#i get his emails and i occasionally do check those out and always feel relief that i dont live somewhere where my rep is hateful

[kenzietensei]

I'm lucky enough to live in a blue state which has good representatives who are not cowards - they openly speak out against the fascists trying to take over the US. So I've never really had to call and complain (because I feel the issues I care about are being considered and worked on appropriately). But I've heard that being vocal in your support is important too. So today (for the first time) I called my congressman's office to pass along the message - I support his stance against Trump and Musk and their cronies, and as long as he continues to keep the line against them, I will continue to vote him into office.

It was a little awkward on my end (because I didn't check out a script beforehand so I felt stilted) but their guy on the phone was nice. All he asked was that I leave my info (name and zip code) and that he'd pass along the message. So although I struggle to do the whole phone calls thing in general, it wasn't a bad experience and I feel glad that I did it.

Anyways, this is a call to action! Even when you feel your political reps are doing what needs to be done, confirming for them that you support that and want them to continue fighting for just policy is valuable. It's a 3 minute phone call. I'd encourage you to give it a shot!

[outercrasis]

Sessions

Pairing: College!Din Djarin x F!Reader

Rating: Mature (18+)

Word Count: 3.2k

Warnings: References to sex, masturbation (nothing actually occurs)

Summary: After meeting Mando, you just can’t seem to get him out of your head. (events directly follow Introductions)

A/N: Thanks for the kind reception to the first post of this AU! I’ll be making a masterlist soon for easier navigation :) Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future posts or if I’ve missed a warning.

Series Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Lingering Impressions

Your day ended up being an exhausting one. Mando had been your most exciting session for more reasons than just the obvious. You'd reviewed the papers of two freshmen, a junior who wanted you to basically write their paper for them, and another graduate student who disregarded every suggestion you made. Needless to say, Mando's gratitude felt extra special after all of that.

Getting home, you're greeted with the welcome smell of something delicious coming from the kitchen as you throw yourself face-first into the couch. The open floorplan of your tiny two bedroom apartment allows Layla to spot you as you wander in.

"Hello to you too!" she calls over. "I'm making chicken marsala."

You lift your head up from the watermelon-shaped throw pillow to smile at her. "You are a saint and I don't deserve you."

"You totally don't," Layla teases back, happily returning to the stove. You flip over on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone while she finishes making dinner. A comfortable silence fills the room, interrupted only by Layla's hums and the discordant sounds of cooking.

Layla has been your roommate since your sophomore year of college, randomly paired together by the dorm sorting system and inseparable ever since. The two of you clicked, a friendship forged over the awkwardness of early adulthood and a shared love of terrible reality TV. Both of you keep busy schedules while pursuing your respective master’s degrees and help each other out where you can. Making dinners for each other is just a part of that.

It’s not long before Layla brings over two steaming plates of food to lay out on your thrifted coffee table. She sits opposite you, preferring to sit on the floor rather than the couch. You’re eager to dig in, groaning at the first bite.

“I’ll take that as a thank you,” Layla grins, tucking into her own meal.

“God yes.”

“Long day then?”

You groan again, this time in irritation rather than pleasure. “Yes. I don’t know how many more know-it-all grad students I can deal with.”

She’s heard all about your nightmare sessions with students that think they already know everything. You’ve questioned more than once why they bother booking the session if they're just going to ignore your advice and decide their paper is perfect as is. It seems like a total waste of time for both you and them. 

Layla sympathizes and shares her own gripes about some of the assholes she's forced to put up with while working on her research project. After all, no group project is complete without the one person who does nothing but acts like they know everything. Giving each other time to vent another small way the two of you take care of each other.

As you think back on your day and sessions your mind inevitably drifts to Mando. He hadn’t been anything like you’d expected. He was kind in his own way and by far the most amenable session you’d had all day. Not taking off the helmet was odd, as was not giving out his real name, but neither of those had really bothered you when it came down to it. If anything, they only serve to fascinate you further.

“Did something else happen today?” Layla asks, a spark lighting up in her eyes. She can always read you, something that can be either a blessing or a curse depending on what it is you're hiding. You take a few more bites before answering, already anticipating her reaction.

“Well I might have also met Mando today,” You try to throw it out there casually, hoping that if you treat it as though it’s not a big deal she’ll follow your lead. You should have known better.

“You what!? Tell me everything,” Layla screeches at you from across the coffee table. She pushes her food off to the side, clearly deciding that your unexpected meeting with campus's resident celebrity is far more important.

"He came in for a session. His paper was really good, it-"

Layla is quick to cut you off. "I literally couldn't care less about that and you know it. Tell me about him, what's he like? Is he terrifying?"

You can’t help but snort at that. You know why she asked of course - the rumors flying around about him getting out of hand these days - but when you think about him now they all seem ludicrous. The gentle way he spoke to Grogu and offered his hand out to the kid before leaving. The sincerity in his voice as he spoke to you, eager to hear any advice you had to give him. No. Mando was decidedly not terrifying. “He’s… just a guy,” you tell her, not really sure how to explain his unique presence.

The eyeroll you receive in response is warranted. “Are you kidding me right now? You probably know more about him than anyone else on campus and you’re going to tell me he’s just a guy?”

You shrug, shoveling another bite of food into your mouth. “I don’t know what to tell you Lays, I only spent an hour with him. He was nice, really sweet with his kid, and I’ll probably never see him again.”

You’re not sure why you feel a quick sting in your chest at that thought. It wasn’t like you knew him well or that he even owed you anything. Considering the fact that you’d gone weeks without so much as glimpsing him on campus you’d probably only have another chance to see him if he signed up for another session and there was no guarantee he’d return.

“So the kid thing is true?” Layla asks.

“Yeah. Really cute kid, pretty quiet.” Very quiet now that you think of it. You don’t have much experience with kids that young, but you’re certain kids Grogu’s age can talk. He hadn’t said so much as a word, only letting out an occasional noise or two. It was odd, but then he could just be shy or something. Another question you’d probably never have an answer for.

“Is the kid his?” Layla presses.

“I don’t know, it didn’t exactly come up while we discussed his paper on unique material applications,” you snap back at her. You wince a little at your sharp reply. It wasn’t deserved. Layla was simply curious and now the victim of your long day and swirling thoughts.

You quickly follow up with an apology. ��Sorry. I just- I had a long day and I really didn’t learn much about him, okay?” 

There’s a small sense of relief when Layla nods, backing down from her inquisition. “It’s cool, I get it. Just promise you’ll tell me if you see him again?”

“Yeah, I’ll let you know.” 

The rest of the night passes like usual. You wash up after dinner, a fair trade since Layla cooked, and the two of you get to tackling homework that’s begun to pile up with the semester entering its full swing. Nighttime study sessions have been a regular occurrence since your undergrad days and have only intensified while pursuing your respective graduate degrees. It’s more about solidarity and accountability than shared workload, what with your program being in English and Layla’s in Marketing, but it’s nice. Simply having company is better than doing it all by yourself.

Around 10:30 you call it, eyes bleary from staring at your laptop. Layla is deep into a PDF reading so you leave her to her work and shuffle off to the shared bathroom. While the water heats, you brush your teeth lazily, going through the motions of your nightly routine. You test the water with your hand before deciding it’s warm enough to step in.

Your thoughts drift aimlessly as you stand under the hot stream, unfocused until they land back on him. It’s like you can’t help yourself, the way your thoughts have been returning to him all night. You’ve puzzled about him before, but only in the abstract. A hypothetical more than a real person. Wondering if rumors are true isn't quite the same as wondering about the man himself. 

All throughout the night he kept popping up. One moment you would be considering the symbolic use of color in your assigned reading and the next you would be puzzling over Mando’s favorite color. Maybe orange, if his gloves were anything to go by. Layla's favorite song played and while she sang along you couldn't help wondering what kind of music he listens to. Rock probably, or was that too on the nose? As you sipped your drink you wondered what his drink of choice would be, alcoholic or not. Did he even drink alcohol at all? Something told you he wasn’t much for losing his inhibitions.

It's all the little things, all the little details that actually make up a person that no one bothers to speculate about that consume you now. Who cares about his favorite movie or favorite food when you can guess on whether or not he's been to jail?

As you wash the grime of the day from your body, your mind continues to drift further, settling onto the first thing that captured your attention earlier today. His hands. Those gorgeous sun soaked hands, how fluidly they moved across his keyboard. The firm hold of them when he shook your hand.

Eyes fluttering closed, you can't help imagining that it's his hands skating across your skin. You can almost feel the gentle roughness of them, the way he'd squeeze and hold you - tight, but not so hard that it hurts. Almost unconsciously, your hand begins to drift down your body, only to be interrupted by a pounding on the bathroom door. Your eyes snap open, confusion and embarrassment replacing your fantasy.

"Hurry up in there! I need to pee," Layla yells through the door.

You grumble in response, knowing she can't hear you, but quickly finish your shower. It's not quite as relaxing anymore, flustered by your wanton thoughts. 

Getting back into your room, you check your email before setting your alarms for tomorrow. There’s the usual spam from online stores reminding you of limited time deals, a reminder that rent is due next week (lovely), and a couple generic university emails. Your eyes fall to your new tutoring appointment emails and you flick through them mindlessly to clear them out, knowing they’ll all automatically appear on your calendar. 

Just as you’re about to close out of the app and get some well needed rest, a new email pops through. It’s another appointment alert scheduled for next week. You tap to open it and your heart flutters when you read the name on the form. Mando. No need to wonder about if you’d ever see him again now. You’d be seeing him Tuesday at 3 PM. Somehow you know he won’t miss his appointment.

×××××

Din is exhausted. Between Grogu, classes, and trying to find ways to make money, he barely has enough time to do basic functional adult things. Things like showering regularly, eating more than a required minimum of once a day, or heaven help him sleep. 

He wishes he could afford a regular babysitter, allow himself some occasional reprieve but it's not possible. He makes just enough to keep the bills paid and at least Grogu's stomach full. There's also an ever present paranoia about letting a stranger into his home, much less to watch his son. Only Paz and Cara have ever babysat for him and even that was mostly against his will.

Din slumps onto his couch, exhausted from the long day. He’d found the couch on the side of the road. It’s well worn and has a couple holes in it, but it was devoid of fleas, comfortable, and most importantly, free. His helmet is off, sitting on the kitchen table where he’d left it after getting home from campus. He’s mostly used to it these days, but sometimes it can still feel suffocating underneath the custom bucket. Taking it off at the end of the day is always welcome, especially when Din sees Grogu’s eyes light up at his exposed face.

He allows himself just a moment of rest, closing his eyes and leaning his head against the back of the couch. Grogu had finally gone to bed, demanding three stories before he fell asleep and Din not having it within him to deny the requests. A small smile rests on his lips, thinking of Grogu's excitement at his mediocre storytelling. He already loathes the day when Grogu won't ask him to read anymore.

There are about twenty other things he should be doing right now other than sitting on the couch. The apartment hasn't been cleaned properly in weeks, dishes are piling up, laundry needs to be done, he needs to find a job for this weekend, should probably find better daycare for Grogu, has an exam to study for, and a paper to finish writing. He should be doing all of that and more, and yet he can't find the will to move. He stays planted firmly on the couch, letting his thoughts drift. A few different ideas and ruminations swirl around, but his mind settles onto one. Her.

She isn't what he had been expecting. When his professor had recommended a session with a writing tutor he'd been a little miffed at first. Din knew words weren't his strong suit, but he hadn't thought he was that bad. He probably wouldn't have even considered it if she hadn't immediately assured him that it was only a suggestion because she saw potential in his work.

He had still only been considering it, form half filled out, when Grogu had hit submit. He’d looked for a way to cancel the appointment, but couldn’t figure it out with the school’s poorly designed website, so instead he had resigned himself to going. After all, just the one session couldn't hurt and he'd already be on campus.

He thought the tutor would be some irritating know-it-all, pointing out all the mistakes in his paper. Either that, or that they'd be too nervous to make any real criticisms. He’d noticed the way people froze up around him, sometimes too timid to even look in his direction. She wasn't either of those things.

She was all smiles and kindness, not hesitant around him for a moment. Even Grogu took an immediate liking to her, as evidenced by the gift of his frog drawing. Din had more of those than he could count, but very few others had been bestowed the honor of his sacred amphibian themed artworks.

She challenged him in a way he liked, not rude but still forceful. Encouraging him to figure out what it was she was guiding him towards with the paper. Not taking ownership, simply identifying where ideas could be made stronger or clearer. They’d only worked through a few pages in the session and Din already felt more confident in his writing. 

What he liked most though was that she hadn't even asked about the helmet. It was all he heard from those brave enough to speak to him. Where did he get it, why did he wear it, did he ever take it off, what does he look like underneath, and so on. Avoiding all of those questions got to be draining. She didn't even acknowledge it.

She had mentioned the rumors that were apparently swirling around campus about him but that was it. He was a bit grateful for that though, entirely unaware of how popular he'd apparently become. The stares that followed him on campus were hard to ignore, but he didn’t know about their accompanying whispers. He still isn’t sure if the rumors are a good or a bad thing. Her reaction hadn’t given him all that much to go off of. He wishes it had.

That thought stops Din short. Where did that come from? Why did her opinion of him suddenly matter after a single one hour session? Din can’t remember the last time he considered someone else’s opinion of him. Probably when he first brought Grogu home to meet everyone. Now here he is, wondering what his English tutor’s thoughts were about the rumors everyone has been spreading about him. He needs to get out more.

Din shakes his head free, trying to ponder other aspects of his life. Like when he’d be able to get the Razor Crest up and running again. She’d broken down again after only the second week of classes. Paz makes fun of him for riding on such an old bike, but she’s a classic. Din can’t get rid of her, no matter how much she likes to break down on him. In the meantime he could make due with the loaner truck from Peli.

Thoughts of his motorcycle only distract him for so long though. He realizes half-way through the fantasy that he’s imagining taking her out on his bike, feeling her hands clasped around his waist as he rides through the city. The way she’d hang on just a little tighter, pressing herself against his back, as he hits the throttle just a bit harder.

Din sits up on the couch and mutters to himself. “Come on, Djarin. Pull it together.”

She’s beautiful, yes, but to already be fantasizing about taking her for a ride? That’s a bit much. It has been months since Din has seen any kind of action, but he shouldn’t be this desperate after spending only an hour with a pretty face. Still, now that he’s thinking of it, his mind wanders to what she’d be like. 

Would she take charge, calm and in control like she was earlier today? Or would she submit to him, allow him to do whatever he wanted? A small groan escapes Din’s lips at the thought of having her beneath him, begging for him to take her. How she would look spread out on his bedsheets, how sweet she’d taste. He can already imagine how good she’d feel wrapped around him, the way her eyes would look all strung out and cockdumb. It would be a beautiful sight if he’s ever lucky enough to see it.

An alarm Din forgot he set suddenly blares on his phone. He can’t even remember what he set it for as he’s yanked from his lewd imaginings, scrambling to turn it off. There’s a small wave of embarrassment as he registers where he allowed his thoughts to drift. 

Ignoring the uncomfortable pressure in his jeans, Din pulls up the tutoring appointment form on his phone and signs up for another session. There’s an option to select a specific tutor and he’s quick to open it up, choosing her name from the drop down menu. 

There’s nothing wrong about this, right? She’d helped him with his paper and Grogu liked her. She even asked if she’d be seeing him again. That was plenty of reason to have another session. His renegade fantasies had nothing to do with his decision to go back. Din is a man in control of his urges. If anything, this next session would prove that his thoughts were all just fleeting, just a simple result of going too long without anyone in his bed.

.

.

.

taglist: @honestly-shite​ @booksarekindaneat​ @wonderless-screwup​ @pinkninja200​ @captain-jebi​ @ajeff855​ @leias-rebelion​ 

Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated 💕

[watchmegetobsessed]

Update - Harry Styles

i’ve been deep inmy harry feels and this thought just wouldn’t leave me alone so i had to write it. im thinking about starting a taglist for harry, i think i’ll write more about him in the future. let me know if you’d be interested in the taglist!

word count: ~5.9k

masterlist

Sequel: The best present

Harry is not that into YouTube videos, has never really been, which is kind of ironic seeing the number of videos on the internet that is about him. The man himself who makes everyone talk online feels weird seeing someone talking on his screen, looking into his soul as if they were right there with him. But today he felt the sudden urge to be like his peers and get lost in random rambling videos from strangers, who felt the need to put themselves out there.

He has made a mean cup of tea for himself, made himself comfortable on his couch with his laptop balancing on his thighs and now is opening up his browser to unwind in an unusual way. As YouTube opens in front of his tired eyes, he stops when he tries to type in the keywords he is searching for. What is he looking for really? He thinks to himself trying to remember what he heard from his friends when they talked about funny or interesting videos. One thing is for sure, he is trying to avoid watching videos of himself in any content. He has had enough of him for the day, it’s time to focus on someone else, even if he doesn’t know the person.

He scrolls through several pages of many different keywords until he settles for a video where a girl talks about how her latest moving day went. Starting off Harry feels weird listening to her talk about such personal things as where her bed went in her room, how she packed all her stuff to fit them in the boxes, but soon enough this feeling settles and he starts to realize it’s kind of relaxing.

It doesn’t take too long for him to fall down a rabbit hole and by the time his tea empties out from his cup he is intensely watching a guy rant about his boss at Subway while doing a mukbang. The latter is a new discovery for Harry, he has never heard of it before, but he can see why some people find it satisfying.

The video ends, Harry checks the time and sees that it’s already after midnight and he hasn’t even realized how fast time flew by.

“Alright, just one more,” he mumbles to himself scrolling down the column of the recommended videos until his eyes stop at one particular upload at the very bottom.

July update for my Sammy, ready the title and an eye-catchingly beautiful girl is smiling from the thumbnail. He finds her breathtaking, the lack of makeup, the worn out hoodie she is wearing and the many various plants in the background makes it appear she is sitting in the middle of the forest.

Harry finds himself clicking on the video before he could even decide consciously to watch it. The screen loads and the girl appears in front of him, this time in a much larger size.

“Hi Sammy, welcome back to our channel,” she starts with an angelic little laugh as she pulls her shoulders up to her ears as if the camera is making her shy. She has no reason to be shy, Harry thinks to himself. His second thought is about Sammy, he is one lucky guy to know this angel and have her think about him. “It’s Y/N here, your one and only sister,” she adds.

Sister. The word brings Harry relief and he is surprised to feel this way, but he has no time to think anything of it because she starts talking again.

“Here is my July update, I’m sorry I’m a little late, but we got back from Oregon yesterday. Aunt Ella is sending you kisses and hugs, she missed you at the barbeque, or maybe it was just your helping hand at the grill,” she chuckles to herself, probably recalling the memory.

