

Deep down, she knew. This wasn’t a time to laugh, it was a time to be scared, to fear for her life; but she couldn’t help it.  

How could he seriously believe she cared this much about her life. Her simply complicated, dark, twisted life.   That was his mistake, his fault.  

She couldn’t care less about what was going to happen to her. Whether she lived or died, it didn’t matter.  

So, she laughed.  

… you really think I give a fuck about what you do with me? She could feel his eyes staring at her even as she looked at the floor.  

The one and only person she cared about.   And the one she cared about the least.  

… do it then.

She felt the blade press deeper into her skin as her captor’s grip got tighter.  

He looked at her, eyes glossed.   And for a brief moment, he could see a small flicker of guilt on her face.  

He knew that he loved her, but he would never admit it.   She was heartless. She didn’t care about anybody but herself, and he knew that.

Geralt thought back to the last time that he had seen you. You were nothing like the girl he had run into at the tavern almost a year ago. You, no, that girl was not you.

Ever since that night he had been searching for the answer.   What happened? Where had you gone? Why?

He had asked these questions to himself repeatedly. Simply put, there was no answer. He had scoured villages, kingdoms, forests and realms. No one had anything that had any answers.

He instead turned his attention towards a more direct approach. Locating the woman he had seen at the tavern. The shell of your formal self that he had run into on that fateful night.  

He had circled back to look for you. No one seemed to remember the bar wench or anything special about her, except for her low-cut dresses. Geralt had to restrain himself while listening to his witnesses speak. The way they spoke about your body sent him into a rage. They spoke like animals and as if you were a piece of meat waiting to be devoured.   He knew you; he knew every part of you. He had explored every single inch of your body. But the way the villagers thought of you. The way they vividly described the small part of you they were able to see in the dim tavern light made him want to start a massacre.   No one was able to royally piss him off as much as they did. No one except for you.  

Your constant taunting about how there was never a lesser evil. How he didn’t need to treat you like you needed protecting. How he was breathing or walking. There was always something to bicker about.  

Geralt mounted Roach once more. He was on his way out of Kaer Morhen. He had gotten all the rest and vials he needed to last him the year. He planned to continue his search for you for as long as he had to. Until you were in his arms once more, starting petty arguments and laughing both with and at him.

The cold air nipped at his face; he hadn’t stayed the whole season at Kaer Morhen. Only long enough to stock up on what was needed to succeed in his mission. One without coin as his prize for winning.  

As dusk started drawing closer, he had decided to set up camp for himself. Something small and sufficient for one night.   Geralt typically gravitated towards a river or stream, as to have water for himself and his horse. However, there was a spot that was barren. No water or actively flowing source of hydration. Instead, it was where he and you had snuck out to, dozens of times.   When Lambert or anyone else at Kaer Morhen had gotten on your nerves, he could usually find you here.  

It was a small escape for you, and for Geralt it was a treasure trove of memories from the past.  

During spring, it was littered with tulips and weeds. The tall trees surrounded it, creating a clearing and a perfect sky for you guys to gaze upon as you lay.   He could almost feel the warmth of your skin as he reminisced. The memory seemed too real.   Sprawled out in the clearing, nothing but nature under you.   You nested into Geralt’s arms, looking up at the blue sky. His hands rested atop your abdomen as you plucked the grass mindlessly from the earth. His scent was so calming to you. Of course, you teased and taunted him, but he knew it was all good fun.  

At first, he didn’t find it so amusing. He thought you were stubborn and narcissistic. But just as soon as he realized why you acted the way you did, he was already enthralled by you.  

He found himself concerned with your safety and your recklessness. He wanted to fight to protect you even in the smallest of altercations. Geralt was well aware of your abilities and what you were capable of, but he didn’t care, he had a need to make sure you were safe.  

You were indeed stubborn. Protection wasn’t something you felt you needed. You could feel yourself becoming more and more captivated by him and his ways, but you didn’t like being vulnerable.   Everytime you felt that emotions were starting to peek through, you put up walls. The only time he had ever truly seen you at peace was in this clearing.  

Geralt could feel a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He longed to be with you once more. He was the only person that truly knew you and likewise. He had let parts of himself that no one had ever seen be free around you.  

As he approached the clearing the memories grew fonder and stronger, as did the faint glow to a dancing light.  

Somone has tainted this land.  

He dismounted Roach and was sure to be quiet. He stopped far enough back that he was still masked by the darkness.

“Stay here.” He quietly muttered; the steed slightly nodded as if understanding what he had just said.  

The Witcher drew closer, taking small and quiet steps, careful not to draw any attention towards his direction.   He knew it was not a monster or beast, simply a human looking for a camp. But not here, not in is sacred place.  

The warmth of the fire slowly started to crawl to his skin. It was a change from the frigid temperature that surrounded him.   A sheet of ice shattered beneath his foot, and he held his breath.

Damnit it.  

A cloaked figure looked in his direction, though he was sure they couldn’t see him he shrunk back into the shadow of the tree.  

He waited, waited for a proper amount of time, till he was sure the person had assumed it was an animal or their imagination.   He conditioned his stealth like walk over to the clearing.  

He could see now that the figure had moved. They were standing up, staring directly at him. With the distance he had covered, the flames of the fire surely illuminated his features as so with the cloaked figure.  

He choked on his breath.

“Geralt?” . . .  

[letterfromajax]

Please block @vaestra for being lesbophobic, biphobic, and transphobic

Please note that this person is neither a lesbian or bisexual from what I can tell based off their about. I am also assuming they are TME.

All of their sideblogs will be listed at the very end. All proof will be under the cut and will have the text transcribed to the best of my ability.

The biggest thing that made me make this post is that this person supports bi/pan lesbians and one of the posts he has floating around is literally just his quiet support for bi/pan lesbians. The post in question is the first one listed under the cut.

The bi/pan lesbian label is inherently transphobic because it excludes nonbinary identities from lesbianism, even though nonbinary lesbians exist. I am not a lesbian, so I don’t feel entirely comfortable discussing why it’s lesbophobic beyond the fact that lesbians cannot be bi/pan because they’re lesbians and vice versa.

I commented on this specific post telling him that the post could be taken out of context as support for Bi/Pan lesbians.

Transcribed Text

crescairis: i get that people are more comfortable with defined rules and structure but i also think q*eer people lost when they started resorting to dictionary definitions for what labels mean

crescairis: the q*eer umbrella is meant to deviate from the norm of rigid boxes and definitions and to decide that lesbian means Only this, bi means Only this, etc, is directly contradicting what q*eer means. each and every label is going to have a unique meaning to the person using it and that is how it’s supposed to be. if you’re not comfortable with that…sorry?

My aforementioned comment has since been deleted, but this was the response I received from him.

Transcribed Text

vaestra said: @childescatgirl actually it WAS my intention and you are the exact kind of person this post is talking about! go the fuck away!

Some more lesbophobia and transphobia taken from his about and DNI

Note: The first link provided was locked behind a paywall, the second link provided was written by a cis person, and the third one minimized transmisogony. The fourth link provided is a tumblr post…

Transcribed Text

We acknowledge that transmascs are affected by TERF ideology, as well as the existence of transmisandry. (Some very good articles on the subject: [#1.] [#2.] [#3.]

We acknowledge that the terms femme and butch are open to all q*eer people; [here’s why.]

Their DNI

I’m not a lesbian and I am TME, but TERF ideology mainly targets transwomen. Yes, other trans and even cis individuals can be impacted by TERFs and their ideology, but it’s specifically harmful towards transwomen and to detract from that and focus so heavily on transmascs individuals being harmed by TERF ideology is just a little weird imo. It’s up to you whether you think that’s a bad thing, but I included it because I myself am transmasc and it just feels weird.

The next transcription is only partial and I’m going to censor part of it because the words used make me uncomfortable. I will make the censored parts with brackets.

Transcribed Text

you use the “nonmen loving nonmen” definition of lesbianism, and/or you don’t believe in [lesbian boys]/gaygirls and or mspec lesbians/gays

you think q*eer is a slur that shouldn’t be reclaimed (any personal discomfort with being called q*eer will be respected)

you don’t think transmisandry exists, you don’t think transmascs are harmed by terf ideology, and/or you think the discussion of transmisandry is inherentky transmisogynistic

you think the terms butch and femme are for lesbians only (they aren’t)

This User’s Side Blogs Include

@/contaiuolo

@/crescairis (this was the side blog that the post was originally posted on)

@/fuckvriska

@/daylightsanctum

I’ll say it here again too, but I am trans and bisexual.

EDIT; I didn’t know butch and femme could be used by people other than lesbians. Thank you to everybody who corrected me. I’ll admit I didn’t bother reading the link attached to it because it was a tumblr post. I assumed this person genuinely meant like anybody could use them including like men. Which, unfortunately, is a take I’ve seen… 😬 my bad

[goodnightmemes]

DEXTER SEASON TWO SENTENCE STARTERS (PART TWO)

Lines taken from 2x07-2x12 of the show Dexter. Feel free to change pronouns or edit in any way to better fit your needs. Here is part one.

❛ I thrive on chaos. But this is good, too. ❜

❛ I had to do a little creative problem-solving at someone else's expense. ❜

❛ Pardon my tits. ❜

❛ Are you trying to fuck her or set her on fire? ❜

❛ Sometimes the truth speaks from a peaceful place. It's taken me a long time to find that place, but I think I have, and it's telling me you're not the right one for me. I'm so sorry. ❜

❛ Is that what I am? Clean? 'cause I don't feel that way at all. ❜

❛ No, I won't do that. I won't let you turn me into you. ❜

❛ Hope you don't expect me to comment on that so you can record it on your hidden tape recorder. I wasn't born yesterday. ❜

❛ Your past is a bigger mystery than fucking Jimmy Hoffa. ❜

❛ No matter what you try, no matter when, no matter how hard you work, I'll always be a step ahead of you for one simple reason. I own you. ❜

❛ When I'm alone and it's quiet, I get scared shitless, like I start hearing what's really going on inside. ❜

❛ 'Cause when you're around, I kind of feel like I can deal with anything, you know? ❜

❛ I've always worked best in the shadows, and that's where I have to stay. ❜

❛ You can't go back. You know that. ❜

❛ You are not allowed to talk about anyone I date as long as you're seeing little Miss "pardon my tits." ❜

❛ She is obviously a vampire. A gross english-titty vampire. ❜

❛ Can't change who I am. I'm crass and dirty, and...I have a very filthy mind. ❜

❛ Jesus Christ. They sell anyone a gun in Florida, won't they? ❜

❛ That man. He wasn't trying to rob you. He was trying to kill you. ❜

❛ Nothing you could do,___, would scare me. ❜

❛ Whatever comes, we'll get through this together. I'm not leaving your side. ❜

❛ I need to embrace who I am, who I've always been. ❜

❛ It's like I've been living underwater, holding my breath, and now I can finally breathe. ❜

❛ ___ almost had me believing it was possible to change, to become something else, as if that ever really happens. I've always known what I am. ❜

❛ I'm finding it's best to accept things you can't change, you know? ❜

❛ Is this the monster that you keep telling me about? ❜

❛ Trust me, when you meet the monster, you'll know. ❜

❛ Nice. My subconscious isn't even bothering with symbolism. ❜

❛ I feel...such regret, which is rare for me. But not that I don't mess up. I do...just never so stupendously. ❜

❛ If they're looking for proof, they won't find it. Not here at least. ❜

❛ Then maybe you should come with us, because who knows what secrets will come ❜ pouring out of me once the drinks start flowing. ❜

❛ I'm done with it and you. Did I not make that clear last night? ❜

❛ Those friends of yours, they didn't even know you. They just see the mask, but I see it all. ❜

❛ Can't live with her. Can't kill her. ❜

❛ Fuck! I'm talking about my feelings. What the fuck is your problem? ❜

❛ I've always sensed there was something... off about him. Like he's hiding in plain sight. ❜

❛ If you got in the middle of this and you got hurt��� ❜

❛ The only way I can help you is if you turn yourself in. ❜

❛ Don't you disappear on me. ❜

❛ I want you to know that you meant a lot to me, more than you know, and... I just want to thank you for that. ❜

❛ If I never see her again, it'll be too soon. ❜

❛ Sleep would be nice, but there's too much to do. ❜

❛ Okay, I may be sleeping with him, but it doesn't mean he tells me shit or listens to me about anything, so stop asking! ❜

❛ That's right, motherfucker! It's over. ❜

❛ I knew there was something with you. But this shit? ❜

❛ What can I say? You were right about me. I never held it against you. I don't now. ❜

❛ It's a graze wound. Minor tissue abrasion. No hemorrhage along the bullet track. Sorry. I think I'm gonna live. ❜

❛ If you're not gonna let me go, then kill me now. Just get it over with. ❜

❛ You're a killer. I catch killers. ❜

❛ So it's okay to take a life as long as you get a paycheck for it? ❜

❛ Either kill me or set me free. ❜

❛ Taking a life is one thing, but the care and feeding of it is another. ❜

❛ I'm generally confused most of the time. ❜

❛ You ever care about anyone? Then you shouldn't have to ask. 'Cause when you care about someone, you do what you have to do. ❜

❛ I remember when life was easy, when the only question I worried about was "who's next?" Now it's: "How can I dodge my protective detail? "What should I do with my hostage?" These are not easy questions. ❜

❛ It's not about what I think. It's all about the evidence. ❜

❛ Hair-pulling may not be manly, but it's very effective. ❜

❛ If he wanted me dead, I'd be dead by now. ❜

❛ You are the only one I can count on, jackass. ❜

❛ It puts a pit in my stomach that I can only interpret as... sadness. ❜

❛ You working on an exit strategy? I'm afraid that's not gonna happen. ❜

❛ How come there's never a circus when you need one? ❜

❛ What was that shit last night? Some kind of fucking scare tactic? ❜

❛ Don't test me. I could have killed you. I didn't. ❜

❛ You're actually angry. I've never seen you angry. This is good. ❜

❛ I should warn you. You can't play on my feelings. I don't have any. ❜

❛ It's a tough job. It can wear on even the best of us. ❜

❛ I yell a lot...and bitch and complain, and I keep expecting people to guess what I want, but I never really say it. ❜

❛ And that was exciting, you know? The not knowing. What might happen, what could be. It was all possibility. ❜

❛ Your life is going to rest in the hands of the criminal justice system you put all your faith in. I wish you the best of luck. ❜

❛ You need help. Let me help you. ❜

❛ You don't have to do this! You don't have to kill this man! ❜

❛ Sorry it had to go down like this. But there really was no other way. ❜

❛ Stay away. Just stay away from me. ❜

❛ Did you happen to be stuffing a human leg into a garbage bag at that point? ❜

❛ There's that anger again. You got to let that out. ❜

❛ You're spinning. Let me help you. It's only a matter of time before you'll hurt someone else. ❜

❛ Take responsibility for who you are. ❜

❛ Why can't you just let me go? ❜

❛ If I got to choose a person... A real person... to be like, out of anyone, it'd be you. ❜

❛ Who joined who in the shower this morning? ❜

❛ For such a neat monster, I'm making an awfully big mess. ❜

❛ Maybe this is how evil works. Destroying everything it touches. ❜

❛ I've been held prisoner in a cabin for two fucking days. Fucking hellhole. ❜

❛ After everything we've been through lately, I just want... to be together with you guys. ❜

❛ You told me to take responsibility for what I am. You were right. ❜

❛ I can't live in this house of cards anymore, waiting for it all to fall down. I need to do something, you know? ❜

❛ If I do this, I need a day to get my affairs in order. ❜

❛ Mention that when they interview you for the story of my life. ❜

❛ Don't leave me in this cage, anything could happen. ❜

❛ I lie to everyone I know... except my victims right before I kill them. It's hard to establish much of a rapport there. ❜

❛ Sorry about the cage. ❜

❛ I've always been curious to try. Do you have any weed? ❜

❛ Love's a battlefield. Or in your case, a restraining order. ❜

❛ When a pretty girl smiles and bats her eyelashes, we're powerless to resist. ❜

❛ I met with a lawyer yesterday. He helped me prepare a living trust that gives you control of all my assets in the event of my death or... certain other situations. ❜

❛ God. Go away. This is creepy. ❜

❛ I'm free tonight, you wanna stop by? We'll have beer, a couple of steaks? I wanna talk to you about something. ❜

❛ I just need you to know that... you and the kids are very important to me. No matter what happens, I want you to always know that. ❜

❛ I know I've been taking things slow with us, but it's not because I don't have feelings for you. It's more like I have too many feelings, and I just wanna make sure to get it right. ❜

❛ I want you gone. Tonight. ❜

❛ I've spent a lifetime keeping up my guard, watching my back, wearing my mask. Relief was never in sight until now. ❜

❛ Lately, I was starting to feel like I had my head pretty far up my ass. ❜

❛ You decide who you are, who you want to be...and you hold onto that and ride it out. ❜

❛ I need some help! Just open the door! I'm being held captive. ❜

❛ Damn, it's good to see another face. I never thought I would. ❜

❛ When something beyond reason happens, it turns skeptics into believers. ❜

❛ If you believe that God makes miracles, you have to wonder if Satan has a few up his sleeve. ❜

❛ I can't exactly feel their pain, but I can appreciate it. ❜

❛ I kinda forgot who I was. I got it straight now. ❜

❛ The term is homicidal maniac. Not that I'm judging. ❜

❛ A public place. You thought I was gonna...That I would slip my needle into your neck? ❜

❛ You're afraid of me now, aren't you? ❜

❛ You're emotionally color-blind. You use the right words, you pantomime the right behavior, but feelings never come to pass. ❜

❛ You know the dictionary definition of emotions: longing, joy, sorrow...You have no idea of what any of those things actually feel like. ❜

❛ I created a monster of my own. ❜

❛ What did you do to make her so pathetically crazy for you? Does your dick dance? ❜

❛ What're we doing home in the middle of the day? She asked, hoping for sex. ❜

❛ Why? Why do I have to make up my mind? ❜

❛ I've never put much weight onto the idea of a higher power. But if I didn't know better, I'd have to believe that some force out there wants me to keep doing what I'm doing. ❜

❛ As it turns out, nobody mourns the wicked. ❜

❛ Am I evil? Am I good? I'm done asking those questions. I don't have the answers. ❜

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Here to Misbehave (Pt. 17 | S.R.)

Series Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Finale |

Summary: Spencer is concerned about Reader’s growing impulsiveness, but Reader is the one who gets a call from JJ asking if she can come get her boyfriend. Couple: Spencer/Fem!Reader 
 Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) 
 Content Warning: Discussions of drugs, death/dying, suicide, overdose; Alcohol, addiction, oral (male receiving), handjob, fingering, Daddy Kink, fights, PTSD, hospital talk, drunk smut w/ blanket consent Word Count: 12.5k

MASTERLIST

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When I opened the front door, I realized that I had returned to an empty home. I wasn’t sure which was weirder; the realization that the house was empty, or the fact that I was referring to her apartment as my home. It certainly had started to feel that way.

It never stopped being a shock that I would find a home in someone so quickly and with such little self-awareness. I'd certainly never suspected   that the house we’d be in would also be shared with several other people, all of whom were significantly younger than me and shared almost no similarities with me beyond our love for (y/n).

And even if it wasn’t the weirder of the two realizations, the fact that she wasn’t there was definitely the more troubling one. I tried to gather at least a little evidence before I called her; I wasn’t exactly excited about being blindsided again. Judging by the red solo cups that were scattered in the kitchen, I had an idea of how her friends had spent the night. The fact that no one was here led me to another conclusion that I desperately hoped was inaccurate.

Her phone rang four times before she picked up, which was strange in itself. When she did pick up, she sounded like I expected her to. Tired. Groggy.

“Hello?”

“Hey little girl, where are you?” I hoped she couldn’t hear the fumbling of my keys in my pocket, or any other sign of just how anxious I’d gotten in the last three minutes. “Oh. I’m sorry, Spencer, I forgot I was supposed to see you today.” She mumbled, sounding genuinely apologetic if not a little confused.

“You… forgot?” I repeated, quickly making my way over to the calendar hung on a bulletin board outside the kitchen, noting the nothingness over both the current and following week.

“Yeah, I guess I got carried away with school.”

She was lying. I couldn’t be for sure about what, but it was obvious. If she was really having that much trouble with classes, she would have told me. We’d gotten past the whole insecurity over me thinking she was stupid thing a long time ago, and she knew I would always let her learn it on her own if she didn’t want my help.

“... What are you not telling me?” I tried to make the words playful, although my hand was now nervously patting the side of my hip at an alarming rate.

“Nothing! I just got distracted. I’m... a little busy today so we should just meet up again next weekend.”

“A week?” I knew she was probably getting tired of me parroting her words, but that just seemed like a ludicrous amount of time. Usually, we went barely a day or two without seeing each other when I was in the city, cherishing the time together when I wasn't called away to attend to crimes halfway across the country.  

“What’s going on?” My voice was quickly falling into that register that warned her I was about to start profiling her, whether I wanted to or not. And unfortunately, she chose the worst possible reaction to that warning, further tipping me off to the fact that something wasn't quite right.

“Spencer, stop being weird.”

But I wasn’t. I knew that I could be weird; it’s kind of my thing. If you looked up weird in the dictionary, you wouldn’t find my name, but you’d definitely find a description that perfectly characterized my personality.

“You’re the one being weird. Turn on your camera.”

“I can’t. It’s dark in here.” She shot back her answer so quickly, I knew that she had already anticipated the request.

“Then move.” I ordered more than suggested. She understandably didn’t take kindly to my reaction, but I know she also knew why I was doing it. The excuses she was giving weren’t even well thought out.

“What is this? An interrogation?” She scoffed, “Do you think I’m cheating on you with barely dissolved stitches in my intestines?”

I took a deep breath, sitting down at the kitchen table still sticky with leftover sugary liquor and turned the phone onto speaker. “Turn it on.” This time, my voice broke with the order. As much as that didn’t make it sound authoritative, it did make her feel guilty.

As the screen lit up, it all made sense in the worst possible way. She was forcing a fake smile, her other hand resting against her face in a failed attempt to draw attention away from the the mottled skin of her left eye.

“I’m not cheating on you. Happy?” The words were sharp on her tongue, an anger in her features paired well with the understanding that I wasn’t wrong to be worried. I honestly think that was what bothered her the most – that she wanted it to be nothing, for me to be overreacting, but knew that it was a little more serious that she let on.  

“I’m definitely not happy. What happened?” I was already at the door by the time the sentence ended... She shut off her camera just as quickly, hearing the commotion from my side. “Where are you? I’m coming right now.”

She sighed, and I could see it clearly despite the fact that she wasn’t on my screen anymore. “I don’t want you to come here. Spencer, I’m fine.”

I might have believed her. I might have honestly given her the benefit of the doubt – let her lie to me a little, and just accept that a black eye wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened. Eventually, she would tell me how she got it, so I wouldn’t need to worry about it.

But it became very obvious very quickly that it was not just a black eye.

“Ms. (Y/l/n)?” A third voice announced in the background, accompanied by the distinct sound of an alarm sounding in the distance.

“... Are you in a hospital?!”

“For fucks sake. I hate dating a profiler.” She grumbled, implicitly admitting that my conclusion was right. She wouldn’t let me have another word, speedily slurring her goodbye. “I have to go, Spencer. I’ll call you later. Love you!”

—————————————————

Anyone who has spent a long time in inpatient knows that nosy nurses are both the best and worst kind of people to be assigned to your stay. They were the best because they always had the best gossip and would spend their precious little free time sharing stories about their lives that were always more entertaining than whatever poorly budgeted gameshow was on the old, staticky television.

They were the worst because one wrong move meant that you were the subject of gossip. And boy, were they good at getting it out of you.

“Trouble in paradise?” She sweetly hummed as she pushed my bed down the hall.

I wanted to tell her that there was trouble, and that it was through no fault of my own. If the other people in the hospital didn’t have the audacity to be sick at the same time that I needed a CT scan, then I wouldn’t have even still been here. I could have been back at home, where… well, I guess Spencer would have figured it out either way.

“Yeah, I guess.” I sadly admitted, playing with the string of my gown. “He’s just a worrywart.”

The woman had that glimmer in her eye, the kind that came from years of seeing the same stories over and over again. Although, I had a hard time believing she’d ever been in this exact scenario, I guess they were all kind of the same after a while, semantics aside.

“Well, that makes sense considering your current state.” It was more of a reprimand than anything else, and I audibly groaned to try and get her to stop there. She didn’t, though, having spent enough time with me to know I needed to hear it. “You were very lucky, you know. If things had been even just a little bit different…”

Couldn’t you say that about everything? If things had been even just a little bit different, I never would have met Spencer in the first place. We never would have fallen in love or fought or done any of it at all.

I didn’t like thinking about that. I didn’t like even considering a life without Spencer. No matter how much pain I’d been through, or what traumatic memories were dug up, they were worth it.

That’s what she wanted me to realize, and she had succeeded. Suddenly, as we turned into the room, I was overcome with guilt at the way I’d ended my conversation with him.

The nurse knew it, too, because as she transferred me onto the scanner, she smiled. “I’m just saying, sweetheart. If he woke up next to your hospital bed last time, I understand why he’d be scared.”

Chewing on my lips, I thought about the last time I was in a hospital. I thought about how Spencer had curled his giant lanky body onto the bed and barely slept for 2 weeks. I could see the way his eyes got more sunken by the day, but never stopped shining with relief. I could hear him chewing on ice because he didn’t want to leave to grab food until after I’d woken up, and the cold would distract him from just how hungry he was.

“He must love you an awful lot to be that worried.”

I hated when they did that; when they read my mind and said exactly what I was thinking.

“Yeah, I know.” I tried to smile. It was hard with the stabbing pain in my stomach and the aching in the entire left side of my face, but I managed. It was just one of those things where if I thought of Spencer, my body had to react. It was as natural as breathing.

Which, speaking of…

“Take a deep breath in.” The technician alerted me from the speaker.

The high pitched whines of the CT scanner weren’t as obnoxious as the MRI machine. I was silently grateful that they were still too scared to use the giant magnet. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be stuck in a confined space, listening to loud banging that sounded too much like gun shots for my comfort.

Even just the thought made me nauseous. I felt like a baby, to have such a strong reaction to something so stupid. I’d been in an MRI before. I was a in a hospital. Nothing bad was going to happen to me, and I knew that.

But even now, in a machine that made virtually no noise and barely covered half my body, I wasn’t able to hold in a breath. Each time I tried, it felt like I was choking on Spencer’s lap again. The stinging in my stomach felt so much stronger, even though I knew it was healed.

The world felt like it was closing in on me, and every second that passed felt like days. I couldn’t even trust myself to guess how long it took for them to get images that should have taken no longer than 5 minutes.

I felt like such a burden. Like I was in their way. Like I was doing it wrong. Like I was a little kid, thinking that she knew what she was doing and could do it on her own.

I wanted Spencer.

That was the only thing I could think, and although it should have been comforting, it just left me feeling empty. The thought of him wasn’t enough to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. The hands of the nurses trying to calm me down didn’t help, either. They felt wrong. They felt cold.

I just wanted Spencer. I wanted him to be there to hold my hand and distract me from my own thoughts. I wanted him to replace them with other things, like he'd promised me. I wanted to make new memories far away from here.

But I couldn’t. I was an idiot and I’d gotten myself back in the hospital, and he wasn’t here because I told him I didn’t want him to be. Why had I told him that? There was no reason that made any sense.

Once we finally did get out of the damn radiology department, I could still only barely function. The ride back to my room was much quieter, and the nurse didn’t meddle anymore. Gossip was only fun when it didn’t hurt like this.

Again, I couldn’t trust myself to guess how long I’d been in the CT scanner, but as we crossed back into my room, an overwhelming sensation of relief washed over me when I saw his satchel in the seat beside my bed. I hated the knowledge that I’d wasted 45 minutes of the technician’s time, but I was just so fucking happy that he had actually come.

Being alone in my room wasn’t a big deal anymore, because I knew it was only temporary. So as soon as I could, I sat up and waited patiently for my favorite mop of curly brown hair to peek around the corner.

He didn’t disappoint. He rarely did.

“Hey little girl.”

All the tension melted from my muscles, my head finally resting against the pillow with a dopey smile on my face. “Spencer.” I sighed, holding my hand out to him to usher him closer.

He gladly took the invitation, taking wide steps so he could be with me sooner.

“You shouldn’t be here.” I grumbled, flicking him on the arm while I locked our hands together. “But I’m glad you are.”

It was obvious from the way he let out a deep breath that he was also relieved to see that I wasn’t angry at him for coming. However, that’s also where his relief stopped. Because he’d seen me an hour prior and knew that I hadn't been crying then. But now, on top of the black eye, he saw the red rimming my sclera.

Taking my hand into both of his, he pressed a hard kiss against the back of it. Without looking up, he muttered into the skin a sad plea.

“Talk to me.”

“About what?” I asked, pulling back on my hand so he would stop with the shameless display of romance in such an awful place.

“Whatever’s going on.” He paused, but was clearly unhappy with the open ended question, and just as quickly specified, “What happened last night?

Unfortunately, I still wasn’t in the giving mood, even when it was information, and even if the person begging me for it was the boyfriend that I’d just cried for in the CT Scanner. If anything, that almost made it worse.

I hated feeling like this. Vulnerable.

“Nothing.”

Spencer was getting fed up, but it was like I couldn’t stop myself from fighting with him. I didn’t want to. I wanted to tell him that I needed him to take care of me and ask him to hold me while I cried on his shoulder about nothing at all, but I couldn’t. He would do it in a heartbeat, but I couldn’t ask him to. I couldn’t ask him for anything.

I couldn’t need anything without feeling too horribly guilty.

“Please don’t lie to me.” He was begging again, looking up at me with those impossibly warm amber eyes. He smiled when he saw the way my lips curled at the sight of him, unable to be angry for too long.

“Am I not allowed to have any stories for myself?” I joked, reaching forward to poke his face. Instead of moving away to avoid my hand, he leaned into the touch.

“You can. I just...”

“I know. You’re worried.” I responded with an exasperated sigh, rolling my head back. I could still feel him watching me, though, with a precarious smile, happy to see my spirits relatively high while also being deeply unhappy about the circumstances.

Wanting to see that full, confident smile again, I realized I didn’t have much of a choice. I’m sure that whatever he’d come up with in his head was much more sinister than what had actually happened.

“Fine. Stop looking at me like that.” I mumbled, gesturing to the childlike pout and laughing when he sucked his lips into his mouth in an attempt to follow my direction. I was glad he was still in a joking mood, because I had a feeling it would disappear as soon as I started talking.

I took a deep breath, looking up and away before I began my explanation of the stupidest night.

“I went out for drinks with my friends–”

“Drinks?!”

It hadn’t even been five seconds and he’d already cut me off. I couldn’t blame him, but it was so freaking annoying. This was exactly why I hadn't told him. Well, that and the fact he could get in serious trouble.

“I didn’t have any! Geez. Chill out.” I yelled back, chuckling a little bit at the conflicting looks of terror and relief. Because while he obviously believed that I didn’t drink any myself, it gave ugly context to the nightmarish guesses his mind had concocted.

“And everything was fine. We were on our way home. But then some asshole started messing with my friend. And she was way too drunk and started crying.” I was groaning internally the whole time, thinking about all the different ways this whole situation could have been avoided. Honestly, I don’t know why she had decided to try and square up with a cat caller when she knew damn well that she would start crying the second he raised his voice.

Which, of course, he had.  

“So, I told the guy to fuck off. And he did not like it.”

There was a powerful rage boiling under the surface of Spencer’s skin, which was only betrayed by his clenched jaw and the sheets scrunched under his hand. “Did they arrest him?” He said, trying to calm the trembling in his voice. He wasn’t angry at me for being a victim, even if he was probably a little annoyed that I went out without telling him.

Not like he was even in the state, anyway.

“I didn’t press charges.”

He took a deep breath, clearly about to tell me that I was stupid for not holding him accountable. That I could’ve gotten hurt and he would’ve gotten away with it. That I could’ve died if he’d hurt me the wrong way.

I didn’t want to hear it.

“Stop. I didn’t want to go to court, and I’m fine. I didn’t even need invasive surgery again.”

Spencer was still angry but trying to settle himself down before he spoke. He could hardly even look at me, his hand leaving the bed to run through his hair and shake his keys in his pockets.

I wanted to tell him that the tension of silence was worse than if he’d just raised his voice at me, but I couldn’t even gather the energy to do that. My body and mind seemed resigned to their current state; they’d just given up.

“(Y/n)...” He started, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up at the use of my name. They didn’t retreat, especially not when he dragged a chair over to my bedside, sitting down and placing a gentle hand over mine again.

“Are you okay?”

It was so sincere. So pure, so unforgivably kind. My hand that had felt paralyzed seconds earlier twitched under his. “I just told you.” I shrugged, fighting the urge to pull my arm away again. I wanted him here. I wanted him to touch me.

So why did it hurt? Why did everything hurt?

“That’s not what I’m worried about.” His voice broke, and I saw the way he was holding back tears with his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth. He was biting back so many things he didn’t want me to know.

But again, I was too tired to fight it. So instead, I said nothing.

“It doesn’t take a profiler to see you’re hurting.” He continued, urging me to give him anything to work with. “How can I make it better?”

He just wanted to help. Why couldn’t I let him help?