Harry has no idea who Aunt Ella is or where she lives in Oregon, but the way she talks about it makes him feel like he is part of the family a little.

Y/N carries on and starts talking about everything that has happened in July. Painting the shed at her parents’ home, buying a new armchair, one her cat absolutely adores and refuses to sleep anywhere else now, she went to the hairdresser to get a trim, but not too much. She tells about her plans for August, how she is thinking about going to the farmers’ market more often, and she has been playing with the idea of adopting another cat.

“I think Henry has been feeling a little lonely lately. He could use a buddy,” she tells the camera, her eyes moving to the side from where a weak but moody meow can be heard as an answer. “Yeah, I think he agrees,” she chuckles and Harry finds himself smiling at the screen.

At the end of the video she asks a few questions from Sammy, how he has been doing, if his wrist feels any better, even asks about a friend called Matthew. Harry wonders if she has ever gotten the answers to her questions and where Sammy saw this video. What is he doing that made her want to do an update on YouTube?

When the video ends Harry clicks on her profile faster than he would willingly admit to anyone and it’s like he opened the gate to paradise. Tens and maybe hundreds of videos are queuing on her page, monthly updates, birthday wishes, short story times about family gatherings, news and happenings in her life.

Harry gets lost in her tales. He watches video after video, noticing the smallest details about her, almost mentally taking notes about her updates, finding anything and everything she talks about so interesting as if he knew those people and places she mentions. He comes to realization that Sammy is her older brother who is serving somewhere in the military. Y/N is making the videos to update him about her life even if she knows most of them doesn’t get to him until weeks later, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. He also learns that Sammy sends them back lengthy emails once a month and always ends them with a joke they made up with his mates at the army. Y/N loves them even when they're not even funny, she never fails to mention that she smiled reading them.

Hours pass by and the rising Sun peeks inside the window pulling Harry back to his own reality, shocked that he just spent the whole night watching her videos and didn’t even realize how deep he has gotten in her life. Lucky for him he has nothing planned until the afternoon, so shutting his laptop he sets it aside and heads straight to bed, but lying between his silky sheets he catches himself staring out the window, wondering what Y/N might be doing right now. From what he collected she lives somewhere in Spokane and has family in Seattle and Portland, which puts her quite a few time zones behind him. He finds the thought of them going to bed at the same time despite the distance a little funny. He lies in bed for quite some time before he finally drifts off to sleep with a particular girl on his mind, who doesn’t even know he is thinking about her.

 “Do you think you can fall for someone you have never met?”

Harry’s question catches Mitch a little off-guard, but he is kind of used to his random bits of thoughts. Pouring some sugar into his coffee he follows the wondering singer to a free table in the corner.

“Isn’t it what all your fans feel?” he answers with a question, earning a surprised look from Harry. He hasn’t thought about this side, now the situation is kind of ironic, he supposes.

“Y’re right,” he nods stirring his coffee around in the small cup.

“Want to let me in on your thoughts?”

Harry feels a little shy to admit how he has watched all of her videos in the past few days, 207 to be exact and now he feels an oddly deep connection to this girl he has never even seen outside of a screen. Last night he dug up her Instagam profile, and even though she is not posting as frequently as she does on her channel, it was a refreshing change to see her in different settings. Chilling at a lake, having drinks with her friends, playing with her parents’ puppy, it amazed him that she has a whole life outside that small portion she lets him see in her videos.

Hesitantly, but he tells his friend about his latest hobby, if it’s not too weird to call it that, while his friend patiently listens and nods along his words while sipping on his morning coffee.

“D’you think I’m crazy?” Harry sighs leaning back in his seat, looking at his friend and colleague for validation that he hasn’t lost his mind entirely.

“Definitely not,” he chuckles shaking his head. “It’s like falling for that girl in school you know so much about but never really met.”

“Only that I’m stalkin’ this poor girl.”

“This is not stalking. We both know it’s far from that.” Harry nods with slight relief that his situation doesn’t seem as bad as he has been feeling lately. “Have you gotten in touch with her?”

“And what am I supposed to do? Comment on her video that I think her cat’s a cutie and I watched all her videos in three days ‘cuz I think she’s beautiful and I find her voice soothing?”

Mitch lets out a soft chuckle at the oddly specific answer he just gave and finds it amusing how interested his friend has grown about someone in such a short time.

“Maybe phrase it a little different.”

“So you do think I should reach out?”

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t. Use your personal YouTube, leave her a nice comment. Maybe she’ll reply.”

“And then what?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” he chuckles. “Just go with it and you’ll see. You are obviously interested in her, it’s better than just sit and watch her videos.”

Harry agrees. It wouldn’t hurt to try to reach out to her, possibly in a not too creepy way. Maybe just a sweet comment on one of her videos and if she replies… Well, he doesn’t know what comes after, but he’ll figure it out.

 Y/N updates regularly. Usually once a week and mostly it’s Sunday when a new video gets uploaded. This next Sunday Harry finds himself checking her page occasionally through the day to see if there’s a new update, but it seems like she is missing today. Right until he is driving home and gets a notification from the app.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video! It reads and Harry’s heart beats a tad bit faster. He thinks about pulling over to see it right away, but he tells himself that would be a bit too much, so he is forced to wait until he is in the comfort of his home.

Finally sitting on his couch he opens up his laptop and clicks on the video that has the title: September update.

Y/N sits in her usual spot, Henry in her arms as she is gently stroking his head with a warm smile on her face.

“Hi Sammy! Welcome back to our channel,” she greets him with her usual words and Harry loves how she calls the channel theirs. “This is my September update, even though not much has happened,” she breathes out, eyes wandering to the window besides her and Harry wonders what she sees from her window every day. Does she live in the city? Is it an apartment or a house with a backyard? Are there any trees or does her room have a terrible view, maybe just another house next to hers?

She starts her talk about the month, which she spent mostly with working, a little shopping and meeting her friends. She tells him about her planned trip to the local shelter to see possible new kittens to add to her household and Harry feels himself growing excited about it. He even thinks about what kind of cat he can see get along well with Henry even though he has never even met him.

“Anyway, mom and dad miss you, I miss you too. I loved your joke about ducks in your latest email,” she chuckles sweetly, bringing a smile to Harry’s face as well. “Mom is excited to see you at Christmas, our cousins will come to Portland as well. Maya can’t wait to play Jenga with you, she said she’s been practicing.”

The video soon ends as Y/N tells Sammy how much she loves him and eventually turns the camera off.

He straight away moves the cursor to the beginning of the video and as she starts talking again he scrolls down to the comment section that’s entirely empty. There are only two views on her video, usually a hundred is the max, but she doesn’t seem to care about the views, it’s more about the message.

He clicks to type a comment, but his hands stop above the keyboard as he tries to think of what to write. Mitch was right about taking a chance at reaching out, but what is he supposed to write exactly? Everything that comes to his mind sounds so creepy and scary, and he knows it’s weird that he formed such a deep connection to an unknown girl online. At last he starts typing.

“Hi Y/N! I’ve stumbled across your videos the other day. Love how you keep your brother updated, it’s such a nice gesture. I hope life treats you and Sammy well, you truly deserve it. Good luck with finding a buddy for Henry! Love, an admirer of yours, H.”

He reads it back several times, deleting then retyping it again until he decides to just go with it. A rush of adrenaline washes over his body when he sends the comment and it’s officially out there. Secretly he wishes she would reply right away, but moments pass by, then moments turn into minutes and nothing happens. His comment stands there alone and he has to realize that maybe she will never even reply or even see it.

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself as he shuts the laptop down and goes on to do his things, but he finds his thoughts wander over to her from time to time.

He has a busy day ahead of him the next day, quite a few meetings and a fitting. He checks back for a reply in the morning, but it slips his mind the moment he leaves from home and his phone rings right away. Throughout the day he basically barely has time to check his emails, his other notifications are just sitting patiently on the bar, waiting for him to acknowledge them. It’s way past five in the afternoon when he finally have some time for himself after his fitting. He is sitting in his car, people walk past him without even realizing who is sitting behind the tinted windows. Scrolling down he gets rid of everything that doesn’t seem urgent until his eyes stop at one particular notification.

“Y/N replied to your comment,” he reads it out loud, just to make it real, as if he is seeing it wrong and saying it with his own mouth brings it to life. He quickly taps on it and the familiar video opens up and while Y/N starts talking again the screen jumps down to the comments where, in fact, there is a reply from her.

“Dear H! Thank you for your heartfelt comment! I always forget it’s not just my family who sees these videos, but I’m happy you found them interesting enough to watch a few of them.”

“A few?” Harry huffs to himself feeling a little ridiculous he has watched all of them.

“I hope I didn’t bore you too much. Thank you for the well wishes for me, my brother and Henry too. He is sending his love to you. Y/N xx”

The comment was posted three hours ago. The thought that she has acknowledged his existence with not only reading but also replying to his comment brings him extreme joy. He reads her words over and over again, looking for any clue that would give away that she found his comment weird, but it seems like she was more surprised and happy that someone else saw her video besides her brother. Harry starts to type his reply without hesitation.

“Bore me? You saved me from watching another “what’s in my bag” video the other day. It was a pleasant change. I love your plants, by the way. Your room always gives off the most relaxed vibes. It reminded me I should have more of them in my home. H”

Harry smiles to himself posting his comment, the fear of appearing like a stalker long gone from him, the interaction is making his inside blossom from joy. For his biggest surprise a reply appears just a few minutes away and Harry reads Y/N’s new lines with deep hunger.

“Those videos suck the life out of me every time! I might be having a problem with buying too many plants, but I can’t help myself. They truly bring peace to me just by looking at them. I’m glad you are planning on buying some more, you won’t regret it!”

Harry is dying to reply, but he doesn’t want to look too eager and needy, so he opts for just liking her comment to let her know he read it and agrees. He locks his phone and puts it aside with the widest smile on his face as he starts his car and leaves his parking spot.

Two weeks pass by. In those two weeks Y/N uploads two more videos, one about her time with her grandparents, for a change it was filmed at their home and they even said hello in it. Harry feels wholesome seeing her with her granny and grandpa, it’s clear she cares a lot about them. The other video is just a short one where she has met some of Sammy’s old high school friends and she had a check in from them, sending a sweet message to him through the video. Harry doesn’t doubt how much these little things mean to Sammy, even if he doesn’t get to see them right away. Seeing Y/N alone boosts his mood every time she uploads a new video, he can only imagine how they make Sammy feel.

He leaves comments on her videos without a second thought and she replies to all of them, a lot of the time almost immediately. These are the highlights of his days without exception. Knowing that she has anything to do with him just fascinates him and he is starting to realize what his fans feel towards him on a different level. Whenever he sees the notification that she has replied to what he wrote or that she uploaded a new video he flies right to her page to check it, no matter what he is doing. Some of their comment threads turn out pretty lengthy, almost like a chat conversation and it has Harry wonder how they could maybe move it to somewhere else from the comment section.

He wants to ask for her number, but figures it wouldn’t be the best idea. Regardless of how much he enjoys their short little conversations, the situation is still weird and complicated and he doesn’t want to forget that.

But he is pleasantly surprised when she brings it up herself, to move the conversation to somewhere else.

“Would love to discuss that more with you. Up for exchanging IG names?” her question reads and he blinks a few before he fully comprehends that she wants to talk to him more in private. However there’s no way he can send her his real Instagram profile and making a fake one would be way too suspicious. Opening up the private messages he sends her a short, but informative message.

“I don’t use Instagram, but feel free to text me,” and then his phone number.

He sits at the dinner table anxiously, waiting for his phone to light up from a new text, and just a few minutes later it finally comes.

“Hi! It’s Y/N,” he reads from the notification and he saves the number right away.

“Hello! Save me as Harry. I haven’t even told you my name yet, how rude of me!” he replies chuckling to himself.

“Will let it slip this time. Harry. What a nice name!”

“Is it what you thought about from the H?”

“It was one of my theories. The other one was Hayes, but Harry fits you better.”

“You haven’t even seen me, how do you know what name fits me?”

“I don’t know. You had a vibe. There are many great Harries in the world, you seemed to fit between them!”

Harry wonders if she is thinking about him without even knowing that… it is him. He wants to ask her, but decides not to. Instead, he is enjoying that he can now reach her immediately and not through a comment section. He never thought this would actually happen.

 The texts never stop. They have so much to talk about! Their entire life to share, millions of thoughts and so much to discuss! Harry is not proud of the time he has spent with his eyes glued to his phone, but he wouldn’t miss a chance to talk to her for anything. Their friends are not blind to the change in him, but Mitch is the only one with a guess about why he has gotten so addicted to his phone.

“Is it the girl from the videos?” he asks Harry one time when they are at the studio, having lunch break. Different food boxes are scattered around them, on the table and the couch. Harry’s phone just light up from a text and he immediately dropped his lunch to type a response.

He glances up at his friend with a shy smile nodding his head. He hasn’t talked about his newly funded friendship with Y/N yet, it feels like as if he tells it to anyone it might evaporate into just a dream.

“So you reached out, huh?”

“I did,” he nods returning to his food once his message is sent. “She’s great.”

“Does she know who she is talking to?” Harry’s lack of answer tells enough about the truth to Mitch. “You can’t hide forever, especially if you are planning on meeting her.”

“I know,” he answers shortly. “But I just don’t know how I could even bring it up to her without sounding like a mad man.”

“She’ll need proof.”

“M’not ready to show m’self to her. What if it changes everything?”

“Then it wasn’t worth it,” he simply tells him.

Deep down Harry knows it’s the truth, but he is not ready to be robbed from the joy she is bringing him. He has never felt such a deep connection to anyone before and they haven’t even met. It’s just a version of her he is seeing on the screen, not her real self. But it feels real to him and he wants to keep this reality to himself for just a little longer.

 “I wish I could hear your voice, Harry. You are one big mystery to me, you know that?”

He forgets to breathe for a moment as he reads her message, lying in bed one evening, getting ready to sleep, but he wanted to check in with her before ending the day.

“You know so much about me already,” he types back.

“Not enough, I feel like. Sometimes I’m afraid Nev and Max are about to show up at my door and tell me that I’ve been catfished.”

He chuckles at her words, though he completely understands her fear.

“What do you want from me then?”

“Send me a voice message so I know you are real. That would put my suspicion to sleep. For a while…”

Harry hesitates for a long time until he decides just one voice message couldn’t hurt. Just a short one where his voice is not that recognizable so his cover won’t be over immediately.

“Good night, Y/N,” he tells into his phone and then send the recording to her.

He watches the status change from delivered to read and a couple of minutes go by before she finally responds.

“Thank you. Now I know that you are real. I hope I’ll hear your voice in real life one day.”

“I hope that too.”

��His time spent undercover is coming to an end and he knows it’ll happen soon. It’s been weeks since they started chatting, almost an entire month and she’s been hinting her will to see his face and though he has been putting it off, he knows it has to happen.

Fate is playing under his hands, because he is traveling to Seattle for a few days, exactly when Y/N is traveling there to visit her parents.

“I hope you know you can’t leave without meeting finally,” she wrote when she found out they are going to be in the same city.

“It never even crossed my mind!” he wrote back chuckling to himself, however it brought him extreme anxiety that he is now going to be forced to come clean about who he really is.

He spends his whole flight to Seattle making up possible outcomes for their first official meeting. Not all of them end well and it’s just fueling his fear that he might lose her for not telling her the entire truth.

But she is a smart girl, she’ll see your reasoning, he tells himself, however he can’t entirely convince himself that it will be the case.

In hopes of squeezing in more than just one meeting into the weekend they agreed to meet almost first thing after he lands. So after checking into his hotel he heads into the city to finally meet her in real life in a local café she suggested for the occasion. Arriving to the place he is running a little late and she already texted him she’ll be waiting for him inside. Harry is wearing a beanie with shades to try to keep up his cover and it seems to be working, no one has approached him yet.

Stepping inside the cozy looking place his eyes roam around and immediately finds her sitting in the corner, pouring sugar into her coffee, not even paying attention to the door at the moment, but truth is she’s been intensely staring at it in the past ten minutes she has been there.

Harry takes a deep breath and nods to himself before heading in her way, hands shaking nervously as he stops at her table.

She glances up at him with innocent eyes, a smile spreads across her face as she sees that her mysterious Harry has arrived and she doesn’t recognize her until he finally takes his sunglasses off.

Harry watches her face turn from happiness to surprise then utter shock as she realizes who is standing in front of him.

“You are… my Harry?” she asks, confusion laced through her voice and Harry can’t ignore how she called him her Harry. He likes the ring of it.

“M’orry if it’s a little too much f’you, I really didn’t know how to tell ya.”

Keeping his eyes on her he pulls out the other chair at the table and takes a seat across her while she is still staring at him with a shocked and puzzled expression sitting on her face. Then she looks around in suspicion as he wiggles his coat off his arms, before her eyes settle on him once again.

“It’s not an episode of Catfish, right?” she asks making him chuckle.

“It is not, don’t worry.”

“I’m sorry if I’m being weird, but this was literally the last thing I was expecting,” she admits leaning back in her seat. “I believed things like this only happen in movies.”

“Not just there,” he smiles, slowly relieving that she is still sitting there and hasn’t ran out. It’s going way better than he expected.

She needs a little time to put the whole picture together and befriend the thought that she indeed just developed a friendship with Harry Styles through her videos for her brother. The absurdity is still shocking to her, but the more time passes by with him still sitting there, the more she finds peace with it.

Once the shock and surprise is gone they slowly realize they are seeing each other in real life finally. Harry feels overwhelmed, she is even more breathtaking than in her videos and through texts. He is mesmerized by her whole being and could listen to her talk in person forever, he wouldn’t get bored of her.

Time stops existing as they sit at the little café, talking for hours even though that’s all they’ve been doing through texts, but they just can’t get enough of hearing each other, seeing each other’s reaction and be able to see each other and not stare at a screen while talking.

Unfortunately, time never stopped just for the two of them and soon she realizes she needs to head back home. Harry doesn’t want to let go of her just yet so he offers to give her a ride, thanking himself for getting a rental for himself upon arriving. Y/N accepts the offer so the two of them head back to her parents’ home, soaking up the last minutes of their precious time spent together.

“Thank you for today, I really loved meeting you finally,” she smiles at him once they are parked on the driveway.

“I hope I didn’t shock you too much,” he chuckles scratching his chin.

“Just a little,” she admits before they both get out of the car and walking around it she stops in front of him, after a moment of hesitation she opts for a hug that he returns more than happily.

It feels as if her frame was perfectly sculpted to fit in his embrace and Harry can’t imagine how he could go this long without even seeing her in person. He knows it’s gonna be utter misery to be away from her after they leave the city.

“Will I see you before you take off?” she asks letting go of him. Harry looks down at her, the urge to kiss her growing bigger with each passing moment, but he is not sure if it would be appropriate to give it a try on their first time meeting.