“I’m fine. Nothing even happened to me.” My throat tried to reject the words, my brain screaming at me that they were fundamentally untrue. But my heart hurt, pounding louder in my chest to tell me that the logic was wrong. Because I was a big girl, and I shouldn’t be scared by things that already happened.

I’m safe, right? I don’t need to be scared, right?

Spencer could see the panic on my face because I couldn’t even have hid it if I'd wanted to. And my brain was telling me to not to. It told me that I needed to talk to him, to let him listen.

“That’s not true. You’ve been through a lot.” He bargained, trying to locate that little voice in my head with his offerings. He wanted to pull that small part of me out and force it to talk so that we might finally be able to start to move on.

“You go through worse every day.”

‘It’s common for patients suffering from PTSD to minimize their suffering or compare it to others. It’s a completely normal response, but I want you to try to resist belittling your own feelings. They’re yours, and no one else’s. Okay, sweetheart?’

The voice was so clear in my head, my body jerked in response. I looked around the room, looking for any sign of the man who’d told me them first. But he wasn’t here; he hadn’t been here for some time.

“Do you know how many profilers I’ve seen leave in my time at the bureau?” Spencer distracted me from the thought. He probably figured my flashbacks were more sinister than what they actually were. As upsetting as they had once been, hearing my dad’s voice in my head was usually oddly soothing.

“No.” I answered blankly, trying to pay all attention to the man who was still here.

“Four. And I’ve considered it myself.” There was a soft chuckle to hide the guilt in the admission.

I didn’t know why he felt bad for it; his job was so ridiculously difficult. On top of constantly having to rearrange his life on account of the various inextinguishable evils in the world, he had to face those evils every day and try to figure out their inner workings in order to thwart them. The only time I'd ever done that, I'd killed all three of them. Not the best track record.

“The first one, she... she reminds me a lot of you.” The soft twinkling in his eyes, much like emotional music in the movies, alerted me that a backstory was coming. Based on the extent of just how nostalgic he was coming, I guessed that whatever he was about to say was deeply important to him.

However, I was fragile enough as it was, and I didn’t need to add jealousy to my current emotional repertoire. “Is this another JJ origin story? Cause I don’t think I can handle it.”

He laughed, shaking his head at the frustrated pout that formed on my face. “No,” He said quietly, taking a pregnant pause to formulate the story. “Her name was Elle.”

The story he told was woven well, although I expected no less. He told it passionately and with absolute sincerity. He told me about the woman who was one of the first people he'd bonded with on the team. The playful relationship he described was painted so vividly in my imagination.

I wanted to meet her. But by the end of the story, it was obvious that it wasn’t an option. He didn’t say anything about it, but from the far off look I could guess that he hadn’t seen her since that last day.

“She was like a sister to me, and to see her fall apart and not be able to do anything to help her... it was one of the worst feelings in the world.”

And I understood then, why he was worried about me the way he was. He was projecting his previous experience on me, but things were different with me. At least, that’s what I told myself. Realistically I should have been reminding myself that she'd had the training and resources to overcome her obstacles, whereas I was basically still a stupid kid. The prospect of facing the reality was too difficult though; I just shrugged it off.

“Well, I already killed the people who did this to me.” I chuckled.

Spencer did not appreciate my humor. There was an even stronger concern that flashed over his features, worried by my flippancy over the death of three human beings.

Fuck, I should feel worse about it than I do, shouldn’t I? But if I thought about it, then it hurt so badly. If I had to pick one, I would pick apathy every time. I would choose the emptiness before the ocean of remorse.

“I’m not worried about them.”

I had drifted away from him again, and the sentence forced me to look at him.

‘I’m not worried about them. I’m worried about you.’

I’d said that before. Those were my words.

I pulled my hand back from Spencer, rubbing my forehead with both hands before wincing at the sharp pain around my eye socket. It took me a minute to focus on the sentence and dive deeper into its implications. But once I remembered why it instilled such a visceral reaction, I nearly gagged on the words.

“Wait, you think I’m going to kill myself?”

“I didn’t say that.” He quickly responded in the most defensive manner possible. If that was his attempt to calm me down, it did not work. It only pissed me off even more.

Because there was only one reason why he would think I was going to kill myself. I hadn’t given him any reason to believe that was a risk. Yeah, sure, I was being reckless and impulsive, but I was a teenager!

“Why would you think that?” I demanded an answer, and he was immediately hesitant to provide one. It was all the evidence I needed to reach my conclusion. “Don’t lie to me, Spencer Reid. You asked Hotch, didn’t you?”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair now that it was obvious, I wasn’t going to want him to touch me. “Yeah, I did.”

“You told me you wouldn’t, Spencer! You promised!” I ground the words out between my teeth, hoping he understood just how much I was holding back my volume.

He looked over at the screen monitoring my heart, noting the way the spikes appeared at an exponentially faster rate. “I know.” He whispered with an evident guilt.

“What did he tell you?” I hated the way my voice shrank with my shoulders, my body insisting that I assume to the smallest position I could. Because as much as I hated that Spencer had asked when he told me he wouldn’t, I was desperate for the information.

I’d always wanted to see the files, to hear the story as they knew it. I wanted to know what happened, and this was probably the closest I’d ever come to that, unless that whole Ouija board thing is real.

“Probably the same stuff that you already know.” He knew he was disappointing me. He shouldn’t have felt as bad about that as he did, but I’d take the implicit apology for what it was.

“Tell me anyway.”

Spencer should have been delighted to have the opportunity to talk at me for such a long time, but I also understood why he wasn’t. They weren’t the best topics of conversation, your ex-best friend and your girlfriend’s dead father. But he was a trooper and a skilled conversationalist, despite people not being able to understand that.

“He told me that there were several missions your father was a part of that ended controversially. That… he reported several violations that were never followed through on.”

The words so easily unlocked memories I had tightly and resolutely locked away, it was unsettling. I could hear my parents arguing about the philosophy of blame and responsibility. My dad always arguing that he couldn’t stand aside and let innocent people get hurt. My mom reminding him that he couldn’t save everyone.

‘We also get to see a lot of good.’ Spencer had said on our first not-a-date.

‘Yeah, but which do you see more of?’ I’d asked, and he’d avoided the question. I remembered seeing the question dance across his vision before he shut it out. He'd wondered why I was so confident in my conclusions.

“And the last mission…”

He didn’t have to wonder anymore.

“I saw the report.”

My breath was knocked from my lungs by an invisible fist to my damaged gut. I swallowed, trying to regulate my heart that was at risk of setting off the damn machine next to me. “What did it say?” I whispered, clutching onto the sheets and my gown, hoping it would be enough to keep me grounded.  

“Killed in action.”

“That’s fucking bullshit.” I barked, my brows furrowing regardless of just how badly it hurt to contort my face so badly.  “He didn’t– H-He wasn’t–“

“I know.” Spencer responded, a note of pity in his voice that made my face twitch in annoyance.

I turned to him with the same snarl, years of repressed anger resurfacing and wreaking even more havoc on my already destroyed life. “Do you? Do you know?”

“I mean, I can’t ever know for sure but… You weren’t the only one who felt that he...” He couldn’t say the word suicide, and for once, I was grateful. “It seems like all of his team had the same concerns.”

He was trying so hard to calm me down, to placate my fears and rage. He was sympathizing the best he could, but the truth was he would never be able to understand just how fucked up it was. He hadn't been there when it was happening, so the only thing he could do was try to slap a band-aid on a well-settled scar and hope that my not being able to see it made it hurt less.

“I’m sorry.” He uttered the two words cautiously, his heartbreak clear in his eyes. He had nothing to apologize for, but there he was, doing it anyway.

“For what?”

“That you’ll never have your answer.”

I don’t know what I expected him to say, but his answer took me by surprise. Of all the explanations I’d heard after an unnecessary platitudinous apology, I’d never heard that. And even worse, I’d never heard it in such a broken way, sounding for all the world like he believed he'd failed tremendously.

“I’m sorry that... that I couldn’t find it for you.”

I couldn’t stand the sight, and my hand found his cheek like it did so often, returning home to find that it was just a bit more stubbly than I remembered it. “It’s not your job, Spencer. We’re not one of your cases.” I assured him, running my thumb over the rough skin and remembering that he’d only just gotten home from exactly that: a case.

He did so much for me every day, but in the past few months he’d had to do so much more. And as much as I tried not to, I took him for granted so often. It was never as obvious to me as it was in that moment, when a tear slid down his cheek at the tenderness of my touch.  He always expected anger and pain. I didn’t want him to feel that way with me.

“But thank you for trying. I appreciate you.” I tried to throw my soul into the words as they formed on my tongue, but all that came out was a pathetic whimper. “I love you very much.”

“I love you, too.” He sighed into the small embrace, leaning his weight more heavily into my hand. Still holding back, he grimaced at the words he shared. “If I’m going to be honest, I looked something else up myself. Not on any FBI database just... old school research”

I wanted to act surprised, but it was the least shocking thing I’d heard in a while. So instead I just stared at him, with the closest I could come to boredom while still being interested in what he had to say.

“Yeah? What’d you find?” Finally settling into the inevitable resignation, I moved my hand up the side of his face to tangle in his hair. It was so soft despite not having been washed for a few days. I could tell he hadn’t slept much. I wondered why he'd bothered digging into my past in the precious little free time he had.

But then he said it, reminding me of the pain of the cemetery and the events that both preceded and followed it.

“Trent Loughton.”

My fingers stopped in their exploration of his curls for a second, but eventually continued. “I see.” I hummed, trying not to push the conversation any further than he wanted to take it. As emotional as the topic was for me, it must have been harder for him. After all, he was the one who shared the nasty habit with Trent.

“I-I saw how he died... and I think I can fill in the rest myself.”

“Mrs. Loughton did give a lot of clues.” I laughed, mostly to stop myself from crying. That woman didn’t deserve any more of my tears. It was because of her that I’d spent years trying to convince myself that Trent’s death wasn’t my fault. Deep down, a part of me still believed her.

But honestly, it wasn’t my opinion that really mattered to me. It was Spencer’s. If he thought I was a failure, or that it was my fault for what happened, I wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to move past it. I wasn’t sure that I would ever be able to move past it.

“The drugs he overdosed on... they weren’t yours.”

Relief washed over me, but my mind told me not to get too comfortable, yet. “No, they weren’t.” My body had such a strange reaction to the words being said without an argument. I didn’t need to convince Spencer; he already knew. He not only believed me – he had come to the conclusion himself.  

“So why did you say they were?”

It was such an easy answer, I knew he had to know it already. His hesitance to come to conclusions on my behalf, while appreciated, wasn’t necessary in this situation. “Pretty little girl with no record and a batshit war hero dad stood a better chance in the criminal justice system. I didn’t ask my dad to protect me, but he did.”

Spencer clearly sympathized with my father more so than me in that moment, which made my heart flutter in a remarkably inappropriate manner. I just couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that those damn psychologists were right – We really do sometimes pick men that remind us of our fathers.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Spencer said under his breath, and I wondered which one he was even talking about. It honestly could have applied to my whole life. He would have meant it each time, too. Because to him I couldn’t do anything wrong. I tried to take solace in that, but it honestly caused another voice to creep into the back of my mind.

I’d never be as good as he saw me. I’d never be worthy of his love.

Shoving those anxieties away again, I nodded in solemn recognition of the years I spent working to come to that same conclusion. “I know. It just took me a while to figure it out.”

My hand finally fell away from his face, although he grabbed my wrist to stop it from going too far. There was another hesitancy in his body language. His face turned down and his leg bouncing so gently I almost missed it.

“Is he the one you were talking about? The one you loved?”

Ah, nothing like a subtle hint of jealousy to boost a girl’s ego. I chuckled at the sound, swaying a bit in place to let him suffer a millisecond longer. “No. Not exactly.”

But then I genuinely couldn’t figure out how to say it. How could I describe what we had shared, when I'd spent so long trying to forget it? Had I loved him? Probably. No, I'd definitely loved him, just not in the way Spencer was thinking. Not like I loved Spencer.

“It was like, he always liked me, and I always thought we’d end up together because that’s how it happens in the movies, right? I was supposed to fall in love with him.” I ranted, trying to move my hands that were currently wrapped up in Spencer’s. “But I didn’t, and then he was gone and...”

We both stopped, his eyes trailing after me with questions he didn’t voice yet. He wanted me to finish before he decided whether or not they were worth it. I wanted to explain to him that they weren’t. As important as Trent was to me, he was gone.

“It’s fine. I’m sure he would be glad I found someone who makes me happy.” I was confident in that, at least. Because as I stared into those big hazel eyes, forcing themselves to stay open just to listen to me talk about my life, I was glad, too. “Even if that someone snoops too much for his own good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There were many reasons, most of which I didn’t want to go into. But the way he was looking at me shattered my heart into a million pieces, and I knew that if I lied to him now, it would only make it harder to put those parts back together.

He just wanted to help. I knew I should let him help.

“I didn’t want to think about it.” I admitted for the first time out loud. “I didn’t want to consider all the similarities. I didn’t want you to think I was just looking for a man to replace the ones I’ve lost.”

I couldn’t tell when I started to cry, but it was even more exhausting and painful than normal. Which is why I didn’t hesitate to accept Spencer’s offer when he stood up, wrapping his arms around me just tightly enough that it wouldn’t hurt.  

“I didn’t want to lose you, too.” I whined, the comforting scent of his cologne filling my lungs and reminding me of all the beautiful moments we’d shared so far. We had so many more to go.

“You won’t lose me. I’m here to stay.” He said, reading my mind like he always did.

“I know.” I started to laugh, but this time it wasn’t held back by secrets. “You’d think a girl could lose you by getting in a bar fight an hour away and going to an unnamed hospital but nooo...”

He laughed too, although his was much more reserved. Spoilsport.

Spencer’s arms tightened around me briefly, holding me closer to him before he backed away, his hands finding home on my cheeks. I anticipated a kiss, which was usually what happened when he held me like that. But he didn’t kiss me, instead giving me a gentle instruction.

“(Y/n), look at me.”

My eyes, bruised and dry, still opened at his command.

“No jokes. No lies.” He asked, clearly enunciating each word. “Should I be worried about you?”

All I could hear was the sound of my heart and the humming of the machines. I was brought back to the CT scanner, the way it felt to be choking on air. Flashes of other men I loved were racing through my mind. I couldn’t save them, I remembered, before my eyes landed back on Spencer.

My stomach twisted at the memory of a wooden box, a check, and suddenly all I smelled was the pine of the forest.

“(Y/n)?” He asked again, although I saw he’d already received half of the answer.

“No. I’m fine.”

The most terrifying part about it was that I believed what I said, but the look on Spencer’s face told me that I was lying. And I believed that, too.

—————————————————

The thing about coming back from a gunshot wound to the stomach is that it takes a ridiculously annoying amount of time. Like, yeah, the pain is something awful, but the wait for things to return to normal was even worse.

I didn’t even know how long it’d been, my brain blocking out anything that reminded me of that day. If I ever really needed to know, Spencer could tell me. I was basically only keeping track of the days by deadlines for school and the dwindling prescriptions I had left.

My follow-up appointment was next week, and it couldn’t come soon enough. Spencer told me he would come with me, but I hadn’t really heard from him in a couple of days. He didn’t even have time to tell me about the case, although I could tell it was one of the “bad” ones – not that there were really any “good” ones.

But still, it was almost 11pm and I was about to go to sleep, but I wanted to wait a little bit longer before I called it a night. I was just hoping that I’d be able to talk to him, even if it was just to say goodnight. I missed his voice like crazy.

So when my phone lit up, I didn’t even look at the caller ID. There weren’t many people who would call me this late on a Friday – my friends were all already out for the night.

“Hello?” I sang into the receiver, already excitedly spinning around in my chair.

But the voice that responded was decidedly not Spencer.

“Hey, (y/n), right? It’s JJ.”

Her voice rang like a record scratch through my head, and I halted in my chair. “Oh, hey JJ... Why are you calling me?” Suddenly, my enthusiasm morphed into an overwhelming anxiety and darkness that threatened to crush everything in its path. “I-Is everything alright?”

But then I heard it. The sound of terrible music, loud laughter, and the general bustle of a restaurant. It was followed by an even more nervous JJ, “Uhh, yeah. Everything is fine. I was calling because Spencer might have had a few too many drinks and—“

Above the chaotic noise that I just described, I heard Spencer Reid loud and clear. Well, maybe not the clear part. His inaudible slurring sounded vaguely like a rant I’d heard before. Then again, hadn't I heard them all at this point? ?

I hadn’t put it together yet, though, and once I did, I couldn’t help but laugh. “My boyfriend is drunk? Cute.”

I was already standing, gathering my things and tossing my jacket on to head out when I asked, “Do you want me to come get him?”

“Please.” I’d never heard a more relieved woman in my life. The very thought of him driving his best friends insane with his drunken lessons was enough to combat my exhaustion. The poor thing was probably humiliating himself one sip at a time.

But for every chuckle, I was really just hiding a deeper concern. Spencer wasn’t supposed to be drinking. Spencer wasn’t allowed to drink, and he knew that. Out of the two of us, he was the one who put himself at risk more often, and I had a goddamn bullet wound.

“Sure thing. Just send me the address.”

It dawned on me somewhere along the 20 minute drive that Spencer had not only finished his case, but also come home and gone out for a drink with his team. Normally that wouldn’t bother me, but the fact that he hadn’t told me about any of it...?

I tried not to think about it, knowing that talking to him about it tonight would be a waste of time, anyway. From the way he'd sounded over the phone, he wouldn’t be in any state to talk about the deep nuances of addiction and our relationship.

So I pushed it away, trying to enjoy the fact that I’d be able to see him again. Now that we’d cleared the air about my past, things felt strangely calm. I told myself it wasn’t just the eye of the storm because I  wasn't sure I could handle much more excitement lately.

Showing up at one of the bars I used to frequent didn’t do much to convince me otherwise, either. The stench of cigarette smoke and alcohol hit me like a freight train as soon as I stepped out of my car. How did I do this every other night before?

As I approached the door, I didn’t even recognize the bouncer’s figure in the shade of the dim porch light. I recognized his voice, though, that’s for sure.

“Hey Jailbait, haven’t seen you around.”

Shit. Slower now, I hesitantly approached him with the most innocent and well-meaning look I could muster, knowing full well that another part of my life was going to be exposed tonight. At least this time, Spencer was the story and not the listener.

“Hey Tom...” I nervously laughed, drawing out the words while I came to a stop.

“Heard some pretty crazy shit went down to keep you off the scene. Must be bad if it keeps you away from me.”

It was weird to think that they talked about me. But I guess it was to be expected; we were all friends before Spencer Reid. And when someone in those friend groups goes missing suddenly, there’s usually reason to be worried. But in my situation, the worry wasn’t really necessary (aside from the whole being shot thing, I guess).

“Crazy is a good word for it.”

He leaned forward, beckoning for me to move in even closer with a wave of his hand. I complied, although I was a little confused as to why we were being so secretive.

“Hey, sorry, but... I can’t let you in tonight. You know I normally would, but the place is swarming with feds tonight.”

Then I remembered that I actually had to explain the reason for my absence, rather than just think about it in the abstract. “Oh no, I know.” I peered around him, trying to spot the man past the door. It wasn’t hard, considering how goddamn tall he was.

I pointed to him, causing Tom to turn with an amused grin before I explained, “I’m here for the drunk noodle man.”

The look on his face – hilarious, and a little insulting.

“What? Jailbait’s picking up a fed? Damn girl what’ve you been into?” He laughed, barely able to control himself. He laughed so hard, in fact, I’m surprised there weren’t tears in his eyes.

“Stop that.” I whined, but he didn’t listen.

“Does he know who he’s dating?”

The question hurt more than he could have anticipated. I didn’t want to confront those messy feelings, so I bundled them all into an annoyed exclamation. “Yes, he knows!” I huffed, crossing my arms and turning away from him as I stepped towards the door. “So can I go get him?”

He composed himself rather quickly after that, shaking his head and unhooking the rope that blocked off the door. “Please do. If I have to hear one more fact about Ancient Rome, I might quit.”

With the last obstacle gone, I happily skipped through the door, the excitement returning in a bubbling wave through my chest. “Thanks, Tom!” I chirped, barely giving him a glance as I raced through the door.

The only person more surprised to see me than Tom was Spencer. Although, to his credit, I did practically launch myself at his side. We both nearly toppled to the ground thanks to  our lack of coordination, but we were luckily stopped by the bar he was leaning against.

“Boo!” I shouted in his ear, hearing a small, surprised gasp from my boyfriend.

“(Y/n)?” He turned towards me now, stars quickly forming in his eyes as a big, goofy smile spread across his face. It took him a minute, but eventually he recognized me in the dim light.

“Hey old man.”

Hugging me back just a little too tightly, he began to gush, “Oh my gosh. What are you doing here?” Of course, before I could answer, he came to several other conclusions. “Wait! This is a bar. You can’t be here! You aren’t twenty one!”

He thought he was whispering, but he definitely, definitely was not.

“I’m here to pick you up, not party.” I actually whispered back, turning to see JJ practically hiding at the table. I’m guessing he hasn't wanted her to call me, although I was pretty sure he wouldn’t care at this point. He seemed pretty happy I was there.

“You can’t pick me up. You’re hurt.”

I didn’t even know where to start with that, so I just chuckled. “Smart as a whip, Dr. Reid.”

I ran my hands over his shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkled dress shirt he'd either had no time to iron, or had worn to bed the night before.  I didn’t like either of those options. Spencer must have noticed me analyzing the fact, because his hand came up to stop me.

Trying to quickly change the subject, I blurted out over the terrible music, “Even when I’m hurt, I can probably still pick you up. You probably weigh the same as me.”

He scoffed, looking down at his lanky body compared to mine before shaking his head. “That’s hurtful, (y/n).” He attempted a puppy dog face, which only made laughter burst from my pursed lips.

Grabbing hold of his wrists and pulling him away from the bar, I turned and waved to the few team members I could spot among the crowd before returning to my drunken idiot of a boyfriend. “Come on, love. It’s time to take you home with me.”

When the cool autumn air hit him, I felt the goosebumps ripple over his arm. He leaned a bit closer, resting too much of his body weight on me for my comfort, but I wasn’t going to tell him to stop.

“How did you find me?” He mumbled, trying to touch me more than he currently was. Pushing him away from me was supposed to serve as a gentle reminder that we were in public, but he didn’t seem to care about that at all.

“JJ called me.”

“They all like you a lot. So do I.” His fast responses were a little less impressive considering how spontaneous they seemed, but I let it slide. As long as he was saying nice things, it was fine by me.

Guiding him as gently as possible, which is to say not gently at all considering he was essentially a human giraffe, I sighed. “I’m glad to hear it, Spencer. Maybe I can actually hang out with them one of these days.”

The guilt appeared before I could stop it, but it was the least of my worries at the moment. More concerning would be getting him into his house and in bed without either of us doing something stupid. After all, he was usually the one who stopped me from being stupid. And so far tonight, he’d already done something pretty damn stupid.

As I pulled the driver side door closed, a silence filled the car. Spencer was stuck between staring at me with a lovesick smile and looking away, probably because of his pink cheeks making him look a perfect combination of embarrassed and plastered.

“So what had you drinking, Spencer?”

“A case.” He shot back with that voice he usually reserved for the bedroom. It was the voice that told me not to press, to take his answer and let it die.

Unfortunately, I couldn't really do that this time, concerning this particular topic. . “Good thing or bad thing drinking?” I asked quietly.

I think he wanted to snap at me, to tell me that it was clear he didn’t want to talk about it, but he didn’t. The way my hands and words trembled told him that I was just as scared as he was that the answer might be the wrong one.

“I don’t know,” was what he said, instead.

“Okay.” I accepted that answer, understanding that it meant we could talk about it later, when his blood went back to normal and his mind was where it should be. “We don’t have to talk about it.”

And there we were, me sitting and staring at the indicators on the car as the engine turned, and him staring at me in the little light provided. After staring back at him for a moment, I had to ask the glaringly obvious question.

“Why are you staring at me like that?”

That’s when Spencer Reid let out an honest to god giggle, his hands reaching out to massage my face that no longer showed any signs of the black eye I'd received a few weeks prior. “You’re sooo pretty.” He drawled, slumping over in his seat so he could rest his face against my shoulder.

I couldn’t help but laugh back, petting his hair for a second before returning my attention to the wheel. “Oooh, I like this.” I whispered, letting my heart skip a few beats as he nuzzled into the warmth that only I could provide him.

“I love you.” He mumbled against my shirt, letting out a deep breath before apparently trying to fill his lungs with the smell of my laundry detergent.

The sensation of his breath hot against my neck caused a familiar desire to stir in me, just barely beaten out by the even more powerful adoration I had for the puppy-like man who was already practically asleep on my shoulder.

“I love you, too, darling.”

He didn’t hear me, his soft breath indicating that he would be out for the drive. Taking my time to avoid the roads with potholes and curves, I managed to keep Spencer on me the whole way back to his apartment. Once we were there, though, I didn’t have any option but to wake him up. Unlike him, I definitely could not carry him out of the car.

It took him a surprisingly long period of time to realize that we were not, in fact, at my place. As soon as he did notice, he rubbed his eyes like it would transform the door in front of him. “Why didn’t you take me home?”

“This is your apartment, babe.” I explained, digging through his pockets to find his keys. He jumped at the contact before letting out a sound that was way too close to a moan for him to be making in the hallway.

“Yeah that’s not home.” He answered, swallowing down other noises that threatened to erupt by the time I withdrew my hand. “But home is–“ He hiccuped, patting his finger on my nose as he tried to stabilize his feet. “Home is where you are.”

“Mmm, so smooth.” I hummed, unlocking the door and shoving his drunk ass into the apartment before he could do something else that made me question whether I should just turn around and go home.

But he just looked so proud of himself, spinning around on his feet and crashing into the table beside the door. “Thank you!” He chirped, reaching forward to grab my hand and pull me closer.

When our bodies pressed together, the first thing I noticed was the fact he was clearly much more excited to be home with me than he was letting on. The thin fabric of his slacks left little to the imagination, and when my hand slid over the tent in his pants, there was nothing left to wonder.

“I brought you here... because I didn’t want to have to be quiet.” I purred, palming his erection over his clothes.

Through his broken moans, he still managed to ask the silliest question: “Why are you going to be loud?”

He was so fucking cute; so remarkably innocent in his drunken stupor, it was hard to remember that he was the same man that once finger fucked me on the metro.

“Why do you think?” I asked just as sweetly, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.

Spencer still just stared, mesmerized by the way the buttons slipped from the fabric between my fingers. Once they were all open, I ran my hands over his chest before wrapping my arms around his neck.

He was the one to close the gap, coming down to deliver a feverish kiss against my lips. He tasted like honey and whiskey, and I wanted nothing more than to drown in him. His hands were on my lower back, sneaking under my shirt and spreading goosebumps all over my skin.

I moaned into his mouth with the utmost desperation, murmuring words against his lips. “Take me to bed, Spencer,” I begged.

The words awoke something in him, and suddenly, his hands were off of me and raised in the air.

“Wait— I can’t.” He concluded, drawing in heavy breaths.

“Why not?”

I wasn’t sure which part of this situation did him in, although I had my suspicions. As much as I wanted him, I would suppress those urges if he was really, truly uncomfortable. I almost felt bad for a second, but then he spoke again.

“I have a girlfriend.”

With a few slow blinks, I tried to figure out how the hell I was supposed to return a serious answer. Deciding that was impossible, I deadpan replied, “I am your girlfriend, you absolute idiot.”

I took his stunned silence to be permission enough to start leading him into his room. He honestly looked like I’d just told him all the answers to the universe, and he trailed after me like my hand was a leash. Still, once I sat on the bed and pulled his body against mine, he paused again.

“My girlfriend can’t— she’s hurt. She can’t have sex with me.”

I got the impression he was trying to reason with himself more so than with me, which explained the third person. But it was deeply unsettling, because I really needed to know he was here in this moment with me.

“Stop saying 'she'. It’s me, babe.” I gently reminded, and I watched it dawn on him again, his eyes lighting up in the darkness. Sliding my hand up his arm, I pulled him forward to hopefully convince him to climb into the bed with me. “And we don’t have to have sex.”

Funny enough, Spencer was the one who had enough sense to strip off most of his clothes before he stumbled onto the mattress after me. His lack of coordination was even worse with the alcohol, and it reminded me of the virginal teenager I’m certain he once was.

It was strange to consider, that if we’d met each other under different circumstances, at a different time, our roles might have been somewhat reversed. To picture him as an innocent little thing was... kind of exciting.

But he was anything but innocent now, his face hanging over mine while he helped me disrobe, trying to focus his analytical abilities on me in his haze. Finding no pain or hesitancy, he crashed his lips over mine with an energy I hadn’t seen in some time.

And it was so invigorating, to feel his skin against mine without him having to constantly worry about whether or not he was hurting me. It’d been far too long since we shared a bed together like this, and now that it was happening, I could hardly breathe.  

“God, I love her.” He whispered against my skin, before quickly correcting himself, “I love you.”

I laughed, the kind that sputters from your lips when you try to hold it back. Pushing the hair from his face, I ran my fingers over his scalp. “How drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk, I’m stupid.” He replied with a cheeky smirk, diving back down to kiss me again. I wasn’t going to argue with the brilliant Spencer Reid, even if the point he was making was that he was, in fact, stupid.

Maybe it was stupid, the two of us tangling up in his sheets despite the fact that I hadn’t been cleared for it yet by my doctor. I knew that it was coming soon – probably at my appointment in a couple weeks, actually – so why wait? I knew that Spencer would never hurt me. Even now, his hands were gentle in their insistence, raking over my hip and stopping just short of the place where I really wanted him.  

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful.” He groaned, his hips rocking forward and pressing his erection against my leg.

“Touch me.” I ordered, louder and more forcefully than I intended. I was expecting an argument, but I didn’t get one. In fact, Spencer’s finger had already breached my folds before I even finished talking. Unwilling to let him be the only one to enjoy himself, I reached down to grab his cock.

“Shit.” He hissed, biting down on his lip while he rutted against my hand. “I just want to hold you down and fuck you until you cry.” The restraint was obvious in the fingers slowly sinking into me, his jaw clenched and his eyes barely able to stay open. “But I can’t.”

Through my heavy breaths, I panted out another request. “Tell me more about it.”

He immediately realized why I’d asked, and his fingers began to pump in and out of me faster and with more force, his lips trailing kisses over to my ear. While I tried to keep up the pace of my strokes, it became more complicated when his breath fanned over my ear.

“It’s been so long since I bent you over and had my way with you like I did that morning over your kitchen counter...” He moaned, and I could almost feel the sensations as he remembered them. Although his fingers would never be the same, just having him inside me in any capacity felt like pure bliss.

But he wasn’t done, continuing to speak his thoughts into my ear. “I just want to—fuck, I want to fill you up.” I went to respond, but I choked on a sob, instead. The lewd sounds between us only aided his descriptions.

“God, I love the way you feel. You’re always so wet for me.” He whispered, beginning to make small thrusts with his hips. The movement essentially allowed him to use my hand to stroke himself, and he let out another unsteady moan at the contact. “Think about what it feels like, little girl.”

“I-I am.” I could barely make the words come out; my body too sensitive to his touch after being starved of it for so long. And Spencer was ready to take full advantage of that.

“I still have so much planned for you. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about that little stunt you pulled when you got all riled up.” He growled, using his free hand to grab a fistful of my hair. He yanked my head further to the side, laying sloppy kisses along my jaw. “I told you I’d give you triple the marks you left on me, and I can’t wait to cover you with me.”

“Fuck. Please, Spencer.” I hoarsely begged, my hand on his shoulder tightening so that my nails dug into his skin. If his grip on my hair wasn’t so tight, I would have thrown my head back. Instead, I just squirmed underneath him, crying out, “I’m so close, Spencer, please!”

He did not disappoint, his fingers curling inside of me with each thrust, and by some grace of God, he was able to coordinate his thumb over my clit. As if that wasn’t enough, he pulled back to look me in the eyes.  

“I want to feel you come on my fingers.” It was more of a demand than a desire, as evidenced by the way his hand tugged on my hair. “Come on, little girl. Make daddy proud.”

Just like that, my body responded to his call, my muscles trembling from the tension as my orgasm hit me like a fucking freight train. It was such an overwhelming experience, to remember exactly how Spencer was capable of making me feel.

And he knew it, too. “Oh, good girl,” he cooed, continuing his kisses against my neck and murmuring the words as they came to him. “That’s my pretty little slut.”

After taking my time coming back to earth, I struggled from the overstimulation still burning between my legs. Spencer hadn’t stopped his fingers, which were diligently stroking inside of me while he continued to buck his hips against my hand.

“I want you to finish inside me.” I slurred in my delirium, withdrawing my hand from his dick while he whimpered.

“I-I can’t. I can’t fuck you.” He was asserting a necessary and understandable hard limit, and it was clear I wouldn’t be able to convince him to fuck me that night.

But that wasn’t the plan, anyway.  

“That’s not what I’m talking about.” I said between gasps, struggling against his fingers still inside me. “Come up here.” I whined, rubbing my hands on his shoulders while simultaneously trying to sit myself up.