“I’m free tomorrow for a lunch,” he tells her and she nods smiling.

“Then I’m free too,” she chuckles.

There’s an awkward moment where they are not sure what else should be done or said and the more they wait the weirder it’s getting so Harry clears his throat as he takes a step back, sad that he has to leave without feeling her lips on his, but he is not trying to be too greedy.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” he smiles walking back to his car. Y/N waves after him and sitting back to behind the wheel he takes a moment to himself to collect himself after everything that has happened today. His hands curl around the wheel and he is about to start the car when someone knocks on the window. Y/N is smiling at him through the glass and he rolls it down curiously.

“I just…” she starts hesitantly, her eyes wander down to his lips and Harry knows what’s about to happen, but it still catches him by surprise.

Y/N leans in through the window and presses her lips to Harry’s, capturing them in a sweet, long awaited first kiss they both have been dreaming of for quite a while. Harry smiles into the kiss, bringing his right hand up to cup her cheeks as they stretch the moment for as long as possible. Whenever one pulls back the other brings them back for just one more kiss that turns into two more, then three… It takes a long time for them to finally let go of each other.

“See you later, H,” she smiles backing out of the car and running up to the front door, smiling wildly as she waves in his way one last time before disappearing in the house.

 Lying in bed that evening Harry is scrolling through his Instagram feed when he finally realizes he can now follow her without a worry. He is quick to find her profile again and hit that follow button. He is happy to see she was already following him.

He is just about to put his phone aside and go to bed after such a busy but exciting day when a notification pops up on the screen.

Y/N has just uploaded a new video!

He taps on it quickly and her smiling face greets him from his phone’s screen.

“Hi Sammy! It’s me again. Welcome back to our channel,” she starts with a shy smile. The setting is new this time, he supposes it’s her parents’ home this time. “This is going to be a short video, but I wanted to tell you about something. Or someone.”

Harry’s heart skips a beat when he thinks about where it’s heading. He listens to her voice holding his breath.

“I met someone today. We’ve been talking for a while, but I could finally hug him today. His name is Harry, and he is a wonderful man. I think you two would get along well,” she says with a soft chuckle. “I love spending time with him and I hope he feels the same way. Actually…” Her eyes move up straight to the camera, something she doesn’t do often. She usually stares out the window or plays with Henry while talking. “I think he is watching it right now. Hi Harry!”

“Hello, Beautiful,” he greets her back with a smile as if she could hear him.

“I wanted to tell you how amazing you are making me feel. I hope I didn’t disappoint. I was so nervous to meet you today, I hope I lived up to what you imagined me to be.”

“You were so much better than that,” he answers again.

“Anyway… I hope you feel the same way. You are the first guy I’m talking about in an update, so appreciate it!” she tells him and he chuckles lightly. “I’ll see you soon, H. But until then… Know that I’m thinking about you.”

“M’thinking about you too, Angel.”

“Sammy, I miss you as always. I hope everything is well, can’t wait for your next email. I love you,” she smiles before the video ends.

Harry heads straight to the comments. This time he doesn’t leave a lengthy one, just a short line, but it has everything he wanted to tell her.

“I feel the same way.” The comment reads. Just a few seconds later comes the notification and he smiles sweetly at his phone.

Y/N liked the comment.

[hotchley]

by any other name

So I wrote the fic inspired by this post. It's too long for a drabble. I kinda hate it. It's not been proofread and there's little plot. It's a bit anticlimactic, but it was fun in the moment and I need to go to sleep so... yeah. We're going with it. There's a happy ending!

Trigger Warnings: intrusive thoughts, past child abuse, trauma, trauma responses, implied panic attacks, food mention, blood mention, death mention, slight implication of past dissociative episodes, religion, religious trauma, religious themes

read on ao3!

The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

Aaron remembers being told that as a young boy, shifting in his seat because the clothes his mother made him wear to church were uncomfortable. It had confused him. He'd spent so long being told hell was for bad things- sometimes he was included in that list- that good seemed to be the exact opposite of that.

He'd tried to ask his mother, but she had silenced him with a look. He didn't even bother looking at his father.

Later he realised what it meant, and found himself agreeing. After all, his father was a terrible man who hurt everyone he touched, but he always said it was with good reason. Aaron hasn't set foot in a church since Haley was buried, yet he still finds himself wishing one of the men who made his life a misery is burning in hell.

He tries to not think about the implications of that too much.

The proverb comes to mind again as he argues with Jack. Not over anything serious- not in the grand scheme of things. But to a seven-year-old boy, navigating life without his mother, it is the most important thing in the world.

They're arguing over shoes.

Jack wants to wear sandals. His father wants him to wear trainers. Hotch had checked the weather forecast that morning- it was going to rain. And he didn't want Jack catching a cold because of it.

But then Jack's bottom lip starts to quiver, and he looks to his father like he's being told his mother is in heaven and Aaron thinks of the meaning behind the words. If he doesn't let this go, then what's to say he'll need to have the next thing go his way. And the thing after that. And the thing after that.

What's to say that when Jack looks back, wondering where everything went wrong and he stopped being his father's son, he will realise it was this moment?

"Okay. Okay, wear the sandals, and then let's get going," Aaron says.

Jack, completely and blissfully unaware- as he should be- of what his father has been thinking, grins, his earlier sadness forgotten. He puts his other shoe on and then runs out the door. Aaron picks up his bag and coat, smiling slightly at the trust Jack has in his ability.

Jack's teacher smiles at them when they get to his classroom. Knowing Aaron is running late, she just takes Jack's things and bids him goodbye. The relief visibly crosses his face as he realises he won't have to make small talk. He goes to tell her about Jack's bag, but she waves him away.

She's seen enough interactions between children to know what's going on. It's why she's so unsurprised when she opens his bag to see his trainers and favourite socks are neatly tucked away for when it does inevitably rain and soak him.

Aaron makes it to work on time. Of course he does.

"Morning Hotch," Anderson says when they get into the elevator together.

He's one of the few people to follow the "no inter-team profiling" rule, so he doesn't notice how some of the tension seems to bleed out of his boss' shoulders once the nickname is used. Doesn't even realise how Hotch gives him a slight smile when his back is turned.

He steps out, and everything is as it should be.

The ghost of his father may be haunting him more than usual, but Aaron spent most of his life being ignored. He knows how to hide. He knows how easy it is to forget about someone when you bury yourself in something else.

So that's exactly what he does. He logs into his computer, and he starts making his way through emails. By the time Emily- always the last to arrive, yet always on time- sits down, taking a few minutes to speak to the others, he's gotten through all the ones that came in last night.

His ear is hurting, but he chooses to ignore it as much as he can. Halfway through his second file, he opens his door. Spencer taps Derek, and a few minutes later, the rest of the team is assembled to collaborate on a profile. It means lots of talking, and the occasional shuffling of papers. It means noise, but not so much that it's unbearable.

Aaron smiles, and it feels like the ghost of his father fades. He is loved. He is cared for. He is worth time and effort.

Despite the nature of their work, he's in a good mood as the day continues.

By lunchtime, the memory of his father is breathing down his neck, criticising everything he does. His posture is crooked. His notes are too messy. His profile isn't good enough, and the killer is going to get away with their crimes.

Just like Michael Hotchner.

He has no idea where the sudden bad day is coming from, but he can't shake it now. He will not waste the day and he will not give in, but it is just one of those days where the pain is so much more than he thinks he can tolerate. He wishes he knew how to cope properly, but he doesn't.

His pen suddenly snaps. He'd been holding it too tightly, and now his hands are covered in red ink. He was annotating. He always annotates in red, but now, as it stains his hands, all he sees is Haley's blood. Foyet's. Elle's. Kate's.

There are no tissues in his room. So he goes to the bathroom, hoping the team doesn't see what's happened. They don't, but they do hatch a plan.

Again: the road to hell is paved with good intentions.

The short walk does nothing to clear his head, and every second he spends looking at the file is a second in which he thinks about the pen just suddenly breaking. How did he not realise? How did he not know? This time it was the pen. A thing.

What happens when it's a person? Then what?

He thinks he hears someone call his name. But that's ridiculous. It's too late for lunch, and too early for anything else. If someone needed something, they would've knocked on his door, especially with his ears acting up the way they were.

"Aaron Michael Hotchner," Derek shouts.

He doesn't like using Aaron's full name, but they got him a doughnut from his favourite bakery, and he can't be bothered to walk all the way up to his office. Also, Aaron didn't respond the first three times they called for him, so if anything, the shock will force him away from his desk for a few moments. God only knows how much he needs it.

Aaron doesn't hear Derek's voice.

He hears the echo of his father.

His throat starts to close. His vision starts to blur.

There is nowhere to hide. Not in his office. He used to have spots, just in case, but Jack hates it. Jack cannot stand it, so Aaron got rid of all the things that made it possible. He would never make his son hurt the way his father made him hurt, and maybe to him that is nothing, but when Jack grows up- because he will, in time- he will realise how brave his father has always been.

But that is the future.

In the present, Aaron has nowhere to turn.

The walls are closing in.

The voice is getting louder. It is getting closer. The danger is coming towards him, and he has nowhere to hide. He has nowhere to turn.

"Aaron?" Someone says.

He lets out a sound. He presses his hand to his mouth. He cannot take it back, but he won't make another one. It will only make things worse for him. He learnt that lesson long ago.

"Hotch." A different voice. A safe voice.

He turns in that direction.

He doesn't see it, but Derek Morgan's face is filled with relief and anger and sadness all at once. Because it suddenly makes sense.

"Aaron" has been tainted by the mouth of the man who gave his friend his middle name. That man and his actions are the reason Jack's middle name is Derek, not Aaron. "Hotch" has never passed Michael's lips, and it never will. "Hotch" is the man, who didn't even flinch when a bullet wedged itself in the wall next to his head.

Aaron is the boy that cried himself to sleep, wondering why his father couldn't love him the way he was meant to.

"Hotch. You're safe. Breathe with me," he says.

Hotch does.

When the panic passes, the heat rises to his cheeks, and he silently pleads with Derek to not say a word. He realises now that the other voice was Dave. Dave, who has left the room. He feels like he's failed another father.

The door and blinds are closed. He's lost all sense of time, but he feels grounded, so it isn't too concerning.

"Thank you," he whispers. For everything, goes unsaid.

"You don't need to do that," Derek replies. Because it's not difficult. Not when it's you, are the words unspoken but still communicated.

Aaron manages a weak smile. It will be a silent understanding between them, just like so many other things.

"Would you like a moment?" Derek asks him.

Hotch doesn't trust his voice, so he just nods. Derek leaves him.

Only once he stops hearing the footsteps does he break.

He doesn't scream, even though he wants to. It has been thirty years. His body stopped knowing the touch of that man long ago, and yet every waking moment feels like it is ruled by him. He hates it, but Michael- for better or for worse- made him the man he is today, and there is no way to shake that.

Realistically, he knows that he is responsible for his actions, and that he was only influenced by his father up to a certain point, but when the tears are falling and dampening his trousers- not his shirt, they'll be too obvious- rationale is hard to cling to.

He walks down ten minutes later.

The team has been guarding his doughnut. Of course they have.

Hotch's eyes are red. Nobody comments. But everyone knows. Everyone understands now.

It is an uncomfortable silence, and it is uncomfortable to watch him try and pretend he is perfectly fine, but at least he got his treat, even though it tastes like dust in his mouth.

They get it now. Why he is always so adamant about being called Hotch. Why he hates the use of his first name. Why he so violently objected to the tradition of giving Jack his name as a middle name. Because he doesn't want his son to never be free of him.

Jack will one day give his children their grandfather's name, citing him as the greatest man he's ever known.

Again, that is the future.

In the present moment, Spencer calls him Hotch without a second thought. Dave stops calling him Aaron when he wants to get a point across, realising it only works due to fear. Emily continues to make slight alterations to the nickname that either get her an eye roll or look of horror. JJ and Penelope make sure any notes written to him use Hotch.

Derek doesn't change a thing, because their bond has always been different.

Jack comes home in trainers, understanding how much his father loves him.

It makes Hotch understand that his wishes are valid. His needs matter. His comfort is important to people.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the personalities attached to Hotchner, Hotch and Aaron merge into one.

And then Hotch introduces himself as Aaron.

The road to hell may be paved with good intentions, but intentions and actions are very different things that can completely alter the destination someone finds themselves at. And a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, so whether he is Hotch or Aaron, he is a good man, who found a way to defeat their father.

[sgtjbbhasmyheart]

Drunk Texting Is(n’t) Bad for Your Health- Chapter Two

Series Summary: Talk about your unconventional meet-cute! Bucky receives a text by mistake requesting he prove he's not Reader's sister. The easy dialogue between Reader and Bucky sparks a natural friendship, but could it lead to more? Bucky still deems himself unworthy of any form of affection or love. Reader is hellbent to prove him wrong. With the help of some (meddling) friends along the way, Bucky may get his happily-ever-after after all.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2921

Warnings: bad language words, blink and you’ll miss the angst, just some fluff

A/N: divider credit- @firefly-graphics

DO NOT copy or replicate without my permission

You awoke with a start, feeling as if you were late for work or something important and forgot to set your alarm. Your heart beat an erratic tattoo against your ribcage. Scrambling for your cell phone, you blindly reached across the side table near your bed in a panic. Unplugging the phone, you brought the device an ungodly closeness to your face. It was only 6:17. On Saturday.

Your pulse throbbed behind your eyeballs, and a strange stickiness coated the inside of your mouth. Did you drink that much last night?

How could you not? Timmons was a fair boss, and you enjoyed your job, but that dude loved the sound of his own voice.

The quarterly business dinners were mandatory for all employees, even for the P.A.s. Typically, they weren’t so bad, but last night, Timmons felt the need to toot his own horn for landing a massive contract with Stark Industries slash The Avengers. He went on and on about how great it was for the firm.

He was like a giant kid in a candy store with his ramblings. ‘We will be promoting the face of The Avengers and everything that goes with it,’ he spouted off like the firm was god’s gift to public relations.

You groaned at the reminder of last night’s presentation. The contract wasn’t even in effect yet, and you were sick of the Earth’s Mightiest Heroes. Timmons could be a real buzz kill.

Rolling to your back, you brought your phone up to tap the screen to read the emails you received overnight. On display was a text from 11:04 by someone named James. It read: “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Your mind went back to last night again, trying to recall who this James was. He must be significant if you plugged his contact information into your phone already. Had you met someone last night?

Drawing a blank, you clicked on the text bubble to pull up the thread. Briefly scanning through the numerous texts, everything came rushing back. In an attempt to text your sister, Robyn, you mistakenly texted this mysterious, James.

You felt like an utter buffoon when you learned he wasn’t Robyn. You always did have a way with the cute boys. Probably why you were single. You groaned out loud as you read on.

You im safely inside my apartment. Pretty sure no one followed me home

James Did you triple check the lock on the front door?

You yes dad yeesh

James There are a lot of bad people out there. Just want to make sure you’re safe.

You sounds like you watch the news too much but its sweet of u to care

James I know from experience.

You r u the bad guy or have u been the one mugged?

James Let’s just say I have friends that have dealt with the bad things of the world.

You right i almost forgot ur a military-trained assassin athlete mchottie

James Did you ever send your sister a text?

You shit thanks for reminding me i have such a crazy story to tell her

James Only good things, I hope.

You oh yeah all the good things an enigmatic yet handsome stranger cares more about my safety than any of my ex-boyfriends ever did.

James My ma raised me right.

You id say

James_ I hate to cut this short, but I think you need your rest. Especially if you’re meeting your sister tomorrow._

You i dont want to agree but ur probably right

You whats ur name btw?

James My name? Why? Do you plan to continue texting me after tonight?

You duh ur fun to talk to

James Oh.

You or not its cool if u dont want to

James It’s James.

You nice to meet u james im (y/n)

James Nice to meet you as well.

You my sister just texted me back and were still meeting at 9 i should go 

You goodnite james

James Goodnight, (Y/N).

Oh. My. God. Had you seriously drunk-flirted with a stranger and offered to keep texting him? You had no shame with a few drinks in you.

You brought a hand up to pinch the bridge of your nose and sighed loudly.

What did you know of this James? He had a New York area phone number. Check. He could have been a real dick about your mistake but wasn’t. Understanding. Check. He worried about you getting home safely in your inebriated state. Caring. Check. Not too forthcoming with the nine to five. Secretive. Check. His mouth looked so soft and plush, and his eyes were made to drown in. Gorgeous. Check.

A heat simmered beneath your skin as you recounted the shortlist you’d made. Were you lusting over someone you’d exchanged less than forty texts with? Had you somehow woken back up in high school?

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you stared at the screen displaying the message thread. Were you really considering this? You nodded your head to answer your own question. Where was the harm in a little shameless flirting? If worse came to worst, you could always block him.

With your mind made up, you began typing into your phone, constructing an apology.

You Good morning! First off, I want to apologize for the way I behaved over text last night.

You Though, I do like to imbibe in the occasional drink or two, I am, by no means, a lush.

You Please take everything I said with a grain of salt. Apparently, I get loose-lipped and cheeky with free wine. 😐

You Again, I’m sorry and understand if you wanted to cease our correspondence for my behavior.

You blew out a breath and tossed your phone aside. It was up to fate now and a stranger named James.

You laid in your bed for several minutes staring at the ceiling, contemplating between whether to send a ‘haha just kidding’ text and what the weather would be like, so you could forego shaving your legs in the shower today.

Your phone chimed during the pondering of hair removal, indicating a new text. You knew it was James proclaiming you a freak and to forget his number, but secretly, you hoped it was Robyn canceling today.

Seizing the phone from your mattress top, your heart’s beat increased with each second you went without looking at the screen. Finding the courage, you flipped the device over to read the message.

James Quite the formal apology, Ms. Professor.

You smiled at the text. It didn’t tell you to pound sand or eat shit. No, it was teasing and in jest. You sighed in relief.

You Cease our correspondence too much?

James No, no it was perfect if this was 1863, and you were breaking up with me via telegraph.

You Stop!

James Exactly! ‘Never speak to me again!’ Stop. ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ Stop.

A belly laugh disrupted the tranquil air of your bedroom. You quickly thumbed out a reply once you caught your breath.

You You’re incorrigible.

James I’m glad to see you are using proper capitalization and punctuation this morning.

You Ha!

You When you are buzzed and/or tipsy, capitals and periods be damned. Like you’re so perfect when you’re drunk.

James We all have our flaws.

Was he implying he was a sloppy texter when drunk, too? You shrugged it off as him being cryptic again.

You What are you doing up so early on a Saturday? I didn’t wake you, did I?

You were suddenly stricken with guilt. You should have waited for a more reasonable hour to send out rapid-fire apology texts. Not at 6:36 in the morning. You didn’t want last night’s behavior hanging over you, though. Better to clear the air now than later. You could always ask for forgiveness again if you had disturbed his sleep.

James I had just gotten back from my run when I saw your texts. I have training this morning.

You Oh, right. For your hush-hush, super top secret mission/quidditch game.

You You ever gonna tell me what you really do?

James_ Maybe. Someday._

How far away was someday? Was he planning to text you until you both died or until he got bored? How did texting relationships even work?

You Or is it one of those situations where if you told me you’d have to kill me?

James 😈

You There you go again--being all mysterious.

James Keep ‘em guessing and coming back for more.

You Has that strategy worked well for you in the past?

James Got you to text me again this morning, didn’t it?

You scoffed at what he had suggested. He was correct, but your stubborn streak would deny everything.

You The only reason I texted you this morning was to apologize for acting like a drunken fool last night.

And to squash the curiosity burning in your veins. But he didn’t need to know that.

James Oh.

The reply caused you to furrow your brow and your stomach to drop. You regretted not adding more levity to your last text. Of course, it wasn’t the only reason you were drawn to him.

You I appreciate that the selfie you sent wasn’t a dick pic. And you genuinely seemed to care about me getting home safely. Thank you.

You And maybe- a teeny, tiny bit- is honestly interested in getting to know you better.

You waited on pins and needles for his text, watching the pulsing ellipsis on your screen. Was he just humoring you?

James Hook. Line. Sinker.

Reading his response generated a flush from your jaw to your hairline. You growled in embarrassment. You fell for the oldest trick in the book. He baited you for a compassionate answer, and you delivered beautifully. Hook, line, and sinker, indeed.

You You’re an ass. I take everything back.

James Don’t be mad. I wasn’t sure how it was going to go, but you played into my trap wonderfully.

James If it makes you feel any better, all kidding aside, I want to get to know you better too.

James I fell asleep with a smile on my face last night and woke up with one this morning.

James Because of you, (Y/N).

A flutter broke apart in your chest. You hadn’t time-traveled back to high school; no, this was junior high territory.

You You’re lucky you’re so damn charming, James.

James Doll, you have no idea.

The subway ride into Manhattan usually gave you the chance to get a little reading in since it took nearly fifty minutes from Queens. Not today, though. You spent the entirety of the train ride texting back and forth with James. It was mundane stuff, but you were getting a grasp of who James was as a person.

You Favorite color?

James Black. You?

You Blue.

You Favorite ice cream flavor?

James Chocolate. Yours?

You Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia.

James I didn’t realize we were getting specific.

You We weren’t, but that’s my favorite.

You Favorite movie?

James I like the classics- The Wizard of Oz, It’s A Wonderful Life, Frankenstein.

You I have too many to list, so don’t ask.

You Okay. Lightning round because I’m almost to my stop.

James Where are you going again?

You paused your reply for a brief second, wondering if you should divulge your destination. You’d known James less than twenty-four hours; although, it felt like weeks after this morning. Where was the harm in telling him where you were meeting your sister? There were nearly nine million people in this city. There was no way you’d ever bump into each other.

You A bakery in the Upper East Side called Two Little Red Hens. Ever been?

James Don’t think I have.

You Well, since you like chocolate, they have a fantastic cake called Brooklyn Blackout. Super rich but delicious.

James Sounds right up my alley.

You Cats or dogs?

James I’m gone too much, so cats.

The answer piqued your interest. Maybe he was an athlete. Wouldn’t it be practice and not training, though? Or he’s FBI or CIA.

You Socks on or off for sleeping?

James Off.

You Silver or gold?

James Silver.

You Morning, noon, or night?

James Night.

You How do you take your coffee?

James Room for sugar and creamer.

You Boxers or briefs?

James Boxer briefs.

You laughed out loud, looking around the subway car to see if anyone was paying attention to you. Per usual, they weren’t.

You Touché.

As soon as the train stopped, you gathered your purse close to your body and made for the exit. You followed the crowd of fellow passengers through the turnstile and ascended the stairs onto street level.

The morning sunlight caressed your skin like a warm blanket. The humidity wasn’t too bad, yet, but the threat of afternoon thunderstorms still hung in the air.

Even with the reasonably early hour, the sidewalk was stuffed with people, carrying to-go coffee cups or shopping bags. You fought for your little spot of real estate on the grimy concrete.

Stopping at a red traffic light, waiting to cross, you typed out another question for James.

You Pineapple on pizza--yay or nay?

The light changed as you finished, and the throng of pedestrians around you guided you across the street. You spotted Robyn outside the bakery as your phone dinged with a new text alert.

“Wow, I’m surprised you made it on time,” Robyn said as you hugged hello.

You looked at the clock on your phone. 8:58. “You and me both, sister.” Glancing back at your phone’s screen, you giggled.

James What kind of monster puts pineapple on their pizza??

“What’s so funny?” Robyn asked as you accompanied her through the bakery’s door.

With a grin on your face, you punched out a quick reply:

You Well, it was nice knowing you, James. It was a swell friendship while it lasted--a whole 11 ½ hours.

Robyn elbowed you softly in the ribs with a look on her face, seeking an explanation.

“Ow,” you grunted. “What?”

“You tell me. I half expected a zombie to walk through the doors today after your text last night. Not Suzie Sunshine.”

You both edged closer to the counter as the line in front of you dwindled.

James Say it ain’t so, doll! Pineapple on pizza? Really??

You let out a low chortle as you skimmed the text. You glimpsed up at Robyn as you shuffled forward in line again. “Believe me, I’m pretty hungover,” you replied, shoving your phone in your back pocket. “It’s a funny story. I’ll tell you everything when we sit.”

Robyn stared at you warily, still trying to figure out what had come over you. “Okay,” she conceded, stepping to the register to order.

With each of you supplied with an iced coffee and a peach ginger scone, you found an empty table by a window along 2nd Avenue and proceeded to tell Robyn about James.

When you stopped to catch your breath, remembering the whirlwind the last twelve hours had been, you peered at your sister for her reaction.

She stared at you like you’d grown a second head. She shook her head in disbelief. “(Y/N), what where you thinking?”

Your brow pinched in confusion. Was she actually scolding you? You crossed your arms over your chest. “I was thinking about how my big sister is always telling me to meet new people and how it’s time I thought about settling down.”

“Not like this it’s not,” she hissed. “This is how your body parts end up in someone’s freezer!”

You choked on the piece of scone you shoved in your mouth before she started ridiculing you. After coughing to clear your airway and taking a sip of your iced coffee, you leered at Robyn. “Oh, my god! Dramatic much? Have you been binge-watching Dateline again? Jesus Christ, Robyn, he’s harmless,” you countered.

“You think you’ll be so careful, but you’ll let one little detail slip, and he’ll find you,” Robyn said before taking a pull from her coffee.

“You mean, like, how I was meeting you at Two Little Red Hens at nine o’clock?”

Robyn’s mouth popped open in an O. “What the hell, (Y/N)?” she stage-whispered. “Are you trying to get yourself kidnapped and sold into sex trafficking?”

“Please,” you drew out in one long syllable. “He doesn’t know what I look like. How would he snatch me?”

“He could look you up on Facebook.”

“Without a last name?” You shook your head, no.

“What about a reverse search on your number?” Robyn asked, pushing the plate holding her scone away. “That’s a thing.”

“Perhaps, but it seems like a lot of effort for a mistake I made. It wasn’t like he was seeking me or anyone else out.”

Robyn huffed out a breath and folded her arms in exasperation. Always the protective big sister. You could tell you were breaking her down, though.

“C’ mon, Robbie. It’s all in innocent fun. I’m not saying I’m hoping he’ll turn out to be Mr. Right, but the banter is fun,” you remarked. “James is charming and witty and nice to talk to.”

Robyn shook her head once more, frowning. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

You reached across the table for her hand and squeezed gently. “Me too.” You smiled slyly, remembering last night’s dinner and Timmons gushing about The Avengers. “If not, I know how to get ahold of a couple of centenarians who know chivalry isn’t dead.”

Chapter One | Chapter Three

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[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 58 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Last Chapter: Katya found out she might be pregnant, the assistant network caught on to BDR’s latest paramour, and Violet was ordered to go home and rest.

This Chapter: Gigi’s new look gets the reaction she’d hoped for, the twins enjoy some one on one time with their respective partners, Courtney has a rain-soaked nightmare, Pearl looks (but doesn’t touch) and Katya stresses.

***

Courtney knocked softly on Ivy’s door, a smile on her face that had been there almost all day. Fame had thankfully left early, she and Patrick spending the evening at some fancy opera event at the Met, leaving Courtney to get ready for her date in peace.

Her first official date with Bianca. It was almost too exciting for her to comprehend.

“Hey Courtney, what’s up?” Ivy asked, looking up from her computer, beckoning Courtney inside.

“Well, I have a date tonight...and it’s really important and I need to look hot and...I thought maybe I could borrow something from the closet again?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s fine. Um...let me just finish this email and then I’ll help you. Feel free to go have a look around, though.”

“Thanks.” Courtney bit her lip, sensing that Ivy was decidedly less enthusiastic about this than the last time she’d helped. She was probably in the middle of something important, maybe anxious about her own Friday night plans. Courtney felt bad, and would have told her to forget it if she had literally any other options. “I promise to be quick!”

“Yeah, no worries.”

Courtney kept her promise, pulling a short, royal blue dress with a high slit and a pair of strappy aqua shoes.

“Are you sure you wanna wear those shoes, Court? It’s kind of horrendous outside,” Ivy said, but Courtney shook her head.

“It’s fine, I’m just gonna be going into a cab and then inside. Thank you so much for your help!”

“No problem,” Ivy said, always gracious even when Courtney was obviously annoying her. “I hope you have a good time.”

“I’m sure I will!” Courtney exclaimed, taking the dress and shoes back to her own office to change, already feeling giddy with excitement, wondering what Bianca’s idea of ‘wining and dining’ would be like.

She took her time getting ready, freshening her hair with a curling iron she’d stashed in her desk and giving herself what she hoped was a sexy smoky eye. She kept an eye on the clock, knowing that Fame expected her to be in the office until 7:30. She chose a berry-colored lip gloss from the samples that Alaska had given her, and then stepped into the bathroom to get dressed, thrilled that the dress fit perfectly. She checked her phone and computer one more time before signing out, making sure that there were no last-minute requests from Miss Fame, and then made her way downstairs to grab a taxi.

She’s just settled into the backseat when a message came through that made her heart sink.

FAME: Dogwalker sick. Need you to walk Charles ASAP.

Courtney groaned, tapping on the glass partition to redirect the cab driver, and then texting Bianca.

COURTNEY: Still dealing with a work thing. I’m so so sorry, I might be a little late.

BIANCA: No rush. We can always push the reservation.

COURTNEY: I’ll tell you the second I’m on the way.

BIANCA: XX

Courtney knew that dog walking was an occasional part of her job, although it hadn’t come up yet before. However, she’d carefully read the 7 pages of instructions Violet left about him, knowing that Charles was Fame’s treasured companion and she would be toast if anything ever happened to him, and prepared for the time when she’d have to step up. She wasn’t terribly worried--after all, she loved dogs, and her own family had German Shepherds, so a big dog shouldn’t be any trouble.

But Charles wasn’t just big. He was massive, outweighing her by a hefty amount, first fighting her as she tried to put on the raincoat that he apparently hated, and then dragging her down the street so fast that she slipped on some ice, falling to her knees on the corner, immediately cursing herself for not listening to Ivy about those stupid shoes.

“Charles, sit!” Courtney was terrified that he would run into the street without her and get hurt, rain and sleet pummeling her face as she sacrificed her umbrella to grip the leash with both hands. As she tried to stand, a bus drove by, sloshing icy gutter water all over her. “Fucking shit!”

Charles, of course, paid no attention to her predicament, still single-mindedly bound for the edge of the park where he was trained to do his business. Courtney got up, shivering, and took him across the street, finding herself soon faced with picking up a steaming, human-sized pile of shit in the pouring rain. By the time they got back to Fame’s mud room and Charles properly toweled off (with him stepping all over her chest with muddy paws in the process), she was soaked to the bone and shivering like crazy.

She glanced at herself in the mirror, wincing at her soggy, lifeless hair and smeared eye makeup, knowing that there was no way she could show up for a date looking like that. She got out her phone, dialing Bianca’s number with shaking fingers.

“Hey, sunshine,” Bianca answered, and Courtney closed her eyes, cringing at how wrong that nickname was at the moment.

“Hi. Um...I don’t think I can make it tonight,” she said, trying her best not to cry.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just...I had a situation with Fame’s dog and I’m soaking wet and I look an absolute mess and I can’t-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...are you okay? It’s freezing outside!” Bianca exclaimed.

“Yeah...I just...I should go home, I can’t-”

“You’re not seriously thinking about getting on a train to the Bronx right now, are you? You’ll die of hypothermia. I can hear your teeth chattering, for fuck’s sake.”

“But I can’t go out, I look-”

“Okay, then we’ll stay in.”

“But you wanted to go out, and-”

“No, I wanted to spend time with you. I’m starting a hot bath right now. Get a cab, come over, I’ll see you in ten minutes,” Bianca instructed, and Courtney couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief that someone else was taking charge of the situation.

***

Gigi couldn’t stop staring at herself in the hallway mirror, her fingers gliding through her silky soft hair for the third time.

It was the most gorgeous deep auburn red, the color bringing out her freckles and playing up her grey eyes.

She looked like a completely different person, and she loved it.

“Looks like someones been to Juju’s.”

Gigi turned to see Symone leaning against the doorframe, a smile on her face, the adorable gap between her white front teeth stupidly charming.

“What gave it away?” Gigi giggled, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

“Just wait til you go shopping.” Symone grinned, her jeans slung low on her hips. “The underwear I have now is more expensive than any other clothes I have ever owned.”

“You got new underwear?” Gigi felt her eyes widened. “With like… With Sutan?” She bit her lip. Sutan had gone with her to the salon, him and Juju talking quietly while she was getting her hair washed by an assistant. They had obviously made the right choice, Gigi feeling like a superhero, but she couldn’t imagine any man coming with her to a lingerie store.

“Sure.” Symone shrugged. “It’s all ‘foundational undergarments’ and ‘French cut’ this, ‘t-shirt bra’ that. ‘You need a secure adhesive backless’. Where I’m from we just call those chicken cutlets.” Symone smiled. “For my first fitting, he asked me to wear high rise briefs and a seamless bra. I felt like my grandma.”

Gigi laughed, the tiny worry she had felt flare up already gone again.

“Do you want to cook dinner together?” Symone pushed out from the door, and Gigi nodded, this modeling thing already so much better than she had dared hoped for.

***

“Ah!” Violet moaned as Sutan pushed her forward, his body boxing her in and keeping her in place. They were in the kitchen, the counter digging into her hips.

“Hey gorgeous,” Sutan’s voice was low, his lips against her neck, his warmth breath tickling her skin. She felt him grab the edge of her skirt, hiking it up and over her knees, thighs and even ass as he pulled it higher and higher, pooling it on the counter, forcing Violet to hold it herself, his hand guiding her before he let go.

“Please-“ Violet groaned, his fingers digging into the fabric, every move she made exposing herself further.

“Please what?”

She could feel Sutan’s fingers glide up her outer thigh and Violet blushed, her core burning hot, her panties getting wetter by the second.

“Please-“

It felt absolutely filthy, and so fucking good, Sutan in complete control and Violet loved it.

They were both tipsy, their wine glasses and dinner plates in the sink, the dishes completely forgotten when Sutan had given Violet a quick kiss that had developed into so much more.

“Please what lovely eyes?” Sutan’s voice was silky smooth, nothing in his tone betraying the way his fingers danced over her ass cheek, nails scratching on skin, a fingertip sneaking under the lace.

“I-“ Violet swallowed. She felt like she was drowning, wanted to drown, wanted to disappear in everything Sutan was. “I-“

“Tell me,” Sutan whispered, his lips against her ear. “Or I might punish you darling.” He leaned forward, pushing her that little bit further, and that was when it happened.

“Ah!” Violet closed her eyes, a blinding pain shooting through her. “Wait! Wait wait wait!”

Her foot had gotten caught on an angle, and Sutan jumped backwards.

“Wait,” Violet took a deep breath through her nose, the pain already disappearing, frustrated tears welling up in her eyes. “Fuck-“

“Everything okay?”

Violet turned around to see that Sutan had taken literal steps back, his trousers still tented, his dick obviously hard underneath the zipper.

“Mmh,” Violet nodded, the delightful embarrassment from earlier replaced with something that felt a lot more like shame, her eyes focused on Sutan’s feet. “I-“

“Can I touch you again?”

Violet’s head snapped up, Sutan looking at her, a glimpse of insecurity in his eyes, almost like he was the one who had done something wrong.

“Please-“ Violet opened her arms, and seconds later she could bury her face in his neck, his arms around her, holding her tight, kisses pressed into her hair.

“I’m sorry,” Sutan murmed, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to-“

“I know-“ Violet smiled, the apology so unnecessary it was almost comical. “I know.”

“Good.” Sutan pulled back, a hand in her hair tilting Violet’s head upwards so he could look at her. “Good. I shouldn’t have-“

Violet leaned forward, shutting him up with a kiss, her arms going around his neck as she held him tight.

***

When her cab pulled up in front of Bianca’s building, the doorman immediately rushed forward to open her door. She was fumbling with her credit card, fingers still stiff and cold, but he gestured for her to put it away.

“Ms. Del Rio is taking care of that,” he said, handing over some cash to the driver, then covering her with an umbrella and walking her to the lobby, where she was sent up in a different elevator than last time, directly to Bianca’s second floor, right outside her bedroom.

Courtney clutched her soaking wet jacket, trying to get her bearings when Bianca appeared around the corner, looking at her with concern and dismay.

“Omigod, baby, come here…”

Courtney barely knew what was happening as Bianca rushed her into the bathroom, helping her strip off her wet things.

“What the fuck are you doing in these shoes in this weather? And this jacket--why aren’t you in a winter coat?” Bianca asked, dropping it to the floor and then unzipping her dress, her voice gentle despite the scolding words.

“Th-that is my winter coat.”

“That’s not a winter coat,” Bianca informed her, pulling the dress down.

Courtney didn’t have the energy to protest, and besides, she was much more concerned with the dress.

“The dress isn’t mine, I think I ruined it-” she began, voice breaking, and Bianca looked it over while she stepped out of her panties and placed her jewelry on the counter.

“It’ll be fine, it just needs to be cleaned,” Bianca promised, leading her, still shivering, over to the jacuzzi tub, where a huge pile of bubbles was waiting for her. “I didn’t make it too hot, because I didn’t want to shock your system. But you can change the temp if you want.”