The movement and the words made him withdraw completely. “(Y/n)...” He warned, running a hand through his hair while he sat up on his knees. “I could hurt you.”

“That’s always been a risk with us, Spencer.” My retort was both quick and persuasive, judging by the way he almost moved, but stopped himself yet again.

“Please. Please, do it. I want you to do it so fucking bad.” There was an obvious and deep desperation. I was literally begging him, to the point that I swore I almost cried. It felt stupid, but I needed him like I’d never needed anything in my life before. He’d spent months taking care of me, and I couldn’t do anything in return.

I just wanted to make him feel good, to give him something like we used to share.

Of course, I think those thoughts were also visible on my face, and they were obviously worrying him. With tender touches, Spencer’s fingers lightly trailed over the side of my face. The brief flashes of clarity alerted him of my struggle, and he let out a shaky breath at the war inside his own mind.  

“I want to feel you inside me, and this is the only way.” I concluded, trying to lead him to the simplest conclusion. It was the safest, easiest way to solve both of our current problems. And although I could see how hard the decision was for him, my pleading eventually bested him.

“Fuck.” He mumbled, leaning forward to grab the headboard, staring down at me as I shimmied further up the wood.

“Fuck!” He repeated, rolling his head back with a light groan when both of my hands reached forward to grab his hips. “Fine. You’re lucky you’re so fucking cute.”

A giggle bubbled through my throat, and my body actually bounced in excitement as he slowly positioned himself in front of me. I wasn’t even sure which I was more excited for, my own orgasm or getting to finally give him one again.

As soon as my mouth closed around the head of his dick, I got my answer. Spencer’s moan filled the room, his hands holding so firmly on the headboard that the entire bed creaked. Although I figured he’d been taking care of himself in my absence, it appeared that wasn’t entirely the case. He seemed just as starved as I was.

“Holy shit.” He groaned, dropping a hand to the top of my head. I had to remind myself that he was drunk, which explained why he seemed so much more responsive than normal, with whimpers and pants flowing steadily through his mouth. He only got louder as he began to slowly push himself further into my mouth, stopping every few inches to retreat before pressing further.

“God, I need to do this more often. No back talk, no whining.” He said in a low tone under his breath, beginning to settle on a steady rhythm.

Meanwhile, I couldn’t think of anything except how fucking good it felt to be useful again, to feel him struggling to hold himself back as he started to more aggressively fuck my mouth. My eyes could barely stay open, but I needed them to. I needed to see him in the dim light of the streetlights that peered through the window.

He looked so beautiful, so perfect, and so mine. Feeling him slide back and forth against my tongue revived memories from long before and reignited my longstanding desire to do anything to please him. In all his caretaking, I was worried he might have forgotten how to control me.

But he hadn't.  Thank god, he hadn’t.

“Come on, little girl. Earn your fill.” He whispered, burying himself in my throat and holding me against the headboard. I only lightly choked on the intrusion before my body complied, swallowing him further until my lips were pressed against the base of him.

Suddenly, Spencer withdrew, beginning a brutal, dizzying pace. Now, my eyes couldn’t stay open, rolling to the back of my head as I used my hands to steady myself against his thighs. The sobs trying to escape felt more like moans, and they shoved Spencer over the edge he’d been riding in his caution.

“That’s it. Take it.” He barked the instruction, looking down at me and smiling, “Don’t you dare spill any of it, do you hear me?”

My answer was stifled against him, just the way he wanted it to be. And with a few more rough thrusts, Spencer buried himself as deep as possible. I swore my heart synchronized with the pulsing against my tongue as his seed spilled down my throat.

I hollowed my cheeks, trying to drain every last drop from him as he finished. It had its desired effect, and Spencer grabbed my hair and forced himself deeper one more time with a growl. “Good girl.”

Once he had enough, he pulled out of me with a satisfied grunt, waiting just a second before clumsily falling onto the bed beside me. I laughed as he hit the pillows, obviously too tired to even reposition himself in the disastrous sheets.

“Thank you, daddy.” I spoke in the silence, gingerly cleaning the spit that had dripped down my chin.

“Fuck.” The curse was muffled in the pillow, but I understood it well enough. He seemed more concerned when I started to sink down into the sheets again, reaching a tentative hand out to him.

Finally rolling over, he grabbed my arm and guided me closer. “Come here.” He said with the tenderness I’d grown used to over the past few months. He turned towards me, apparently not ready for me to sleep on my side just yet.

He brushed my hair from my face, lifting the sheets to look at the now mostly healed wound. I hated it when he looked at it. It just reminded me that I’d never be the same girl he first met. Every time he saw it, he would remember that day. I didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

But even with the insecurity and anger in my gut, I wasn’t lying when I answered. “No, I’m fine.” My heart was so full, my body relaxing for the first time in so long. I was just so unbelievably happy to be together again. Even if it wasn’t like last time, it was still just as wonderful.

“I’m a little better than fine, actually.” I admitted with a bright smile.

Spencer hummed something in thought, but then winced. “Do me a favor.” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes and wiping a heavy hand over his face.

“Anything.”

“Kick my ass in the morning.”

He was caught off guard by my response, which was a full-hearted laugh that was too loud for how close the two of were. But I couldn’t help it, it was just so Spencer to still be punishing himself despite the fact that nothing bad had happened.

Once I calmed down enough to talk, I turned to him with a devilish grin. “I don’t wanna.”

Then were both laughing, and Spencer pulled me close to him until he could rest his chin on the top of my head, curling up against my side. “Spoiled brat.” He whined, running his hand through my hair and down my arm.

When I smelled the whiskey on his breath, the guilt hit me just as hard as any of the pleasure. I'd been so excited to get to experience this with him again, I almost forgot the reason he didn’t want to do it in the first place.

He just didn’t want to hurt me. He just wanted to make me happy.

“I just wanted to be with you again... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.” I whispered, pulling the covers up so that I could hide my shame beneath them.

“I wanted to be with you, too.” He reassured me, half asleep and barely able to talk but wanting to get the words out. “I know it’s important to you, but I need you to know I would be with you even if I never got to touch you again.”

“Please never stop touching me.” I quickly replied, a genuine worry in my eyes.

But when Spencer glanced over, he just laughed, “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

“No? Even when I get pregnant and have a big ol’ belly?” I playfully answered, bringing his hand to my stomach and pressing it against the side that still remained intact.

The familiar position caused a shift in Spencer’s body language, and suddenly he was even more insistent on being impossibly closer. “You’ll still be irresistible to me.” He said against my hair, running his fingers lightly over the unmarked skin of my lower stomach.

“We’ll see, I guess.” I mumbled, not realizing that I said it aloud until I heard his confused reply.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.” The defensiveness in my voice was terrifyingly transparent, and I hoped that if his drinking made him forget anything, it would be this conversation. “Go to sleep, drunk ass.”

“I need hugs and kisses first.” He complained, rubbing his nose against me in a way that should have been irritating instead of adorable.

“Spoiled.” I grumbled, reaching a hand up to play with his hair. I turned to kiss his cheek through the smile that was plastered over my cheeks.

Already half snoring in his sleepy state, he got out one more cringe worthy joke before he succumbed to his exhaustion. “What’s good for the goose...”  

“...is good for the gander.” I finished for him, before taking the advice and following him to sleep.

 —————————————————

| Part 18 |

[wonderlustlucas]

jack pot ; part 1 - hwang hyunjin

⇢ prompt You know it’s bad when you’re high as a kite and he’s still on your mind. ⇢ pairing hwang hyunjin x female reader, seo changbin x female reader for like 2 minutes ⇢ word count 7.5k ⇢ genre fluff, angst (not heavy, just in a slow burn kind of way), slight smut ⇢ warnings drug use!!! & lots of it (marijuana), grinding, implied smut ⇢ summary College is a matter of working hard and playing hard. It’s an opportunity to start fresh, to grow as an individual and to blossom with those you befriend. People come and people go, leaving their mark on your life and showing you all the parts of becoming an adult. Some, however, do more than leave their mark. Some take just as much as they give. Things become complicated once they take the entirety of your love because you outright offered it to them.—college!au ; stoner!au ; friends to lovers!au ⇢ a/n yo!!! disclaimer: this initially was going to just be a long one shot but i decided to split it up into 3 parts, so just to let u all know part 1 & 2 does not have a ton of hyunjin interaction, they’re more character/plot building. part 3 is when things will get spicy ♥︎ i hope u enjoy! if u rb make sure to let me know what u thought in the tags mwah also i finally switched from ___ to yn are u guys proud of me :)

prelude.

Sometimes you really, truly, honestly think you could go right ahead and kill Han Jisung.

You say it all the time. Sometimes it’s a simple, “I will literally kill you,” or when you are feeling extra spicy, “Sleep with one eye open tonight.” He, of course, laughs it off like you aren’t vibrating with the urge to kick his kneecaps in. You seriously have lost count of all the times he has brought you to the brink of insanity.

And honestly, you have watched enough murder documentaries on Netflix that you probably could do it, but, you know, spending the rest of your life in prison does not sound that appealing. Plus, there’s the ever-troubling detail that Han Jisung is the closest thing you have to a best friend. So, it sort of goes against your basic human morals to backstab—literally—the most important human in your life.

But he really makes you crazy. Why you agreed to share an apartment with him in the first place is a mystery, but the fact that you leased it again for junior year is what really makes you lose sleep at night. Because, while he may be your best friend, Jisung is the epitome of a little shit. If such a compound word was in the dictionary, it simply would say ‘Han Jisung.’ Somehow, though, it makes you love him even more. Maybe it’s true that ‘opposites attract,’ or, perhaps, maybe it’s because no matter how much embarrassment and general self-loathing he may have caused you in the past, it has benefitted you in the end.

For example, his constant teasing about your lack of friends eventually led to you befriending a group of girls you always admired from afar. His snarky comments concerning your nonexistent social life finally got to you and now you can proudly wear the title of one of the best beer pong players in your class. His presence in general has taught you to stand up for yourself and what you believe in, whether it’s against him, your parents, a toxic friend, hell, even a professor. Proving people wrong, especially Jisung, is your favorite pastime.

Sometimes, though, it’s not that easy.

There’s one area in your life where you have accepted defeat. One area in your life where Jisung has his most fun. One area, or, perhaps one person, where you simply cannot step beyond your comfort zone.

Hwang Hyunjin is your Achilles tendon and Jisung is the arrow. There are times, along with all the times you’ve considered strangling Jisung in his sleep, where you have sat and actually prayed to the gods to send someone else. Someone not nearly as perfect as Hyunjin and someone not nearly as unattainable. Alas, these prayers, hook-ups, Tinder dates, anything to get him off your mind has proved futile; because here you are three years later, stuck with this stupid, absolutely infuriating crush on the only boy who has ever owned your heart because you outright gave it to him.

one.

You are beginning to think the two bubbly junior girls who led the campus tour you attended last year lied about the dining hall.

Correction: they one hundred percent lied.

Because even though the newly renovated food court looks nice—unscratched linoleum floors, shiny marble countertops and all sorts of seating to choose from—there must be something fishy going on with the cooks. Literally. Just last week, an upperclassman had a breakdown when she forked into her tuna (why anyone would want college seafood is another story) to find a worm right there in the middle of it. You have found little shards of glass in the yogurt and bugs even at You-Cook, but that’s all a part of the college experience, right?

“Are you sure there’s no spiders or anything? Did you check?” Beside you, Maddie watches with furrowed brows as you spoon a hefty serving of scrambled eggs onto your plate. Chuckling, you move down to grab a few sausages and a chocolate chip muffin before they are gone for the rest of the day; Lord knows, you are only a month in and carbohydrates have quickly become your emotional support, just like everyone else. “Yes, I checked,” you assure her, hiding a laugh with your hand as she leans over to further scrutinize the eggs, “I didn’t see any arachnids.”

“Good,” she hums, satisfied with your answer, “can you grab a banana muffin for me? They’re usually at the bottom.”

Nodding, you turn back to the blessed muffin basket, pushing away blueberry, corn, double chocolate, all because Maddie has to be different and go for the macadamia nut banana.

“Are those the dinosaur socks they were selling on move-in day?” In front of you, someone asks, and your first instinct is to look down at your feet just to confirm. 8:30 calculus simply turns your brain to mush and remembering how you dressed for the day is near impossible. “Yes!” Laughing, you lift your leg to get a closer look at the cute green t-rexes on skates. “I was sold once I heard they were a dollar.”

Tearing your gaze away from said socks, you look up and suddenly feel as if you have bumped into an angel. Maybe there were spiders in the eggs, deadly poisonous spiders that crawled up the spoon while you weren’t paying attention and bit your hand and now you are dead and this is the angel leading you to the heavens. That, or this simply is the most beautiful human you have ever seen up close and your brain does not know how to process it. Well, maybe that’s a little extreme, but you definitely have never been so starstruck in your life.

The boy in front of you says something but you don’t hear it, senses and thoughts momentarily Off™ as you gawk at him. Aside from the deep undereye bags you all have claimed the past few weeks, this stranger is as close to perfect as you can get. Sure, Seungmin and his roommates are pretty cute—but what the fuck?

Something tells you that you have been silently staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth hanging open for far too long when his brows raise in a mix of confusion and expectation. Shit. What did he say? Synapses suddenly shooting like fireworks in your brain, you desperately try to remember his reply but instead, all you had focused on was the plumpness of his lips as he spoke and not the words themselves.

Clearing your throat, you blink once, twice, hoping you were hallucinating the whole time and the boy in front of you is not Hercules incarnate.

Lucky for you or him, you can’t tell, but he is still as attractive as he was two seconds ago. “Sorry, what?” You blurt, loud, too loud, flinching at the sound of your own voice. Instead of recognizing that you are totally off your rocker, he smiles, a soft, toothy smile that has your muscles turning to goo.

“I said I bought them, too,” cutest-boy-in-the-universe repeats, looking down and you follow his gaze, “my roommates were making fun of me, so I’m glad I finally found someone who bought them.” Alas, as he tugs at the fabric of his jeans to slightly lift the cuff you see that he, too, wears the same socks. You think you’re in love.

“Well, your roommates clearly have no taste,” you deadpan, shakily meeting his eyes once he looks back up. He laughs softly, eyes scrunching at the action and you positively swoon until silence settles over you and he takes the opportunity to regard you, gaze sweeping down your frame and up again. You hold your breath because, 1) holy shit, you would get on your knees for him right now and 2) you suddenly wish you were wearing more than the ‘just-woke-up-to-get-pegged-by-calc’ fit.

“I’m Hyunjin,” he finally says and you release all the air trapped in your lungs. “YN,” you return, grasping his outreached hand and thanking the heavens it is as sweaty as yours. “Well, it was nice to meet you, YN,” Hyunjin proceeds, releasing your hand and offering a gentle smile.

“You too, Mr. Sock Man,” you grin, rocking on your heels and realizing with a pang of disappointment that your breakfast has probably gone cold. Well, that’s okay, because right now you are totally content standing here in the middle of the dining hall, silently staring at this Hyunjin with a stupid smile plastered on your face. And the best part? He apparently is just fine doing that, too.

“YN!” Somewhere behind you, Maddie calls your name and it thrusts you head-first back into reality. “Did you find a banana muffin? I can’t find— oh. Who’s this?” Appearing beside you, visibly shocked having found you in a staring contest with a very tall, very cute boy. “Oh, uh,” you huff out a laugh, scrambling to get yourself together, “Hyunjin, this is Maddie, my roommate. Maddie, this is Hyunjin. We have the same socks.”

Brows shooting up at the puzzling introduction, Maddie bites back a laugh and looks back and forth between you and Hyunjin. “Well, you don’t hear that every day,” smiling to hide her confusion, she offers him a small wave with her hand full of muffin packs, “nice to meet you.”

Hyunjin smiles in return, gaze quickly returning to you. “I’ll be off, then. Gotta get the waffles while they’re still warm. I’ll see you around.”

And before you know it, he’s off toward the other end of the breakfast counter.

“Um, what the fuck?” Maddie whispers excitedly as you make your way toward your usual table, elbow repeatedly jabbing into your side. “I have no idea what just happened. I think I’m dreaming,” you sigh blissfully, relieved to find that Jisung and Seungmin were able to claim your favorite booth. “No, definitely not dreaming. He’s totally into you. You have to hang out.”

“What?” You sputter, nearly tripping over your own two feet. Then, lowering your voice as you near the two boys, “I – no, he isn’t. How can you tell? That was like, the cutest guy I’ve ever talked to, and you think he’s into me?”

“Who’s the cutest guy ever?” Jisung pipes up, eyes lighting up and you curse him and his fucking bat hearing.

“No one,” you grumble, smiling softly at Seungmin when he gets up so you don’t have to sit on the end, leaving Maddie to sit next to the other one. “Is it me?” Jisung grins with a flutter of his eyelashes. He’s convinced the only reason you dislike him is because you’ve actually fallen in love with him, but that’s far from the truth. You don’t even dislike him—he’s just one of the first guys you’ve met who meets your sarcasm with as much ferocity, and that is a hard pill to swallow.

“In your dreams, Han,” you sneer, gracing him with a dramatic eye roll before tearing open the bag of your muffin. Comfortable conversation quickly falls into place as you eat, complaints about your classes, Seungmin trying to convince you to join them at the first party they will be attending while Jisung mocks you for wanting to stay home, Maddie asking where Felix is and Seungmin explaining that he got so high last night he ended up staying up past four playing Overwatch and is currently sleeping past all his classes.

Then, in the midst of guzzling your apple juice, Jisung leans out of his seat to call down the aisle. “Hwang! Come pull a chair over!”

Curiosity peaked, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and crane your neck to see over Seungmin’s fat head for who this ‘Hwang’ could be until, like the universe is really trying to kill you, the Hyunjin you met not even ten minutes ago has reached your table. “Hey,” he grins brightly, dabbing up the two boys before he glances to you, mouth promptly falling open. Certain you mirror the same expression, you struggle to find your words as Jisung and Seungmin look between you in shared confusion. “First we share socks, now it’s these dumpheads?”

Ignoring the way they scowl, Hyunjin giggles shamelessly and grabs a chair from an adjacent table to sit at the head of your booth. “It would seem that way.”

“Woah, woah, woah. Slow down. You guys know each other?” Jisung scoffs in disbelief, pointedly looking at you as if you’ve gone and disproved everything he pegged of you. “We just met,” Hyunjin replies with a shy smile, sparing you a quick glance before cutting into his waffle. Jisung looks to you and you offer an affirmative nod.

“And how are you guys friends?” Maddie asks, sensing your panic. “He’s Changbin and Minho’s roommate,” Seungmin answers.

You choke on a mouthful of juice.

“Christ, you good?” Seungmin snickers, offering a few slaps to your back. With a muffled yes, you look to Hyunjin with pleading eyes. “Please don’t tell them I said they have no taste.”

He laughs, arching a brow at you. “No way. They’ll get a kick out of that.”

“Oh, Christ,” faking a cry, you bury your face into your palms, “so much for making friends.”

“It’s okay, YN,” Jisung soothes with faux sympathy, “no one wants to be your friend anyway.”

Scoffing, the table quickly falls silent when you look up with rage in your eyes. “I bet when someone asks your parents about you, they change the subject,” you spit, shooting daggers at him before stabbing your fork into an innocent chunk of egg. To your utmost surprise but total delight, the other three burst into a fit of laughter, leaving you smirking smugly and Jisung sulking.

“Anyway,” Maddie promptly changes the subject back to her chemistry professor who has started every class playing Britney Spears. Tucked away in your corner finishing the last of your sausage and stifling the urge to get up for more, it isn’t until Hyunjin begins to speak do you realize that you have been quietly watching him the entire time. You would blame the soft morning sunshine shining through the windows and illuminating the right side of his face for making him look so ethereal, but you know that isn’t the case; from short, messy black hair, silver hoop earrings, thick, defined brows, the soft curves of his nose and the pouty fullness of his lips, you are totally, completely mesmerized.

And then, the sole of a sneaker is slammed right into your shin. “OW!” You yelp, loud, and for a moment you forget the pain in favor of the embarrassment that comes with the number of heads that turn to look at you. “Sorry. Bit my tongue,” you lie, earning an unconvinced look from Maddie. “Go on,” you nod toward Hyunjin to continue whatever he was saying before directing a furious glare to Jisung, who fails to hide his triumphant smirk as he enthusiastically types on his phone.

Just as you have bent down to rub at your throbbing leg, your phone vibrates twice against the table.

han jisung [now] stop staring, ur lucky hwang is as dense as a rock or he would have left a long time ago bc of you

han jisung [now] so THAT’S the ‘cutest guy ever’ huh? so ur straight after all

Squeezing your hands into fists, you prepare to fire back a reply that will have him crying. But he has different plans.

“Oh, Hyunjin, did YN tell you she’s a dancer, too?” He exaggerates your previous mention of dancing and has the audacity to wink at you. Thanks, Mr. Match Maker.

“Really?” Hyunjin gasps excitedly, eyes lighting up and totally missing the flabbergasted what? that sputters from your lips.

“I – well, no,” you hiss, scowling at Jisung, “I used to do ballet when I was younger but that’s it. Why, though? Do you dance?”

“He’s here on a scholarship,” Seungmin explains, “and minors in creative writing.”

“Oh,” you squeak, glancing to Hyunjin who is all but smiling like a cherub, completely oblivious, “that’s amazing. You must have a crazy schedule.” Chewing the last of his waffle, he hums in agreement. “Yeah, it gets really stressful at times. But it’s worth it,” Hyunjin chuckles. Then fucking winks.

Unable to hold his gaze, you whip your head back around in a panic and reach for the mere sip left of your juice. “Speaking of crazy schedules,” he hums, slapping both Jisung and Seungmin on the shoulders, “I must head out. This was fun. I may start crashing the party more now.” Rising from his seat, Hyunjin swings his bag over a shoulder and grins brightly. Realizing it would be rude to not say goodbye, you force yourself to look back to him and offer a feeble wave.

“And YN, don’t bite your tongue when you eat, yeah?”

You’re going to pass out.

two.

Felix likes to think of you as his corrupted child when it comes to smoking weed.

A few weeks before you would all be returning home for winter break, he came knocking on your door with a proposition. “No one wants to smoke with me. Do you want to?”

This, for sure, was not what you were expecting on a cold Tuesday night in December. Despite the general curiosity and always wanting to ‘try it’ simply to feel like a teenager breaking the rules, you told him you never smoked before. “I know,” he said with a smile, “that’s why I’m asking.”

So, you agreed. Reaching for your hand, Felix snuck you out the window and led you halfway across campus to the junior parking lot, giving you ample opportunities to back out when he felt how badly you were shaking. “Whose car is this?” You laughed in disbelief when he unlocked a beaten-up Nissan near the outskirts of the lot.

“Kim Woojin. The junior?” He replied once you settled in the passenger seat next to him. “Oh.” You blinked, confused. “He lets you smoke in his car?”

“He gets me weed, too,” Felix giggled, reaching into the pockets of his sweatshirt and coming out with two tightly wrapped blunts, each about two inches long, “I’ll turn the heat on a little so we don’t freeze but we have to keep the windows open. I’m not going to have you hotbox for your first time.” You had no idea what that meant, but you agreed nonetheless.

With a brief lesson on what to do that truly made no sense until you tried it for yourself, Felix lit the blunt, took a few small hits to get it started, and then passed it to you. Holding it gingerly between your thumb and index finger, you brought the unlit end to your lips and sucked as he instructed ‘like a straw,’ breathing it into your lungs and ignoring the faint taste of smoke. Unsure of when to stop, it wasn’t until your throat felt as if it was on fire did you realize just how much you had inhaled.

“Shit,” you wheezed, coughing and choking and watching with wide eyes at the amount of cloudy white smoke that left your mouth and nostrils. Passing it back to Felix, you scrambled for the cold water bottle he brought along, downing half of it in one go to soothe the burn. “Good?” He asked, blowing out the window and turning back to you with eyes full of concern.

“Yeah,” you huffed, “give me a few, though.”

Humming in agreement, Felix connected his phone to the car’s Bluetooth and began playing what he calls his ‘getting high playlist,’ and before long, you fell in love with the feeling.

When break was over, you were dying to try it again. Felix was more than happy to be of service.

For all of March, it turned into a daily thing.

Now, you try to smoke only once a week for the sake of not dying, or something.

australian felix kjellberg❤️ [now] come hang at 201?

When the text notification pops up in the corner of your laptop screen amid your YouTube binge, your bones jitter with a mix of dread and excitement.

Dread, because that’s Hyunjin’s room. Excitement, because that’s Hyunjin’s room.

Maddie must hear your sigh. “What’s wrong?” She asks from her cozied position in bed, hand deep in a bag of popcorn.

“It’s Felix,” you start, “but he said to go to Hyunjin’s room.”

She blinks, unfazed. “And? I don’t see the problem here.”

“Well, I don’t know,” you count on your fingers, “first, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin sober. Second, I don’t know how to act around Hyunjin high. Third, I am very touchy when high. Fourth, Hyunjin is always touchy.”

Maddie scoffs. “That’s a pretty lame argument, YN,” she laughs, “isn’t that what you want to happen?”

“Well,” she’s got a point, “yes, but it still makes me nervous. He makes me nervous.” Closing your laptop, you shimmy out of bed and debate changing out of your cotton shorts and tee shirt. Nah. You’ll probably end up going back to Felix’s and sleeping there. You put a sports bra and deodorant on and call it a day.

Maddie finds this hilarious. “You know what should make you nervous? The fact that you’re usually the only girl getting high with, what? Six guys? You know they all want to fuck you.”

“I try not to think about that, actually,” cringing, you try to erase Felix’s voice when he’s high as a kite or Changbin’s arms from your mind, “and you don’t know that. Sometimes Ryujin and Lia are there. Or, you know, you could always come. You don’t have to smoke, just come hang out. I know you want to give Minho a fat smooch.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “I love you, and I appreciate the invite, but I don’t feel like babysitting a bunch of stoners, even if Minho is there.”

Laughing, all you can offer her is a shrug. “I don’t blame you,” grabbing your phone, wallet, and charger, you make your way over to her and bend over to press a goodnight kiss to her forehead, “if you need me, don’t. I’ll probably be dead.”

“Oh Lord,” Maddie cackles, watching you struggle to open the window, “don’t die. I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“I’ll try,” you grin, military saluting once you’ve managed to flop over the ledge. With one last wave, you close the window behind you and thank admissions for giving you a room on the first floor.

[9:34 PM] YN: omw now, gather your forces to help me in :)

Nights in 201 are always interesting. First, their room is on the second floor, so climbing through the window is an experience. Things would be a hell of a lot easier if you could just walk in and out of residence halls as you please, but with the officer at the front desk documenting who comes in and who goes out, there would be a knock at the door at midnight asking you to leave. Second: as Maddie said, 201 means the whole squad is showing up. And when the whole squad shows up, you’re bound to feel a mix of anxiety and desire deep within your bones no matter how hard set you are on Mr. Hwang. And third: you know you’re in for one fucked up night.

[9:42 PM] YN: hereee

Standing awkwardly behind their building, you try and calm the nerves that always come when you know you will be with Hyunjin. Considering how close the two of you have become over the past few months, one would think you would have gotten a grip on those pesky feelings.

Yet again, it’s kind of hard to do that when he looks and acts like that all the time.

When the window slides open, you are expecting Changbin to hang halfway out for you to grab on to with the rest of them holding onto his legs. Instead, a tall, metal ladder of sorts is pushed out until it lands with a thud! at your feet, granting you a perfect staircase into the room.

Well, you certainly don’t see that every day.

Blinking in confusion, you do not know whether to focus on the crowd of boys waving at you from above or this abomination of a stepstool that was practically thrown out a window for you. Accepting the chain of events as just another fever dream of an experience in 201, you shake your head and begin to ascend on shaky legs, graciously taking Jisung’s hand and clinging to both him and Seungmin as they help you into the room. “Thanks,” you huff, giving them both a hug in return to their chivalry. And they dare say it’s dead!

Behind you, Changbin and Hyunjin lift the ladder-stepstool mutation back into the room and it isn’t until they have folded it into a more compact piece and set it against the wall do you speak up.

“Did you… buy a ladder?”

“Yes!” Minho bellows, thrilled by your successful entrance. “Isn’t it great?” After pulling back from a hug, he keeps his hands on your shoulders just to shake you like a bobble-head.

“Yes,” you grunt once he’s released you, head swimming, “a lot easier than hauling both me and Changbin through the window, right?” Looking to said boy, you can’t help but melt into his side when he pulls you close. “No worries,” Changbin beams, rubbing your arm, “at least we have some funny memories now.” When he moves to flop onto his bed, you realize with a shudder that you are alone with Hyunjin.

Well, technically not alone since they are all right there, but alone in the sense that they are not paying attention to you nor him.

“Hey, YN. I missed you,” he singsongs, engulfing you in one of his monster bear hugs. Disregarding the heart palpitations they may cause, Hyunjin’s hugs are truly the best and you wish you would initiate them more if it didn’t seem like such a big deal in that smooth brain of yours. “I missed you, too,” you mutter into his chest, squeezing your arms around him as if to engrave this feeling into your mind forever. “We saw each other, like, five hours ago,” he reminds you, finally pulling back and taking your will to live with him. God, he has no idea.

“And? You’re the only one here who doesn’t make me suicidal,” you lie because, in reality, he actually does. Just in a different way. “Aw,” he coos, large hand squeezing your side and you think you could orgasm on command, “good thing we have tonight, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you squeak, finally remembering to breathe when he steps away to sit beside Seungmin on his bed. Suddenly, you are feeling incredibly grateful no one is next to Changbin because, well, 1) he is closer to Felix and 2), you need a distraction.

“Hello, Felix,” you greet the boy sunk deep in a bean bag chair, busy grinding leaves and packing them into the bowl of a bong. “How are you this fine evening, YN?” He asks once you have settled beside Changbin, brows knitting together when the older boy drapes his arm around your waist.

“Good. Tired, though. How ‘bout you?”

“You didn’t have to come if you’re tired! We all know you work your ass off, no one’s gonna judge if you chose to stay home and sleep,” Felix expresses, giving you a look that screams ‘mom.’

“No! I’m not that tired,” you assure him, reaching for his hand and squeezing for extra effect, “you know I wouldn’t miss this. You’ve made me a pothead.”

With a proud smile, he returns to his designated job and begins working on the second, smaller bong. “So,” stretching to set your things on the desk beside Changbin’s bed, you turn to him with a knowing smile, “how’s the album coming?”

“Great!” He beams, eyes lighting up at the topic. “Jisung is a great addition. Did I tell you we started meeting with someone else, too?”

“No, who?”

“He’s a sophomore, Bang Chan?” Somewhere behind you, Felix passes a bong to Jisung for the first hit. “Bang Chan? Holy shit, Binnie,” repeatedly punching his arm to express your excitement, “that’s amazing! I didn’t know he was into music production. Not that I’ve ever talked to him, but.”

“No, I get you,” he hums, giving your side a firm squeeze, “he’s really awesome making beats. I hope we’re successful.” Then, reaching past you, he takes the second bong and a lighter from Felix. When he resituates himself, he’s considerably closer than before. You don’t mind.

“Ladies first?” Changbin offers with a crooked grin, handing them to you. Then, on second thought, he holds onto the lighter to do the honors. “Sure. Thanks,” you laugh, glancing across the room to find everyone arguing over which color to set the lights to as they wait for their high. Bringing the tube to your lips, you offer a miniscule nod to him and then he is setting flame to the bowl. Sucking strong enough to generate bubbles, you unplug the bowl once he stops and breathe in as much as your lungs can handle in one go. Then, once you have exhaled, you quickly finish what’s left in the tube before passing it to Changbin with a pleased smile.

“That was a lot,” he points out once you have handed the bong back to him. “Hey, you’re the one who kept lighting it for thirty seconds. Mother would be proud,” you joke, reciprocating the same service and lighting the bowl until he glares at you beneath his bangs.

The best part about being high is the fact that you are constantly laughing. Things won’t even be that funny, but once someone starts laughing—you’re done for. You laugh so hard it hurts, and then once it’s all over, you realize it wasn’t funny at all. “Has anyone ever told you that you look like a squirrel?” Minho asks Jisung at some point. You absolutely loose it. It quite possibly is the funniest thing you have ever heard.

Pouting, Squirrel Boy leaves Minho alone on his bed to come crash beside you. “How are you, my tender oozing blossom?”

Squinting at him past the way your eyes burn, you make grabby hands and pull him close to wrap your arms around his teeny waist. Changbin grumbles in protest, but he’s too transfixed on the light’s soft in and out fade of different colors to say anything else. “Please, don’t ever call me that again,” you mumble into Jisung’s mop of brown hair.

“What?” He gasps, tilting to look up at you with puppy eyes. “You didn’t like it?”

“Nope,” smiling lazily, you rest your head atop his, “I love you, but I’m not ready for pet names yet.” His face morphs from a frown to one lit with excitement. “Holy shit, did you just say you love me? Do my eyes deceive me?”

“That would be your ‘ears,’ but yes,” you hum, brain simply not capable of denying it the way your sober self would. “More than Changbin?” Jisung whispers.

“Yes, but don’t tell him,” you return quietly, biting back a laugh.

“More than Hyunjin?” He counters. At this, you look up to find said boy sat with his legs to his chest across the room. Next to Seungmin, he looks like a giant; but a happy, pouty giant that keeps talking about how much he could go for a winter melon tea right now.

“Never.”

One and a half (half because it was just the rest of Minho’s terribly big hit that left tears streaming down his cheeks) and an unfinished game of Cards Against Humanity later, you find yourself in a blissful headspace. The song playing quietly through Felix’s speaker makes it feel like you are bouncing down stairs and then going up again, and the lights are oh so pretty, pink fading to red, yellow to green, blue to purple and so on. Things are fuzzy but crystal clear at the same time, the popcorn you’ve been shoveling into your mouth tastes heavenly, and your body feels like it is engulfed in a warm, comforting hug.

Or, that could just be Changbin.

Somewhere in between trying to get more comfortable and him yanking you to stay next to him when you attempted to get up and hug Seungmin for something sweet he said, you now find yourself on your back with a clinging Changbin on your side. You are so comfortable, but also insanely hot, and as you begin to slowly come down from your high as the hours tick by, you begin to realize it’s for another reason.

What started as an innocent hand on your side turned into his thumb rubbing meaningless patterns against your shirt, which then turned into his hand slipping beneath to splay against the warmth of your skin. Growing increasingly needy as the minutes go by, you turn to look at everyone around you. Jisung, who found himself returning to Minho, appears to be passed out with him on the far end of the room. Seungmin, curled up on the floor with a pillow and a heap of blankets. Felix, who finished off the rest of his weed, scrolls aimlessly on his phone still at the peak of his high.

And Hyunjin, who you assume has been fast asleep on his bed for a while now if the arm flung over his face tells you anything. For a moment, you feel sick with sadness. So close, but so far he lies, always a step out of reach. But you can’t deny how Changbin makes you feel—for right now, at least. And it would be a shame to miss out on an opportunity with someone else because the one you want is unattainable.

Right?

Changbin must sense the way your breathing increases, must feel the way your body reacts to the slightest of touches, yet he takes his time. He is soft in the way his hand travels up your arm, rough fingertips grazing over your collarbones before smoothing down over your chest and abdomen. It isn’t until you are about to burst at the seams does he give your ass a strong squeeze and urge your leg over his hips.

“Changbin,” you sigh, biting your lip to keep from whimpering when he begins pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of your throat. “Please touch me.”

He only makes a sound of agreement, savoring the way you squirm and grip onto his arm for dear life. When he offers an experimental roll of his hips to grind against you, you practically go feral. The last time you were touched in such a way was at a party in the beginning of the semester Jisung and co. physically forced you to go to, and Changbin has barely even touched you and it’s already better than the rushed sex you had that night.

“Wait,” he huffs, pausing his ministrations no matter how difficult it is to do so, “we can’t.”

“What?” You hiss, trying to keep your voice quiet, “why?”

“Because you’re high, and I’m high, and I’m not going to do anything unless you really want me to,” Changbin explains, pressing a gentle kiss to your lips when you frown in response. “But I do want you to,” you huff, chasing his mouth for another, “I trust you one hundred percent.”

“Are you sure, YN?” What about Hyunjin? is what he really means and you know he’s right. You should have never told Felix.

Trying to ignore the wetness of your underwear, you turn to lie on your back. “Whatever. Never mind,” you mumble, and when you glance back to him, you can’t help the way your heart soars with him still pressed closely to your side, blinking tiredly at you. But like he said, it’s not Hyunjin. “Just get some sleep, Binnie. Forget it happened,” smiling past the tears that threaten to spill, you ruffle his hair and press a softer kiss to his forehead.

“I’m sorry,” Changbin whispers, returning the affection with a kiss to your shoulder. In minutes, he is snoring softly beside you.

You can’t fall asleep to save your life.

Reaching for your phone to check the time, you grit your teeth once you realize it’s almost four and you definitely have been staring at the ceiling for more than an hour. For starters, you are freezing now; unlike these passed out hooligans, you are showing a lot more skin and not being under the blankets is not doing you well. And secondly, it’s hard to fall asleep when your thoughts are flying miles a minute.

Is this how it’s going to be, then? Whenever you see someone, will the little guy on your shoulder whisper in your ear that it’s not Hyunjin? Or will people deem you off limits because they know of your infatuation? People who know, at least—Changbin is the first, apparently.

Just need to get comfy, you decide, trying to ignore such thoughts and turning to lie on your stomach. Bless Felix for leaving the lights on, too—you may be coming down from your high, but the vibe is simply immaculate. Tucking a hand under your cheek and following the ropes of light on the ceiling and up the walls, you find this to be enough to calm your nerves. Enough to make your eyelids heavy. Finally.

Someone lets out a monster train snore. Seungmin, you think, biting your lip to keep from laughing. Or, it could be Hyunjin. The thought is so amusing you can’t help but squint at the boy across from you to better see his outline, hoping he will do it again just to confirm.

No, not Hyunjin.

Because he’s facing you, eyes open, a soft smile plastered on his face. Well, fuck.

No reason to panic, you console yourself, returning a gentle smile in the assumption he can even see you. And you stay like that for a while, simply watching one another for an infinite amount of time. It’s not much, but it means something, you think, lost in the way the contours and highlights of his face change with each color the lights fade to. Just as you remember the whole point of getting on your stomach was to fall asleep, Hyunjin moves. Reaching for his phone, you watch in confusion as he brings it close to his face and starts typing.

hwang hyunjin👁👄👁 [now] Come sleep w me?

You almost throw up in your mouth. You must be dreaming. Surely.

Blinking against the harsh light of your phone, you cannot help your smile as you reread the text.

[4:02 am] YN: wont that b a little sus for bin

[4:02 am] hwang hyunjin👁👄👁: If anyone asks just say he kept kicking u or something

You don’t need to be told twice. Now that he has turned onto his side facing the other direction, Changbin does not stir once you slowly move to sit up and stand, nor when you reach for the quilt crumbled at the foot of the bed to pull over him. It’s not much, but hopefully it will keep him from waking in a few hours freezing to death. Then, as you tiptoe your way over to Hyunjin’s bed, avoiding Felix now that he’s sprawled half way off the bean bag, you cannot tell if you are still shivering from the cold or if the fact you are going to be sleepingwith Hyunjin in one, tiny single bed is finally clicking in your brain. Like Maddie said, this is something you want, right?

As you draw closer, Hyunjin shifts to make room and lifts the covers for you to quietly slip beneath. “Thank you,” you whisper, pulling the blanket up to your chin and trying to ignore the feeling of being so close to him. “Of course. You looked real cold over there,” he smiles tiredly. Then, his arm cautiously curls around you to rest by your head, fingers swiping stray hairs away from your face.

“I was,” you admit. Eyes level to his lips, you strain to look him in the eyes to resist the temptation now that he’s pulled you so close. “Changbin fell asleep and I felt bad waking him.”

Hyunjin doesn’t reply. He seems momentarily lost in thought, brows slightly furrowed as he chews on the inside of his lip.

“Do you like him?” He finally asks, voice shaky with hesitation.

“What?” You sputter, shocked at such a presumption. Yet again…

“No, no I don’t. I mean—as a friend, yes, but, you know,” you trail off, squeezing your eyes shut. You desperately wish you were not having this conversation right now. “He was touching you, though. And it looked like you liked it,” Hyunjin whispers, thumb swiping against your cheekbone.

“I mean, well yeah, I did. But I’m not close enough to like him like that. It’s just a physical attraction,” realizing you are discussing what went down with Changbin to Hyunjin, you suddenly pull back and lean up on an elbow to get a better look at him, heat now spreading up your limbs like fire. “Were you watching us, Hwang?”

“Yes,” he admits, “it’s kind of hard not to.” Your heart stops beating.

“I – what?” You manage once you have remembered how to breathe. “I didn’t know you were awake, we wouldn’t have… what do you mean, ‘it’s kind of hard not to?’”

“You know what I mean, YN,” Hyunjin mutters, arm slipping around your waist and pulling you to lie down with him again, this time, your chest pressed to his. “I like looking at you. You’re very pretty.”

You definitely must still be high, because you are seriously having a hard time wrapping your mind around Hyunjin calling you pretty, as well as being so close, and somewhere deep in your mind wonders if he knows. If he knows how your heart is on the line here. Knows that with him moving closer, you are taking a huge risk.

When Hyunjin kisses you, you forget that this could be the worst mistake you’ve made in a long time. Wrapped around his fingers, you pray this is his way of saying he feels the same.

“YN!” You wake to Seungmin gently shaking your shoulder. “YN, wake up. Your phone has been vibrating for twenty minutes now. It’s Maddie.”

The wave of panic washing over you dispels the grogginess you feel from suddenly being yanked from sleep, as well as the recognition of where you are and who you’re with. Frantic, you sit up and nod in thanks to him before taking the call. “Hello?”

“Oh, thank God you answered,” Maddie cries, voice choked, “I’m sorry, I know you’re still out, but I just threw up and I feel so terrible and when I get up I feel so nauseous. Can you come home?”

“Shit, Maddie, don’t apologize,” you whisper, rushing to grab your things as Seungmin unfolds The Ladder as quietly as possible, “I’m leaving now. Don’t move, you don’t want it to get worse. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”

“Okay,” she whimpers before hanging up.

“Thank you, Minnie,” pressing a kiss to his cheek, you begin to climb down. “Is everything okay?” He asks, watching as you go with a worried frown. “Yes, it’s fine. Just a little emergency, don’t worry,” praying no one is out and about watching as you climb from the back of their building, you rush back to help Maddie as fast as you can.

You stay back in your dorm with Maddie for the rest of the weekend, fetching her water and ginger ale and food she can handle, helping her to the restroom, and binging all sorts of shows and movies with her. Seungmin, Jisung, and Minho visit Sunday evening, joining you for a few hours to watch Pokémon. You think it’s just because Minho knew it would be a good opportunity to snuggle with Maddie.

You can’t help but feel disappointed when Hyunjin isn’t with them. You refrained from telling Maddie what happened in 201, too caught up wanting to make sure she was alright, and by now you are starting to feel as if it wasn’t even real. Maybe you made the whole night up in your marijuana-infused brain. And snuggled up with Jisung, you can’t help but wish it was this annoying shit you were falling in love with.

On Monday morning, Hyunjin doesn’t show up for breakfast. On Tuesday, you find out he has been hanging out with a girl he met at his favorite boba joint and apparently won’t shut up about. First, you run back to your dorm to cry to Maddie, having to explain all of Friday night to her. When she leaves for her lab, you call Felix for an emergency smoke session. When Maddie texts that she is going to be out late working on a project, you call Changbin to tell him that you really do want him to.

Like you said, it’s just a physical attraction, right?

⇢ part 2

[lukneetoonz]

Oblivious

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Summary: You’re in love with a boy who thinks you’d never love him… what happens when he overhears you talking about him?

Pairing: Shinsou x Female!reader

Warnings: Angst, cussing, but it’s coot I promise

Word Count: 2,244

A/N: Been in a funk lately and don’t know what to write! Ask box is open for suggestions!

NO ARTWORK POSTED IS MY OWN AND IS FOUND ON PINTEREST

——————————————————————————

Lilacs, the smell of coffee and lavender, and the sounds of video games were all things that reminded you of the boy that you admired. Your friends called it love, but you called it a silly crush, because how can you love someone who doesn’t love you? Shinsou Hitoshi was always on your mind, even if he didn’t do anything to be on it, you just couldn’t get him out. It didn’t help that you guys were best friends, for that is what Shinsou continuously calls your relationship. Seemingly reminding you that you’re nothing but his friend, someone for him to go to when he doesn’t have anyone else. You were a placement holder, and that hurt.

Snapping fingers in front of your face brought you out of your thoughts, your eyes meeting a group of concerned ones. “Y/N… we hate seeing you look so sad. Why don’t you take Mina up on that offer and go on a blind date?” Uraraka spoke softly to you, almost like her words could send you crashing down at any moment. Shaking your head you groaned and rubbed your face, “But I can’t! I can’t go on a date when I can’t get him out of my head… it’s not fair to the other person. I’m not just going to use someone to get over another…” your words only made the girls frown deeper.

Mina stood up abruptly and put her hands on her hips as she raised her eyebrows at you, “I just don’t see it. Honestly Y/N! You could have any guy in our class- scratch that, our grade, yet you’re sitting here because this crazy haired asshole can’t see how amazing you are!” Her words made you blush as you huff and hug yourself, looking away, none of you aware that there was now an extra set of ears on your private conversation. “You guys don’t get it! He’s so- gah! I can’t even put it into words. No one comments on how Uraraka is crushing on Midoriya!”

Momo smiled sadly as Uraraka fell on the floor covering her red face, “Because they’re both too awkward and shy to admit their feelings when it’s both obvious they like each other. It’s like they’re dating, but aren't. It’s also because Midoriya isn’t emotionally constipated” Momo stated simply but elegantly as the others nodded along as you blushed, and felt aggravation bubble inside you. But just beyond the common room and in the hallway stood shinsou, back against the wall as he tried to quiet his breathing, wanting to find out more about the crush of the girl he's hopelessly in love with.

“He isn’t emotionally constipated! He’s- god- he shows he cares and stuff but in his own way… he has such a kind heart and beautiful soul it just makes me want to dive deeper into what makes him, well him! And when he talks about something he’s passionate about, his eyes they just- lighten up slightly as they also crinkle because he’s smiling and the sight alone rips my breath away. I can’t even describe him by using three words because he deserves the whole damn dictionary! Why can’t you guys see how wonderful he is? He isn’t just some asshole, hes special. That’s why I’ve fallen so hard for him and I don’t regret a second of it.” You’re panting by the time you stop your rant, all eyes on you as you look to the ground embarrassed.

“Y/N, we didn’t know-” Mina tried to start but you quickly dismissed her, “Of course you didn’t know, because no one else in the room spends as much time admiring him like I do.” A sad smile etched on your face, making tsuyu and Uraraka hug you, which you automatically found comfort in. Meanwhile a lilac eyed boy had left his spot and went to his dorm, upset with himself for falling for someone who obviously loved someone that wasn’t him. How could he have been so stupid to even think for a second it could have been him?

*•*

Your head rested on your desk as you listened to the girls talk about the number two hero and gush about how good looking he is. Moving to focus on the empty seat next to you, the pang in your chest didn’t go unnoticed as you frowned. Normally shinsou would be in class already, but for the past few days he's been showing up later, not to mention he’s been leaving class in a rush and pushing you away. It hurt- god did it hurt. Pushing the feelings away, you turned to look at your friends and smiled softly at whatever they were saying.

“Y/N you’re not even paying attention, what’s on your mind?” Momo spoke up, making you sigh. “I know we aren’t- a thing, but he’s barely even looked my way in days and that hurts so much.” You mumbled softly, trying not to stare at his empty seat. “I don’t even know what I did wrong… it’s like I want to ask him but- that terrifies me. Confrontation terrifies me” tears welled up in your eyes as you buried your head in your arms. Your friends knew of your anxiety and honestly if it wasn’t for them, you’d sit in the back of the class and keep to yourself.

It was always the girls talking to you first or making plans, making sure it was something small and intimate because you didn’t like to go out to places that drew a bunch of attention to you. Honestly that was your worst nightmare, just like how the sports festival was horrible for you. When you did go to an agency, you were picked for an underground work agency, not that you didn’t mind. So the fact that you might have to go up and ask your best friend what you did wrong, and then listen to what you did wrong, was killing you on the inside.

Like clockwork, a indigo haired boy walked through the door right before the bell rang, barely giving you a glance, his cold demeanor making you flinch. Taking a deep breath you thought of a great idea that allowed you to talk to Shinsou, but also didn’t make it as scary. You got your notebook out and tore a piece of paper out quietly, before thinking of what to write.

You: ‘Hi =) are you okay? It’s just- I feel like we haven’t been able to talk lately’

Yeah… that’s good. It’s subtle and the smiley face is cute… well hopefully. Tapping on Shinsou’s shoulder you bit your lip, waiting for him to turn around, but he never did. Maybe he just didn’t feel it, you could tap rather light sometimes, so once again you tapped his shoulder, only to get a shoulder shrug in response. You felt your throat go dry as tears threatened to spill, gripping the note in your hand. You stood up abruptly and ran out of class, ignoring Aizawa asking you where you were going.

Shinsou saw you leave, he heard your quiet whimper, he felt your taps. But he couldn’t respond to any of it, why could he when he was hopelessly in love with you and you were in love with someone else? So much so in fact that you ignored your friends pleas to move on. Burying his own head in his arms, he groaned quietly as he tried to get you out of his thoughts. Mina stared at the boy with eyes that could kill, he was the one that was hurting her friend so much, and yet he was still here looking unfazed while you ran out crying.

*•*

Once class ended, Shinsou went to rush out like he’d been doing but was cornered by every single girl in that class, Pinky leading the group. “Who do you think you are to act like this, you emotionally constipated flower. Y/N cares for you and yet here you are avoiding her like she has the plague for no good reason. God I don’t even know what she sees in you anyway” as soon as those words left her mouth, several different pairs of hands flew to cover Mina’s mouth. Shinsou looked at her with a star struck look, before he groaned and facepalmed.

“I’m such an asshole! I thought- I overheard her talking the other night and I thought she liked someone that obviously wasn’t me…” rubbing his face, he had desperate eyes. “I thought if I distanced myself, it would hurt less when she started dating someone that wasn’t me” Some of the girls awed, but Mina merely flicked him. “Just shut up and go after her! You should be explaining this to her, not us dipshit!” Tsuyu eyed Mina and giggled, “You’ve been hanging around Bakugou too much… he's starting to rub off on you”

Shinsou didn’t even stay to hear the girls bicker before he ran off towards the dorms, with only you on his mind. Panting, he finally made it to the place he needed to be and wasted no time on pounding on your door, not once stopping in between knocks. “Guys please- I don’t wanna talk about it..” The croak of your voice broke the lilac eyed boy, making him sigh in defeat. “Y/N, kitten, please let me in… I need to apologize for being such an asshole to my best friend” His soft voice broke through the door, making you tense.

That word. Best friend. That’s all you’ll ever be. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tightly clutched onto your pillow, trying to hide your sniffling. “I’m fine Shinsou, j-just go back to class.” Resting his head against the door, Shinsou frowned deeply and closed his own eyes, trying to picture your form. “No you’re not Y/N…. you’re not fine and it’s my fault. I was being an asshole to you because I assumed things because of my own insecurities. Now can you please open the door so I can tell you this to your face?” He thought the desperate plea had failed until he heard the click of your lock and the turning of your doorknob, door opening to reveal your watery (E/C) eyes.

“Fuck- Y/N. I’m so sorry. I never wanted to be the cause of your tears, I promise to never cause your tears again.” Quickly he cupped your face and pursed his lips as he took in your upset appearance. A blush spread across your face from his intimate touch, looking anywhere but his face, “w-why are you acting like this Shinsou? It hurts…” Your whimpers caught his heart and he brought you into a hug, clutching onto you like you’d push him away. “I love you… okay? I-I heard you talking in the common room the other day and I never thought you could be talking about me, so I pushed you away because I thought it would hurt less then when you started seeing someone that wasn’t me.”

The boy's confession shocked you as you froze, slowly you hugged him back, a smile crawling it’s way onto your flustered face. “Who told you? T-that I was talking about you?” Shinsou chuckled lightly, pulling away and brushed your hair off your face that stuck to the wetness from your tears, “Mina let it slip slightly and I just put two and two together…” Suddenly his face grew serious as he tensed, “I never want to cause you tears again… I’m so sorry Y/N. I’m so so sorry” giggling, you reached up and squished his cheeks together, eyes looking down at the lips you’ve fantasised about for so long.

“I love you too, Toshi…” You were so focused on his lips you didn’t see his own eyes that were focused on your plump lips. “Can I kiss you?” Blushing, you looked to meet his eyes to see if he was serious, slowly nodding you let him inch forward until his lips ghosted against yours, eyes closing when your lips finally clashed in a soft, but slow kiss. It was full of emotion and innocence, his lips moved against yours eagerly because this was something he's wanted to do for ages. The both of you only pulling away for air, foreheads resting against each other as the sound of your soft pants filled the air.

“Be ready at 7 tonight, okay kitten?” Tilting your head, you looked at Shinsou confused and he chuckled, merely pecking your lips. “I have to take my girlfriend on a first date don’t I?” Girlfriend? First date? Shit you just squealed in front of your BOYFRIEND?! Quickly you nodded and ran inside your room, slamming the door, a smile on your face as you finally got your lilac boy.

[rovewritesit]

Angel Of My Dreams (Chapter 4) John Deacon x Reader Series

Series Summary: After reluctantly joining a band with your childhood best friends, you are thrust into oncoming stardom with no sea legs and an overwhelming sense of anxiety. But you just might find your way, thanks to some seasoned pros by your side. And the interest of one particular bassist.

This series is a work of fiction, and is loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

PART 1 - PART 2 - PART 3

Pairing: John Deacon x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Strong language. Feelings of anxiety.

Chapter Notes: This one was a doozy! Don’t start your very first fic with only a vague idea of where it’s going, friends! Quick reminder that this is a slow ass burn. Gonna take us a bit to get there but want to point out there will be no infidelity. Also fun fact: my grandfather actually did work at Elaine’s and the Mick Jagger story is true.

Song/Title Inspiration: Angel - Fleetwood Mac

Songs Mentioned:

Hallelujah, I Love Her So - Ray Charles

Lullabye (Goodnight, My Angel) - Billy Joel - [I know it wasn’t released till the 90s but I couldn’t shake it]

Taglist: @yourlocalmusicalprostitute​ @brianmays-hair @deacyblues @squishy-geckboye @hae-bee @aprilaady

- - - - - - -

July 1982 - Freeport, Long Island

“I’ll be right back,” you sigh to no one in particular, pushing yourself off of the faded paisley couch in the basement of Steve’s parent’s house and making your way upstairs for a glass of water. The dull pounding in your head had only gotten worse from repeatedly staring at the green shag carpeting leftover from the prior decade. Navigating the layout of the familiar house with ease, you make your way to the kitchen.

“Oh, Bunny! Wonderful, I was just about to bring down some iced tea,” calls out Steve’s mother upon seeing you.

“Thanks, Mrs. Castellano. You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, you know me. It was too quiet when you were all away.” The Limbs had recently gotten back from a small European tour--the album having spread beyond England; to Scotland, France, Germany, and Belgium. “I can’t help myself when I get all of you back under my roof. Speaking of… how’s it going down there?” she presses.

You keep your deadpan expression glued to your face as you lock eyes with the kind woman.

She grimaces, “I had a feeling. You better bring this back yourself then,” she hands you the pitcher.

“Will do. Thanks again, Mrs. C,” you tell her as you start to trudge your body back towards the basement. You let out a deep sigh before yanking the door open and descending into the pit of your own personal hell.

Lawrence’s voice booms from below, “I said simple! A simple four to the floor, and that’s it.”

The rest of The Limbs were right as you left them. Eddie and Rich lounge on the couch that is pushed up against the wood-paneled walls, their guitars strewn casually over their legs as they watch the ongoing argument. Lawrence paces around the room, his hands seemingly glued to his head as he pulls on his hair, and Steve sits behind his drum kit that’s tucked away in the corner. Padded blankets hang from the ceiling around him - a sorry excuse for soundproofing.

“Oh c’mon, I’m just adding some flavor to it! I’ll be as boring, sorry simple, as you want when we actually record it,” Steven replies, twirling a drumstick in his right hand.

Rich lets out a sigh as he clocks you making your way back. “Bun, any help here?”

You softly place the pitcher on a table off to the side before turning to the group, leaning back on your hands. “I just don’t get why we need to debut something new if it’s obviously not ready,” you say carefully.

“Of course you’d say that,” Lawrence grumbled, gesturing in your general direction. “Do you not want to sing it? Because you all told me you thought it was good!”

“It’s not that, and you know it, it’s just-”

“It just needs some work before Sunday, so let’s run the rhythm section again,” Eddie cuts in impatiently from his perch on the back of the couch. He untangles his spidery limbs and makes his way over to where you’re camped out.

“Okay, I’ll explain it again,” Lawrence huffs.

“We don’t need this stress two days before we play,” you tell Eddie softly.

“It’s a hometown show, Y/N,” he looks at you pointedly. “These folks helped get us to where we are. It’ll be nice to give them something new.”

The label had secured The Limbs a night at the Jones Beach Theater, the largest outdoor venue on the island. People from all over traveled to watch such acts as Jimmy Buffet, James Taylor, and Aerosmith, the height of entertainment for the suburban droves. And now they’ll be camping out for the first hometown Limbs show since they’d been signed. It was a huge deal, and you knew it, but you didn’t need something unfamiliar to throw off your already wavering shadow of a presence on stage.

Rich begins to pluck out the new bass line, carefully watching Lawrence’s reaction as he plays. On the pick-up, Steve again adds a light flourish as he joins in.

“Steve! For god’s sake! What did I just say?!”

“Live a little, will ya, Lawrence!” Steven shouts back.

The door to the basement wrenches open, and you all freeze. Mr. Castellano’s footsteps are heavy as he stomps down the stairs, somehow staring all of you down at once.

“Kids. If you’d be so kind as to keep it down a tad. I already have to watch the Yankees hand their asses over to the Blue Jays up there. I would at least like to hear it.”

“Sorry, Dad,” Steve mumbles.

“Thank you.” He starts to make his way back up the stairs but halts, turning to you once again. “Oh, also, someone from your label called before,” he adds on casually.

Steven jumps up from his stool, “What?! Dad!”

“What?! Steven!” he mimics. “I’m not your secretary.”

“Can you just tell us what they said?” Steve scoffs at his father.

“Something about being invited to a show at The Garden tonight. Some band. It’s… Dang it. I wrote it down somewhere,” he mutters, making his way back up the stairs.

“I wonder who it is,” Rich thinks aloud, glancing around to all of you.

Eddie notices as your body immediately stiffens beside him.

“Bun?” he asks slowly. “Do you know who’s playing Madison Square Garden tonight?”

Your eyes find the green carpet once again. Of course you knew who was playing tonight. Queen was beginning their two-night stay at the venue. Dawn wanted to get tickets, but you had argued that it was getting harder for you to go unrecognized in public. That, and the fact you had come to the realization you could only act like a complete fool around any of the band members. You weren’t keen on adding another entry to the list.

“It’s Queen!” Mr. Castellano calls from upstairs. “Starts at 8. You kids should get going if you’re gonna make it.”

“Queen’s playing?” Lawrence marvels. “How did we miss that?”

Rich rises, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe all the incessant practicing you’ve been holding us hostage for?” 

“She knew,” Eddie smirks, pointing at you with his thumb. You stick your tongue out at him.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve never gotten the chance to see them live before!” Steve questions, already rocking back on his heels with excitement. He had become quite the Queen fan since your run-in with Freddie after sticking to him like glue that entire night.

You shrug, trying to act nonchalant, “I thought we had more important things to focus on.”

“No, that’s not it,” Eddie deduces, narrowing his eyes at you. “You’re just embarrassed that you went all jellied around Mr. Mercury the last time.”

“You’re the one who had to go and tell him all about me fawning over them on MTV!”

“Ooor, maybe it’s because the entirety of the UK saw you making eyes at their bassist on that game show,” Lawrence elaborates.

“There were no eyes being made at anyone,” you grit out defensively, knowing full well that their words were ringing true.

“I, for one, am happy you have a crush, Bun. You know it’s been a while since…” Rich trails off, leaving out the name of a dreaded ex none of you speak of.

You push yourself off your perch on the table with a huff. “You know what? We’ll go. Let’s go. That way, I can disprove all your wildly inaccurate assumptions,” you retort, wanting to get the heat off you fast.

Steven chuckles, “Oh no, she’s broken out her dictionary, folks. Looks like we’ve hit a nerve.” He pokes your side playfully.

“Shut up, please,” you tell them, making your way over to the stairs. “We have a train to catch.”

- - - - - - -

You’re late.

The muffled bass from the arena hits your ears as the Limbs dash up the steps leading from Penn Station to MSG. You all but sprint to catch up with the boy’s long gaits as they approach the box office window.

“Hiya, there’s supposed to be some tickets at will-call for us from the band,” Eddie explains to a woman behind the glass as he tries to catch his breath.

“Name?” 

“Uh… Lo & The Limbs?”

“Don’t have anything under that name. Could it be something else?”

“Can you try just The Limbs?” he guesses, turning back to the group with wide, panicked eyes.

“Nope, sorry,” she answers in a monotone.

“How about The Legs,” you offer up from your spot behind Rich’s tall figure. She just shakes her head.

“Well, fuck,” Lawrence sighs, slapping his palms against his legs, obviously ticked off from the 45-minute train ride you’d all barely caught because Steve had changed his shirt a minimum of three times before you could all head out.

“What about Bunny?” Steve asks with a giggle.

The woman raises her eyebrows before checking the list yet again.

“Ah, there you are. Bunny and friends,” she concludes with a sigh.

A chorus of chuckles erupts from the boys. You point your finger at Eddie.

“I’m coming for ya. Eds. You’re not gonna know where or when, but I’ll get you back for this one day,” you tell him playfully. 

“Oh yeah, and when you kill me, you can be free to go off and start your solo group, Bunny and Friends.”

She hands you all large laminate passes and gestures for you to follow a security guard. They deposit you in one of the skyboxes on the 10th floor. The Limbs tentatively enter, glancing around at the mishmash of people gathered. Extra crew, friends of the band, some execs, you guess to yourself. The boys immediately descend on the small bar set up in the back of the room.

“Here, I assume you need one of these,” Lawrence shoves a beer in your shaking hands. 

“You assume right, good sir.”

“How the hell did we lose Steve already?” Eddie gripes. Rich easily spots him over the tops of heads surrounding them, pointing to a tall figure pushing his way towards the front of the box that opens up into seating. You all follow, mummering polite excuse me’s and thank you’s as you try to keep up. You can hear Play The Game get louder as you approach the view. 

Steve rushes to the first row of seats, leaning over the railing of the balcony. “God, will you look at all these people?” he marvels, watching as the dancing lights illuminate the mass below him.

But you’re not looking at the crowd. Your gaze immediately finds the stage, where Freddie is situated behind a piano off to the left. His voice booms as if he were standing right next to you, and you’re positive that even without a mic, it would be heard by all 20,000 individuals. His eyes are closed as he slams hard on the piano, seemingly in his own world, yet the entire crowd is wholly entranced.

Brian then casually lopes to center for his solo. He smiles out at the crowd as his fingers dance across the frets gracefully while Eddie screams in appreciation throughout. He then jogs back to his mic, nearly missing his cue for his backing vocals, but his fingers never rest. Roger’s gravely falsetto catches your ear, and you train your eyes on the multitasking drummer. Even up behind his kit, his presence takes center stage while he keeps perfect time. The group ends the song in perfect synchronicity as the lights cut to black.

The chords for Somebody To Love start with a few majestic trills from Freddie’s voice, but your attention is once again grabbed away. Towards the back of the stage, still cast in darkness, you see John. He quickly shrugs off a fitted leather jacket to reveal an even tighter full cerulean blue ensemble before a roadie slips the strap of his bass over his head. He strolls into the light just as Freddie finishes his improv, lightly bouncing on the balls of his feet as they begin the song.

While he keeps his gaze mostly pointed to the ground, his body already thrums with anticipation. As it really gets going, you watch as he comes to life. You can’t help but hang onto his every movement; the unintentional jerks of his head, the light two-step of his feet as he shuffles along to his bass line's groove. He seems entirely at the will of the song and loving every minute of it. A pang of jealousy hits your chest as you wonder if you’d ever feel that free on stage.

Not much conversation passes between you and the boys as you watch on, more than a bit awestruck. You’re not sure how many songs pass, but fresh beers repeatedly appear in your hands every so often. The lights are dizzyingly bright as your eyes skip around the stage, trying to absorb as much as you can. You find they consistently flick back to John, sucking in every minutia of his performance. Your chest tightens like it did the day of Pop Quiz. Every time he had caught your eye, you remember having to push down the inescapable thoughts you were having. You would tell yourself you don’t know what it is about him, but you’d be lying. 

A voice jolts you out of your stupor. “You must be Fred’s young friends he met in New Haven.”

The group turns to find a small man situated in the row behind them wearing an impeccably tailored suit.

“Jim Beach, manager for the band,” he holds out a hand for each of you to shake. “Sorry for the last-minute invitation. Fred was simply beside himself when he remembered you’re all from New York. So glad you could make it.”

“This is incredible, thanks so much for having us,” Rich tells the man sincerely as his gaze keeps being drawn back to the stage.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourselves. We’ve always been big fans of playing here.”

“It’s quite the spectacle,” you muse. “I've never seen The Garden this decked out before. I mean, those lighting rigs alone must cost…” you trail off.

“Believe me, you don’t want to know,” Jim replies with a quirk of his lips. “If you’d all like to follow me downstairs, they’ll be finishing up soon, and I’m sure Fred would love to thank you for coming.”

Steve leaps from his plastic seat, “Yes, please!”

- - - - - - -

The green room is unlike any you’ve ever seen—rust-colored persian rugs litter the floor, the grey slate underneath barely peeking through. Tapestries and various paintings line the walls, somehow giving the usually sterile space a homey feel. Multiple buffet tables filled with every accoutrement imaginable are tucked away in a back corner.