Courtney sank into the bubbles, the water silky and warm as a hug. After a few seconds, she finally began to feel her fingers and toes again, flexing them under the water, a sigh leaving her. She looked up, where Bianca was setting a remote control at the edge of the tub--which apparently controlled the jets and the temperature and even the lights. Courtney had never seen anything like it. She’d also put out a whole basket of bath products and lit a couple of candles.

“I’ll give you some privacy now,” Bianca said. “I left some towels and a robe on the warmer, and uh...if you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Can you stay?”

It was embarrassing to admit, but Courtney didn’t want to be alone right now. Bianca didn’t make her feel weird about it though, simply took a seat on the ledge beside her, chatting about her trip, the trouble her staff had created while she was away, her voice soothing as Courtney leaned back against the terry cloth pillow with her eyes shut.

After she’d warmed up a little, Bianca washed her hair, strong and sure fingertips massaging the lather into her scalp as the other hand cradled her neck. She then helped her dry off with heated towels, and finally wrapped her in a warm fluffy robe while she ran a blow dryer through her hair. Courtney couldn’t remember ever feeling this cared for in her life, not even as a child, and if it wasn’t such absolute heaven, she’d probably feel ashamed at how much she enjoyed it.

She managed to swallow down a few mouthfuls of soup from the Chinese delivery that Bianca had ordered for dinner before her eyelids began to droop. Bianca noticed immediately, pressing a kiss to her forehead and then leading her to bed. She curled into Bianca’s arms, limbs growing heavy as hands stroked her back soothingly.

“Do you feel better now, angel?” Bianca asked.

“I felt better the second I walked in the door,” Courtney murmured.

“Yeah?”

“I guess there’s not really a door. The second I stepped off your elevator,” Courtney said, making Bianca laugh, her sleepiness causing her to be more honest than was probably called for, adding a whispered, “You make everything better.”

***

Pearl sat at a stool towards the back of the club, nursing a drink while telling herself over and over again that she was doing nothing wrong.

For one thing, she and Adore were over. Actually, fully over. And for another, she had no idea if Dahlia was even dancing tonight. She’d just come by for a casual drink...for the third time in 3 days. Just to see. Just to look.

And there was nothing wrong with looking, right? Even if she had lied to Trixie and Katya about where she was.

Pearl had already brushed off a parade of girls, tipping all of them, but saying no to everything else they offered, since she didn’t want to miss her chance of seeing Dahlia.

She was just about to give up, when one of the last dancers of the night came on, and there, there she was.

Dahlia was just as beautiful as Pearl remembered her, even more beautiful actually, since her costume for the night was the naughtiest sheer black teddy and lace panties, tiny little pink bows attached to the spaghetti straps of her top.

Her brown hair was styled in a delicate mess of brown curls, her plump lips painted pink, her eyes heavy and sultry, Dahlia looking like a sex kitten getting ready to go on the prowl.

Pearl swallowed as ‘Kiss It Better’ by Rihanna started playing, taking a big gulp of her drink.

Pearl hadn’t known if she wanted Dahlia to notice that she was there, hadn’t really thought this through at all, but when Dahlia dipped down on the pole, her ass beyond perfection, their eyes met across the room.

Pearl watched as Dahlia’s lips parted for a second, her eyes widening, but then, she smirked, throwing her hair over her shoulder.

***

“Mmh,” Raven moaned, her fingers in Raja’s long dark hair, her fiancée's lips on her neck, one of her hands up her top. They had been watching a movie on the couch, staying in just the two of them such a rare treat that they had even made popcorn. “Please-”

“Please?” Raja grinned, her long body on top of Raven’s under their blanket, their movie completely forgotten. “Are you being polite princess?”

“Fuck off.” Raven showed Raja’s shoulder, which only made the older woman laugh. “I’m perfectly polite.”

“Sure,” Raja smiled, shifting her knee so it slid in between Raven’s thighs, her skirt riding up to make room for Raja’s pant covered leg. “That’s what I love about you. How polite you are.”

Raven pulled on Raja’s hair, a surprised gasp leaving her girlfriend. She thrusted her hips, forcing Raja off balance and down in a messy kiss, teeth clacking, their lipsticks smearing, Raven taking charge.

***

“Just a few more minutes.” Trixie smiled, his open palm resting on Katya’s knee, his thumb rubbing up and down, trying his best to be comforting.

They were in the bathroom, Katya sitting on the closed toilet while Trixie knelt on the floor next to her, the elephant in the room the pregnancy test that was lying on the edge of the sink, both of them doing their damndest not to look at it yet.

He could tell she was anxious, knew that from the second she told him that she’d bought the test after work, even before she admitted that she was afraid to take it.

Trixie had always assumed that one day he’d be a father, and he was certain that Katya would be the best mom ever, so in his mind, this news was either amazingly exciting or slightly disappointing.

But Katya was another story, her clear terror making him dampen his own enthusiasm so that she felt safe to express herself. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel guilty for being scared on top of everything else. He knew, also, that there was a chance that she wouldn’t want this potential baby, so he prepared himself mentally to support her in whatever she wanted to do.

“I love you,” he offered softly, adding, “And it’ll be okay, no matter what it says.”

“Mmhmm,” Katya murmured agreement, though her eyes said that she didn’t fully believe him.

“Yo yo yo, where my bitches at?!” called out a voice, the slur telling them that Pearl had been drinking quite a bit.

Trixie assumed that Katya wouldn’t want to be interrupted during this private moment, but apparently, he was wrong.

“We’re in here!” Katya called, and Pearl’s heavy footsteps approached the door, pushing it open.

“This is a weird place for a party, dudes,” Pearl said, jacket hanging off one of her shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“Umm…” Trixie considered how to handle the situation delicately.

“I might be knocked up,” Katya said quickly, and Pearl’s eyes grew large, her mouth falling open.

“Wh-how?”

“Probably sex,” she answered, and all three of them laughed, breaking the tension just a little.

“So…” Pearl plopped down beside Trixie on the tile floor, and a rush of gratitude flooded his heart, relieved for the distraction, understanding why Katya called her in. That is, until she asked, “Have we thought about names? Cause I’d like to submit ‘Pearl Junior’ for consideration.”

“Pearl Junior?” Trixie scoffed. “Why, you’re not the father.”

“Come on! Little Pearlie J. P.J.?!”

“I don’t hate it,” Katya said, and Pearl cheered, giving her a fist bump. “But remember, I might not even be pregnant.”

“True, but you guys are getting married. It’ll be relevant eventually.”

“Not necessarily,” said Katya, gripping Trixie’s hand tighter. He squeezed her back in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.

“Yuh huh! That’s why we call you ‘breeders’!” Pearl insisted.

“But I just don’t-” Katya began, but was interrupted by the timer on Trixie’s phone.

“You ready?” he asked, taking both of her hands in his.

“No.”

“Well...remember, sometimes these tests aren’t 100% accurate. So whatever it says, it might not mean...” He reached out, catching a tear that had slipped down her cheek. “Babe…”

“I know. But I...can’t look.” Katya curled into his arms, burying her face in his neck. “You do it.”

Unfortunately, the stick was just out of reach, unless he let go of her, which he wasn’t prepared to do.

“Pearl, can you-”

“Sure.” Pearl snatched the test off the sink, looking at it, brow furrowed. “What the fuck does 11 mean?”

Katya’s head snapped up, reaching for the test while Pearl picked up the box.

“Why would it say 11? That’s so dumb, how do you know if...ohhhh.”

[writingwithadinosaur]

“Under the Knife” - Part 6

“Under the Knife” - Part 6

My Masterlist - Here

Story Masterlist - Here

My Tag List - Here

Hannibal Lecter x Reader, Will Graham x Sister!Reader

Word Count: 3,500-ish

Key: Chunks of text in italics are (Y/N)’s thoughts. Y/N = Your Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of Death, Murder, and Violence

Summary: You are Will Graham’s sister who works with him at the FBI. When you get offered a job promotion, life starts to change. Some changes for the better; Some for the worst.

Author’s Note: This is my first Hannibal piece and I am proud of it. There aren’t too many stories for Hannibal, so I figured I would add to the collection.

This does take place in some happy medium where they are all alive and work together. Sort of a happier season 1 era.

This is beta-read by @theeactress​, but please let me know if there is something that we missed or that we should look at again! 

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces, check out my tag list above and let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!

<3

- DreaSaurusREX

Tag List: 

@fruitloopzzz​ @theeactress​ @melconnor2007 @ashenfallsof @geeksareunique​ @all-by-myself98​ @sj-thefan​ @fuck-your-bad-vibes-dude​ @ntlmundy​ @a-person-unlabled

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

The last few days were weird for you. While working the Virginia Scalpel case, you still had to give lectures and work the occasional museum shift. Luckily you were able to give more and more of your museum shifts to your coworkers, saying that you needed the time to focus on the case or to finalize your lecture outlines. 

Between two lectures and a museum shift, you were able to narrow down your suspect list even more. Pulling every male doctor within a 50-mile radius who fit the height range and who wasn’t super young, old, or generally weak looking. You dropped it off to Jack’s office while he was in a meeting of some sort, thankful that you wouldn’t have to talk to him just yet.

After that night at the Pencalt crime scene, things seemed to take more energy than you expected. You could get up and function through your work day, but when it came to socializing or even having to have work related conversations, you found yourself doing them through email or not at all. This included talking to Hannibal or Will.

Both of them had tried calling or texting you, and you’d try to respond with a “Can’t talk right now,” or an “I’m busy.” But sometimes you didn’t have the energy and straight up ignored them. 

You knew what they wanted to talk about. And you had to admit that after letting it settle in your brain, you wanted to too. But you knew that that conversation would be a long one that required patience.

Which is why you decided to call in sick and work from home today. You weren’t scheduled a lecture or a museum shift, and everything you planned on doing in your office could be done at home. 

You understood the urgency of this case. The team only had about a week left to catch this guy before another doctor would be found in pieces. But you weren’t the only one working this case, and you were still waiting on results from Beverly, Price, and Zeller. So you justified taking today a bit slower and tried to fit in some breaks for self-care as you worked.

The day started out with a peaceful breakfast, something you hadn’t had since before you joined Jack’s team. It was different and odd feeling now, but you tried your best to enjoy it and let your mind relax. After you put your stuff in the dishwasher, you sat down where your work stuff was set up at your dining room table, and felt your mind wander.

I know I should talk to Will or Hannibal, but that would be so draining right now. No. Just focus on breathing and getting as much as you can done today, alright, (Y/N)? We don’t need you combusting over personal shit while your killer is still out there. Now, what haven’t we gone over yet?

You started to sift through some of your scribbles as a piece of paper slid out of place from within your notebook. You slightly tilted your head and pulled the paper out, seeing that webname that you had learned to hate.

“Tattle Crime”

You were going to shove the article back into your book, but you knew that your curiosity would only grow the longer you didn’t read it. With a disapproving sigh, you went ahead and read the article. 

Freddie Lounds didn’t spend much time talking about the killer. She states that Dr. Pencalt was found like the other victims, and how he was a doctor with no obvious correlation to the others. Her “article” tends to focus more on you, Hannibal, and Will. 

“Much like her brother Will Graham, who we have talked about before, (Y/N) supposedly has a gift for the psychologically strange and unusual. But we have to wonder why he isn’t working this case? Will Graham has successfully assisted Jack Crawford and his team on multiple cases in the past. So why bring on a rookie when you have a prized horse in the stables?

Maybe that is why Crawford decided to bring in Dr. Lecter, who was also an integral role in some of the cases that Will Graham had worked on. He has years of medical knowledge outside the realm of psychology that could be helpful in this case, considering the Virginia Scalpel is suspected to have a medical background.. Maybe he will be the key to locking the Virginia Scalpel up for good?”

She then went on to talk more about Hannibal before bringing up the case again. You couldn’t even fully grasp at what you were reading or how to feel about any of it before your phone rang beside you, bringing you back to reality. Only, you didn’t really want to deal with reality when you saw that the caller ID said “Jack Crawford.”

“(Y/N) here.” You tried your best to not sound unenthused, but you couldn’t help the obvious apathy in your voice.

“How soon can you get here?” You knew that this would end with you coming into the office for who knows how long, so you begrudgingly stood up and started to try to find a comfy but work appropriate outfit to change into while talking to Crawford.

“I mean… An hour? Maybe? Give or take 10 minutes. Why? What happened?”

“Got that evidence you were waiting for.” You couldn’t discern if he was at all happy about that.

Of course the one day I try to take it easy is the day we get results. You took a deep breath in and tried to form a coherent sentence.

“I--Uh… Okay. I’ll try to--”

“I’ll see you in the lab in an hour.” Jack interrupted and then hung up before you could say much else, knowing that that was an order, not a suggestion. You put your phone down and groaned before starting to get dressed.

~~~~~~~~

Pulling into your normal parking spot, you saw that you had made it to the office with 15 minutes to spare thanks to you not having the energy to do your hair or makeup today. 

You got to your office and left the door open, knowing you would only be there for a minute or two. While you unpacked your bag, you heard someone clear their throat from your doorway. Turning around, you saw Will standing in the threshold with two cups of coffee. 

“Look what the cat dragged in.” He tried to joke, but you just shot him a look. He winced and extended one of the cups out to you. “Peace offering?”

You sigh and accept the cup, not sure of what to say other than a quick “thanks.” Will stood there while you took a sip and continued to set up your stuff.

“You haven’t answered any of my texts.”

“I’ve been busy. And I’m still quite busy. I have to go and meet with everyone in,” you look at the clock on the wall. “5 minutes.”

“Jack’s really got his hooks in you, huh?” 

 “I tried to take a sick day and work from home, but lab results are in. Which means I’m also in.”

“Sick Day? You never use sick days.”

“First time for everything, I guess.” You turn around and try to walk past him but he stops you.

“(Y/N), I-” 

“I really don’t want to talk. At least not right now. You and Hannibal are on thin ice right now. And there are more important a-and time sensitive things that need to be taken care of.”

“Look, (Y/N), I can explain--”

“Explain what exactly? That you really didn’t trust me when I said that I could handle myself? That you really think I am going to let Jack push me so much during my first real case that you had to have Hannibal step in as some sort of watchdog? I know you’ve had bad experiences with Jack, but goddamnit can’t you just let me learn and experience whatever happens on my own?”

“You’re upset--”

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

“And I-I get that, but just--”

“No. I have a job to do.”

“Then come by the house later. Have a drink, o-or we can get takeout, and I can tell you my side of the story.”

You paused as you looked down slightly and started to fidget with your ring. Will is looking in your general direction, trying to figure out how to ease the anxiety that was surely coursing through your amygdala and hippocampus, or at least some of the resentment that had fought its way through your eyes.

“Even if you don’t want to talk and we end up just sitting around, I’m sure the dogs would like to see their favorite aunt.”

“I’m their only aunt.” You both smiled at the joke. His smile was more out of relief while yours was just a quick smirk. His fades quickly as you rub your face and sigh out, “We’ll see. I have no idea what’s waiting for me in the lab. So I can’t promise anything. And as upset as I am with you, I do miss those dogs.”

“Just let me know when you decide and we will make time for it.”

You just nod and he lets you walk past. Will follows you out and closes the door behind the two of you. Before you could hit the elevator button, he spoke out to you. 

“Despite what you think, I do care about you, you know.” 

You stop in your tracks and turn around to face him. You could see the pain on his face even though you know he was trying to hide it. Your heart broke as you took a large inhale.

“I know you do. We’re family. We’ll always care about each other no matter what.” You give him a small smile to try to reassure him that what you were saying was true. He nodded and headed back towards the lecture halls and you hit the button to call the elevator, preparing yourself for as much insanity as you could.

~~~~~~~~

“(Y/N), right on time” Jack announced as you walked into the lab. Everyone was there and ready to go, including Hannibal who was on the other side of the table facing you. You hoped that he wouldn’t put together how off you were feeling today from your rushed appearance.

“Sorry, I would have been here sooner, but I had a run-in with my brother. What’ve I missed so far?” You opened up your notebook and joined the circle around the exam table that had Dr. Pencalt’s body on it. You internally winced as you realized that Hannibal was most likely going to ask you about your ‘run-in’ with Will after this meeting. 

“Nothing yet. We were just about to start.” Zeller spoke up as he clapped his hands together and began his presentation. A lot of it was information that was similar to the previous victims. All of the cuts were made with surgical tools to ensure clean cuts, no obvious mutilations outside the killer’s usual, all focus was on the doctor as opposed to his wife, and so on.

“The paralytic that was used on Dr. Pencalt was the same as the other vics. It was a high enough dosage that he felt the effects within a minute or two.”

“Do you have the location and angle on the injection point?” Zeller nodded and handed you a printout that had various information about the small needle mark: diameter, insertion angle, depth, et cetera. 

“He was pricked right here.” He used a gloved hand to turn Dr. Pencalt’s head and point to a small dot on the side of his neck. You just nodded and tried to imagine the killer coming and attacking him. You were starting to solidify the height range of your suspect.

“The angle is pretty flat, which means our suspect is either the same height as him or maybe an inch taller or shorter. How tall was Dr. Pencalt?” You heard Jimmy open a file and hum a note as he found out.

“5 foot 11.” You nodded and saw the height range of the shadowy silhouette of the killer in your mind narrow.

“So our killer is between 5’10” and 6’.”

“Is that all?” Jack asked in an audibly annoyed voice. You weren’t sure if it was directed at you specifically or at the situation in general. Jimmy, Brian, and Beverly all looked at each other as if they were kids who had broken an expensive vase and had to tell dad. Beverly was the brave kid that stepped forward.

“No. There is one more thing.” She turned around and got a tray from the other side of the room, bringing it back to the circle. “This was found lodged in his throat.”

On the tray, there was a distorted but still legible article from TattleCrime.com, the same article that was in your apartment. The only major difference was that this one was highlighted wherever it mentioned Hannibal or you. 

“We tried to pull any sort of prints or DNA off of it, but the only thing we got was Dr. Pencalt’s blood and saliva. The article is from our favorite tabloid, Tattle Crime. It’s about the case, but it also talks about (Y/N) and Hannibal...”

You tried to control your breathing as Beverly kept speaking, forcing yourself to take slightly deeper breaths than normal hoping no one would pick up on it as you finally spoke up.

“So, fun story…” Everyone’s eyes landed on you. “I have that same article printed out, but I didn’t print it. Someone slipped it under my door the other night.”

You saw Jack readjust his stance, a frustrated look growing in his eyes, and started to speak, but you cut him off, already knowing where this was going. 

“I didn’t bring it up because I honestly thought Hannibal or Will had slid it into my apartment as a way to try to scare me and make me resign from the case. For personal reasons, I have avoided talking to either of them unless it was absolutely necessary. So I never confirmed my theory.” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at Hannibal or Jack. But if you had, you would have seen the small bit of guilt in Hannibal’s face. He knew no one else would pick up on it because he was a master at keeping his mask on to others, but after being with him as long as you had, you could see between the cracks. 