The room is scarce of people for the most part. Crew members filter in and out, grabbing waters, some puffing on cigarettes as they wipe down their sweaty foreheads. A select few have migrated down from the skybox as well.

Lawrence plops down on one of the many leather couches, taking in the room. “So this is what it’s like when you make it?”

“Seems a little excessive even for a band of their stature,” murmurs Rich as if reading your mind.

The deafening roar of the crowd is heard from above, and Queen closes out their encore. The crew members who are now needed for the post set break-down hurry from the room as it gets quiet. You all sit there in near silence for a few moments until a light cheer erupts as Freddie, Brian, and Roger all enter the room, swaddled in thick robes and towels around their necks. They're breathing heavy, still radiating the energy from their set, knowing full well that it was a fantastic show.

“Thank you, darling,” Freddie says as someone hands him a bottle of cold water, glancing around at the people who are still giving the band a wide berth. He spots the group of you huddled out of the way. “Oh!” he exclaims with a clap of his hands, making his way over, “You made it!”

He kisses you all on the cheeks, leaving a ghost of sweat on your faces. “My gangly young saplings! It’s lovely to see you.” He locks eyes with you, a wicked grin on his face. “And you most of all, my little cottontail.”

“You were fantastic Freddie, thank you so much for thinking of us, really,” you tell him genuinely.

“And who have we got here?” a towering Brian May appears behind Freddie.

“Oh yes, may I present to you, Lo & The Limbs!” Freddie says, spreading his arms wide. So he does remember the name; you laugh to yourself.

Eddie pushes further into the group to immediately extend his hand. “You slayed tonight, man. I mean, really slayed.”

Brian returns the shake with a surprised laugh. “Why, thank you. I’ve heard your album, and I have to say, you all… slay as well.”

“Oy, you!” A disheveled looking Roger Taylor makes his way over to the group, people parting like the red sea before him. He marches straight up to you, his finger inches from your nose. “I lost quite a lot of quid, thanks to you.”

You shrink back a bit. “I’m sorry?”

“It would be like John to bring in a ringer at the last second. And after we’d already threw down our bets.” You glance at Freddie with a confused look still on your face.

“What a lovely way to welcome our new friends,” Brian throws an arm over Roger’s shoulder before turning to you. “We may have made a slight wager on John’s most recent Pop Quiz appearance.”

“Slight?” Freddie smirks. “My new Gucci loafers would disagree, darling.”

Roger lets out an incoherent grumble. “Well, he usually fucks it up, doesn’t he? That is until you snuck in there.”

“I’m… sorry?” you offer, failing to find a witty remark for the situation.

He heaves a dramatic sigh, “I guess you’ll just have to make it up to me. I’ve been looking for someone to help me bury the bodies, or do my taxes, or be on call if I perhaps fancied a shag in the middle of the night?” he raises his brows in an overtly teasing manner.

You let out a sharp snort. “Fancy a shag? God, that sounds so much better than “ya wanna go fuck?”

Roger chuckles heartily, “Alright, alright. It was touch and go there for a bit, but I’ve come ‘round. I like this one. She can stay.”

“Y’know, we made a bet of sorts as well,” Lawrence reveals with a mischievous grin. The men all look to him, intrigued. “How long Y/N could keep her cool around that bassist of yours. She failed miserably, and now we shall reap the benefits by teasing her mercilessly until the end of time.”

You swear your mouth couldn’t have dropped open faster. Really need to work on that poker face, you tell yourself.

“Someone was trying to be cool around Deacy? Are you sure you’ve met the man?” Brian laughs.

Staring blankly around, all you know is you need to get out of this situation fast. “I need to pee,” you announce loudly. Really, Y/N? “Excuse me.”

Quickly ducking out of the room before anyone can say anything, you lean your back up against the wall in the hallway as you collect your swimming thoughts. What was it about this band that made you get all dumbstruck? Truth be told, you weren’t usually a timid person. Sure, everyone had bouts of social anxiety now and again, but you navigated social interactions seamlessly for the most part. It had always been easy for you to make friends or crack a quick comeback at a joke. Teasing was a form of endearment where you came from. But ever since you’d entered this new world, it was as if you were a stranger in your body. Who happened to be almost mute apparently. You push yourself off the wall to find a bathroom, your mind still fully occupied by your inner ramblings.

“Points!” a roadie shouts at you, trying to get your attention as they push a cart of cumbersome looking sound equipment right into your path. Before you have time to react, two hands grip your waist and pull you back to your previous position against the wall. 

Once again, you are face to face with a familiar chest. You watch as a light chuckle rumbles through it.

“I know it’s cheesy to say, but we have to stop meeting like this. Or do you make it a point to always bumble about in narrow hallways?” John pulls his hands back to his side as you meet his attractive colored eyes, amusement flickering in them. 

“John. Hi,” is all you manage.

“Good to see you again, Y/N. Freddie mentioned you all might be stopping by. Glad you could make it.”

You try and will your new persona not to take hold, but all you can do is smile meekly at him. He regards you patiently, cocking his head to the side slightly.

“Did you enjoy the show?”

“Yes, very much,” you rush out quickly. “I’ve never seen anything quite like that before. The Garden’s not an easy place to play.”

“Thank you. You’re kind," he smiles bashfully. "The crowds in New York are some of my favorites. I wish we got the chance to spend more time here, but it seems we’re always passing through.”

“Am I interrupting?” Freddie asks with raised eyebrows from the doorway, a grin on his face.

John makes his way over to him. “Not at all. Just heroically saving Y/N from a near-death run-in with Ratty.”

“Sounds about right,” Freddie muses. “Now, if we’re all safe and sound, I’d like to get out of here. I’m positively starving.”

“Where to?” John asks.

“I want to go someplace real New Yorkers go,” he looks to you expectantly.

“Bun-bun?” you hear from inside before Steve pokes his head around Fred.

“Is your grandpa working tonight?”

- - - - - - -

Even John knew of Elaine’s. He’d hadn’t heard about it because the notable food, but rather the wide variety of clientele it boasted. Writers, directors, actors, and musicians alike frequently filled the establishment for the ambiance and lively conversation. Freddie would love it.

The large group enters through the wood door under a large awning, immediately hit by a wall of sound. The small place is packed to the brim. Raucous laughter can be heard from most tables as the patrons sardine together, shouting over one another. It had a certain charm, he guessed, taking in the decor of signed book covers and hand-painted murals.

“Bambina!” A small italian-looking maitre d' steps from behind the counter and spreads his arms wide as he engulfs Y/N into a hug. “You didn’t tell me you were stopping by tonight.”

“Sorry, Papa. It was last minute. Just in time for the 10:30 rush by the looks of it.”

An infectiously warm smile spreads across his face. “Do you see me complaining? You hardly visit anymore now that you’re running around the world with that guitar. I’m so proud of you,” he adds softly, kissing her forehead. “Look at these boys!” he greets the rest of The Limbs like family, clapping each man on the back with love. “Am I shrinking already, or are all you still growing?”

“Probably a little of both, Dom,” Eddie laughs with the old man.

“And there’s even more, I see,” he inquires, finally noticing Queen.

It was unusual for them not to be the center of attention in any given situation, all of them hanging back except for Freddie, who marches right up to the man and places a kiss on his cheek.

“Freddie Mercury, a dear friend of your Y/N. It’s a pleasure.”

He looks to Y/N suspiciously. “Are they musicians? You know what happened that one time. I had to pry Elaine off of beating that tiny Mickey guy. I’m telling ya, it was ugly.”

“Not Mickey- Mick, Papa. How many times do I have to tell you?” Y/N shushes him, looking a bit embarrassed.

Dom waves his hand at her, “Whoever he is, that kid owes me his life. I expect these ones to behave.”

Roger snorts from the back, “Not very likely.”

“We promise,” Freddie swears. “And might I say, I love the suit. Very dashing,” he adds on for good measure.

“Well, how else do you think I got this job?” Dom smiles at him with a wink. “C’mon,” he gestures for all to follow as he leads them through the narrow restaurant, to a long table in the back. “Enjoy, boys,” he tells them as he heads back to his post up front, kissing Y/N on the cheek before leaving.

“Come sit next to me, my love,” Freddie calls to Y/N, patting the seat beside him. “If any of your other family members are as outrageous as that man, I want to hear all about them.”

The group moves to squish in around the table. Roger silently catches John’s eye and motions to the seat next to Y/N. He quirks his brows at him, confused, but makes his way to sit between them.

Eddie has taken his rightful place next to Brian with Rich in tow, the three already in deep conversation about the current music scene. Lawrence and Roger sit opposite each other, tearing into the bread basket and chatting about the show. Next to Freddie, Steve is eagerly hanging onto every word he says as he chats to Y/N about her upbringing.

“I’m just hoping one day we get to do something like that, man. Our show on Sunday should be a pretty big deal, though,” Lawrence tells Roger.

“Where are you playing? CBGB? The Palladium?” 

“Nah, we’re playing out on the island. Jones Beach.”

“Huh, Long Island. We’ve never been to Long Island before,” Roger ponders, intrigued. “What’s there to do on Long Island?”

“Well, do you like bowling? Strip malls?” Lawrence pauses for effect. “Bowling at strip malls?”

John lightly chuckles. An arm brushes his shoulder, and he moves back slightly as a large woman weaves her hands around Y/N’s shoulders.

“My little Y/N has come back to us! And surrounded by even more devilishly handsome men than usual.”

Y/N turns around in her seat to give the woman a proper hug. “Elaine! It’s been too long.”

“Let me get a good look at you,” she gestures for Y/N to spin as she regards her. “If you need help beating em’ off of ya, I have my bat behind the counter.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, teasingly, “Don’t I know it. I have a vivid childhood memory of you chasing Ron Galella around the dining room with that thing.”

She lets out a larger than life laugh at the memory, patting the young girl on the back. “Oh, those were the good years. So, aren’t you going to introduce me to your new friends?”

“Elaine! I’m hurt you don’t remember our beautiful time together,” Eddie teases her from the table's end.

“Shut it, Eddie,” she reprimands him with a point of her stubby finger.

Y/N turns to the group, spreading her arms wide. “Guys, this is Elaine Kaufman, of Eliane’s, obviously. Elaine, this is Queen.”

She attempts a half-hearted curtsey. “Your majesties. Welcome.”

Before long, Elaine has pulled up a chair as she cracks dirty jokes back and forth with Freddie, which has the rest of the group (and some nearby diners) howling in laughter. Y/N’s now-familiar cackle sends tingles through John’s body once again. She’s more relaxed than he’s previously seen her be. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, showcasing her broad smile as she looks on fondly, hands waving about whenever she joins in the conversation. Her face is mostly free of makeup and he catches the hint of a dimple on one of her cheeks as she glances over at him to share in a joke.

Freddie gasps as he catches someone entering the front door. “Is that Shirley MacLaine? Slap my ass and call me Sally, that woman does not age.”

“Come with me,” Elaine says, rising from her chair. “I think she’ll like you.”

Food appears without any of them having to order, along with bottles of wine Elaine insisted they’d love. John tentatively takes a bite of one of the dishes set before him.

“Oh god,” he blurts out upon tasting.

Y/N snickers beside him. “Bad, right? I recommend the tortellini if you want something remotely edible.” She pushes a plate towards him, snagging some for herself.

He gulps down water, trying to rid himself of the bland taste. “I would ask why this place is packed, but it seems I’ve already met her.”

“And you would be right. She’s a riot, but I fully blame her for my vulgar vocabulary,” she reveals, taking a giant bite of pasta.

“You and Freddie seem to have that in common.”

Y/N chews slowly as she muses over that sentiment. “That seems to be the only thing we have in common,” she says softly. He cocks his head at her in question.

“It’s just,” she starts, a somber look replacing her previously buoyant one. “Watching him on stage tonight. All of you actually. You seem so free, so comfortable up there. And Freddie is just magnetic, you know that. It’s as if he makes the crowd fall in love with him again and again with every song. I could never do that…”

“I find that quite hard to believe,” he mumbles, continuing on quickly. “Freddie’s a performer. Everything he does up there is for that crowd. Whereas I’m just a musician, I think. It probably helps that I don’t sing. It'll just take some time to find your footing. You don’t have to be both. You don't have to be either for that matter.”

She scoffs lightly, pushing the food around on her plate. “Don’t I? Ever since this all began, I feel like I’m some paper doll or something. People just dress me up and mold me into what they want. And I go right along with it because I don’t even recognize this version of myself if I’m being honest. So I just keep that mask on until I get back home and I can finally breathe. Because then, at least I don’t have to stare at a stranger in the mirror anymore.” 

She breaks out of the daze she fell into while rambling. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t unload on you like this,” she catches herself. “I guess I just had a very different assumption of what my life would look like... I think I'm afraid of losing who I am in all this."

John takes her in, catching glimpses of his former self in her cracks. He itches to soothe her distress. “I can understand,” he tells her sympathetically. “Hell, I thought I was joining a band to play with on the side at uni and look at us now. Sometimes I still feel like I’m leading a double life. I tried to convince myself all this was just a job at first, but I’m sure you’re finding out quickly that’s not always true.”

Y/N looks at him intently, and it’s the first time he truly sees the depth of her eyes. He clears his throat before continuing.

“I've come to learn that the concept of home is a funny thing. For a long time, I held onto the idea of it that I always had for myself, but it’s harder than it looks with what we do,” he sighs, running a hand through his short curls, not wanting to dwell too long on his unpleasent situation back in England. 

“But home can be anything really. It can be people,” he says, glancing at his bandmates. “Or even the stage, which sometimes I think is Freddie’s. Or you can be Roger, and make yourself at home wherever you go.”

They glance over at Rog, who is in the middle of an animated story, waving his glass of wine around as it drips on the tablecloth.

“So all you can do is find whatever that home is and hold onto it the best you can. And it might change, but that doesn't mean you have to," he nudges her shoulder with his.

Y/N smiles down at her lap. “Thank you,” she tells him quietly, still swimming in her own thoughts.

“Of course,” he assures, pausing to breathe- not used to giving long-winded explanations. Nervous that he’s pushed too far, he glances over, catching as her shoulders relax.

The restaurant was mostly cleared out by now, save for a few regulars sitting at the tall wood bar. The staff chats casually amongst themselves as they clean off empty tables for the night. Steve is giving Freddie details of the New York club scene, probably hoping to earn himself an invitation one day. Elaine’s regaling Brian, Eddie, and Rich with a story about two writers and a feud of accused plagiarism. Lawrence and Roger were currently attempting to turn their napkins into amusing hats for each other. John finds himself enjoying the young band's presence, their chaotic energy seeming to match Queen’s dynamic quite well.

The group collectively jumps as the music drastically raises in volume, the intro of Ray Charles’ ‘Hallelujah, I Love Her So’ pouring out.

“Oh god, no,” Y/N groans next to him as the waiters all turn their attention to her. Dom appears beside her with an outstretched hand. “Papa, not now, please.”

“Indulge your grandfather, Y/N,” he winks at her as she reluctantly takes his hand, pulling her to the middle of the room. John’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the old man springs to life, twirling his granddaughter around the room with ease. The pure spryness of someone that age was genuinely shocking.

“Oh, this is fabulous!” Freddie laughs as he leans his chin forward on his hands.

And it was. The staff cheers, hinting that this was a familiar routine for them. The rest of The Limbs sing along with the track, watching the two affectionately like old family.

Y/N’s apprehensive look fades away as she gives in to the fun, pure joy flashing across her features as she glides along, following her grandfather in the swing dance rather gracefully. She looks free, John thinks to himself, drinking in the true version of the young woman. She was dazzling as her hair fell messily from her ponytail and her laugh was louder than ever as Dom dips her low to the floor, her body bending with him. If this was home, he could see why she was reluctant to leave it behind.

He’s mesmerized by her every movement. She was still an enigma to him, each detail he pulled from her, just making him hungry for more. 

You shouldn’t. You’re still married. Well, technically. Papers aren’t signed yet.

“Alright, I’m convinced,” Roger shouts at Lawrence. “Looks like we'll have to stop in Long Island.”

- - - - - - -

“Fuck, it’s cold,” Brian announces, burrowing further into his white windbreaker.

The Jones Beach Theater was tucked right up to the shoreline, causing the spray of the Atlantic to chill the air despite the summer heat. John had never seen a venue like it. It’s as if the vast sea acted as an extended backdrop to the stage, reflecting the stars and inky drape of the night.

The crowd didn’t seem to mind at all. They had been brilliant the entire night, singing along to every one of the songs and dancing in full force. It was perfectly clear how proud they were of their hometown heroes.

The Limbs themselves were a sight to behold from the wings of the stage. The energy from the packed seats had bled over, and all 5 members were indeed feeling it. They had been in perfect sync with each other the entire show, and John was certainly amused by their own way of interacting with their audience. It mostly consisted of them hurling humorous insults back and forth to each other in between songs.

Even Y/N seemed to be enjoying herself, despite her confession the other night. She had taken Freddie’s note that he’d given after seeing her dance and was now stepping out from behind the mic stand for her songs. She slinked around the stage effortlessly, interacting with the other members and the crowd, much to their glee.

“Before we say goodnight to you all, we’d like to leave you with a little something,” Rich calls out over the deafening cheers. “A lullaby of sorts from one of our favorites.”

Y/N drags a stool out to the center of the stage as Lawrence begins a somber melody on the keyboard. The audiences erupts in cheers and John recognizes it as a Billy Joel song.

She takes a seat behind the mic as she gazes out over the crowd. The exhilarated face she had been sporting all night was gone, a shade of melancholy in its place now.

Goodnight, my angel, time to close your eyes

And save these questions for another day

I think I know what you’ve been asking me

I think you know what I’ve been trying to say

Her hypnotic voice pierces through the now-silent crowd. The type of voice you immediately feel in your chest, as if it’s personally strumming your heartstrings. No one dares to sing along, afraid they'll miss a moment of her inflection.

I promised I would never leave you

Then you should always know

Wherever you may go, no matter where you are

I never will be far away

The familiar sight of lighters being illuminated flickers through the sea of people before them, casting a hazy glow on the previously faceless patrons. Their peaceful stares fixed on Y/N, entranced as if she was siren of sorts.

Goodnight my angel, now it’s time to dream

And dream how wonderful your life will be

Someday your child may cry, and if you sing this lullaby

Then in your heart, there will always be a part of me

Her voice breaks a bit, giving away the glassiness of her eyes. They’re not fixed on the crowd, but instead on the sky beyond them. John watches the panes of her face intently. She wasn’t singing to them, he realizes. This was to herself. Possibly to that image in her mind, she had confided in him, the one she was struggling to leave behind—her piece of home.

Someday we’ll all be gone

But lullabies go on and on

“She’s going to be something else, isn’t she?” Freddie asks, mostly to himself.

They never die

That’s how you and I will be

John watches as a single tear slips off the slope of her nose as she finishes, bowing her head.

“Yeah, I think she is.”

[mindofharry]

troubled.

hate is a very strong word.

But harry styles is sure he hates maya clearwater. With every bone is his body, he hates that girl. He hates her curly black hair, that she sometimes straightens (which he hates too). He hates the way she smiles her pearly white teeth on show for everyone to see. He hates the way her dimple show everytime she laughs, she laughs so loud people can her from a mile away. He hates the way people love her. How she has so many friends. He hates the way teachers praise her. The dictionary meaning of the word hate, is to feel an intense dislike for someone. And Harry’s sure he had more than a feeling of intens dislike for maya.

As for maya, she loved everyone. She was just easy to be around. Everyone she’d ever met, she got on with. Except for: Harry styles. She could never really put her finger on him. Why he always got so annoyed when she joined him and his friends. She had to admit, he wasn’t who everyone thought he was. But she was hopeful. Hopeful that he would change his ways, and be his true self. The one the fans think he is. But maybe that’s one of her so called ‘toxic traits’ always being hopeful and believing there’s good in people. Even with there may not be an ounce. Maya had been like that since she was a child. You might call her a push over or naive, but she always believed in second chances and seeing the good side of people. Even when they’ve made her upset or angry.

Maya and Harry had met at Sarah’s, Harry’s drummers, party. It was New Year’s Eve, everyone seemed to be getting on really enjoying themselves. Until maya arrived. Harry had disliked her since the moment she layed on her.

He was upset because she didn’t remember him. She never texted him back. And definitely looked much better than he did. They had met briefly before at a mutual friend’s birthday party, they exchanged numbers, maya promising him they would meet up again soon. But as Harry waited, there was no call or text. And that’s when he decided he would hate maya clearwater forever. And he would make everyone know about it.

And they did.

When maya and Harry finally had met properly, able to talk and actually say hello, Harry was the rudest he had ever been his life. Sarah was so beyond embarrassed as she had met maya only a month ago, and was really trying to get to know her more. Sarah apologised profusely to maya when she decided she would head home early.

“Maya, please don’t leave! I’ll sort it out!” Sarah said red in the face from embarrassment. Maya shook her hear bringing her new friend into a hug before kissing her cheek.

“I promise we can celebrate together another time. Please don’t worry about this, I’ve already forgotten about it” maya lied putting a fake smile “you should too” she continued nodding her head before grabbing her red coat and black back before hugging Sarah again.

“I’ll text you when I’m home” maya said before leaving the house.

So maya went home and cried. And then she put on her fake smile, and forgot about. This is what she did, she cried. And then it was forgotten. She didn’t like to dwell on things, and she was already insecure enough, she didn’t need heart throb Harry styles bringing her down too.

The next time maya and Harry met was when she was dragged to another party at her college. Of course she wasn’t expecting to see one of the most famous singers in the world today at her friends college party. She had remembered back to the words that he spoke at Sarah’s party, but she quickly put her thoughts to rest as her friend, Jane, brought her to the dance floor.

Harry saw her curly black hair and her red dress before maya realised he was here. He sighed bringing the beer to his lips. Why was she always where he was? Why was she always in his thoughts? Why can’t maya clearwater leave him alone?

Harry snickered to his friends as he watched her and her friend dance together. He nudged his friend tom, pointing over to maya. “She looks like a stick” Harry laughed and the boys all nodded laughing along. Maya stopped dancing and looked over at Harry with tears in her eyes. Jane was trying to get maya to dance, while maya stood there looking Harry in the eye, her brown skin glistening with sweat and tears. Harry almost felt half bad, but he soon forgot about that once he remembered what she did. He smirked at her sipping at his beer once more as he watched her walk away from her friend and leave the house.

Maya had cried one too many tears on this man. She had hardly even talked to this man! They had met twice, barely the second time.

She just wanted to know why he hated her so much. She had always tried to be the nicest person she could possibly be. That’s what her mum asked of before she died. You could say maya had a wild child phase, while her mum was sick. She just couldn’t expect that her mum was going to die. So she abused drugs and alcohol, and she became known as the towns whore. She was naive and she was defintly in denial. But maya thought if she did this it would numb the pain. She would forget that her mum could possible die while she was out having sex with any beating heart.

“Baby. I need you to be good when I’m gone. I need you to look after dad and toby, ok?” Her mum said tears in her eyes and maya grabbed her mother’s hand tears running down her face.

“I need you to be better. To love yourself. Respect yourself. And please, please. Treat people with kindness”

And maya never forgot that. She eventually calmed down, went to therapy. Helped her brother with school and stuff a mother and father should be doing. But her dad was depressed. He knew this was coming, but he lost the love of his life. But soon everything went back to whatever normal was. Her dad would smile. Toby would ask about their mum, but no one would cry. It took a good few years to mend their hearts, but they did that with, collette clearwaters words:

“I need you to be better. To love yourself. Respect yourself”

The next time Harry and maya met, Harry had crossed the line and maya had, had enough. She was completely done with Harry styles.

Maya had a rough day. She failed a maths test she thought she’d aced. Her roommate was moving out and on top of that her dads birthday was in two days and she couldn’t reach the shops because her car broke down, and she forgot to bring money for the bus. She had to walk to college, in the rain. All her books and clothes were soaked, and her poor straightened hair was no more.

She needed a friend, so she texted sarah before walking to her house. She never ever did this, just show up. But she needed some friend cuddles and a warm cup of tea. She arrived to Sarah’s house 10 minutes later with still no text. She didn’t want to be rude, but she really just needed someone. Maya knocked on Sarah’s front door.

Sarah opened it excited, confused and a little worried.

“H....hi.... i texted but you um didn’t reply so so i....i thought i could stop by, maybe?” Maya stuttered. Sarah smiled warmly at maya pulling her into a hug. “No need to text. I’m always here for you love, whenever” Sarah replied rubbing maya’s back.

“it’s just harrys here, and i know the two of you don’t really get on” Sarah stated and maya bit her lip. She really needed this. She didn’t want to be in a mood when her dad got home. So she nodded “it’s ok. I’m sure he can put his hatred for me away for today”

Maya walked in hand in hand with Sarah, Harry’s band looking up immediately. They all greeted you with an unsure look, looking between you and Harry. You smiled at them all including Harry, but he just scowled. Her smile immediately dropped, Sarah pulling her to the sofa beside her boyfriend Mitch.

“What’s stick doing here?” Harry asked with a half smirk. The tension was now very clear in the room. “I’m not a stick Harry” maya replied biting her lip once again. She was probably going to lead a lot of Vaseline after this conversation. “hmm y’sure” he asked rolling his eyes.

maya sighed leaning back into the sofa grabbing the pillow beside and tried covering her body with it. The room was silent and uncomfortable, before Harry opened his mouth again. “i asked you a question.” Harry said leaning his elbow on his leg, holding up his head.

maya shook her head, again biting her lip, and sighed. “I just had a rough day, needed some company. s’all” maya mumbled seeing Harry roll his green eyes once again.

“What are you gonna cry again?”

“Everytime i open my mouth, you cry. It honestly getting old maya! cut the act” Harry said leaning back. Maya sighed her eyes once again, filling with tears. “We don’t have time for this, go on home and cry to your mummy instead” he said and Sarah gasped.

“Harry” she yelled trying to grab your hand as you stood up with a sob.

“I don’t know what I’ve done to you Harry. But I’m so sorry. For whatever i did. I really am. But when you bring my family into whatever sick hatred you have with me, is where i draw the fucking line”. Maya said with tears running down her face. Harry looked almost shocked and upset?

“My mums dead harry”

The room was immediately silenced and Harry let out a curse as he stood up.

“M...maya”

“No! No! You don’t get to apologise and pity me once you figure out my mother is dead” maya yelled waving her hands around as he walked closer to her. “You have hurt me Harry. You really have. Don’t ever fucking come near me again” maya said grabbing her bag before running out of her friends house.

“Fuck”

A week later Harry had tried to reach maya a total of 456 ways. He had texted her and phoned her and tried to get her when she was out and about. He even went to her house. He even wrote her letters? This boy was truly sorry. He hadn’t stopped to think about the possibilities of her losing his number. Or him putting in the wrong number. Or maybe she just wasn’t interest. And lastly, maybe she did forget. And he should’ve been ok way that. But Harry wasn’t. He hated her. He hated her so much, and now he can’t stand the thought of her hating him. Of her doing the same thing he did to her.

The only way he was sure this apology would be written well, would be through a song. Something he was quite good at. You could really feel the emotion from the song when he preformed it with the band. It was named fine line. Quite depressing but happy and the same time.

Sarah wasn’t sure when Harry tried to persuade her into giving maya the song. But when Harry started crying her eyes widened and grabbed the paper before dropping the note in maya’s bag. She knew maya wouldn’t take it, even from her.

So she snuck it into her science notes in her bag, a place she knew maya would look today.

And Sarah was right of course.

Maya saw the note. And at first she wa confused. But then she read the note, telling her to plug the disc in and listen carefully.

‘ put a price on emotion ‘

Maya let out a strangled sigh as she heard the voice of Harry. Her eyes filling up with tears as she listened to the song.

‘ we’ll be alright ’

Maya picked up her phone sobbing as she looked for the number Harry rang her with.

She nodded when he picked up letting out a sob.

‘ we’ll be a fine line. We’ll be alright ‘

[particularemu]

Insanity | A Hwang Hyunjin Series | Part 2

Part: [Prologue] [Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] [Part 7] [Part 8] [Part 9] [Part 10] [Part 11] [Part 12] [Part 13] [Part 14] [Part 15] [Epilogue]

Word Count: 4668

Type: ANGST, FLUFF

Warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, violence, blood, gore? (kind of but not really), suicide, manic episodes? Idk what to call it, but someone goes nuts. 

Tag List: @alightiny​ @joojoosiwa (bby tumblr won’t let me tag you 🥺)

Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long. I’m hoping to have a chapter out every other day, but please don’t quote me on that in case it doesn’t happen. 

Thank you @jisungsjheekies​ for helping figure out where tf to end this chapter lmao. 

Panic filled every fiber of Hyunjin’s being as he raced down the hallways, following the older boy through the maze of doors. “What’s going on?” Hyunjin panted, mentally cursing himself for refusing to work on cardio when he was at the gym. 

“One of my patients,” Minho turned a corner, nearly bumping into a nurse before he rushed down to door 304. “David… He’s trying to kill himself.” He panted. 

“So you decided to leave him alone and call me?” Hyunjin’s brows creased as he stared at Minho. Why on earth would he leave a suicidal patient by himself? That’s a recipe for disaster! Besides… Hyunjin knew about a lot of things. He knew about many different medications to aid mental illnesses, he knew how to diagnose mental disorders, hell… he even knew the entire medical dictionary front to back. Talking someone out of suicide? That’s something Hyunjin has no experience in, nor does he know how to handle it. 

Minho sighed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose to calm his nerves. “Look, I know it sounds stupid, but you’re his only chance.” Minho paused, catching his breath before continuing. “I told him that I knew a guy who’s trying to take down the hospital.” Minho lowered his hands, eyes boring into Hyunjin’s, “You’re the only one who’s willing to admit that this place is fucked up.” He paused, trying to find the right words to say. “Look, you’re his only chance. I need your help.” 

“How do you know you can trust me?” Hyunjin’s brow raised up as he asked the question. 

Minho chuckled. “I wouldn’t be here if you tattled.” 

Hyunjin couldn’t help but wonder what the older boy meant. Would they have fired Minho if Hyunjin talked about the confrontation in the janitor’s closet? Minho did mention something about being admitted to the hospital… Would he…

“There’s no time. Let’s go.” Minho’s voice shook Hyunjin out of his thoughts. 

Right! The suicidal patient! 

Hyunjin’s eyes widened as Minho opened the door, lips pursing together to hide the quiet gasp that slipped past his lips. An older man stood in the corner, chair in front of him as if the rickety piece of oak would shield the man from any attacks. A long shard of glass, taken from the broken lamp on the floor, was pointed to his neck, blood running down his palm from where the jagged edges sliced the skin. 

The boy couldn’t help but panic. He had to suppress his reactions, or he might make the situation worse. The last thing Hyunjin wanted to do was end up pushing the man to take his life. Hyunjin knew all the medications that would help the man, he knew about different methods to prevent suicide  — but how on earth do you convince someone to put the weapon down and allow the doctors to help? All he needed to do was get that jagged shard of glass away from the man… Then they could talk to him — convince him that life’s worth living.  

“This hospital is a fucking prison.” The man sneered, arm frantically waving the jagged shard of glass around as if the two boys were attacking him. “Get away from me! None of you fuckers want to help us!” The man’s wide eyes darted around the room, searching for men wielding sharp needles, waiting to strap him to the bed. 

Hyunjin could feel his heart drop into his stomach. He’s seen lots of mentally deranged patients when he was training, but he’s never seen such genuine panic in a person’s face. This man clearly thought that Hyunjin and Minho were going to hurt him. 

“That’s not true David.” Minho backed away from the man, hands fumbling behind him to slide the drawer open, just enough for his fingers to grab a syringe from the contents in the drawer. “This is Dr. Hyunjin. He’s the man I told you about. The one who wants to burn this place to the ground.” Minho’s eyes darted to Hyunjin — a silent nudge begging him to go along with it, to be a distraction so the boy could get enough of the sedative in the syringe to knock David out before he could hurt anyone. 

To successfully distract the man, Hyunjin had to improvise — to pretend that he had a plan. Knowing the man’s name helped… That’ll give Hyunjin a fighting chance to relate to the man — to convince him that someone out there cared about him. “I already have a way out.” Hyunjin reached his hand out to the frightened man, pulling back when the glass was thrust towards him. Hyunjin raised his hands in surrender, caring eyes crinkling gently as he smiled. “I just need you to put that down. Then you and I can get out of here. David, you’ll be free.” 

The crazy man lowered his hand, eyes glazing over as he thought about Hyunjin’s request. “You have a way out?”

Hyunjin’s eyes went wide. He didn’t think this far ahead. Think Hyunjin think… How could a runaway man escape the asylum? 

“Yes. Hyunjin dug a tunnel in the basement.” Minho cut in. “It took him weeks to dig that thing. Where does it let out again Hyunjin? Isn’t it out by the lake?”

Hyunjin nodded, reminding himself to thank the older boy later for saving his ass. “It’s out by the lake, where no one will find it. David, we have to go. If we don’t —” 

“You’re lying!” David screamed. 

Three things happened over the span of a minute.

1. Minho took the opportunity to open the syringe and stab the needle into the sedative. The boy tipped the bottle up and filled the syringe with the proper dose before turning to check up on Hyunjin. 

2. Hyunjin dropped to the ground, missing the bloody shard of glass by an inch as David rushed forward, arm swinging wildly. The boy managed to slip under the table, dodging yet another swing from the crazed man. Hyunjin moved around the table, waiting for the man’s next strike until he heard something that made his heart drop. 

3. “Hyunjin?” Your frightened voice made the crazy man stop — the pure genuine fear in your eyes making him wonder if you were like him, if you were stuck there too. Seeing Hyunjin get attacked like that scared you beyond all reason. He was the only person you could trust. You couldn’t lose him. 

Hyunjin kept facing the crazy man, refusing to look away in case David decided to get violent once more. He backed up to your shivering form, hand reaching behind him to feel for you, to reassure him that you’re safe. Hyunjin sighed in relief when he felt your hand against his back. “It’s not safe here. Go back to your room.” 

Your bright eyes glassed over at his stern tone, but you couldn’t leave him. You wanted to help — you’ve been there too. “Why are you trying to hurt these people? If you want to get out of here, violence isn’t the answer.” You tried to keep your voice strong, but fear took over, leaving you a shaky mess. Hyunjin glared at you as you stepped beside him, grabbing his arm for comfort. 

“Go back to your room. Now.” Hyunjin spoke through his teeth, the deep voice throwing you off guard. You didn’t want to piss him off, but if there was a chance — any chance — that you could save this man’s life, you wanted to try to talk him out of it.

“This place is a prison.” David spat at Minho, making the boy scrunch his nose in disgust. You would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so dire. “Get out while you can. These fucking people will do everything in their power to keep you here!” The man swung the shard of glass a couple times. “I’ll hold them off. You get out of here!” 

“It’s not bad.” You mumbled. “Minho’s your caretaker right?” You sighed in relief when the man nodded. “He cares about his patients.”

“No, he doesn’t.” David snapped, pure hatred in his tone as he waved the jagged piece of glass at Minho. “That piece of shit doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” 

For a second, your eyes darted to Minho’s defeated frame, once sparkly eyes turning dull as his shoulders fell. The image of Minho’s guilt-ridden face was engraved in your memory, even when Hyunjin nudged you with his shoulder. 

“Get out now.” Hyunjin turned his head, lips brushing against your ear as he practically snarled. “This isn’t a game. This man will kill you.” 

“That’s not true.” You tightened your grip around Hyunjin’s arm, tears gathering at the corner of your eyes as Hyunjin attempted to shake you off. “Minho has always taken good care of me.” You paused, noticing Minho start to make his way behind the suicidal man. “He was always there to hold me when I was going through panic attacks.” You tried to smile through your tears. “He’s one of the best caretakers in this institution.” As soon as Minho was positioned behind the man, needle in hand, you put the pieces together. They were going to sedate him. You kept talking, trying to keep the man distracted. “You’ll get out of here soon if you put the glass down, but you won’t be going anywhere if you kill someone.” 

David looked frightened, eyes glassing over as he tightened his grip on the glass, slicing a deeper cut onto his palm. “You have no idea what this place is.” His shaky voice shook you to the core. 

“You do?” You gestured to the room. “How do you know what this place is? We aren’t allowed out of our rooms.” What on earth could he be talking about? Sure, this hospital wasn’t the best in the country, but you were getting help right? Was this place evil? You knew Dr. Henry was an asshole, but you didn’t know the whole institution was fucked up. 

David’s gaze shifted to his feet, hand lowering “I used to work here.” 

Your lips parted in surprise, arms tightening around Hyunjin as your brain tried to process the unexpected information. 

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin asked. Does this have something to do with what Minho said? People who don’t listen get admitted…

“I used to work here back in 94.” David’s face turned sour. “It wasn’t like this back then. The doctors cared about their patients, and the institution wasn’t fenced in and gated like a prison.” David paused, trying to remember the good days before everything went to hell. “My wife was pregnant, and I needed to find a job closer to home so I could help her raise the baby. When I tried to quit —” 

Minho took the opportunity to rush forward, hand knocking the jagged shard of glass out of David’s hands. David’s eyes instantly filled with rage, teeth-baring as he dodged the needle in Minho’s hands. “You fucking people.” He laughed maniacally. “I should have known.” David grabbed the glass on the ground — ready to kill. 

“GET OUT.” Pure adrenaline took over Hyunjin, hands pushing you out of the way as the man lunged for Hyunjin. The pure force of Hyunjin’s hands sent you tumbling to the floor, fear filling every fiber of your being at his rough behavior.

Hyunjin managed to dodge the man’s attack, but before he knew it, the jagged shard of glass was pointed right at his throat. “Lookie here.” David’s evil laughter made your knees shake as you stood up off the ground. 

“No!” You cried out and lunged for the man, knocking him into the wall. 

As quick as it happened, Hyunjin pulled you back, pure anger evident in his features. “What are you thinking?” Hyunjin’s tone of voice hit you straight in the heart. You were trying to save him. You didn’t think it would make him mad. Oh God… You can’t do anything right. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologized, chest tightening as your mind started to race — various scenarios playing through your mind like a fucked up slideshow. “I’m so sorry.” A sickening sound made the two of you turn around — your choked scream echoing in the room as you saw the man’s body slump to the floor. 

Hyunjin’s eyes remained fixed on the body. He couldn’t see or hear anything else going on around him. The scariest part? The man had a wide smile on his face, matching the one across his throat. Hyunjin could see the man’s face fall slack, right as his soul left his body. “God, Minho I’m so sorry.” Hyunjin pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes clenching shut in a sad attempt to keep his emotions in check. “I fucked this up, I’m sorry.” He mumbled. “I wasn’t expecting her to —” 

“No, it’s fine.” Minho slumped to the ground, resting his head in his hands. “He’s been unstable for a while.” Despite his emotionless words, Hyunjin could see the defeated look on Minho’s face. 

“Did he actually work here?” Hyunjin asked. Sure, the man might have been crazy, but… what if he was right? If this institution wasn’t always a bad place, that means the person in charge is responsible for its downfall. 

“No.” Minho sighed. “He’s been here for a long time — since before I started working here.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I looked it up. He’s not in the system.” 

Hyunjin couldn’t shake the feeling that David wasn’t lying. “Do you think they erased his information? Maybe they put him under a fake name?”

“It’s possible.” Minho chuckled darkly. “This place is fucked up.” Minho’s head fell into his hands. “I know the head of security. I’ll ask him about it tomorrow.” 

“Can you trust him?” Hyunjin was a bit worried. Blindly trusting other people in this institution could lead to their downfall. 

“Oh I’m not going to tell him anything.” Minho sighed. “I know the program like the back of my hand. I can distract him and get in the system to see if there’s any record of David. Last time I checked the system, I only had a few minutes.” 

“I just can’t believe he worked here.” Hyunjin pursed his lips, brows creasing as he tried to figure out the truth. 

“Hyunjin.” Minho sighed. “David was mentally unstable. Yes, he did believe he worked here, but he also believed he was an elephant for a solid year.”

“You’re right. But, promise me something.” Hyunjin reached his hand out, helping the older boy off the floor. 

Confusion spread across Minho’s face, but he agreed anyway. “Yeah, sure.” 

Hyunjin lowered his voice, worried that someone might overhear their conversation. “Tell me when you spot something off. I have a feeling this is much bigger than it seems.” 

“Deal.” Minho nodded, eyes widening when he spotted something off. “Hyunjin?”

“Yeah?”

“Your patient’s gone.” 

“Fuck.” 

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

Your uneven breaths echoed in the room as you stumbled to your bed. Finally — after so many months you had someone who treated you right — someone who actually cared about your mental well-being and you had to fuck it up. Not only that, you killed a man! 

Maybe Hyunjin and Minho had it covered? Maybe you barging into the room was the thing that set the crazy man off? Maybe that’s why he ended up killing himself? God, you were such a horrible human being. 

Broken sobs ripped through your throat as you sunk to the floor. If you were going to get through this, you had to try and think of happy things. What made you happy? 

Well… Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin made you happy. 

Hyunjin was your only safe place — your solace in an unforgiving world full of pain and anxiety — and you fucked that up. You made him mad. You took the sweetest guy in the world, and you upset him. Hyunjin was probably going to leave you, and you’d be stuck with Dr. Henry again. 

Your hands threaded in your hair. You wished you could crawl into a hole and disappear. Your only happiness was gone.

Why couldn’t you breathe?

Your mind was in such a haze, you didn’t notice someone walk into the room until you were being pulled into his arms. You couldn’t quite hear what he was saying, but you felt the small puffs of air coming from his nose, lips moving against your head as your arms wrapped around his neck. He was speaking in a kind, gentle tone, swaying you back and forth slowly. Your fingers clawed at his back, grabbing the soft material of his uniform as if the fabric would help you find your breath. 

You felt horrible — like a drama queen making a big deal out of nothing. Nothing happened. You weren’t harmed, and yet… here you are, sobbing into this man’s neck, unable to breathe properly. Was it Minho? Minho always seemed to find you when you were having panic episodes. 

Somehow, you managed to catch your breath enough to open your eyes, relief flooding your system as you spotted Hyunjin’s ebony tufts of hair. His words were clear now, “It’s okay. I know you were trying to help.” His hands ran along your back. “You’re doing great. I’m so proud of you. You can beat this. I know you can.” 

Your hands tightened around his neck, pulling the boy impossibly closer. “I’m so sorry.” 

“There’s nothing you need to apologize for,” Hyunjin whispered in your ear, voice sounding like velvet as he rocked you back and forth slowly. “You were trying to help.” 

“I killed him.” You sobbed. “He was fine until I came in.” 

“Don’t you dare blame yourself for his death.” Hyunjin pulled back, resting his forehead against yours. “He was going to do it anyway. You did nothing wrong.” Hyunjin pulled you closer, heart dropping when he felt your body shake. 

“There was so much blood.” You couldn’t get the memories seeing the man’s body, dead eyes staring into your soul as blood poured from the open wound on his neck.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that.” Hyunjin ran his fingers through your hair, hoping to ease your nerves. “And I’m sorry for pushing you. I was worried he was going to hurt you.” Hyunjin relaxed as he felt you nuzzle further into his chest — a silent sign that you forgave him. 

In all honesty, he felt so calm holding you close like this. Perhaps he was crossing a line — the fine line between a doctor and a patient, but he couldn’t just leave you like that. You needed someone by your side, and Hyunjin planned to be that person. 

“Did I do the right thing?” You couldn’t help but wonder if you were the tipping point — if your words pushed him to finally do it. 

“I don’t actually know.” Hyunjin sighed. “I don’t know if I made the right choices either.” 

“I thought you knew everything.” You chuckled. Hyunjin sure gave Dr. Henry a verbal lashing when they were talking about electroconvulsive therapy. You figured the boy was a genius. 

“Why is that?” Hyunjin laughed. The lighthearted giggles helped brighten your mood as you sat up, legs naturally straddling his hips to get more comfortable. This didn’t phase either of you. You two were comfortable being this close. 

“When you were arguing with Dr. Henry, you seemed to know your shit.” Your face fell. “But I kind of lost the conversation when you guys started to yell.”

“Does yelling frighten you?” Hyunjin’s innocent eyes looked into yours, eagerly waiting for your response.

“Don’t change the subject.” You lightly smacked his shoulder. 

“No, you don’t change the subject.” Hyunjin chuckled. “If you don’t want to tell me, that’s okay, but I’d rather you tell me that you don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You couldn’t help but laugh when Hyunjin frowned. You pressed your thumb between his brows, making the boy beneath you smile. “I want to talk about your superbrain.” 

“I don’t have a superbrain.” Hyunjin laughed. “But I do have an eidetic memory.” 

“The fuck is that?” You’ve heard of a photographic memory, but not an eidetic memory. Does that boy literally remember everything?

“It means I can remember things by looking at them once.” He laughed at your reaction.

You stared at Hyunjin, mouth agape as you frowned. “College must have been so easy for you.” You wished you had an eidetic memory… Or any memory. Being in a fucked up institution while suffering from amnesia was really difficult. You couldn’t figure out how to heal from your trauma when you couldn’t even remember what your trauma was.

Hyunjin laughed. “Retaining information is a bit easier I guess, that’s why I like to try and learn whatever I can about the medications out there so I can help people.” 

Your eyes met Hyunjin’s — and for a moment, you completely lost yourself in them. His chocolate brown orbs seemed to look into your soul, seeing you for who you really were instead of the crippling anxiety you suffered from. Your nose bumped against his and you realize just how close you actually were. You flushed bright red, sliding off Hyunjin’s lap as you mumbled. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, it’s fine.” Hyunjin smiled sweetly. “Does that help?” 

“Huh?” Your heart panged in your chest as you lost yourself in his eyes once more. 

“Sorry, I should have specified.” Hyunjin chuckled. “When you’re having anxiety attacks… Does skinship help pull you out of it?”

You couldn’t help but wonder… did you crave the comforting feeling of someone else’s touch, or was it his touch. After a couple of seconds, you realized… fuck… it was him. It wasn’t even about skinship — it was his gentle touches, his velvety voice, the feeling of his hands resting on your waist. You craved him and — oh no… He’s only been here one day and you’ve already started to crush on your caretaker. 

“I don’t know…” You shrugged. “I guess so.” 

Hyunjin smiled and pulled out a notepad from his bag and began writing notes. You couldn’t help but chuckle at how dense he was. You brushed some stray bangs out of his face, cheeks flushing even darker when he quietly thanked you and resumed taking notes.

“Can we talk?” You haven’t had an actual conversation with a human being in ages. Talking to Hyunjin sounded like fun. You were dying to learn more about him. 

“Of course.” Hyunjin smiled. “You can tell me anything. It’ll stay between us.” Hyunjin clicked his pen a few times. “Plus, if we can get to the bottom of your anxiety, we might be able to work on teaching you how to repair your mindset when you start to panic” 

“Hyunjin.” You stopped him. “Can we just… talk?” You paused. “I just want to talk like people. For once, I don’t want to feel like a mental case.” 

“Oh…” Hyunjin trailed off. Shit, he didn’t even think of that. “Yeah, go for it.” 

“I don’t know what to talk about.” You chuckled. “I’ve been here for the past few months.” Great! You felt like a complete idiot. Here you were, trying to talk to the man of your dreams, and you were making a fool of yourself.

“You don’t remember anything about the world outside this institution?” Hyunjin’s eyes widened. What if your memory loss directly correlates with this hospital? Could they be making you lose your memory?

“Hyunjin I-” 

“No, I’m not trying to pry.” Hyunjin chuckled. “I’m trying to decipher what type of amnesia you have.” Hyunjin pursed his lips together before continuing. “See, you have retrograde amnesia. You’ve lost nearly all of your previously existing memories.” Hyunjin’s eyes widened as he came to a realization. “You’ve been through electroconvulsive therapy, which can also cause retrograde amnesia for a period of time. According to the number of sessions you’ve had in the chart, it matches perfectly.” Hyunjin smiled brightly. “Plus, you might have a form of dissociative amnesia from any past traumas. But if we stop your electroconvulsive therapy sessions completely, you might get your memory back!” Hyunjin paused, cheeks flushing bright red when he looked into your eyes. “Oh, I’m rambling again. I’m sorry.”

Your eyes glassed over as you thought about everything Hyunjin said. “They’re making me lose my memories? That’s not possible.” You sighed. “Dr. Douglas said they’d help.” 

Hyunjin’s heart dropped when he saw your expression. You looked tired, overwhelmed, and afraid. “Why don’t we talk about something else? What do you want to know about?” 

“What were you like in college?” You figured college was the type of environment Hyunjin would thrive in. 

“Well, when I was going to college, I used to go to the college library for fun.” Hyunjin chuckled. 

“Did you go with your friends?” You longed to have that college life, going to parties, hanging out with friends, studying art at a good school — you missed out on all that… but you don’t remember why… 

“Oh.” Hyunjin’s face dropped slightly, fingers playing with the pen in his hands. “I didn’t have any friends. No one cared about books and studying.” 

“You’re telling me that you didn’t have tons of girls flocking to you?” You were shocked. The boy was perfect. Hyunjin’s smart, beautiful, kind, he has it all. 

“Oh, I did.” Hyunjin frowned. “I never understood why though.” 

“Hyunjin you’re like… the prettiest man I’ve ever seen.” The words slipped out before you could stop them. 

Hyunjin’s cheeks flushed bright red. “Huh?”

“Oh, sorry.” You mumbled. 

“No.” Hyunjin smiled brightly, eyes crinkling in happiness as he looked at you. “Thank you.” He chuckled. “Most people get turned off by my personality.” Over the years, Hyunjin couldn’t really keep a good group of friends by his side. After trying for so long, he finally gave up. Why be worried about making friends when you could be helping people?

“What? Are you a closet asshole?” You laughed, lightly pushing on his shoulder.

“No.” Hyunjin fiddled with the end of his notebook, turning the hundreds of pages packed full of notes in front of your eyes. “I do lots of research so I can make things better for people like you.” Hyunjin looked down at the various dog-eared pages. “This is what I do — I’ve spent my whole life working to become a doctor. It’s all I know how to do.” He smiled. “So most people don’t stick around long.” 

“I won’t leave you.” You rested your hand on his arm in a sad attempt to comfort the boy. 

“No, you will.” Hyunjin smiled. “I’m going to get you out of here.” 

“What are you two doing?”

[haberdashing]

Like Emptiness In Harmony

TMA AU of 160. When Jon wakes up after that statement, he finds that he’s changed just as the world around him has.

on AO3

Jon came back to himself... no, that wasn’t right; Jon’s self was far too nebulous a concept for that. How many weeks, months, years had passed since he’d truly been himself, free of influence by eldritch powers? Had he even truly been himself before he’d joined the Magnus Institute, or had he been controlled by the Web back then, too? Would he even recognize his true self, his human self, anymore? (Were his true self and his human self even the same thing these days?)

Jon came back to consciousness on the floor of the safehouse, with Martin standing over him, and for a brief second things seemed alright, seemed as normal as they ever were, before he saw the terror in Martin’s eyes and remembered what he’d read out loud before passing out and knew (lower-case) that something had gone terribly wrong.

The details were still fuzzy in Jon’s mind, though, and as Jon struggled to put the pieces together, to wake up more fully and figure out exactly what kind of trouble he was in this time, he was only able to say a single word.

“Martin.”

But... but it didn’t sound right, somehow. The word was clear enough, luckily, it wasn’t like he was trying to spit it out through a gagged mouth (which was a sensation Jon unfortunately knew all too well thanks to Nikola), but the tone was off. Jon was confused and curious and scared, but when he called out Martin’s name, none of that came through. Instead, his voice sounded... smug, smug and vaguely condescending, much closer to the sort of tone he would have used to dismiss Martin before Prentiss’ attack than the one he’d meant to adopt now.

“Jon?” Jon wasn’t sure how much of the uncertainty he heard in Martin’s voice just then was real and how much of it was just his mind projecting. Probably some of both there.

Jon cleared his throat and tried again.

“Martin.”

It came out the same as before--exactly the same as before, actually, his tone and enunciation both identical to when he’d said Martin’s name before, as much so as if he’d recorded it before and simply played it back again instead of actually speaking anew.

An analogy that, when Jon examined it more closely, seemed entirely too on the nose.

“My god.”

He said the words only partially because they were what he actually wanted to say; if Jon were free to speak his mind, his speech would probably be significantly less coherent right now, and filled with half-formed questions. But this would have to do at short notice, combining actual meaning with a way to test his current theory.

Sure enough, he was able to say those words just fine, just as he had... how long ago was it, now? Minutes, hours, an eternity ago? And with them came that same smug, self-congratulatory tone, one that almost made Jon want to punch himself in the face for sounding like that. But it wasn’t really himself that he wanted to punch in the face at the moment, just as it hadn’t been himself, exactly, who had first said those words. It was his voice, sure, but the words themselves, the mind behind them, were not his own.

Jon opened his mouth to say Fuck Jonah Magnus, but was far from surprised to find that the words refused to cross the gap between his mind and the world around him.

It was all starting to come together, now. It didn’t click, per se, just continued on the progression from lazy analogy to hunch to theory to something just shy of a dark certainty.

Why did nobody ever swear in the statements, goddammit?

Though that- that wasn’t quite true, was it, there were one or two instances in there where-

And then it clicked. Jon Knew, then, what he could and couldn’t say, the exact limits of his strange new vocabulary. (Or... not new, really. None of these words were new to him. Perhaps he would never say anything new again.)

“Jon, are you alright?”

Even Knowing what he could say didn’t mean controlling his speech was easy, though. It was a little like trying to conduct a conversation by flipping through a dictionary, having to find just the right word in its pages every time a new one was needed.

“No. No, of course not.” The words were right, or close enough at any rate, but the tone was all wrong, and it wasn’t even Jon’s own voice this time, the voice and words of a now-dead man leaving his lips instead.

Jon laughed, then, and that at least sounded normal enough... well, for a certain definition of normal, at any rate. It sounded sharp and cold and full of fear, without a hint of humor to be found, and that wasn’t normal for a laugh, no, but it was what Jon had intended at any rate, a sound that was still all his own.

“Jon, you’re, you’re scaring me a bit, something about your voice seems weird...” Oh, good, he noticed that much at least. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know... and it makes me very afraid.” At least it was his voice again, now, not that of... well. Jon wanted to call Mike Crew a killer, a monster, but those weren’t exactly distinguishing features, were they? Martin probably didn’t even recognize the voice that Jon had adopted a moment ago; it’s not as if he’d had the chance to chat up Mike before Daisy killed him.

“Right. Alright. Well then, er... is, is there anything I can do to help?”

Jon laughed, and this time there was humor to it, or at least levity, despite the world having gone wrong, despite his voice no longer being entirely his own, because no matter what Martin was still Martin, trying to help, putting Jon’s well-being above all else, even when the world was quite possibly falling to pieces around them.

“I am unsure if I will... be able to stand myself up again.” Between the words and the hand extended in Martin’s direction, Jon hoped that the instruction would be clear enough.

Evidently it was, as Martin took his hand, helping pull Jon off of the floor and back onto his feet. It took more effort than it should have, Jon thought, Martin grunting and breathing heavily by the end of it despite past jokes about how easy it was to pick Jon up, but it worked, though Martin’s whole body was shaking by the end of it. (Jon wasn’t sure whether said shaking was even entirely physical in nature, truth be told.)

Jon half-walked, half-stumbled his way forward.

“No, no, no--don’t, don’t go outside. It’s--it’s real bad.”

Outside had never been Jon’s destination, however, though Martin seemed to believe otherwise. Jon didn’t want to go outside, to experience the horrors that had now been unleashed upon the world outside their cabin. He simply wanted to... Jon had to suppress a bout of hysterical laughter as it occurred to him that he simply wanted to see what had happened, to watch the chaos unfold, and wasn’t that all too fitting...

The view outside the nearest window was enough to confirm all of Jon’s worst suspicions. The world had been torn apart, all the fears unleashed upon it to wreak havoc, all because of what he’d just read out loud (all because of him).

“My god.” It felt wrong, somehow, using the words of the man who had orchestrated this apocalypse to describe it, but Jon didn’t have much in the way of alternatives at his disposal.

“I don’t know if it’s just here, or-”

“No. No...” Between trying to put the world’s destruction into words and trying to translate what words he could come up with into something said in the statements, Jon struggled to speak, though it didn’t show in his voice when he did manage to string a few more words together. “...the populated world... edged with a strange, creeping fear... far, far away...”

“Is that Peter’s voice? Jon, don’t... just, please don’t.” Martin laughed briefly, though Jon could see that his eyes were filling with tears. “I, I think I’ve heard enough from him already, thanks.”

Jon nodded enthusiastically, went to apologize, realized that even a simple “I’m sorry” was beyond his reach now, settled for “I was an idiot.” instead.

“Don’t say that. You’re not an idiot for not thinking of it, it’s just...” Martin let out a long sigh. “Jon, I’m scared.”

“...fear can just become as routine as hunger... I felt every feeling... They overwhelmed me... my impact on the world... my failure...” Jon switched between different statements, different voices, desperate to find the words to explain what had happened, what the world had become and how it was all his own fault. The end result felt like almost as great a failure as what it was purporting to describe, but it was an attempt, at least. It would have to do.

Martin wrapped one arm around Jon’s shoulder; Jon briefly considered pushing it off because he was about the last person who deserved to be comforted now, when he was the one who had caused so much pain and suffering, but decided against it because that would hurt Martin’s feelings more than it would appease his own, and he couldn’t exactly explain his own thought process to Martin at the moment.

“You’re not a failure, Jon. No matter what this is, no matter what else happens, you’re not a failure.”

Jon laughed and shook his head and laughed some more, a laugh that kept threatening to turn into a sob as he looked out at the ruins of the world he had wrecked entirely.

“And with each act of glorious, hateful destruction, I felt my god’s love embrace me, consume me... ”

Jon pointed to the sky, to the giant eye that now engulfed it.

“It’s still there, still watching me.”

The laugh that kept threatening to turn into a sob finally did so after a long minute, and as it did the tears that had been building in Martin’s eyes began to flow, and the two men threw their arms around each other, holding one another for comfort as they cried over the loss of their world.

[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

Pink and blue clouds (Holy, Part 3.)

Series description: Your bestie Kim was a free-spirited person who wasn’t exactly concentrated on finding herself a partner. Yet one day, she recieves a phone number and this time, you didn’t want to keep the person on the other end hanging. And so, you text them, no matter who they are.

Part summary: You learned that alcohol makes people much more courageous - and you also established an internet friendship.

A/N: I'm sorry for typos and stuff, I'm not on my PC and this one had broken keyboard, so most of it was written on phone. ❤️

Word count: 2.2 K

Tagging: @nemodoren​ @deadpoolcouldshootme​

Sydney’s tape: go fuck yourself

Series masterlist: H E R E

You've spent hours texting that person that night, trying to get to know them... At least a bit. Sure, it was still weird as hell to text someone completely strange, but since you were drunk, it didn't come across to be as weird as you'd normally say. The only thing you remembered, but weren't sure about, was that the person on the other side of the screen was a girl. You quite vaguely remembered Aaron saying that it's a she. But you were cool this time; she used the word cool a serious lot.

Whoever she was, she was right about the clouds that day. They were everywhere on the scale from blue to pink, making you notice that most likely, it will be very windy the following day. She told you that she was reading a book - she didn't tell you the title, but she hinted at the genre being fantasy or something like that; her brother liked superheroes and fantasy, so she wanted to know a bit more about it. You told her that you were on a small getaway from Brownsville, telling her one important information - you were living in the same town as she was.

And Sydney could tell that you were drunk as fuck. But... She thought it's funny. Your little spelling errors were funny, cute almost. Honestly, you seemed to be cute as a whole. And she hadn't even seen your face, your personality didn't come through the texts at that point, but yeah, you were cute and cool. She didn't even know if you're a girl or a boy, or someone who identifies themselves differently. But drunk you? That put a smile on her face. And a big one. Especially when you asked if she likes chocolate ice cream while misspelling the whole damn sentence.

You chatted nonsense for a moment before saying goodbye. Honestly, it was almost a problem to walk back inside the cabin in one piece since you've drunk almost three beers while chatting with the girl. When you almost broke down the door and looked around the room, Kim was suddenly present again - with the girl sitting next to her, wrapping all her limbs around Kimberly. And each of them was looking at you, acting silly and being drunk. Great. The remnants of your reputation were now in complete ruins.

"Where you've been for so long?" - Kim asked while standing up. You expected a lot, but you were quite amused by her reaction. When you snickered, Kim just rolled her eyes. You were done for. - "I was at... None of your business, Kim. I can ask you the same question, let's see how she'd like it." - Your eyes rolled down to Kim's girl, who just widened eyes and reddened completely. - "When did you got so fucking drunk?" - Kim asked only, taking your beer and the pack chips from your palm. At that, you giggled again. - "Wouldn't you want to know, weather boy?" - This time, Aaron chuckled at the vibe quotation.

"Yeah. You're going to the bed, come on." - You didn't want to go to sleep just yet. And no matter how hard you tried to fight back, Kim was almost a hundred times stronger than you. If she'd try a bit more, she'd most likely carry you to the bed with her telekinetic powers. Kim didn't hadn't any powers, but you liked to smack shit when you were drunk. In the end, she helped you to change into pajama, laying you down under one of the warm, fuzzy blankets she found in the house.

At that moment, your phone buzzed once more. Thus sent you on the edge again. Within seconds, you were sitting up, searching for your phone while Kim watched you with an amused smile. When she was done with watching you making a fool out of yourself, she slowly slipped the phone from behind her back. - "Who you're texting? Huh?" - Kim sat down on the bed, knowing just it's an unknown number and that the person was wishing you a good night. It was some time since you and David happened and any indication of you starting another... Something, that was excellent in Kim's opinion.

"I don't want to talk about that. I... Am fucking drunk man, I wanna sleep." - You yawned with a small smile, reading the text on your phone with your own eyes. The girl next to you smiled, even more, leading down to kiss the back of your head before making sure you're tugged in. The impressive thing to note was that you've fallen asleep even before she left the room.

On the other hand, getting up the next morning was a living hell. You felt the light tearing your eyes apart, your head was spinning, there was the heavy feeling in your stomach and all. You hadn't got drunk this much in a long time, so you almost forgot how it's like to have a huge hungover like this. The first thing you did was checking your phone - finding the last and unread message the person had sent you the other night.

And oh boy, when you saw all the texts you've sent them... Fucking God, you were drunk beyond socially acceptable. You couldn't understand half the text you've written in there, but she seemed to understand a lot of them. Also, you didn't have any explicit or weird questions, jokes, or comments, which was a good thing as well. In translation - you didn't make an insufferable jackass out of yourself. This also made you furrow a bit - since when you cared about making a good impression on an unknown person? Sure, your mom taught you manners and good behavior, but... From when did you care about leaving an impression?

Naturally, the first thing you've done was that you've apologized to them.

You: I am sorry for the shit I was texting yesterday. My head wasn't clear and... Yeah.

(Unknown number): I know, you've been drunk as fuck. It was sweet tho.

The girl just called you... Sweet. And you didnt know who the fuck she was. If it even was a girl and if Aaron had understood Stanley in the club you've been all at. Maybe it was a boy. Maybe it was the gay janitor from your school for all you could know. And this person despite not seeing you face to face though you were sweet when you were drunk. After the panic inside you passed, there was this warm feeling - almost happiness, you could say. Suddenly, a smile broke out on your face. Quickly, you laid back down, smiling widely. Holy moly, this was something.

You tried to act as if everything was okay, that there was no hangover and this fact was helping a lot. You even felt so good that you started cooking breakfast for everyone, dancing in the kitchen to quietly playing music. If the music would be a bit louder, you would be falling straight into a rage. So you kept it low under every condition that could come up. When Kim saw you standing in front of the stove, baking the bacon, she just popped her eyes out, sighing loudly.

"What the hell are you doing?" - She giggled, walking next to you. Just because her voice was a bit too loud for you, you groaned loudly. At that, she understood you're not as cool as you seemed to be at first sight. - "Okay, someone having a hangover. But making breakfast? A bald choice." - "I kinda have... A happy hangover." - Was what you answered, making her almost spit out the water she was just drinking. - "What?"

"I dude, I never fucking ever heard of something like a "happy hangover". A good hangover doesn't exist." - The girl swiftly leaned her bottom into the countertop next to the stove, looking you in the face as you mixed the eggs. - "So, there are only two possible reasons - one, you masturbated before getting out, which is, fine." - "Kim! Stop! You fucking pervert!" - You cried back, laughing at her nonetheless. When you pushed her shoulder, she started laughing even more. - "Or the mysterious someone had texted you something sweet. Which, I hope is true."

"Why?" - Was all you asked, turning the crispy bacon on the other side - having a grin breaking on your face. Kim just let out a long sigh, looking around the room you've been in - lingering around the dead moos' head hanging low above the fireplace. - "Because David deserves to see someone else making you happy. The he was supposed to." - Kim whispered. The breakup was pretty harsh, so you knew where this was coming from. Yet at the mention of David's name, your breath hitched and you almost let the pan go.

"Jesus, are you okay?" - Kim freaked out, making sure the pan's on the stove, put there properly. She didn't want you to burn your toes. - "I'm sorry for what I... I didn't mean to..." - "Stop it finally, Kim. I won't fall apart any minute now. I don't even know who is the person I'm texting, I don't know if it will lead anywhere, it's too early to call this a thing or anything else. David happened, I'm far behind it and you will shut the fuck about my relationships and if you don't, Kim, if you won't, I will singlehandedly stick this pan up your fucking ass. Are we clear?"

Whatever this rant was, it made Kim straighten up and pop her eyes out. This wasn't happening very often. You were the least dramatic of your holy trinity, you were the sweet baby everyone loved the most. Everyone was mostly teachers, adults, parents, and these who were normally responsible for stuff since you barely got into trouble. And when you could, you helped around. Yes, sometimes, you didnt have the best dictionary and you were rude, but that happened rarely. And this itsy bitsy rant was one of the rare ones. But Kim could sometimes fucked you up so much that you just let go.

This was almost nothing... But there could be days when you'd be ranting for an hour straight. And with how rarely this was happening, Kim rather quickly realized that you were indeed already fed up with her bringing up David a lot those days.

"Yea. We clear. Sorry, sis." - The girl got out nervously, walking to set the table for you and the others. You weren't ready to talk about... You didn't want to talk about David. And as usual, Kim made it all about David.