Jack looked towards Hannibal.

“Dr. Lecter, did you send the article to (Y/N)?”

“I did not. I’m just as taken aback as everyone else here.” 

“And did you receive a copy of this article at any point during the last week?”

“No. I have not read anything from Miss Lound’s website for a significant amount of time now.” Jack took a breath in and tried to be logical and figure out what the next step needed to be.

“Alright, you guys get me a list of every medical facility that supplies that paralytic. (Y/N), get your copy and give it to Price to see if he can get anything off of it. Then I want you and Dr. Lecter in my office.” Jack walked out before anyone could say anything.

You stood there in a bit of shock as you looked at the soiled article in front of you. You tried to read through the bits of blurred text. Everything involving you or Hannibal was doused in bright yellow marker. 

“Um… (Y/N)?” You couldn’t help the small instinctual jump as Jimmy tapped your shoulder. You quickly looked to him, trying to look okay despite learning that your name was literally in a key piece of evidence. “You okay?”

“Hm? Y-yeah! I mean, not really, but we’re not gonna talk about that right now.” You let out a forced exhale that you tried to make sound like a chuckle through a very forced smile. Before Price could ask anything else, you spoke up. “Here. It-its right here.”

“And you were the only one to touch this, right?” Price asked as he carefully grabbed the corners of your Tattle Crime article with clean and gloved hands. You just nodded in response. “I’ll let you know if I find anything.” 

You mutter a quick thank you and then make your way back to the elevator and back to your office to write out your notes on the killer’s more specific height range and the highlighted sections of the article in your notebook. 

Why us? I can somewhat understand Hannibal being chosen from an occupational standpoint. He is not only a psychiatrist, but he used to be a surgeon. But he has no ties to any of these other doctors. And what’s so special about me? I’m not a doctor of any kind. I don’t fit the killer’s m.o.

Your mind kept going on this internal monologue, trying to find any solid reasoning as to why both of you are now being focused on. It got even more frantic as you realized you only had about a week to figure it all out. 

Before you could write out much, you heard a soft knock on your open office door. You didn’t even bother looking up.

“Will, I really can’t do this right now. I told you I would text you when-- Oh. Sorry, Dr. Lecter.” You expected Will to be impatient and try to talk to you again, but instead you were met with the careful gaze of Hannibal. 

“No need to apologize.” He shut the door behind him and took a seat. “I thought you were comfortable with addressing me by my first name, (Y/N). Has that changed?”

“Look, I know you’re not really here to talk about that. But I’m not okay enough to talk about our personal lives at the moment. And if you’re here to ask about the Tattle Crime shit, I have no idea how--”

“I came to check up on you because I am worried about you, (Y/N).” You were taken aback for a moment. Not only does Hannibal usually never interrupt you when speaking, but he isn't always the most forthcoming when talking about emotions or concern.

“I’m fine.” You go back to trying to write out your ideas, knowing that if you gave him a fake smile, Hannibal would see right through it.

“The fact that you clearly stated that you were ‘not okay enough to talk about our personal lives’ and that you planned on taking a sick day today says otherwise.” 

You took a deep inhale and closed your notebook. Trying to not dump all of your thoughts, work related or personal, on him.

“It wasn’t really a sick day. It was supposed to be a day where I worked from home to try to remind myself to take a break and eat an actual meal, or do my laundry that’s been piling up, or maybe finally hang up that frame I bought three weeks ago. But apparently that wasn’t in my cards today. Yes, I’m tired. Yes, I don’t want to be around people right now. Yes, I really don’t want to be talking to you or Will about anything other than work right now. So if I need to be here, then I’m here. That’s my job.”

“But no matter how stressful a job is, you need to be able to recalibrate your mind so as to not overwork yourself until you become a hindrance. Holding on to the frustration and betrayal that you feel are surely contributing to that lack of ability to rest, (Y/N). If you allow yourself to talk to Will about it, or even myself if you feel more comfortable--”

“All of my focus is trying to go to this case, moreso now that you and I may be targets. I am your colleague and your friend. But I really don’t want to ruin the good relationship that we have by talking to you like I’m one of your patients, because I’m not one of your patients. So please, just--” 

You stopped yourself as you felt something click into place. Hannibal watched as you had a similar look in your eyes like how he had witnessed at the Pencalt crime scene. 

“Patient…” You were slowly closing your mind’s eye and seeing things clearly.

“You’ve figured something out, haven’t you?” Hannibal leaned forward in his seat in curiosity, truly enthralled by watching how your brain worked in these situations.

“A patient! The killer is a patient! Oh my god! We gotta go now!” You quickly stood up, grabbing your notebook as you did. “I think I just figured out who our killer is!”

[pettyprocrastination]

Hell is a Nine to Five Max Philips x Reader

Summary: Max Philips is your new boss at your hellscape of a job. He can’t help but be drawn to you and when he learns your lineage and last name (Harker) he fears this may put a dwindle on his plans. But it wouldn’t be a bad idea to ask you out though,,,right?

Chapter summary: Max doesn’t show up until next chapter this one is just set up about your place in the office environment. And for those who don’t know her last name is Harker as in Jonathan Harker from dracula. Don’t worry future chapters will be full of that sweet sweet tension and yearning. 

@ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​ this legend has fucking iconic writing and got me to watch bloodsucking bastards and HERE I AM. Please check out their stuff yall holy shit. 

“Yo Harker!”

Your eyes flicked away from your computer screen just in time to see your grinning blonde coworker push himself over to you in his cubicle chair with a flourish. “Mike is kicking my ass this round and I know somewhere under all that nerd there is a girl who loves video games, tap in?” He pointed to his own cubicle, his computer screen flashing with some video game that he and 90% other men on the floor were constantly playing. You knew this because no matter how loud your sales call was, you can always hear him scream profanities in agony when he inevitably gets killed by some other dumbass who should also be doing his job instead of playing video games like a fifteen year old with a rattail.

You feigned interest for a moment, before your focus went back to your screen, fingers tapping away on the too-damn-old-and-fucking-sticky-to-properly-work keyboard so you can finish this report that Mike was suppose to have done...Yesterday. 

“Hard pass.”

“Oh come on!” Tim pushed his chair closer to you so he could slump his head on your shoulder, but you remained focused on the task at hand. The task being doing your goddamn job which nobody on that floor seemed to do. “I've got to piss like a racehorse but if I drop this round I owe him fifty bucks!”

Okay. That got your attention. 

“Where the hell did you get fifty bucks?” You pushed yourself away from your tiny desk for a moment, wheely chair spinning to face him. “I know for a fact that not even ten fucking minutes ago you asked Evan if he could spot you a twenty so you could pay Dave for the NBA pool that you always lose.”

Tim opened his mouth for a moment before closing it with a huff. “You fucking suck, you know that Harker?”

“Love you too Tim.”

That’s how your work days went. 

Spend hours on end stuck in a windowless room, hunched over a computer from the fucking 90’s, doing not only your work, but the work of 70% of your coworkers who are too busy playing video games, gossiping, or watching porn to even pretend like they're doing their job. Occasionally Tim would try to pull you away to tag in for him on his video games, rate the new interns, or make fun of Evan during your lunch break.

Speaking of which. 

The fluorescent lighting wasn’t any less nauseating in the breakroom, but it offered you a slightly lower volume of the endless ringing of phones, piss poor marketing tactics used by your coworkers to convince people to buy whatever dogshit product you had to push for the week, and the oh-so-obnoxious shouts of Mike, who’s main purpose in life was to bully nine-year-olds who he played video games with. 

“That’s right you fucking pussy! I’m the king!”

Keyword: slightly lower volume. 

“All I’m saying is that you're one of the smartest people here.” Tim plunked himself down in the plastic chair to your right, while Andrew sat on your left. “You’re always doing work-”

“Because I’m at work.”

“-you can type without looking at your hands-”

“Really not that complicated of a skill but okay.”

“-And you're not easily distracted!”

“Because nothing in this hellhole is worth my attention.” You mumbled into your sandwich, which was then flung out of your grasp and onto the floor as Tim slapped you on the back with what you assumed was supposed to be gusto.

Five second rule maybe?

“Which is exactly why you-oh my bad sorry- but that is why you should team up with me and Andrew to kick Mike’s pimply ass!”

Andrew’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Dude. I agree with you but I could do without the description.”

You stood up to retrieve your fallen turkey on rye. Looks like you're going without lunch today “Yeah, I second that notion.”

“Listen I just think-”

Evan, your lanky acting sales manager walked into the breakroom with purpose, and coincidentally, right onto your lunch.

Yup. Definitely no saving that. 

“Hey Tim, have you started on the Phallicite presentation yet?”

Tim froze, stroking his chin in fake thought before letting out a sharp laugh “Yeah no.” Evan threw his head back and groaned. “Sorry buddy.”

“Come on man! Could you please, just this once-”

“I already did it.” You cut in, Evan turning to you, bagged eyes wide. 

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked twice, then again before his mouth hung open.“Like..like the WHOLE presentation? All on your own?” 

You shrugged, shifting awkwardly from foot to foot in front of him as you waited for him to take his foot off your fucking sandwich. “Yeah. stayed overnight yesterday because I knew damn well Tim wasn’t gonna do it-”

“Rude but fair deduction Hark.”

“-so I pieced something together. I emailed it to you ten minutes ago. Now all you have to do is nail the actual presenting part.”

Relief washed over your not-acting-sales-manager-but-still-kind-of-sales-manager’s face. “Oh thank you so much Harker, really. That means a lot. If we land this then-”

Enough was enough.

“You're standing on my sandwich.”

“What?” Evan looked down at his feet and winced at the site of your squashed lunch under his shoe. “Shit. Sorry Harker.”

You gave your food one last wistful glance before shrugging. “It’s fine. My break is almost over anyway.”

“Harker.” Mike snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only goddamn person who adheres to a timed lunch schedule. Just stay over! Who the fuck cares?”

You stuffed your water bottle back into the fridge before standing up straight. “This job may suck ass, but it’s the only one I have and I don’t feel like losing it. So I do what I can to keep it.”

You turned on your heel, their voices dying as you walked back to your desk. As you sat down, the hairs on your neck seemed to stand and a prickle went down your spine, you turned around to see if anything was out of the ordinary. 

Coworkers not doing their job? Check. 

Interns being taken advantage of? Check. 

Broken clocks still broken because it keeps employees from constantly seeing if it’s time to leave? Double check. 

You pushed your paranoia away and answered a sales call, though the feeling never truly left you until the work day was over and you were driving out of the parking lot. 

Notes: Anywhomst chapter one is just set up of your place in the work place, as well as relationship to the other characters. In future chapters their will be plenty of interaction between you and max, as well as a deeper look into your family line! Please don’t hesitate to send me reuquests and headcanons i need some fuckin interaction lmao

[mrs-denton]

Sappy Paul Denton x OC Fanfic [Part 2]

The Start of the Collapse

After Paul’s departure, Bebe’s eyes struggled to shut. She laid in bed and kept glancing over at her phone occasionally, half-expecting something from Paul to come up. When she realized worrying was futile, she put the phone down and laid it down on its charging pad. She was worried, but she tried equilibrating those thoughts with reasonable positive ones because she was pregnant. She had to avoid as much stress as possible.

Staying up to write, as she did on sleepless nights like these, she scribbled her thoughts into her diary until she crashed. In the morning when she awoke, the unwelcome feeling of first trimester morning sickness sharply seized her from her slumber. She went to the bathroom to alleviate herself from the nausea.

Treating patients at the hospital she worked at, including those with the Grey Death, was dreary. Their spirits were broken and some of them got desperate. She wished she could divulge the truth behind the virus, or at least what she knew, but it would likely get her fired. She made sure to wear the most protective gear—respirator, face shield, gloves, a gown, and foot covers. Her health was going to have to become her top priority if she wanted a healthy baby.

Hours ebbed and flowed with moments of hectic excitement during rushes of patients and emergencies, but inched like slugs when things were slow and she caught herself worrying about Paul. She wondered what time it was in Hong Kong—surely, at least half a day ahead—and if he was alive. She thought about JC as well and didn’t want any harm to come to the Dentons, namely because JC was a cool person, but especially because she knew Paul would be devastated if his younger brother should fall. She scrubbed the pressing thoughts away from the walls of her mind—months of meditation had helped—and she continued to show up at work.

She checked her work emails to see if by some crazy chance, Paul had been daring enough to send her a message there. But of course not—he would never do something to endanger them, especially with the Aquinas net. After what felt like a 12-hour shift, Bebe returned home with takeout and quickly checked her computer. There, an email from Paul—or rather, his alias—was sent hours ago while she was still at work.

“Hey babe. I made it safely to Hong Kong, thank god. Good news—everything’s taken care of. My brother and I are gonna be fine. The bad news is that I’ll have to be living here for a few months as I recuperate, as I predicted. I was in pretty bad shape when I arrived, which is why it’s going to take longer for me to recover. Tong wants to keep me under supervision for a while. But I’m already feeling better.

Things are pretty tight in HK. I’m a wanted man here as well. I don’t think making a move right now is wise, but I can’t wait to see you again. I’ll keep you updated whenever I can. Try to take it easy and don’t worry about a thing—I’ll take care of it. I love you, and I’m always thinking about you. - P”

Bebe typed a reply.

“My darling, I’m glad you’re alright. I was worried about you, but I also knew you’d make it through this. Give the doctor my sincerest gratitude—he saved the man I love. I’m also happy J is fine. I completely understand if you need to stay there—in situations like this, a doctor’s supervision is necessary even after the treatment.

Let me know how things go. I want to be with you but things have to be just right. I love you, P. I hope you get better soon. I already miss you. Hugs and kisses. Yours,

- B”

Within the following day, Bebe received another email.

“Bebe—so much is happening right now. I don’t have much time, and neither does the world. Just bear with me. I’m going to be fine, I think, but my brother keeps unearthing more of this conspiracy. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know something will, and if it does, it’s going to be big. I can’t explain everything over the net, but I promise I will when I see you. I don’t know how much time there is and I know this sounds crazy but you’ll just have to trust me. Withdraw your savings now. There’s a high chance the net might crash and everything will be lost. Savings, records, and all sorts of info. Make sure you have plenty of food and supplies as well.

No matter what happens, I will find you! And that’s a promise. Just stay where you are. I love you so much more than you could ever imagine. - P”

Something inside Bebe told her Paul wasn’t lying. Everything Paul told her before and everything they had researched and pieced together made sense. She knew there could only be so much more to this story than most people knew and few had theorized about. After typing her obedient reply, Bebe set off for the bank and asked to withdraw the entirety of her account. Her salary provided her with decent savings she had accumulated over a few years.

But she wondered if the funny look the bank teller gave her was indicative of ignited suspicion. She knew it was. She smiled as the bank teller discussed the request with the manager, who gave her a poorly-disguised look of surprise. Who else but a shady person would just want to remove all their chits from the bank? Only somebody that knew something that most people didn’t know would act this way . . . She would just have to lie and say it was for a potential family emergency. Or that she’s just paranoid and that there are rumors the banks will fail soon. Hearsay type of stuff. But no, the latter would be too suspicious. Just go with the family emergency, she thought. 

Signing some papers that would let the federal revenue office know the reason for her massive withdrawal, she questioned just what the hell she was doing. She stopped for a while and glanced up at the bank teller, who was too busy counting chits to notice her. Bebe questioned herself for a bit--she was blindly obeying Paul’s orders, which wasn’t really a problem in and of itself, but how could she really know what was going on? Paul wouldn’t lie to her though. She knew that man for three years and he never lied. She just had to trust him. Worst case scenario, she’d be tracked down. But if nothing were to happen, she could just say she got worried sick for an ailing family member and took the money out to help with treatments.

“Forty-six-thousand, two-hundred and fifty-nine chits, ma’am,” the bank teller said, fat stacks of the electric green notes neatly sitting on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” she said, handing them the signed papers. “Here you go.”

She opened up her purse and filled it with the money, trying to act naturally. The teller and his manager looked at her strangely, as well as the clients behind her. She felt herself tense up.

“Thank you so much,” she said again. “Have a nice day.” She had a habit of being overly-polite sometimes.

And with that, she carried her loaded purse all the way to her car and drove home, the tunes blaring and the pedal to the metal. Suddenly, the music stopped. Could this be it?

She checked her phone and noticed there was no signal anywhere. The music stream was buffering continuously until it lost connectivity for good. Moving to the network settings, she confirmed there really was no net anymore. She couldn’t believe it at first, and then, she did.

Parking her car, she rushed inside the lobby of her apartment building. There were people standing outside with their cellphones in the air, trying to obtain signal, their faces scrunched in bewilderment. Glancing at the far end of two blocks over where one of the P-Mobile buildings was, people swarmed into the store to complain about their phone services.

“Miss, have you heard? The net’s gone black—disappeared,” the alarmed security guard at the reception said. “Everyone’s internet just shut off. Even the phones, TV, everything. We don’t know what’s going on.”

“Oh my god,” she said. “I’ll have to check mine out. Thank you.”

She went upstairs and rapidly scanned her nanokey to her door, eager to get inside. What would she do now?

She checked her computer. The internet was gone. No new emails from Paul, just the cached one from before. As she sat in her apartment, she heard her neighbors arguing loudly in desperation. Turning on the TV, she checked every channel, finding nothing but static—ultimately confirming everything Paul told her. Glancing outside her window and down at the congested streets, violence intensified.

After a few days to a week of the world descending into darkness, reports of the global net crashing and burning appeared on every newspaper. A national emergency was declared, and speculating specialists wondered who was responsible, pointing fingers at foreign governments and even “traitors” within the United States. The zealously religious stood outside every corner, wailing that it was the beginning of the Apocalypse, and the conspiracy theorists held meetings in their garages, claiming it was aliens. But soon enough, the Dentons were named. Bebe paid close attention.

“It is suspected that terrorist JC Denton and his brother, Paul Denton, are behind this massive communications collapse worldwide. We are slowly but surely receiving letters that confirm the internet shutdowns in every nation. Agencies are investigating the matter as best as they can.”

Her heart pounded in her chest. She just hoped the bank tellers didn’t put two and two together and decided to send somebody after her. After all, there was nothing suspicious about a woman withdrawing all her savings a few minutes before the world collapsed. But she sighed in relief when she knew that they wouldn’t have been able to pull up her personal information without the internet.

She thought about her family. Her dad had left them before she was even born, and her mother died of the Grey Death before Ambrosia was released. Her cousins were all living their lives as married people with children, and her only living aunt was old now. What would they think, though? What would they think if she were to run off with a “criminal”, a “terrorist”, a wanted man? Crises were meant to be times where family stuck together more, but with Bebe leaving . . . would they label her as selfish? Crazy? Bad? She only hoped that one day they would understand that Paul was not the person the media and the government was portraying him to be.