That day, you hadn't texted the mysterious girl again, thinking about what Kim had said. Which was bullocks, but you did think about it nonetheless.

But you did text her when you arrived back home - after having a long ass talk with your mom about how was the trip. You couldn't mention any alcohol, of course, but you focused on the other things - like Brock playing with he guitar and grilling with Kim. This made her hum happily, thinking her babygirl is still the sweet girl she always was.

You: Sorry for not texting you yesterday. I was feeling off.

This was the first time she hadn't responded in the course of the next few minutes. Which made you fucking nervous. And the more time passed by, the more nervous you were. You hadn't done anything wrong, right? She wasn't ditching you, obviously. She barely knew you a had no reason to ghost you. But you felt as if she was.

Yet when the text sound lit up the room, it felt as if you started to be alive again. You jumped on the bed to get a hold on your phone, frantically unlocking it. It seemed that you're worried about the text disappearing if you won't read it. 38 minutes passed since you sent the text; so you couldn't respond immediately.

That was the logic women possessed. No quick responding. Never. Under any circumstances.

(Unknown number): I didn't realized this is a thing that happens repeatedly.

This had the power to bring your self confidence down for a moment there. No. It didn't bring your confidence down. It destroyed it. Sure. This was a three day thing or so at that point. It was happening regularly. What made you think it was happening regularly? Just when you had a mental breakdown, another text beeped at the screen.

(Unknown number): But I want it to be happening. I want to get to know you better. If you don't mind... Fuck. I sound so fucking pathetic.

At the end of the text, you could almost hear her laughing. And honestly, it made you giggle and sigh loudly as you stated into the ceiling with your phone in your hand. You just made a friend online. A friend. Holy fuck. You made a friend without meeting them.

It was quite hard to concentrate on your studies when you tried to wait through the standard 'texting back' time. You tried jamming to old songs, read a bit, scrolled through social media - but you gave in after 25 minutes.

You: Yeah, this is a regular thing and you can't do a single thing about that.

Her response made you chuckle once again.

(Unknown number): Why do you think I wanna do a single thing about it? ;)

[heartofsnark]

Black Market Wonderland (Chapter Nine): We’re Covered In Lies and That’s Okay

Notes: I’ve given up on maintaining proper consistent schedules for my fics, but I want to attempt to update at least once every other month for each of my series that are going on rn. I always wanna say thanks for some of the replies/comments on my last chapter that were really supportive and awesome about my disaster of a situation with grad school. I struggle to like respond and be a functional human being, but i read everything and love you all.I will be trying to like alternate posting chapters to each series, monthly. So like, April is Tsun, May will be Dahlia, but uhhhhhhhh every time i try to be consistent, it blows up in my face so that's cool. 

Word Count: 7,152

Warnings: This one is pretty tame, cursing, some pettiness. I introduce a new OC cause i can’t fucking contain myself. 

Missed the last chapter? Link Here!

“Hmmm, I don’t know…” 

“Please,” Anais shakes her clenched fists in a begging motion, “please, please, please!”

The day has passed by easily enough, no snags or major confrontations from the idiots in the penthouse. A nice relaxed day of normal work with Anais clinging to her side, as they teach each other languages. It won’t be long before Tsuneko has to return her to her parent’s room for the evening, they’re walking that direction on the VIP floor.  All it took was mentioning maybe giving the young girl a present for her to start begging excitedly. Of course, Tsuneko already has the small pompompurin coin purse in her pocket, something she won in a crane game, but doesn’t need. 

“Hm, let’s see, maybe we can make it a reward. Do you remember how to sign, ‘hello, my name is Anais’?” 

“Yeah, see,” Anais replies with a big grin and signs the greeting, perfectly. 

“Here, you’ve more than earned it,” Tsuneko tells her, before handing over the little plush coin purse. Her blue eyes sparkle the second she sees it and she hugs it to her cheek. 

“I love it!” 

One of Anais’s hands wraps around Tsuneko’s, the other clutches around her gift, as they walk towards the room. The young girl is practically skipping as they near their destination. 

“Tsuneko,” a familiar masculine voice calls out, Mr. Bucci. 

“Hello, Mr. Bucci,” Tsuneko greets him, Anais hides behind her leg, shy around the strange older man, “Anais, this is Mr. Bucci, he’s a friend of my boss from Italy, why don’t you say hello?” 

“Ciao,” Anais murmurs, still a little awkward, but Mr. Bucci gives her a kind smile. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, say, Tsuneko. I’m sorry to be a bother, but would you mind showing me around the hotel? I’d get lost in a paper bag I’m afraid.” 

“Ah, I’m showing Anais back to her parent’s room at the moment, but if you could wait for just a moment, I can be with you shortly?” Tsuneko offers, even if the room isn’t far away, she wouldn’t feel comfortable just abandoning Anais on the VIP floor alone. 

“I don’t mind at all, go ahead.” 

Tsuneko excuses herself and Anais, leading the girl down the hall down to her parent’s room. She has a quick chat with Esme, about when the family is visiting Puroland, as well as the fact that Tsuneko may have days in the coming week where Ichinomiya will ask her to work outside of the hotel. It’s officially the second week of the bet and she’s expecting him to make a full force effort before the end of it, since he doesn’t seem keen on just giving up. She says her goodbyes to the family for the night and returns to Mr. Bucci in the hallway. 

“Sorry for the wait, sir,” Tsuneko apologizes as they start to walk towards the elevator. 

“It’s no problem at all,” he pauses for a moment, “I’m starting to understand more and more why Eisuke seems so enamored with you. Sweet, cute girl, great cook and good with children.” 

“Mr. Bucci,” her stomach churns at the thought of Ichinomiya’s saccharine fake smile, “you’re far too kind, I’m sure Mr. Ichinomiya isn’t quite as fond of me as you think.” 

“Nonsense, I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Uh,” she stutters as they reach the elevator, wanting to escape this conversation, “so, do you think you know exactly what you’re looking to do? I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the casino, but there are also museums, theaters, pools, plenty of restaurants with food from all over. There’s actually an Italian restaurant, people say the food is really authentic, but I wouldn’t really know, personally.” 

“Actually,” he cuts off her rambling, “I was hoping we could have a chat over dinner. I’m sure Eisuke won’t mind.” 

She’s sure he wouldn’t, so long as Tsuneko doesn’t out his bullshit. Her regular rooms are all cleaned for the day, the only thing left on the schedule is cleaning the penthouse. So, it’s not impacting anyone else in the hotel and she tells Ichinomiya she was buttering up Mr. Bucci, he won’t particularly care. 

“Yeah, that should be fine.” 

It’s an awkward elevator ride to the floor with the restaurants, Tsuneko’s arms are folded behind her back to feign some sort of confidence, despite how badly she wants to run. She can’t say for certain what Mr. Bucci wants with her, perhaps just mining her for information about Ichinomiya, but why would he need her for that. There’s a devilish part of her brain that reminds her this would be a chance to out him, to tell Mr. Bucci all about the little game Ichinomiya is playing. 

But she can’t bring herself to do something like that. Ichinomiya is an asshole and all-around garbage excuse for a human being, but his success affects more than just him. If the success of the Tres Spades continues to grow and get more money, the employees continue to prosper and make more money. The Tres Spades isn’t some shitty corporation that pays them minimum wage and no benefits. Tsuneko’s situation is an extreme case, she knows that, despite his piss poor personality, Ichinomiya and the Tres Spades take care of their employees. 

Not to mention, another hotel, means more job opportunities for people who may need them. People who were like her when she applied, desperate and needing a source of income, could have an opportunity to do more than survive. 

Plus, if the hotel expands across the globe, it can help employees in other ways. She thinks of Chisato and Itsuki, the two are basically engaged, but can’t movee beyond that point if they want to because gay marriage isn’t legal in Japan. Chisato has been with the hotel for years and can’t just move to elsewhere without having a job at least as good lined up. If there were more locations, in places where it’s legal, she could have both. So, if the Tres Spades expands…

As much as she hates to sound like a capitalist, helping Ichinomiya really does have ripple effects that help more people. She has to find a balance of not fucking herself over, but not hurting anyone else in the grand scheme of things.  

Tsuneko would message Ichinomiya, to at least let him know why she’ll be late cleaning the penthouse and so he doesn’t suspect she’s going out of her way to ruin things. But the only way she has of contacting him is the pager which is on a speaker and she’s not giving that man her phone number. 

They arrive at the Italian restaurant the Tres Spades has and Tsuneko immediately feels out of place. It’s mostly guests here for a nice dinner, dressed to the nines, while she’s in her maid uniform. The mixture of cleaner products and sweat is still heavy on her skin. 

They’re shown to a table and Tsuneko is trying not to anxiously bounce or move around in her seat. Mr. Bucci orders wine and she gets water, he seems to be beating around the bush, dragging her discomfort out.  Tsuneko forgets what she ordered a moment after she orders it. Mr. Bucci is the dictionary definition of calm, as he takes a sip of his wine, Tsuneko is sick of this. 

“What did you want to talk to me about?” 

He puts his glass down on the table and gives a small chuckle. Mr. Bucci has never struck her a mean or cruel man, but he’s a mob boss. There are so many dangerous places this conversation could go. 

“Cutting right to the chase, are you?” 

“My heart can’t handle doing anything else.” 

“There’s no need to look so scared, relax, eat.” 

She pops an appetizer into her mouth but can’t quite appreciate the taste through her nerves. The attempt seems to appease him to some degree, as he clears his throat to speak again. 

“Carolina has become rather infatuated with Eisuke, despite him having feelings for you.” 

“I don’t think he-”

“Please, humor me,” he puts his hand up to make her shush, “I know Carolina has been taking things out on you, which isn’t right, but she’s always felt her emotions very intensely. If your and Eisuke’s relationship were to go further, it would crush her, and she’d only get nastier with you.”

Is this entire dinner about warning her away from Ichinomiya for Carolina’s sake? Because that’s not an issue. Tsuneko wouldn’t waste her time fighting over a man she liked, let alone one she’s actively trying to avoid.  

“I know it’s asking a lot, but it would be nice if you and Carolina could become friends.” 

“Huh?” 

“I was hoping from the way he acted last time they met, perhaps he had feelings for her as well, but it can’t be helped. If Carolina could see you as more of a friend, less of a rival, I think it would be good for both of you.” 

“Uh,” that’s not what she expected, “if this is all about getting me to make nice with your daughter, I’m not sure there’s much I can do. I’m not exactly the one making it, uh, contentious. And even if I did, I’m not sure if it would make her feel any better about Mr. Ichinomiya.” 

“I know my Carolina can be difficult, but I do think it would help for her to have a friend here.”

“I’m not confident that I’m the best choice for that.” 

“It would mean a lot to me if you tried, maybe a girl’s day for the two of you could be arranged?” 

Tsuneko chews her lip and pokes at her meal, unsure of what to say or do. Her leg bounces beneath the table. Mr. Bucci strikes her as sincere, he genuinely wants the best for his daughter. And Tsuneko can see his point, Carolina doesn't strike her as the type who probably has a lot of female friends. The kind of mentality where Women are competition and men are some sort of prize. Which is exhausting. Both for those around her and surely for her as well.

"If you can get her to agree, I'll be more than happy to spend a day with her."

"Wonderful. I'll let you know when a date is arranged." Mr. Bucci smiles at her and Tsuneko prays Carolina refuses. The meal concludes with Tsuneko trying to hurriedly eat her entree, as to not waste the previously untouched food, and Mr. Bucci insisting on paying. 

Her mind wanders as she makes her way to the penthouse, she thinks of what he said, about believing Ichinomiya might have had feelings for Carolina. Everything he does, especially for business, is intentional. Even the smallest gesture calculated. He doesn’t give soft smiles or too long touches by accident. 

And while Carolina might be the type to misinterpret signals, her father doesn’t seem as apt to do so. Which, makes her wonder, did he lead Carolina on for the deal? Not that she thinks much of him to begin with, but that’s another layer of gross. 

She arrives at the penthouse, seeing a mish mash of familiar and unfamiliar faces. Baba and Kisaki are the only two of the auction managers there, but there’s four women gathered around them. Three she doesn’t know and one, she’s sadly familiar with, the girl who insulted her weight at the event Ichinomiya dragged her to. The women are undoubtedly beautiful, dressed in short seductive dresses. They’re guests, or at least she has to assume so, which sadly means Tsuneko needs to be well behaved. It’s one thing to mouth off to the assholes who bought her, but actual guests of the hotel she has to behave around. 

“Hey, princess,” Baba greets her, a woman with long red hair on his left and another with raven black hair on his right. The girl from the event is next to the red head, while another blonde is practically sitting in Kisaki’s lap. 

The three unfamiliar women give Tsuneko a quick once over but seem to ultimately decide they don’t care about her presence. While the one she’s met before, maintains a sharp cruel gaze. Unlike the other three, she doesn’t even seem to be fawning over the men, almost bored with this. 

“I’m here to clean,” Tsuneko announces with a customer service smile, “would anyone like anything to eat or drink before I start?”  

Kisaki and Baba shoots her confused looks, no doubt taken aback by her kind attitude. However, she can’t risk being inappropriate around actual guests. 

“Make yourself useful and get us some wine,” the familiar woman pipes in, showing off her empty glass like Tsuneko is too stupid to understand otherwise. 

“Of course.” 

She gathers the empty glasses and makes her way to the penthouse kitchen area.  There’s a bottle of fancy red wine on the counter, from whenever they first served it, so she tops off each glass and brings it out to them. 

“So, you let maids up here?” The redhead asks, twirling a crimson lock around her finger. 

“Koro’s special,” Kisaki taunts, despite his sugary sweet smile, and she bites her tongue, only sending him a quick pointed glare. 

“I’m the penthouse maid, Tomori Tsuneko.” 

“I think the dog name suits you more,” the event girl tells her, her eyes sharp. She’s a pretty girl, a shaggy pale blonde bob hair and burnished orange eyes. 

“You’re so mean, Kaede,” the blonde on the arm of Kisaki’s chair gushes out, like it’s cute. 

“If that’s all, I’ll begin cleaning now.” She at least has a name to attach to the mean girl, though she’s not sure how much that will actually help her. 

Tsuneko busies herself with cleaning the lounge, letting the residents become background noise. She manages to catch that Baba is reading the girl’s fortunes with cards. All of them but Kaede, oohing and aweing over it. 

“Hey, pretty lady, come over here,” Baba calls over suddenly as Tsuneko is dusting, every fiber of her being wants to tell him to shush and let her clean. But there are guests, actual guests here. 

“Is there something you need, sir?” She says instead, hoping the sir will somehow get her point across. Yet, Baba is smiling like a damn idiot. 

“Do you wanna have your fortune read?” 

There’s an annoyed twitch behind her eye, she is working. She can see Kisaki gremlin smirking out of her peripheral vision. They’re trying to push her buttons. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I’m working, sir.” 

“Oh, there’s no need to be shy, you know you can always call me Micchy!~” 

He winks at her, three girls giggle, but Kaede still shows no signs of being entertained. Instead, her nose wrinkles. A clatter of glass as she smacks her finger into the stem of her wine glass, knocking it from the table. 

“Ah!” Tsuneko flusters and rushes, she catches the glass before it shatters, but red wine drenches the front of her uniform. It soaks and chills through the fabric, making it stick to her. 

“Couldn’t let you slack off for too long,” Kaede tells her, voice hushed and a mean little smirk pulling at her lips. 

The door to the penthouse opens within the next moment, Ichinomiya and Oh entering the lounge. Like moths to a flame, suddenly the four women all flock over to them, abandoning Baba and Kisaki. 

“Eisuke, it’s great to see you again!~” Kaede gushes and he narrows his eyes. 

“We were waiting for you to get here!”

“I didn’t think we’d actually get a chance to meet the king!” 

“You’re even more attractive in person, oh my god!”  

“Are you okay?” Baba asks her, suddenly close and in her personal space. 

“Yeah, better on me than on the linoleum,” she awkwardly tugs at the wet chest of her uniform, cold drops of wine rolling down her cleavage, that Baba’s eyes seem to follow, “nothing got on your cards?” 

“Of all the things for you to be worried about,” Baba looks her in the eyes again and sighs, like he’s dealing with a child. 

“I mean, I could also worry about how you two just got ditched for Ichinomiya,” she teases, voice low, as Baba carefully takes the glass from her hand. He’s being, nice. 

“We’re used to it by now, some girls will do anything to get close to boss.” 

“What’s going on here?” Ichinomiya questions, glaring at the women for a moment, before his eyes land on Tsuneko and her wine-soaked uniform. 

“We just thought, it’d be okay for us to come up here and spend some time with you,” Kaede tells him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

“I take it, we know who’s to blame for letting you up here,” Oh glares at Baba who just grins. 

“What’s wrong for having some beautiful women here?” 

“Women who find it necessary to throw wine at my staff.” Ichinomiya narrows his eyes at Kaede, he doesn’t even have to wonder who’s to blame. 

“Accidents happen,” Kaede waves it off, “she’ll be fine, why don’t we have a drink, just the two of us?” 

“Get out.” 

“Huh, don’t be ridiculous-”

“I don’t have time for this, get out, now.” 

Slowly and with their heads hanging down, the women leave the penthouse, like they’ve been scolded. Which, she supposes isn’t that far from the truth. 

“Ugh, I can still smell their perfume,” He’s not wrong, the smell of expensive perfume still hangs in the air. 

“Are you sure you should talk to guests like that?” 

“They’re not staying here.” 

“What?” 

“Those women just hang around in the casino, like flies,” Oh explains. 

“God damn it, I was polite for nothing!” 

“It was so funny watching you try to behave yourself.” Kisaki snickers. 

“Oh shut up, now, if you’ll excuse me,” she says and starts to head to the door, wine making her thighs stick together awkwardly. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Ichinomiya stops her. 

“I’m gonna go change then come back to clean, the wine didn’t get on anything else, so don’t worry.”

“You’re going to let guests see you like that?” He narrows his eyes at her, and she looks down at the mess on her uniform, not that she needs to, she can feel it sticking to her. 

“Well, it’s not going anywhere on its own.” She flails her arms out, glaring at him, what the hell does he expect?

“I’ll see if Kenzaki can bring you up a change of uniform.” 

“Come on, you can get cleaned up in my bathroom and we’ll get your uniform taken care of,” Baba says, placing a hand on the small of her back as he leads her towards his suite, even though she knows where it is, his hand is welcomed warmth against the chill of the spilled wine.

She steps into his bathroom, familiar with the elaborate set up. The sun is just starting to set, shining orange golden light in through the giant window. 

“There’s bathrobes for you to change into or you can borrow some clothes from me if you’d like.” He winks, because of course he does. 

“I’ll take the bathrobe.” 

He gives a melodramatic pout and she pushes him from the bathroom. The door shut behind him, she takes off her shoes and starts to unbutton her uniform. Her eyes dart between the tub and the shower, immaculate. The idea of relaxing back in a hot soapy bath looking at the sunset out the window, sounds so nice. However, reality is a cruel mistress, and she doesn’t have the luxury of taking her time and relaxing. She’s technically on the clock and she’s better off just taking a shorter shower. 

There’s a bit of relief from the sticky wine, tacky on her skin, when she lets her uniform drop to the floor and peels off her stockings. The worst of the mess is off her, but it’s well soaked through the layers to her skin. She can even feel the residue on her nipples where it’s dripped down and soaked through her bra.  Her underwear joins the pile of clothes and she starts up the shower, steam filling the room. 

She leaves a towel over the stall door and steps under the hot water. There’s an array of the hotel provided items with soft clean neutral scents, but she notices a few of Baba’s products as well. They’re all rose and jasmine scented, floral almost romantic scents. Not that different from her own shampoo, but just slightly stronger. Of course, he drinks rose tea and uses rose soap, like the cheesy schmuck he is. Those thoughts don’t stop her from using it. Tsuneko’s muscles relax as she washes the grime from her skin and hair, not just the wine but the sweat of the day so far.  

The door creaks as she’s massaging soap into her breasts, she jolts, a slick mess of suds and water in the shower stall makes her feet slip. She just manages to burrow her fingers into the towel before she yelps out, her ass hitting the floor. Pain shoots up her tailbone. The door swings open further. 

“Tsuneko!” Baba’s voice jumps an octave as he rushes into the room, whirling around to see her. She scrambles to place the towel, so it covers her chest and groin, though she feels like he probably already got an eyeful in the amount of time it takes her. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” 

“Are you okay, I heard you yell?” 

“Yeah, because you opened the fucking door!” 

“Uh, oh,” realization seems to dawn on him, and he covers his eyes before turning his back to her, “I was going to get your clothes, so we can send them to be cleaned.”  

“You couldn’t have waited?!” 

“The quicker they’re washed the better, you don’t want the stains to set.” 

“Just go!” 

Baba flusters about for a moment before grabbing her pile of wine-soaked clothes and leaving the bathroom. She heaves out a deep sigh, once she hears the door shut behind him. Tsuneko gets back up on her feet, the towel is completely soaked now, so she tosses it aside. Fearful of another interruption, she finishes up as quickly as possible. 

She shuts the shower off and does a quick dry off.  They’re probably still sticky, but she goes to grab her underwear, to find they’re not there.  Great, so not only has Baba seen her naked, but he knows what kind of underwear she wears. And, she’ll be wearing a bathrobe with nothing underneath,  around them all. Lovely. 

The bathrobe is clearly meant for an adult man and she doesn’t see any in smaller sizes. It’s soft fluffy white material, she pulls it on, she feels and looks a bit like a marshmallow, but that’s not a complaint. Plus, the excess fabric should make it easier to stay covered. It sags a little low on her shoulders, the sleeves hang over her hands, and the bottom drags across the floor as she leaves the bathroom. 

Baba is just outside the bathroom door and she can’t help the pout that pulls at her face, asshole. He’s smirking in response and her fist is connecting with his side in the next moment. He barely flinches at the strike and she can feel the muscle beneath his shirt. 

“Pull that kind of shit again and I’ll castrate you.” 

“I only had the best of intentions, scouts honor.” He gives a cheesy little smile and scout salute, that she isn’t buying for a second. 

“Hmmph.” 

She lets out a huffy noise as she fixes her still damp bangs and moves towards her stuff that’s on the side table. Baba must have taken them from her pockets when he got her clothes. There are wine stains on some of her sticky note pads and a bit on her phone case, the phone itself doesn’t feel soaked, however. It’s already been scratched all up, she’s not sure how much more it can handle. 

“This is the first time I’ve seen you with your hair down, somehow you just manage to get prettier and prettier.” 

She rolls her eyes at his compliment, despite the heat in her cheeks. It’s sweet and she’s sure he’s right, the only one who’s seen her with her hair down fully was Kisaki when he was fixing it for the event. She twirls a still damp lock of her around her finger. 

“You never lay off with the cheesy shit, do you?” 

“I’m just an honest man.” 

“You walked in on me showering and stole my underwear!” 

“I was honestly trying to help.” 

A heavy sigh escapes her as she puts her phone in the robe pocket and heads to the lounge, hopefully Kenzaki has brought a change of uniform for her. Baba follows after her, Kishi is on one of the couches smoking a cigarette. He managed to miss the chaos, lucky him. 

“What the hell?”

“Don’t ask.” She waves him off, dismissing him and his smoke cloud as she takes a seat. Tsuneko is careful to fold her legs in the chair so she stays cocooned and covered in the robe. 

“One of Boss’s fangirls got a little testy.” 

“There are no spare uniforms in your size, so you’ll have to wait until laundry services washes yours,” Ichinomiya explains to her. 

“So, what I’m hearing is I’m getting overtime pay?” 

Ichinomiya sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose, but he doesn’t argue with her. At the very least a bit of extra money in her bank account, but now she’s stuck spending time with them. Last time she was actually sat down with them was when Ichinomiya gave her the confidentiality agreement, before she proposed the bet. She can remember just how tense and rigid she was, now she’s curled up in a robe. 

She fiddles with the edge of the robes sleeve, suddenly aware of the strangely vulnerable position she’s put herself in with them. Hair damp from the shower and still down, not a smudge of makeup, in nothing but an oversized robe. Something about it all seems cozy, comfortable. She curls her knees in a bit closer at the thought, as if providing a bit more protection. 

“Since you’ve got time you want to get your fortune read, now?” Baba offers, smiling. 

“Aren’t you a little old to believe in that kind of shit?” 

“You wound me and so soon after our special moment together in the shower.” 

“Don’t say shit like that!” She reaches out and smacks him with the long sleeves of the robe, it hits his face and he just keeps grinning. 

“Don’t tell me you’re into old men, now, Koro.” 

“He walked in while I was showering!” 

“You really have the worst luck, don’t ya?” 

“You’re telling me. Speaking of shitty luck and women who hate me, Mr. Bucci wants me to spend time with Carolina.” 

“Does he now?” 

“And you actually agreed to that?” 

“What was I supposed to do?” She shoots Oh an incredulous look. 

“I’m not sure that’s the smartest idea, princess.” 

“Mr. Bucci is gonna talk to her about it, best case scenario she refuses and worst case scenario I have to suffer through a day of her snide little insults.” 

“Did you forget they’re mafia members?” 

“And Carolina is jealous of you.” 

“So,” she shrugs at Oh and Baba’s implications, “she’s not gonna do anything crazy.” 

“You can’t let your guard down around people like that.” 

“What’s that suppose to mean, slacker?” 

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

Kishi and Oh are glaring daggers at each other, Oh’s hand starts heading towards where she’s sure his gun is. She tries not to snicker and starts scrolling through her phone again. Ichinomiya clears his throat, stopping the short-lived altercation. 

“Make sure you take your pager.” 

“Why, so you can badger me when you want coffee?” 

“Just do what I say.” 

“Just do what I say,” she mocks him, not bothering to look up from her Instagram feed. Chisato posted a cute selfie, that she gets a glimpse of before her phone is pulled from her hand, “hey!” 

Kisaki has a hold of her phone, he’s perched himself on the arm of the chair she’s sitting in, his smarmy gremlin grin on his face. She doesn’t need him going through her phone, she’s already had one of them see her practically naked today. 

“What are you look- hey,” she grabs her phone and yanks it from his hand, before pushing him off the chair arm. He gives a little yell, before his ass hits the floor. 

“Don’t touch my phone.” 

He shoots her a disgusted look from the floor and she hears the other men snickering. 

“You’re so aggressive,” he says, glaring at her. 

“Do you have something on there you don’t want people to see?” Baba asks, smirking. 

“What is or isn’t on my phone is none of your concern.” 

“You’re not helping yourself.” Ichinomiya isn’t looking up at them, but he’s smirking just the same. 

“You’re not wrong.” She sighs, hiding her phone away back in her pocket. 

There’s a knock, before Kenzaki steps into the lounge, carrying a laundry bag. 

“Tomori’s clothes have been washed.” 

She’s already out of her chair and making a beeline for Kenzaki, plucking the laundry bag from his hand and muttering a thanks before heading towards Baba’s bathroom. Tsuneko double, triple, checks that the door is locked before she starts to change back into her uniform. There is absolutely no signs of the wine on her uniform, the laundry services at the hotel are beyond amazing. Once she’s changed and tucked everything back into her uniform pockets, she’s able to get back to work. Cleaning the lounge and suites doesn’t take her much time at all

Tsuneko returns to her dorm later than average, going through her nighttime routine of caring for Kiyo and preparing for that stupid auction. The only thing unique to the whole process at this point is crossing off days until the end of the bet. It’s the final marker of the whole routine now, the last thing she does before she closes her eyes. 

The next day at work isn’t quite as entertaining, Anais is enjoying Puroland with her family. Meaning, Tsuneko is left to her own usual routine. The first part of her shift passes by calmly and she gets to go enjoy lunch on time. Sakiko is eating a later lunch, Chisato and Itsuki got their lunch breaks to match up and are having a more romantic venture. So, Tsuneko decides to go out grab a quick bite during her break. Chisato already warned her that the gossip about Tsuneko working in the penthouse is only getting worse, so she’d rather have some distance between herself and her coworkers for a moment. 

After filling her stomach with hamburger steak and catching up on Monster Lovers during her solo lunch, she’s headed back to the hotel. There’s a soft breeze blowing through as she reaches the backlot, just as a group of unfamiliar men venture through the back door. What are they doing? It’s always something at this fucking hotel. 

“Excuse me, sirs!” She yells out as she starts sprinting after them, whatever reason they’re here, she plans on finding out. They don’t stop or respond out of earshot as she starts into the hotel. A glimpse of their back as they venture down the stairs, down to the basement level, she yells again. No response as they continue towards the sub-basement level, Wonderland. 

“Hey!” Her voice jumps up another three octaves as she rushes down the final set of stairs. There are even more unfamiliar men there, a line forming out of Wonderland door. Men shoot her confused looks. It’s all random men of all ages and appearances, though, most don’t seem too pleasant. 

She stomps and pushes her way through, all of the men shooting her dirty looks as she elbows her way through the crowd. Finally, she manages to make it into Wonderland. The Hatter is at the table across from one of the men, who have flooded the room.  He has a notebook open before him and is scribbling notes, like he’s interviewing them. 

“What are your hobbies?”

“Horse races, dog races, poker, pachinko.” Some man tells the Hatter in a gruff voice. 

“Oh, so you’re a gambling man then. How much would you say you usually bet at once?”

“Everything I have at the moment.”

“You like high stakes bets then!”

“I borrow money from friends sometimes, tell ‘em I’ll pay them back with interest.”

“Have you paid any of these friends back?”

“Not yet.” 

“Alright then. Next, please,” he calls another strange man forward to take the other’s place, “it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“Hey.”  

“I have several questions I’d like to ask you; do you live nearby?” 

“About thirty minutes by train, I guess.” 

“Yes, that’s a very fine distance; what are your hobbies?” 

“Afternoon naps.’

“Pffff,” she scoffs, making both the man and the Hatter looks up at her. 

“Alice! Where have you been?” The Hatter shoots her a bright smile, while the man is glaring. He barely looks old enough to drink, so if he’s trying to look scary, it’s not going to work for him. 

“I just got back from my lunch break, what is all of this?” She gestures to the crowd of men. 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not in the slightest.” 

“I’m having auditions for the new March Hare and Dormouse.” 

He’s not seriously letting strangers back in here, so soon after being robbed. 

“And where exactly did you find these men?” 

“I put an advertisement up on the website craigslist.” 

“What?” Her eyes grow wide, that’s so dangerous, people have been killed from doing stupid shit like this. 

“The online world is dull compared to Wonderland, but it’s very convenient.” 

“No way, nope,” she shakes her head emphatically, “you’re not doing this.” 

She pulls a chair from the table and climbs to stand on it, drawing attention to herself as well as seeing over the crowd of strangers. 

 “Alice, what are you doing?” 

“Hey,” she calls out, “I’m sorry, but you all need to go! The position is closed, there is no job, sorry for the trouble, you gotta get out of here!” 

“Alice!” The Hatter’s yell cuts through the disappointed grumbles of the men, she’s never seen him so angry, “please, do not act selfishly like that!” 

“Selfishly!?” 

“They all came out to be interviewed and you’re being rude!” 

“I’ll show you rude, everybody get the fuck out!” She stomps her foot down on the chair for emphasis. 

The Hatter is glaring at her as the men slowly make their way out of Wonderland. She needs to call Kenzaki and let him know, in case any of them get wise ideas about venturing through the hotel and causing trouble. Tsuneko hops down from the chair as the last man meanders out, grumbling under his breath about how good the pay was and she shuts the door behind him. 

“Why did you interfere?” The Hatter is glaring with a heavy, childish pout. 

“Because that was beyond stupid, that’s why!” 

“I must find a new March Hare and Dormouse! You enjoyed yourself, didn’t you?”

“That’s not the point, I don’t give a shit about the hare and mouse!” 

“Did you forget how lovely our parties were?” His face falls from anger to sorrow, unable to quite meet her eyes. 

“Did you forget that you were robbed like, two days ago?!” 

“Of course not!” 

“And what, you thought you should just have more strangers here?” 

He bites his lip and doesn’t meet her eyes, brow furrowing. 

“Do you have any idea how reckless that was? Any of those men could have robbed you or worse! Did you even think about that? Huh, what if I came down here and found you fucking dead, ‘cause you let anyone with a pulse and internet just waltz on in.” 

“I-”

“And what about everyone else here? What if one of them decided to go do something to a guest or one of the workers? For fucks sakes, even if those men weren’t bad, what if they found out about the auctions? What do you think Ichinomiya and them would do to keep them quiet?!” 

“I-”

“You could have gotten yourself and someone else killed, you can’t do this shit!”

His butt hits the ground with a thump, he’s plopped on the ground and pulled his knees to his chest, hiding his pouting face there. Watching an actual seven-year-old child felt less like babysitting. She sighs and pinches the bridge of her nose, getting her phone from her pocket then punching in Kenzaki’s number. 

“Hey, yeah, it’s Tomori. We’ve had an issue in the tearoom with security, everyone is safe, and nothing is taken. But I think it might be good to keep an eye out for any strange characters.”  

Kenzaki assures her it’s taken care of and she hangs up, looking over to see the Hatter still hasn’t budged from his new spot on the floor. She sighs, she knows he wants his dream Wonderland tea party, but he can’t sacrifice his own or someone else’s safety for that. Tsuneko chews her lip, the March Hare and Dormouse didn’t do much, other than arrange furniture. She can do that; god knows the pair of them weren’t conversationalists. 