They didn’t even know she was pregnant. Engaged? Yes. They knew Paul and they liked him. But the media was a powerful weapon, especially now that the people’s only source of outside knowledge was funneled via the last remaining newspapers. They could twist and besmirch the Dentons as they wished, and people would buy it. Not everybody, though, as there were people who had been following the Juggernaut Collective—until it disbanded—and a few other rebel news disguised as tabloids and conspiracies. But alas, the perceptions of Bebe’s friends and family could definitely be warped against Paul. She had to be careful.

But most importantly, she had to figure out what the next steps in her life would be. If only she could talk to Paul. She wondered if she should keep going to work—part of her would think it better to disappear from society at once and wait until Paul came back, but the other part of her couldn’t just leave all those poor patients behind. She knew there were other doctors and nurses who would do a fine job—but could she really just disappear now? Did she still have to keep up her façade of normalcy? As if she weren’t the woman of the second-most-wanted man in the world right now?

She got up and started packing, hoping that at least sorting this out would bring her more clarity. What were her favorite clothes? What could she stand to leave behind? What would be useful? She took her favorite shoes as well as personal keepsakes and important documents, neatly enclosed in file folders and manilla envelopes, and put them in a suitcase. Most of the money was also stored there. Then, glancing at her desk, she took note of her journal.

How could she leave this behind? She had to take it. Unless, of course, she wanted to be that mysterious woman who left her revealing memoirs in a secret diary. She considered the thought briefly and then took the journal, the pages automatically splitting upon a section with a dried red rose that had been stamped between the weight of the pages. It was the first flower Paul ever gave her. She instantly smiled as she felt the crispy, dark garnet petals on her fingertips, her mind going back to when the petals were bright as fresh blood and smooth like velvet.

[moccahobi]

Amor Erratur [Yoongi x OC]

Warnings: Angst, there was an illegal act but also it is a dystopian world? 

Summery: Yoongi’s life was fairly put together. He would go to work organizing the raffles, talk with the one good person at his office, (Y/n), and marry whoever he was paired with. If only pesky feelings didn’t get in the way of it all. 

Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: So... this is the first project that @btswriterscorner​ is doing! It is an amazing network with amazing people and I am excited to continue working with them! Be sure to check them out and the other works that are happening in the same universe as this one!

The monotone tap, tap, tap of office computers filled the air, and an overbearing stench of burnt coffee pushing everyone to keep working. Offices had the potential of being lively with everyone smiling and talking, but not Yoongi’s office. No, Yoongi’s office was a beige government facility that wanted everyone and everything to be utterly silent when possible. Of course it wasn’t always quiet but the cubicles were made of fabric that purposely absorbed sound and there were walls that separated the main social area from the main work area. Yoongi had been working at the raffle facility since he graduated high school and after almost five years of working in it, he had risen somewhat high up on the ladder. 

Now he had the final say in the results. His job was to make sure that everything was in place and that there was nothing out of place. It was interesting to see, but Yoongi didn’t always do his job to the fullest of his abilities. One point he even saw a hoobae of his change his partner to be someone else. Not all of the results had much of a rhyme or reason and the original results of Yoongi’s hoobae was one of those results. As Yoongi was the final check, he let it pass. Later that month, his hoobae was transferred but Yoongi was glad the man got to marry someone he wanted. He wasn’t always that lenient, at one point he even had to report a hoobae for trying to alter a major result, but Yoongi tried to be lenient when he could.

With a sigh, Yoongi grabbed his mug and stood up. He had been working for almost four hours without a break and desperately needed more coffee. Of course Yoongi always needed coffee and if it wasn’t for Y/n coming by and refilling Yoongi’s mug with the burnt coffee the office always served, Yoongi would have had to get up much sooner that day. The idea of visiting Y/n while on his break made Yoongi get excited. She was a cool person to talk to. With that in mind, Yoongi took a detour on his way to the break room, heart speeding up slightly as he did so. He found himself counting cubicles before making it to Y/n’s, his heartbeat speeding up more and more (most likely from all the caffeine he drank so far setting in) until he made it to Y/n’s desk. She was laughing and talking to Mina, a coworker who started about a year ago. 

“Hey Y/n-sshi, I didn’t say it earlier but thank you for the refill.” Yoongi said, interrupting whatever conversation the two were having. Mina was glaring at him, but he didn’t care. Yoongi never cared when he interrupted people’s conversations at work.

“No problem, Yoongi-sshi! I know how you run on it and I wanted to brew a new pot.” Y/n said with a smile that made Yoongi’s heartbeat pick up once again. 

He tried to ignore his feelings though. He learned long ago that emotions, romantic emotions specifically, were not something one should have. They granted harsh punishments ranging from a decade in prison to death depending on where one lived. The tiny crush Yoongi had on Y/n would pass… even if he’s had it for almost a year now. It would go away because it should go away. 

“Would you like a refill now? I am going to get myself more coffee too.” Yoongi asked, hoping no one could read his inner turmoil. 

“She drinks tea in the afternoons, Yoongi-sshi. I’d love coffee though.” Mina said with a sneer like smile, her hand moving to rest possessively on Y/n’s shoulder.

“She’s right, Yoongi-ssh, I am trying to cut back in my coffee intake, but if there is any hot water, I would love some more of that.”

“Ok. I can do hot water.” Yoongi said with a smile before walking past and into the break room. 

As soon as he entered the room and saw no one was there, he closed the door and let his smile drop. Mina was a fake and annoying bitch and most days he could barely tolerate her, given he could barely tolerate most people here. The job was cutthroat. Time and time again he saw coworkers get fired for one unknown reason or another. He even had a new supervisor after the last one was cut randomly before the new year. Yoongi had no idea how he had managed to last in the job for so long, his emotions occasionally taking him over. Which was something that was heavily frowned upon when one works in the government. He even missed a week or so after his mom died because he simply couldn't cope with his emotions the way his job required. He never understood why he was chosen for this job, many of his colleagues are emotionless on good days and Yoongi was simply... reserved. At times he had to be in order to survive in such an office. Yoongi had a fairly high up position and he didn’t doubt that if he showed emotion, his coworkers would be trying to get him in trouble for stuff. Except Y/n. Y/n was too kind and caring to do that… she would never do something like that. Soon enough he had a pot of coffee brewing and a pot of water boiling. 

With that done, he looked out the window to see everyone working away in their cubicles. The office was dull and grey and everyone seemed to wear dull and grey clothes that made them blend in. It was like office camouflage. Soon enough, Yoongi found himself staring at Y/n, as he often did when he had a reprieve from work, who was typing away on whatever assignment she was now working on. She was one of the few people Yoongi got to interact with that didn’t seem borderline psychopathic. She was always friendly and helpful, and Yoongi loved that. Soon enough, Yoongi found his eyes slowly raking down Y/n's body, even if he didn’t mean to. She was very beautiful… which didn’t help his crush. There was even a possibility that a small spark of anxiety and hope ran through him when a new list of results came in at the prospect of him and her being paired. It most likely wouldn’t happen though. At least, that is what Yoongi told himself to keep his hope low.

He just... used the word love… for a person. Belatedly realizing this, Yoongi spun around and faced the stove, fear squeezing his heart. He had never felt such a strong emotion before. He barely felt love towards his parents. He never saw or experienced love outside of what he read in old books and movies he got to see in the depths of his grandfather's basement. It was whispered about in his seventh grade history class before the teacher talked about why such an emotion was suppressed and banished for the better of mankind. Never had he seen anyone express love though. Not even his hoobae who got to marry the person he wanted to be with. His government teacher explained that it was frowned upon and punished if one felt love. The teacher never explained how the government found out but spies were everywhere. For all Yoongi knew, the second he thought he loved Y/n his fate was sealed. He could be arrested tomorrow and never see his dad or his brother again. He wouldn’t die even if he was arrested though. South Korea didn’t put people to death because of emotions, they simply jailed them. Of course Yoongi most likely wouldn’t be jailed for thinking such a feeling. At least he hoped.

The scream of the pot brought Yoongi back to the present, quickly turning the stove off before walking out of the break room with it. He needed to keep himself calm and collected. 

"Piping hot water for you, Y/n-sshi." Yoongi said with a smile, carefully pouring more water into Y/n's "This Coffee Makes Me Awesome" mug.

"Thank you, Yoongi-sshi. You didn't have to brew me a pot." She said quietly before turning back to work. At that, Yoongi made his way back to the break room, excited to have some coffee and relieved to be away from Y/n. She was amazing but Yoongi didn’t want people to realize his thoughts. As he waited for the coffee to brew, he found himself thinking about what it would be like to be married to Y/n. She would be an amazing partner. He could practically see her doting on him and laughing at all his jokes. Oh how he would love to be married to her. 

Yoongi just so happened to get an email about needing to start on the raffle results for people born his year... which included Y/n. If they were both meant to marry someone... Yoongi could easily switch the names and get Y/n to be his partner. He was the last check so no one would have to know. Once the coffee was brewed, Yoongi had it all planned out.  He was going to simply change the names if both him and Y/n were on the list. There was no way anyone would know. He quickly made his way back to his desk and went back to checking through the final list of raffle winners that was sent to him. Sure enough, both him and Y/n were on the list and he quickly moved his name down to be with Y/n and her original spouse up to Yoongi's original spouse. 

With a sigh of relief, Yoongi leaned back in his desk and took a long sip of his coffee. Maybe he should quit drinking coffee too.

What a joke. He was almost 75% coffee by now.

The second Yoongi swiped in the next day, he felt like something was off. He just knew that some of his coworkers were looking at him more than normal and the air in the office felt stale today. His heart felt like it was having a cramp from how hard it was beating. Was this what a heart attack felt like? Maybe he couldn’t go into work today. He wasn’t having a heart attack though, Yoongi knew that. He was simply feeling paranoid. At least, that is what he told himself. He was feeling unwanted and illegal emotions and now he needed to stump them quickly or he could be jailed. He couldn’t be jailed though. There was no way for anyone to know that he was having these thoughts or that he did anything wrong. No one could know. He was safe. 

Yoongi quickly got into his seat and logged onto his computer, hoping that none of his coworkers would notice him acting differently. There was nothing different about today. Nothing at all. Only, when Yoongi logged onto his computer, he knew that there was in fact something different about today. There was an email from his supervisor… that had been marked with a red flag of importance. It mocked him. Yoongi fucked up yesterday by changing those names and his supervisor knew. His dumb infatuation with Y/n was going to get him jailed. He would never see his dad again. Missed calls will be all that his dad will remember him by. Yoongi was doomed. 

As Yoongi continued to read the letter, he got even more worried. His meeting was at 9 in the morning. Nothing good came from a meeting so early in the day. Plus, he only had ten minutes to prepare for his inevitable arrest. Was there some way that he could prevent it? Plead that it was an accident? Plead for his life? His heart was beating quickly in fear and if it weren’t for the fact that he was at work, Yoongi might have broken down into tears. This was the end of him and he didn’t want his asshole coworkers to catch on to Yoongi’s demise. Too many of them were working here after working in the jailing unit. They were quick to catch on to anything and everything that might be suspicious. No doubt they were suspicious of the growing sweat stains that were no doubt showing on his shirt. Any of them could have reported him yesterday and any of them could arrest him today.

Y/n gently setting a mug of coffee down at his desk brought Yoongi out of his reprieve, her smile momentarily releasing him from those anxious thoughts. She was smiling at him as she set it down. Yoongi quickly took a sip of his coffee and nodded at her, not able to focus on anything but his meeting that was happening soon. He needed to prepare for that as best as he possibly could. Y/n hung back as if she wanted to say something to Yoongi but Yoongi had no time for any social interaction even if it was from Y/n. Especially if it was from Y/n. 

He pulled up a random document on his computer to act as if he was actually getting work done so that Y/n would leave him alone. For all he knew, the document was about a project he did last year, but Yoongi didn’t need to actually read it. Y/n left shortly after Yoongi opened the document and for those few minutes Yoongi had before meeting with his supervisor, Yoongi tried to come up with a valid excuse for altering the results. None of them seemed to work and before he knew it, his time was up. 

Shakily, Yoongi got up and slowly made his way towards his supervisor’s office. Each step made his feet feel heavier and heavier as if telling him that he still had time to run and go on the lamb. His life didn’t have to end here. Yet Yoongi didn’t turn around, and soon enough the golden plaque of his supervisor’s name was staring him in the face.

Namjoon.

His supervisor’s name was Namjoon. Namjoon was the name of the man who was about to seal Yoongi’s fate forever. Yoongi took a deep breath in, the office air feeling heavy in his lungs. He needed to relax. Stealing all his strength, Yoongi knocked on Namjoon’s door firmly. If this was the end of his freedom, he wanted it to end with him acting brave. 

After a faint “come in”, Yoongi entered. The inside of the office was shrouded in shadows and there was some faint, high pitched noise that seemed to emanate the whole office. In the middle of the office was a large desk that commanded the whole room with nothing on it apart from a lone lit candle. It wasn’t until Namjoon cleared his throat that Yoongi finally looked up to see his supervisor. In the dark, Namjoon looked much younger than Yoongi expected. He might have been Yoongi’s age or a little older. This was the man who would punish him for doing wrong. This man would lead to Yoongi’s demise. 

“How are you doing today, Yoongi-sshi?” Namjoon asked, his voice gruff as he looked Yoongi over before looking down at a file.

“I… I… I have had better days.” Yoongi finally settled on, feeling his nervousness grow higher by the minute. Why in the world was Namjoon asking such a simple question.

“Makes sense. You have been in this department for how long?” 

Yoongi coughed, “I have been working here for almost six years now. Although you have my file. You should know th-”

“Why did you accept this job Yoongi?” 

“I didn’t have a choice. This was the only job that came up when I did the job test in high school.” Yoongi shrugged, worry building as Namjoon kept speaking. Why was he asking so many questions? He did something illegal and he was going to jail for it, right?

“And did you go to college before working here?” 

“No.”

Namjoon nodded before getting up and walking over to a file cabinet in the corner of the office. He hunched over the cabinet, quickly thumbing through many files before pulling one out. In two steps, Namjoon made his way back to the desk and set the file down. 

It was Yoongi’s. 

“From what I have read of you, you seem to be very smart. So tell me, Yoongi-sshi, why in the world did you think it safe, let alone smart, to alter the results from the raffel?”

Yoongi’s gut dropped, this was exactly what he was worried the meeting would be about. His worst nightmare was confirmed now. He was going to jail and it would be the end of him.

“I… I… I don’t know.” Yoongi finally got out. Despite all the attempts of thinking up excuses, he had nothing. Nothing he could say could get him out of this situation.

“You don’t know, or you won’t say because it could be more incriminating?” Namjoon asked, leaning forwards and looking Yoongi dead in the eyes. His stare was piercing. It made Yoongi want to shrivel up in his seat and hide but at the same time, there was something about it that seemed to be curious. 

“I… I don’t know.” Yoongi finally got out, his words a mere whisper in the room. He looked down at this point, too scared of looking Namjoon in the eyes and him understanding what he meant. 

“You see.” Namjoon started, his voice as quiet as Yoongi’s, “I think you do know why you did it but are just scared of incriminating yourself. I understand that. Thing is, I am on your side Yoongi. I… am not one for the current regime. I won’t turn you in… but I want you to do something.” 

“Are you blackmailing me, hyungnim?” Yoongi asked, not believing his ears. 

How could his supervisor say that! Yoongi didn’t agree with the regime either but they had ways of keeping people silent. Yoongi barely even dared to think of anything that was too radical because he has heard stories of people thinking illegal things and them being taken away. 

Namjoon laughed, “I am not, Yoongi-sshi. It is ok to talk here. I have set it up so their bugs can’t listen in. Before we talk more… I need to know, why did you alter the raffle results?”

Should he believe Namjoon? 

Could this all be a lie? 

Would it even matter? Yoongi most likely had a life sentence already. There wasn’t much more punishment that could happen if Yoongi talked about his feelings or government distaste. South Korea didn’t have the death penalty.

“I… I did it because I love Y/n. I want to be with her.” Yoongi finally said. 

It was a strange feeling to finally voice such an emotion. His whole life, it had been frowned upon to feel this way, let alone speak about those feelings and here he was voicing his love for a coworker to his supervisor. It felt good though. 

Namjoon nodded and leaned back in his chair at that, “That is what I was hoping to hear. Sadly, I got a letter from my higher ups that we needed to remove five random couples from the list and you and Y/n just so happened to be one of the couples on the list. I hope you don’t mind. They would have checked it themselves anyways. 

“Now, what I need from you,” Namjoon licked his lips and leaned closer once again, “I have ties to the revolution… I want you to do some work on the side to help the revolution. What do you say?”

“What?” Yoongi asked, not fully registering what Namjoon was asking of him.

Namjoon sighed and shook his head, “I want… no need you to do some work with the revolution. If you want to be with Y/n in a romantic way, you will help. If you want anyone else to even have the chance to feel what you are feeling, you will help. It would be small stuff. Volunteering with kids and planting ideas of love in their heads. Tiny stuff.” 

Yoongi nodded, barely able to keep track of all that was happening inside his mind. One minute he was scared that his life was over and now he was being asked to join a revolution? How had his day changed so drastically? This was absolutely not what he expected to have happen today.

“I… uh… how does that help with a revolution?” Yoongi asked, his mind still stuck with the idea of him not going to jail. He was going to call his parents the minute he got home from work. It was too long since they talked.

 "It makes people want what we preach to them. Never underestimate the magic that stories and care can have, Yoongi-sshi. Now, get out of my office and continue working. I will be sending an email to you some time today about the next meeting you have to do." Namjoon said, dismissing Yoongi with a wave of his hand.

"Wait-- I have to meet another person before I can start working?" Yoongi asked once he stood up, "Why can't I just get to work?"

"The revolution doesn't let just anyone's help. We will not risk the safety of our fellows without doing checks first. Now get to work Yoongi-sshi." Namjoon said, getting up himself to grab something from the filing cabinet. Yoongi didn't stay around to see what Namjoon was going to work on next, instead opting to get to work. He had cold coffee and a large number of requests to sort through himself.

Yoongi sat anxiously in one of the booths at a dark and grimy bar. His hands were limply resting by his sides, not wanting to touch the table and whatever had made it sticky. Namjoon had emailed him that fateful work day and that was how Yoongi found himself in the bar booth, waiting for someone named Jeon Jungkook to meet him. Anxiety made Yoongi come half an hour before Jungkook was said to meet him. Some hoppy beer sat in front of Yoongi but he could barely stomach more than three sips. The bar was in a low income area of Seoul where many manual laborers lived but almost everyone in the bar seemed to be celebrating one thing or another. All yelling happily and ordering more drinks than Yoongi might have ever drunk. The noise was shocking and a wave of pain ran through Yoongi every time some new person entered as the drunk people shouted a cheer. Yoongi watched as someone sauntered across the bar and made his way towards his booth.