Most of her plushies are licensed characters as are most of the ones in her crane games, so they probably won’t work for him. She does a few searches for dormouse and hare plushies, it takes her a few moments to find ones cute enough to add to her cart. Tsuneko sits on the floor next to the Hatter who’s still pouting. 

“I just wanted to have our tea parties again,” he mumbles against his knees. 

“I know, sweetie, but hey, how about these?” She nudges her phone against his knee, getting his attention. He finally looks up, eyes soft with unshed tears and biting at his lip before looking at the phone. 

“Oh…” 

“Would that work, having stuffed animals instead?” 

“Would you be happy with that?” 

“Well, yeah. I mean let’s be honest, the March Hare and Dormouse weren’t exactly shining conversationalists. All I care about is that you’re safe.” 

“That’s good then,” he says with a soft smile. 

“Okay, I’ll order them and the tea party will be complete before you know it.” She pats her hand on his back, hoping the gesture can convey even just a bit of comfort. He seems to relax under her touch. 

The door rattles open and all that comfort is useless as Ichinomiya steps into the room, no doubt Kenzaki informed him of the situation. The Hatter visibly curls into himself as the CEO’s harsh gaze lands on him. 

“What happened?” He doesn’t ask for, so much as demand an answer. 

“I-” The Hatter stumbles over his words and stalls, that shy soft-spoken boy shining through the façade. She squeezes his shoulder tight. 

“There was a little issue, he let in a few strangers…but they’re gone now.’

“You let strangers in, again?” 

“Um…”

“I already ripped him a new one. You know why it was wrong, right Mads?”

He nods his head, hat nearly falling over from the force of it. 

“And you’re not gonna do it again, right?” 

Another nod. 

“See, it’s fixed, I just wanted to make sure Kenzaki knew what happened, just in case.”

“I can’t have just anyone coming down here.” 

“He knows, he knows.” 

“He can talk for himself.” 

“Not with you scaring him, he can’t.” 

“Is this going to happen again?”

“No, I won’t do it again…” The Hatter mumbles out a response. 

“I’m holding you to that.” There’s a subtle threatening edge to his words, like a father threatening to ground his son. 

“He knows, go, go,” she tries to shoo him off like a fly, earning a glare, “I’ll make you coffee when I clean the penthouse later.”

“Obviously.” He sneers and gives another stern look towards the Hatter before finally taking his leave. 

She spends a few more minutes with the Hatter, ensuring he’s feeling better before she goes back to work. Her shift passes by with her on edge, looking out for any of the men from the Hatter’s auditions. None of them seem to have spread out to the hotel or taken up causing trouble, so she’s able to finish up work with little trouble. Other than a moment of annoyance when she makes Ichinomiya his precious coffee. 

“You guys wanna get drinks?” Chisato asks as they’re leaving the locker room. 

“You sure that’s a great idea with little miss pervert here?” Sakiko points a thumb in Tsuneko’s direction, a hint of pink in her cheeks. 

“I’m not up for it anyway, so don’t worry.” She playfully shoves her as they leave out the back entrance. With the stress of the Hatter’s little auditions, this is the kind of night meant for cozy pajamas and ferret cuddles. 

Chisato and Sakiko wave a bye to Tsuneko as they venture off towards the bar, her towards the dorms. Her steps halt, who’s outside the dorms? It’s a younger man, mess of auburn hair and green gold eyes, leaning against the building. A moment passes by before she realizes where she’s seen him before, he was one of the men interviewing with the Hatter. What on earth is he still doing here?

“Hey!” She yells out as she marches over towards the guy. 

“You really do yell a lot, don’t you?” He comments, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“What are you still doing here? I told you to go home.” 

“And why would I do that?” 

“’Cause there’s literally no reason for you to be here.” 

“What’s the deal with the dude in the basement?” He asks suddenly and it’s like ice water’s been dumped on her. Of course, there had to be one person who stuck it out to ask questions. 

“That’s none of your business.”

“Alice, was it?” 

“Tsuneko, now go home.”

“I’m Hachirou, look, if I can’t make a buck off of this, I at least wanna know what the hell is going on,” he pleads as she’s opening the door to the complex. 

“Go home and stop answering craigslist ads, it’s dangerous.” 

With that she disappears into the complex, heading to her own dorm. Once there, she peeks out the window, watching as Hachirou finally takes his leave. She clutches her good luck charm and hopes that will be the end of it, for his sake more than her own. 

[moonstruckbucky]

Fool for You [one-shot]

Summary: You want Bucky, but Bucky wants somebody else.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Angst. Lots of angst. Some self-deprecating thoughts, insecurity. Language because my potty mouth. Bucky’s a dick. Not a happy ending. You’ve been warned.

Notes: Inspired by Linger by the Cranberries, but keep in mind it’s not a song fic! I’ve been in such a writing funk lately. I hope this doesn’t totally suck. Enjoy! x

She’s funny. Her joke has Sam wheezing, Steve snorting, and Bucky chuckling. Even Nat has quirked a small grin. They’re so busy recovering their breath that no one sees the absolutely moon-eyed look Bucky directs at her.

Nobody but you.

It’s hard to ignore the rising bitterness in your throat as you sit on the couch, once ensconced in your novel until Sam began hooting like a broken trumpet, a result of her well-timed joke. Of course she’s funny. She has just about everything else going for her, including Widow’s respect, which is a national treasure all on its own.

She isn’t an Avenger, but she may as well be since she’s in the tower so much. It makes your stomach curdle. The super soldier at her side curls a loving arm around her shoulders, drops a kiss onto her hair, and the gesture has her beaming.

And Bucky looks about the same way you feel.

Because Bucky had to go and catch feelings for his best friend’s girl.

He thinks no one knows, but you’re his best friend. Of course you know. You know because he looks at her the same way you do him. You scoff quietly.

Cliches suck.

A weight drops onto the couch cushion beside you.

Careful, Y/N. Green isn’t really your color.

Wanda. Normally you take issue with the fact that Wanda sometimes implants herself in your head, but other times, like now, you’re thankful for it. Explaining it to anyone else makes shame bubble up in your gut.

You give Wanda a single, meaningful glance before your gaze is ultimately drawn back over your shoulder. She, Cassandra, is in the middle of telling a story that has everyone’s rapt attention, Steve looking down at her fondly while it goes unnoticed that Bucky is doing the same. You’re not sure if he realizes he’s doing it, but considering he’s doing it in front of Widow tells you he isn’t.

A quick glance at Nat shows her eyes bouncing between Bucky and Cassandra. Ah, so it wasn’t missed by the scarily-observant super spy. She catches your eye next, an entire conversation being wordlessly spoken. You avert your gaze with a sigh and miss the quizzical little head tilt Nat gives.

When Cassandra’s laughter bubbles up again, you can’t stand it anymore. Wanda frowns up at you as you stand, finger tucked into your book to save your place. You leave the room, wincing as the laughter picks up again.

Inside the confines of your room, you abandon your book to sit on the floor at the foot of your bed, your back against the mattress and box spring. You never meant to be part of probably the stupidest cliche to ever exist, yet here you are. And like that stupid cliche, you have no idea how it even happened.

Somewhere along the path of Bucky’s re-self-discovery, you fell for the man he’d become. Not the Soldier, not the smooth talking ladies’ man of the 40s, but someone somewhere in between. More self-assured than he’s ever been, though not without his faults or his setbacks. Really, though, how could you not have seen this coming?

You sigh into the dark, knees propped up and elbows resting upon them so you can drop your head into your hands. It’s stupid—pathetic, really—how your mind automatically begins to compare you to Cassandra, regardless of the fact that she’s taken. It’s more so because she has Bucky’s full attention, that moon-eyed look solely meant for her that you so wish was directed at you.

You’re a teammate, his close friend, and it seems that’s all you’ll ever be to him. It hurts, coming to that conclusion, knowing you’re one of those girls unfortunately and unfairly destined to experience unrequited love. You laugh mirthlessly to yourself and shake your head, tangle your fingers in your hair and tug, just a little, just enough to ground you before your mind sucks you into a maelstrom of self-pity.

You know sooner or later you’ll have to come clean to Nat, if the perceptive redhead hasn’t already put it together. Wanda is your closest friend aside from Bucky, but Natasha’s scary wisdom beyond her years comes in handy, especially in the tough situations.

You can’t imagine a situation any tougher than this.

So it comes as no surprise as, the next morning, the Black Widow corners you in the kitchen. You don’t bother to hide; stubbornness is one of Nat’s lesser, but more prominent, qualities, and she’s patient as all get out. Instead, you lead her back to your bedroom and spill. She doesn’t interrupt, only listens intently with her head tilted in that feline manner she has.

“Well, that’s quite a predicament,” she notes when you finish. Grumbling unintelligibly, you suck down your coffee. She leans back on her hands beside you. “So I take it there is zero chance of you talking to Bucky about it?”

“Why would I?” you retort, but Nat isn’t offended. “The only thing that’ll accomplish is ensuring our friendship is toast. Burnt as fuck, crispy toast. Plus, I’m not really in the mood to be humiliated when he says he doesn’t return my feelings.”

“How do you know he wouldn’t?”

“Uh, hello, I know you of all people didn’t miss the absolute head-over-heels look he gave her yesterday.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like he’s going to act on that. Steve would pummel him, and it would probably end their friendship.”

“Regardless, I’m not having that conversation with him. I’m just gonna...keep a lid on it and act as if nothing’s off.”

Nat scoffs and you shoot her a look. “Honey, even if I wasn’t me I wouldn’t miss the looks you give him when someone’s not looking.”

You open your mouth and then promptly shut it. Releasing a sigh, you rub your temples. “Okay, so then what do I do? If I pull away he’s going to know something’s up. He’s far too much like you.”

Nat, for once, is rendered clueless on how to proceed. Then, with an actual physical shake of her body, she says, “Okay, so you pretty much have three options. Option one, continue as normal, hide your feelings, be his best friend,  and ultimately, probably spontaneously combust because you’re keeping them down instead of letting them out. Option two, tell him, risk the chance that your friendship might change or Bucky will decide to pull his head out of his ass and not make moon-eyes at a taken woman, thus eventually falling in love with you and the two of you live happily ever after. Option three, you start dating. Outside the Tower. Run the risk that you’ll find someone who completes you instead of pining for a guy who might not.”

“That’s it, huh?” you deadpan. Truthfully, none of those options sounds appealing, but more than likely you’re going for option one.

Option one, it turns out, is a goddamn pain in the ass to stick to. In order to throw off Nat’s, and even Sam’s, suspicions that he’s into his best friend’s girl, Bucky has latched himself onto you. Normally, this would be, well, normal. Now? It’s downright impossible to bite your tongue from telling him what’s been cooking up in your head, damn near inconceivable to not lean into him when he sits a little closer to you at movie night. 

The little niggling feeling in the back of your head tells you he has tricks up his sleeve, but you brush it off for now and bask in the slightly spice scent of his cologne.

Some weeks later, you’re faring no better. It’s growing even more difficult to bottle your feelings up and stow them in the back of your mind, especially when Bucky’s clinginess seems to multiply tenfold. You aren’t dumb, or naive for that matter, when you realize the only time he’s right on top of you is when Steve and Cassandra are present. When you first put it together, no words in the English dictionary are sufficient enough to describe the painful pang in your heart.

Yet you let it continue.

Nat criticizes you more than once, as does Wanda (who’s admittedly a bit gentler with her approach, but Nat was never one for beating around a bush). You promise both of them you’ll confront him soon, draw a line in the sand that he can’t use you to make his best friend’s girl jealous. 

Plus, his plan isn’t working anyways. Cassandra remains both in the dark and unaffected by what he’s doing, and she merely smiles genuinely when she notices Bucky’s arm around your shoulder or waist. As soon as she and Steve leave the room, his arm drops and his shoulders droop. It makes you angry, and it’s why you suddenly begin to dodge his advances. You stop playing along to his chagrin and befuddlement, and the fact that he’s even confused by your refusal to go along with it reignites your ire.

How dare he abuse your friendship, wordlessly expect you to go along with a pointless attempt to make Cassandra jealous? It’s callous and a little cruel of him; you thought you were friends. Friends didn’t treat each other like toys or tools to just use at one’s convenience. Even more than that, with Bucky’s sudden attention on you all the time, as superficial as it is, it only intensifies your feelings for him—both the positive and the negative.

On the one hand, a large, secret part of you revels in being pressed up against him so often, absorbing his warmth and being able to pretend, for just a little while, that his feelings for you aren’t a scheme, that they’re genuine. The smaller, more logical part of you knows you can’t let this continue, and it finally all comes to a head when Bucky asks of you something so unbelievably selfish that you snap.

“I’m sorry, you want to what?” you ask, turning your ear to him as if you hadn’t heard him correctly.

“We should sleep together,” he repeats with a careless shrug. He seems surprised when your gaze hardens and ignites all at once.

“Why? So you can continue your pointless scheme of trying to make Cassandra jealous? Is that why?” you accuse icily. Bucky takes a small step back, mouth opening and closing similar to a fish as he searches for something to say. You beat him to it. “No, Bucky, I won’t sleep with you to go along with your stupid fucking plan of pursuing a taken woman, much less the woman who’s dating your best fucking friend. I’m not stupid; I know what you’ve been doing, and I can’t even believe you would abuse our friendship like that, use me the way you have, without a second thought. Do my feelings mean absolutely nothing to you? Do you know how hard it’s been coming to grips with the fact that, while I struggle with my feelings, for you, you only see me as something to use, something to exploit?”

Bucky’s face continues to fall as you rant, unleashing every pent up thought and emotion. Your voice covers a range of emotion—anger, sadness, hurt—all in a matter of seconds that he nearly has whiplash. Bucky’s always had a strong poker face, but even he can’t hide the feelings rolling through him. The one he settles on is shame. Good.

“You...you have feelings for me?” he questions, quiet and meek.

You scoff. “Right now, I really wish I fucking didn’t. You aren’t who I thought you were, Bucky. Not even close. I was willing to let it go that you wouldn’t feel the same way for me, I’ve accepted that. What I won’t accept is being used as if our friendship means absolute shit to you.”

“No, honey, that’s not—” He stops when you shake your head, teeth clenched tightly and jaw wobbling as you fight to hold back your tears of hurt and heartbreak.

“It was what you were doing, Bucky, and I want no part of it. In fact, I think it’s better you and I don’t speak.”

Bucky looks crestfallen, regret and agony and the will to plead for your forgiveness swimming in his eyes. Bucky’s poker face was ace, but his eyes gave him away and you’d become an expert at reading them. Even if it’s not what he’d intended when he began this hairbrained plan, it’s what happened, and you had been caught in the crossfire.

“Ever?” he asks, a sob ripping from his throat while those pale eyes brim with tears. You glance away for a moment, but then you bravely meet his gaze, holding it.

“Ever,” you confirm. Your face remains stoic but inside your chest your heart splinters and cracks. It’s so painful to break off your most treasured friendship, but Bucky had taken advantage of you, whether or not he had been aware of your feelings. You voice this aloud. “I can accept you not returning my feelings, but I can’t forgive you for taking advantage of me. That’s not what friends do. Goodbye Bucky.”

The door closes softly in his face and Bucky leans his head against the wood, face crumbling as he lets himself go. How could he have been so stupid?

[dumbwaystodeviate]

Home

The violent revolution had passes. Androids were considered equals when proven to be deviants. Machines though, they were still very much second class citizens. Years passed and RK900 was bounced from post to post. Nobody wanted the responsibility of employing an obedient killing machine. It was just as well he didn’t need much. An empty room to call his own, there were charging ports dotted around the city and thirium handouts happened once a month. As a top of line android, he didn’t need a top-up all that often. So he floated around the city, haunted the streets as he tried to find somewhere to fit in. Circadian rhythms meant nothing to him and he could be on the streets at 3am or 3pm, it didn’t matter to him. He was down by the waterfront, letting his feet get soaked in the lapping waves by the foot of the bridge when someone growled at him.

“Fuck off, this is my spot. Find your own!” The ‘fuck’ was slightly mangled and the voice rough with a lingering infection. RK900 looked around to find the source of the words.

“I said fuck off you plastic prick,” the lump of discarded bedding moved and a harrowed, scarred face glowered at him. He might have looked menacing and wild to a human but to RK900 is was like a kitten hissing at him. Full of rage and indignity but about as harmful as sandpaper if it lashed out.

“I believe that this is communal area owned by the city council so we have equal rights to be here,” Nines replied easily and wriggled his toes in his soaking shoes. “I’m an RK900, what can I call you?”

“You haven’t earned the right to call me anything, dip shit. Now get the fuck out of here before I beat you to a pulp.”

More out of respect than fear, RK900 got up and took sopping, wet steps as he retreated but still heard the grumble of “fucking androids” from behind him. Even though his room was stark white, empty of all personality, at least nobody could tell him to get out of there.

The next night, he found himself back at the foot of the bridge just before sunset. Carefully stashed away, the bedding was folded up into a holey bin bag. They were rolled tight and a quick scan suggested that clothes and other knickknacks were hidden in the centre. Whether they were valuable or not, RK900 didn’t have the time to scan because a voice was yelling at him again.

“Get the fuck away from my shit!” The same man from yesterday was hobbling towards him, fury etched into every line of his face.

Obediently, RK900 stepped away, hands up to show he meant to harm. He was surprised when the man all but ignored him, instead, turned to his worldly possessions and fussed over them.

“Get lost,” he grumbled to RK900 but didn’t look up.

In the light of day, he looked even less intimidating. Dirt and grime were embedded in his skin, making his wrinkles and scars even more prominent. He couldn’t have been much older then 40 but his situation had aged him beyond his years.

“I mean no harm,” RK900 tried to placate him but went ignored.

The bedding was unrolled and a book was pushed aside, along with a change of clothes which looked just as ragged and worn as what he was currently sporting. Something metallic was quickly palmed and shoved in a pocket with a muttered “thank fuck”.

RK900 watched him make his bed under the bridge, the support leg provided some shielding from the elements but it was no doubt useless against the bitter cold that was creeping in at nights.

“Is there not a shelter you could go to?” he finally asked.

The snort and side glance he got were as bitter as the reply. “They’re all full. Government spends all their money on android shit. They’re cheaper and easier to support and make their numbers instantly look better. Why care for a human when you can sort out eight androids for the same price?”

There was nothing RK900 could say to that. After all, he was one of the ones the government was providing for. He looked over at the man as he heavily sat down in his bed, rubbing his hip with a hiss.

“What happened to you?”

“None of your concern, now piss off.”

RK900 retreated a few steps but sank onto the ground and watched. His scans indicated a low level fever was plaguing the man, given his condition, it probably was the tail end of a chest infection. But given how bad the weather forecast was, there was a 57% probability of a relapse.

“Holy shit, you’re not a deviant, are you?” The man rasped from where he’d burrowed down.

“No, I’m not.” There was no point in lying or denying it. RK900 was what he was, he felt no shame in it. He felt nothing at all. What he didn’t expect was a barked laugh that ended in a hacking cough.

They said nothing to each other until RK900 left close to midnight. His silent companion had been fitfully dozing, obviously not used to the company.

Over the course of the next week, it became a bit of a habit for RK900 to sit by the water under the bridge for the first half a the night. His chosen companion said nothing most days, they just stared out at the water and waited for the sun to go down.

“Hey,” the man called one night as RK900 got up to leave. “I know it may mean nothing to you other than a dictionary definition but thanks.”

Puzzled, RK900 nodded and returned to his room. He didn’t know why he deserved gratitude. They were just two strangers occupying the same space for a little while. It wasn’t like they talked. Still, it was nice to know that his presence wasn’t outright loathed and feared like it was by most people. RK900 had detected many things in the man but not once did he see fear.

“Evening Nines,” the man was propped up against the concrete of the bridge, huddled in his blankets. Rain pelted down around them and was slowly soaking the bedding. “Was wondering whether you’d turn up in such miserable weather.”

RK900 dropped gracefully down next to him, water dripped from his clothes but he didn’t care. Left exposed to the elements as he was, he at least shielded what he’d started calling ‘his human’ from some of the rain. He turned to look at him with a question, “Nines?”

“RK900 was a bit of a mouthful.” It looked like there was a shrug accompanying the words but a shiver swallowed half the movement up.

There was a hiss and, as it had become almost habit, the man rubbed his hip.

“Does it hurt?”

“The cold sets it off. Old battle wound. You know what it’s like.”

A quick scan showed the piece of scrap metal was clutched in his hand and Nines filtered through his potential responses.

“What happened?” He finally settled on. It was open enough to give plenty of choice in response.

Once the coughing had subsided, his companion too a breath. “What happened to everybody else. I trained years, no, decades to get where I was for my job. Then a piece of plastic waltzed in, fresh off the production line but had downloaded all the knowledge that took me years of study to accumulate.”

“I was designed for fighting in the arctic against Russian. Then the revolution happened. Now I am without purpose. Without a sense of self.” It only felt right that Nines would share a little of himself in return.

“Damn. That sucks. I had “Reed, you’re a drain on our resources, taken too many sick days, we cannot keep up this kind of wasteful behaviour.” Not even a sorry or asked to help train up cover. As I walked out with my box of shit, an android arrived, prim and proper as you please. Ready to pick up and do so much better than I did. Not like i had so much time off because I got fucking shot on a case.”

He fell silent after that, eyes tight with the pain of the memories. Nines didn’t want to press, he had a name now and that was enough. Eventually, Reed’s head tipped forward a little, face slack with sleep. On quiet feet, Nines rose up. For the first time in a long time, he had a mission objective.

Hacking into government files wasn’t a chore for an android of his calibre. Personnel files were less heavily protected. Searching for ‘Reed’ brought up several possibilities but sorting by rough age, gender and narrowing it all down to the Detroit area finalised it down to two potential people. A quick look at the attached photo and Nines had found his friend.

Gavin Reed, 41, discharged from service as a homicide detective two years ago. No known address as of 18 months ago. His last case involved a shootout where he’d jumped in front of an undeviated android, took a bullet to the hip. Insurance only covered so much of his bills and time off work. With a slow recovery hindered by infection, the DPD couldn’t keep his position open and filled it before he was fit to return to work. With no job to return to, he was fired on the pretext of too much time off work.

When Nines went to see Gavin the next day, he asked as much. Half expecting to be yelled at for such a breach of privacy, Nines didn’t expect Gavin to let out a bitter laugh.

“That’s the official story, yeah. What they don’t say it that I took the bullet for her and fell on her. Dented her chassis a little. She lodged a complaint but by the time internal affairs conducted a hearing, she’d had it replaced for an upgraded version already. Claimed that the shock of it all forced her to deviate in a traumatic way. Agreed to waive any charges if I was reprimanded and fired. Otherwise she was going to take the DPD to court over her deviation.”

 There was nothing Nines could say to that, something simmered in his circuits, burned with something he’d never experienced before. Instead of speaking, he watched as Gavin got up and limped to the water, swirled his hands in it a couple of times before splashing his face. It didn’t seem to serve a purpose other than to human eyes, hide the tears on his cheeks.

“Couldn’t pay the hospital or the mortgage. Sold everything I could and have been trying to make ends meet on the street since.” He coughed weakly into the crook of his elbow as he settled back down and closed his eyes. “I’m tired Nines. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The next evening saw Nines back under the bridge. He didn’t expect Gavin to push something at him. Wrapped in a plastic bag was a brand new scarf.

“For putting up with me,” Gavin shrugged and Nines ran his fingers over the material. Cheaply made polyester that was rough against his fingers. Unlikely to keep him warm and it wasn’t exactly fashionable either.

“With the cold coming, thought you might look a little less out of place. Wanted you to have something of your own.” He carefully didn’t say how the colour made him think of Nines’ eyes.

Nines tucked it in his pocket with a soft ‘thank you’, completely at a loss as to how to handle such a gift. He left shortly after, ignoring he sad look Gavin sent him.

Only at home, when he sat in the corner of his bare room did he fish the scarf out again. The tags were still attached, the price hastily torn off but a quick scan of the item and Nines knew it cost a couple of dollars from a discount store. Realisation hit Nines then. It wasn’t an extravagant gift by any means. But those couple of dollars probably meant a day’s food for Gavin. He’d sacrificed that so he could make warmth flush through the circuits of an undeviated android who sat with him most nights because neither of them had a place in the world.

The walls around Nines were cracked, holes were letting the colours of the world shine through. He picked away at them for the rest of the night and wondered whether Gavin was sleeping well. His chest infection had been getting worse, his breathing shallow and rapid even in his sleep. The more Nines let the walls crumble, the more an overwhelming sense of worry crept through him.

With nothing better to do, Nines decided to surprise Gavin by being at their usual spot by the time he returned from the city centre. Some days he tried finding a job, other days he sat with a sign begging for change from strangers who barely even glanced at him.

Walking towards the bridge, Nines watched how pages from a book were scattered along the shore. They flipped and floated in the wind, pretty in their own right. The cover of the book at some way ahead of him, ripped pages fluttered in the breeze. It was surrounded by clothes strewn in a trail with familiar bedding that was half dumped in the river, sodden. Dread finally forced its way through the gaps in the wall which crumpled under its weight.

Gavin’s things were scattered all over, ransacked and destroyed in anger when nothing valuable was found. As Nines got to the bridge, he finally saw a familiar figure lying face down on the ground, one hand outstretched. Nines ran. He was kneeling next to Gavin in the matter of seconds and rolling him onto his side. Blood coated half his face, eye swollen shut, breath a shallow wheeze.

“Gavin?” Nines shook him a little. “Gavin?”

No response. All logic suggested that Nines calls an ambulance but he didn’t know how Gavin would be able to afford any kind of medical care. He’d left his chest infection untreated for that very reason. An ambulance ride and hospital stay was too costly.

A minute later, Gavin’s lashes fluttered and he whined as the pain registered.

“Nines? What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my friend,” the reply was all too easy. It earned him a soft smile from Gavin. His fist uncurled and Nines watched as the scrap of metal his scans had picked up so often before was finally revealed.

A police badge. Or rather, what has left of it after a bullet had passed through it.

“The bastards couldn’t get this. I wouldn’t let them.” Gavin smiled proudly even as blood welled up from a split lip again.

Mind made up, Nines gathered Gavin against his chest and stood as gently as possible. None of Gavin’s belonging were salvageable. The bedding was sodden, the clothes deliberately ripped beyond use. One step at a time, Nines carried him back to his room. It wasn’t much, barren and white but at least it provided a shelter from the elements.

Since activation, Nines had been without a purpose. A machine without a function in the world he was built in. Now, as he looked at Gavin curled up and small in his room, he knew what he needed to do. Lists of mission objectives filled his HUD, maps to the nearest free treatment clinics, food banks, forms to fill in for government aid which Gavin may not have been told about yet alone given the means to access.

They were two people society had shunned, wanted to forget even existed. Nobody needed an obedient killing machine or a disabled ex-detective but somehow they’d met and, as unlikely as it was, found themselves needed of each other. The future may have looked bleak but Nines finally saw the glimmer of hope.

[bladekindeyewear]

Reading Homestuck^2 as of Page 28.  I’m glad we’re resolving the lack of conversations between these two, it’s really working well so far.  > ==>

So we’re calling this a “prattle”, huh?

I’m not sure how to describe everything that’s going on here, this playful skip of depicting actions by narrating them intentionally, but I like it somehow.

Some stuff about ABBA, too, not that I’d get it as I don’t really music.

Hm, interesting discussion about these capsules.

DIRK: But beyond that, they're a convenient and effective means of subtle psychic suggestion at a distance. TEREZI: 1T DO3SNT S33M 4LL TH4T SUBTL3 TO M3 DIRK: Well no, it's not. DIRK: At least, not for us right now. DIRK: But that's because your presence as a guiding influence has been revealed. DIRK: Earlier, when I hadn't realized you were there, it was more difficult to discern.

Yep, setting up mechanics for us to play with later.  This is nice.

DIRK: That's what you get for nosing around in our secret storeroom. DIRK: I'd ask you not to contaminate the ectobiological equipment with your own genetic material, but, TEREZI: Y34H TOO L4T3, SORRY >:|

Dammit, that’s right.  You’re seeding a whole damn planet and time-traveling forward somehow so you can hijack a session, right?  I can’t see the game treating you kindly for that sort of indiscretion.

Eugh, creepy.  Terezi can still be controlled directly, and she knows it.  And there’s shit he wants to hide from her.  Euugh.

(Is it John’s corpse or something?)

> Dirk: Get this show on the road.

A “N31GH” code, huh?  Good taste, Terezi.  Very character-appropriate.

Rose is feeling ominous about getting this started, huh?  She should.

ROSEBOT: But if I had to describe it, I'd say that misgivings, hunches, doubts and so on are supported on a foundation of un-knowing. ROSEBOT: And along with that absence of knowledge comes a commensurate feeling of dread or worry. Fear about the potential calamity yet to come.

Hmm.  (Trying to parse anything meaningful besides the obvious, and Rose going for a Homestucky start-of-adventure paragraph.)

ROSEBOT: As though in this moment, luck isn't either strictly real or not real, or somewhere inbetween, but absent of meaning completely. ROSEBOT: Luck took one look at our itinerary from here on out and said you'll just have to go on without me. DIRK: Luck rolled over the other side of the dictionary and said not tonight sweetheart, I've got a wicked fuckin' headache. ROSEBOT: Exactly. ROSEBOT: Except now I'm the one with the migraine.

Mhmm.  Because what you’re trying to accomplish isn’t gonna work out the way you think it is, but that fact’s actually quite possibly a good thing for you and everyone else.  Hard to put that in a cut-and-dry good or bad, isn’t it?

> ==>

DIRK: We scanned for Sburban technology, so we know for sure this is the right planet. Wheels are already in motion and all that.

Huh.  I guess if you found the right planet to use, it WOULD already have the tech paradoxically seeded on it, wouldn’t it?

ROSEBOT: It's like the notion I was trying to describe was so conceptually insubstantial, so resistant to concrete definition within any meaningful frame of reference, that even thinking about it as an idea made *me* somehow existentially unsound. ROSEBOT: And not in the way I used to always feel, back before John made the choice to validate our canonical existences axiomatically. ROSEBOT: Foreboding I can deal with. I'm a Seer. Sooths are mine to say. ROSEBOT: But this is different.

Perhaps “Void”, but in the less “misfortune” sense?

Hm.

(Did the heroes bring Roxy on the other ship? I fucking hope I don’t have to go a whole adventure without any more Roxy.  Or fun Void heroes, anyway.  ...Crap.  We’re going to get new characters. That’s right.)

Despite what she thinks, little by little Rose begins to feel her head clear of concern, semantically dubious or otherwise. Her understanding of my ascended existence doesn't include this degree of metanarrative potency, so her doubts as to my words' healing powers are understandable.

Fuck you. Fuck you. FUCK. YOU.

You’re taking this otherwise smart, wonderful character and systematically BEATING OUT OF HER the ability to question her circumstances or doubt her path with a narrative stick.  You’re killing everything that is her, robbing her completely of her will as your title implies.  I don’t like seeing Rose vividly, constantly KILLED at the will level.  I wonder if it’s going to STOP anytime before even the halfway point of this story.

...Heh. “Chaotic-lawful”.  Hehehe. (Or H3h3h3, rather.)

As you know, I have many splinters. So many, I used to find it overwhelming to contemplate them all. Depressing, actually. It was a feeling I could never escape from. The feeling that my sense of self was limitless. That I was forced to exist as a small facet of my own potential, while drowning in an ocean of my greater persona, and all the terrible things I was fully capable of. I was trapped as a limited version of myself who was still burdened by the concern for what it meant to be good, struggling to keep himself from drowning in an overwhelming body of potential which had no concern for human morality whatsoever.

Hmmmmmm.

But that struggle finally ended a few years ago. My head isn't fighting to stay above the water anymore. There isn't even a metaphorical head to speak of. I'm only the water now.

Right, the Ultimate Self.  Essentially encompassing and accessing your whole Heart at once, every disparate definition of yourself pulled together.

(Which makes it even more throw-up disgusting that Rose is currently achieving this same state and STILL being enslaved by Dirk.  He’s not just enslaving Rose, he’s enslaving ALL of Rose, the entire concept she represents.  And deluding her utterly in the process.)

> ==>

DIRK: What's that noise I'm hearing. DIRK: It sounds a little bit like a cat being caught in a ventilation fan. A sort of... DIRK: Inhuman screeching, combined with the grinding of metal. DIRK: Are we even going to make it to the ground? ROSEBOT: Oh, no, ROSEBOT: The ship's fine as far as I can tell. ROSEBOT: That's just Terezi laughing. DIRK: Oh. DIRK: She's... enjoying this, isn't she.

Pfffffff.  :)

> ==>

Nothing familiar about this planetary body, far as I can tell.

Ah, that “to be continued...” was pretty hard to see.  Guess that’s it for now!

This is definitely going to be fun, if still at least 30% soul-crushing.  It really is really, really hard to see Rose like this, at his mental-manipulating mercy.  Luckily -- if we can even call it luck -- we probably will see very little comparatively of Dirk’s party, and more onscreen of the others in the Hero party or whichever new... humans? (Hybrids even, maybe, if Dirk’s especially ambitious?) ..make up this session’s players.

And I’ll be blogging the whole way through, I suppose.  See you then!