Was this man Jungkook?

He was in a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt but both of them seemed almost too small for him as his muscles were very visible through them. If this was Jungkook, Yoongi had no idea what many other people in the revolution looked like. Were they all strong and scary looking? Before Yoongi had much time to think more about those in the revolution, the man sat across from Yoongi. It was Jungkook. Jungkook's black hair shielded his eyes from Yoongi, but he had no doubt that Jungkook was giving him a once over. A shudder ran down Yoongi's spine and he felt himself shrivel into himself.

"Yoongi." Jungkook said, his voice softer than Yoongi would have expected.

"Jungkook?" Yoongi asked, forcing himself to sit back up and look Jungkook in the eye as best as he could. It was hard, especially when Jungkook opted to keep staring at Yoongi instead of speaking.

They must have sat there staring at each other for a minute before Jungkook cleared his throat and started talking, "Thank you for meeting. Sorry it took me so long to get in. They didn't believe my ID."

"Why wouldn't they?" Yoongi asked, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook.

"I look young. That is besides the point. Namjoon thinks you will be a good addition to the Seoul section of the revolution. Do you think you would be a good addition?" Jungkook asked, reaching across the table and stealing a sip of Yoongi's beer.

Yoongi let him, too nervous to even drink it.

"You have shit taste in beer by the way." Jungkook added, pulling a face from the bitterness of the beer.

Yoongi let a tense laugh loose at Jungkook's comment before starting, "I don't know why Namjoon thinks I am good for the Seoul section... I think I would like to help though... love is a great feeling... I have only felt it a little, I mean I think I have only felt it a little, but I want people to feel free to feel love. Love is a good emotion..."

Jungkook nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. Yoongi saw his eyes for the first time and was once again struck by the gaze Jungkook was pinning Yoongi with. If looks could kill, Yoongi might have been dead.

"And how do I know that you aren't going to snitch and try to get money from ratting out the Seoul chapter?" Jungkook asked, taking another sip of Yoongi's beer.

"I... Why would I?" Yoongi started, "Namjoon found me doing something illegal too. If I even tried ratting myself out I would get jail time as well."

"That means nothing to me. Blackmail or not. " Jungkook scoffed.

"You'll just have to grow to trust me then." Yoongi said with a sigh.

What was he supposed to say to a stranger? Never in Yoongi's life has he had to keep such a secret and now Jungkook was asking for proof that he could keep it? Yoongi had no idea what he could possibly say.

"I think I am willing to trust you, but if I even hear that you are attempting to rat us out, I will find you and hurt you myself... or better yet, I will hurt your precious Y/n." Jungkook said, taking one final swig of Yoongi's beer before getting up, "You'll be emailed a date, time, and location for the first part of your work."

Before Yoongi could ask any more, Jungkook had disappeared into the crowd and Yoongi was once again left alone in the dark and gritty bar.

Was this the right place? Yoongi had no idea but the longer he stood outside of the orphanage, the more stares he got from random people who were passing by and Yoongi hates getting stared at. The building was a monotone and sad looking grey and it made Yoongi wonder if the inside looked as depressing as the outside. He hoped not. The idea of children being stuck in such a depressing place made Yoongi’s heart ache. 

“Are you the new person Jungkook sent to read to the children?” Someone asked walking up to Yoongi with a small smile on her face. 

She wore a simple pair of blue jeans and a large manilla sweater. Her black hair was pulled into a low ponytail, frizz sticking out all over her head. Yoongi felt over dressed in comparison to her even though he was simply wearing khakis and a polo. He didn’t have time to change after work. He didn’t doubt that by the end of this program he would feel gross, but after seeing the look of the outside of the building, Yoongi didn’t mind. If reading stories to the orphans would bring them happiness, he would do it willingly. They need happiness.

“I am. Yeah. Name is Yoongi.” He finally said, slowly walking into the orphanage with the woman in tow.

“My name is Gi . I have been working here for a year now. I can show you around before the children get back from school.”  She said, sliding behind the front desk and grabbing a key, “I am glad that you decided to come a little early. It gives me time to not only show you around but also how to set up for the reading.”

“Wait-- I am here early?” Yoongi asked, not even bothering to ask why the children were arriving back from school so late in the day.

“About half an hour early.” Gi said, walking over to a side door and unlocking it, “Let me guess, though. Jungkook said that this was when you had to arrive?”

Yoongi nodded, following Gi as she led the way into the living quarters of the orphanage. They were as dull and grey as the outside of the building save for the occasional motivational poster.

“That is so like him.” She laughed quietly, “Please continue to come early. It does help with setting up. Anyways, this is where we will mostly be.” Gi started to explain what they would be doing and how to set up.

There was a closet full of pillows and books that Gi and Yoongi would be using. His job was to get the children to relax after a long school day and then help them with their homework if they needed it before cleaning up. It would most likely be a simple job and for the first time since Yoongi was in high school, he felt excitement towards doing something. This excitement didn’t fade after one day of work, nor after volunteering for a whole week. That weekend, he and Gi met up to plan the next week and he felt even more excited. The pattern of working there in the afternoon and evenings on weekdays and planning with Gi on the weekend continued for two months and before Yoongi knew it, he found himself anxiously waiting day in and day out for the time he spent with not only the children but also Gi. His days were bright and colorful even though he worked and volunteered in such grey places. 

It wasn’t until he came back from a bathroom break and saw himself admiring Gi help a middle schooler with their math homework that he realized he no longer felt any love towards Y/n. Maybe all Yoongi felt was a strong infatuation but he had never experienced such a strong emotion before that. Yoongi leaned against a wall and smiled at the scene in front of him. Children were playing and working together on homework. In the center of it all was Gi: a wonderful and caring woman who also happened to be part of the revolution. In the time Yoongi has spent with her, he got to know so much. She was in a loveless marriage to a man thrice her age who eventually became a close friend of hers. Her husband and her had a kid who was now two before he passed due to a heart attack. She worked as an editor in some large and boring newspaper. There she met another friend of hers who eventually got her to work with the revolution. 

She was an amazing person with a large heart. 

Yoongi cast a glance her way before slowly walking over. Maybe he liked her romantically. Maybe she was a reason Yoongi wanted to believe in the revolution. Maybe he would walk to the ends of the earth to be with her. Yoongi chose not to think about that right now, instead getting onto his knees and helping another kid near Gi. 

He could get used to this work.

[archiesms]

these nights (5)

word count: 5.4k ... also long 

warnings: angst, car accident injuries, 

summary: standing in front of machines that kept him alive, yejin never imagined that jeno had this many secrets and so many people that were willing to keep them. 

a/n: another long one 😔 also day 12 of the quarantine :] 

masterlist

“Now, Jaemin!”

Yejin pulled her head away from the phone, staring at her phone with her eyebrows furrowed together.

“Yejin, baby? I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll call you later.”

“Jaemin? Is everything okay? What’s going on?”

“I uh,” she listened to him clear his throat before he paused momentarily, “I don’t know yet, Angel. I’m sorry, I’ll call you.”

“O-okay…be safe. I love you.”

“I love you, sweetheart. So much.”

Jaemin kissed the phone and before Yejin could ask anything else, the call ended and the same unease was found in her stomach. She took a shaky deep breath before placing her cell phone in front of her, watching as her hands trembled and as she wept. She watched as the beginnings of her hands began numbing as it slowly crept up her arms and began nipping at her nose. She continued taking deep breaths as she walked towards the freezer, taking a clump of ice in her hands and pressing it against her neck, counting her breathing before walking to the bathroom, walking past a sleeping Jihyun as she tried to her best to calm herself down.

The ice was beginning to melt and drip down her shirt, once they were tiny pebbles, she dropped them down the drain and took great care in her skin routine. With equally cold water, she washed her face, watching her red nose soothe at the sensation as she continued to scrub at her face somewhat forcefully, reprimanding herself mentally as she knew this wasn’t conducive to adequate skincare. On the other hand, she couldn’t find herself caring too much about it either. Wiping her face with her towel, she moved to the shower, turning the water on to a warm setting before peeling her clothes off layer by layer, stepping inside and feeling somewhat relieved at the warm water despite the cold she felt earlier.

After her shower, she continued the rest of her skincare routine with her towel wrapped around her body, padding barefoot back to her room and looking for a pair of sleeping clothes in the dark, being careful not to wake up Jihyun—although, she gathered it would be difficult to do so judging by the snores coming from the bed. Her routine took an hour and forty-five minutes, almost twice as long as her regular time when Jaemin and Jeno were home.

Finally sinking into her sheets, she stared at the clock and constantly tossed and turned until the clock showed 11:33, where she heard Jihyun groan out in frustration. She lifted herself up from the bed almost like a zombie, somehow half-stomping and half dragging her feet as she walked awkwardly towards the bathroom, using it quickly before noticing Yejin awake with her phone in hands.

“Why are you awake?” She asked sleepily, curling back in the bedsheets with her eyes closed.

“I can’t sleep,” Yejin replied nonchalantly. “I usually sleep pretty late anyway.”

Judging by her walk and the way Jihyun barely spoke above a whisper, Yejin wasn’t entirely sure if Jihyun was awake at all. It wasn’t until she took her hand that she noticed that Jihyun was fully awake, placing her hand on top of her belly and feeling something squirm within her.

“She keeps me up all night, sometimes she pushes at my bladder and wakes me up,” Jihyun grumbled, her eyes still closed. “Sleep, Yejin. If not for you, then for us, who can’t so easily.”

Yejin laughed quietly, “I guess you’re right.”

“‘M always right,” she hummed, curling Jeno’s pillow close to her chest. “Never wrong.”

Yejin smiled before closing her eyes. She wondered if Yejin had some kind of superpower to make her feel tired because the second she closed her eyes, it’s almost as if sleep took the cue. Exhaustion weighed down on her shoulders as she fell fast asleep, dreaming of Jeno and Jaemin and having them close to her again.

When she woke up again, it was nearly ten am, and it was to Jihyun’s snores that were progressively getting louder. It was later than Yejin would usually wake up, but not by much considering the sun was high in the sky, beaming into her bedroom almost as if there hadn’t been a snowstorm for the past two days. She checked her phone and frowned slightly to herself when she saw no new messages nor missed calls—she told herself that Jaemin might still be asleep, considering he had a worse sleeping schedule than she.

Yejin then noticed Jihyun’s arm curled around her waist, cuddling her close as she took advantage of the baby being asleep as well. Carefully, Yejin removed her arm and placed it on top of a pillow, watching as Jihyun instantly brought it to her chest and continued to snore. She laughed quietly to herself before stretching her arms, stepping out of the bed to continue stretching before continuing her morning routine.

After brushing her teeth, she walked over towards the kitchen, searching the refrigerator for breakfast items, noticing a few eggs and a few potatoes in the fridge. She took them out and chopped potatoes, tomatoes, and green onion to herself quietly, relishing in the sounds of crunchy vegetables being chopped in a silent room before dropping them in a sizzling pan. In a bowl, she cracked those few eggs and whisked them intently before pouring them in another sizzling pan, smiling at the sound as she shook it back and forth.

The potatoes were starting to brown nicely, so Yejin decided to pull them off the stove and onto a plate, covering them generously with cheese before layering another bowl on top to ensure the steam would melt the cheese equally. Just as Yejin was plating the eggs, Jihyun emerged from the bedroom, her hand over her belly as she blinked blearily at the sun. Yejin almost wanted to scoff, there’s no way someone like Jihyun should be real, much less eating cheesy potatoes in her kitchen.

She sort of understood why Jaehyun put her nudes under lock and key, now.

“Goodmorning,” Jihyun smiled weakly, taking a seat at the breakfast bar. “You didn’t have to make breakfast, Yejin, I could’ve—“

“I’m sure you could’ve called another master chef celebrity, but have you ever thought that I wanted to showcase my skills for you?”

Jihyun laughed, thanking Yejin for the meal before digging in. “Eggs and cheesy potatoes, I see. Very American.”

“Something I’m very good at,” Yejin grinned, watching as Jihyun groaned at the flavor.

“Oh fuck, that’s good,” she cried. “If I eat cheesy potatoes for the rest of my pregnancy and gain ten pounds I’m coming for you.”

“Do you like them? I think I might’ve over seasoned them—“

“They’re amazing,“ Jihyun shushed her quickly. “Hurry and eat, I can’t be the only one eating like this.”

They ate in partial silence, occasionally perking up to say something, which would receive a small response before they ate again. It was comfortable, Yejin thought to herself. She appreciated that Jihyun wasn’t the type to always demand conversation despite knowing Jihyun herself loved to talk. In lieu of speaking, Jihyun looked over her phone. She had mentioned the day before that the most important phone after the boss’ was not the consigliere, but the boss’ wife’s phone, and she could see the appeal. Jihyun’s phone was full of notifications from emails, missed calls and text messages, but judging by the look of surprise on her face, Yejin gathered that even this was too many to be considered normal. She picked her phone up from the table and read something from her phone, her eyebrows knitting together in what looked like worry and concern.

“Is everything alright?” Yejin prodded gently, watching as Jihyun’s face immediately fixed itself into a smile.

“Yep! I’ve got to make some calls, you keep eating, it’s Taeyong and supply questions.”

Yejin nodded and returned her smile, but it didn’t take a genius to realize that she was lying. Instead of saying anything about it, she watched as she left for the bathroom, closing the door behind her and locking the door.

Yejin didn’t feel too hungry after that, luckily she had made it through most of her meal before standing up and taking Jihyun’s empty plate, walking towards the sink and calmly washing the dishes, taking extra care to count how many times she swirled the sponge around each dish before placing it in the drying rack.

Jihyun appeared at her last dish, making eye contact with Yejin and giving her another smile, a smaller one this time as she sat back in her seat.

“Everything under control?” Yejin asked, her eyes not leaving the sink as she continued to wash the now clean plate.

“Yes,” Jihyun cleared her throat. “Jaehyunie called me after, he’s coming to pick us up later.”

“For?” Yejin gripped the sponge, scrubbing at the porcelain plate as she was sure she was going to chip the paint.

“I’m not sure,” Jihyun mumbled. “He’ll be here soon.”

Yejin nodded. She released the poor plate out of its misery as she put it on the drying rack with the others, “okay. I’m going to go get changed.”

“Sure, of course.”

Yejin watched as Jihyun began to pack up her things, slowly shoving them in her duffel bag before Yejin closed the door to get out of her pajamas. She heard the front door open and Jihyun welcomed her fiancé, tiptoeing just slightly out of the room to hear what they were talking about.

“Are you okay?” Jihyun asked after a kiss

“I’m fine, baby. What about you? Are you two okay?”

“We’re fine, we just stayed inside the whole time,” Jihyun replied. Yejin watched from the reflection of the mirror across the couch, noticing Jihyun snuggling into Jaehyun’s arms, relief on her face before she checked Jaehyun. “Is Jeno okay?”

“He’s safe. I’ll tell you more at the hospital.” Jaehyun said firmly, “Did you tell her?”

“No, I told her I didn’t know anything,” Jihyun frowned. “It’s not a lie, but I don’t like doing that.”

“I know, baby. I’m sorry. I won’t ask you to do that again, I just want to make sure that I want to avoid panic.”

“No offense, but your texts didn’t do a good job of doing that.”

“I realized that now…sorry.”

Yejin appeared from around the corner, causing Jihyun to pull away from Jaehyun’s embrace as the latter offered her a somber look as a greeting.

“Ready?” Jihyun smiled.

Yejin nodded without a word, following Jihyun with her hand tightly clasped with hers, walking out of their apartment as Jihyun led the way down the stairs and towards Jaehyun’s BMW that was waiting outside. Jihyun sat in the back with Yejin as Jaehyun shoved her luggage in the back of the car, watching as the taller man walked back around to the driver’s seat and started the car anew.

Yejin noticed five minutes into the drive that they were taking the cursed road to the hospital, her stomach churning as Jaehyun parked close to the entrance. It was some kind of sick solace that they didn’t park in emergency at least, as Jihyun continued to hold her hand towards the main entrance of the hospital and immediately towards the elevator. Jaehyun pressed the Up button as the elevator almost instantly opened, stepping aside and allowing Jihyun and Yejin to step inside first before he did, watching as he pressed the number seven and as the elevator closed its doors.

Yejin’s stomach rose and fell with the elevator, the elevator dinging wide open.

“Seventh Floor: Intensive Care Unit,” The robotic female voice said. Yejin’s eyes widened as her head snapped back towards Jaehyun, watching his face scrunch up into a wince.

So much for trying to avoid panic.

Jihyun squeezed her hand as Jaehyun got out first, leading the two behind him down hallways and hallways of rooms. The labyrinth seemed to end after two turns as Yejin could see a tall figure in the distance standing outside a room with his chin in hand, pacing back and forth. Once Yejin recognized it to be Jaemin, she let all her guards fall, crying instantly as she ran into his arms and crashing against his chest violently, weeping although she had no idea what was behind the door

“It’s okay, Yejin. It’s okay, he’s okay.” Jaemin said softly in her ear, but it was incredibly difficult to believe when his own voice was also wavering with emotion.

“Are you okay, are you hurt?” Yejin asked immediately after, pulling away and frantically searching in his coat and shirt before tilting his head back and forth to look for any wounds. “What’s happened? What’s going on?”

“I’m fine, baby,” Jaemin took a deep breath before placing his hands on her face. “Jeno is inside…they flipped the car over last night. We still don’t have much to go on this theory with but we think the location last night was a set up.”

Yejin’s eyes searched the area of his face for some kind of lie, but Jaemin’s face was as solemn as they came. “Who flipped it, Jaemin? Set up for what, I don’t understand—“

“I don’t know either, Angel,” Jaemin frowned, his thumbs caressing under her eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know.”

Yejin let a few more tears escape as Jaemin wiped them carefully, “Is he okay?”

“A few broken bones, a bruised lung,” he grimaced. “That’s not what the doctor was too worried about, though. Jeno hit his head really hard on something. We’re not sure what, but his brain swelled up pretty bad. Doctor put him under until the swelling goes down, just so it doesn’t hurt.”

Yejin winced, her head falling back on his chest as she continued to cry.

“He’ll make a full recovery, Angel…he just has to sleep for a while. That’s all.”

“God, I fucking knew something was going to go wrong, I felt in my stomach I couldn’t sleep last night,” she wept. “I should’ve said something, I—“

“Nothing you could’ve done would’ve stopped this, Yejin. This isn’t your fault.” Jaemin reassured, rubbing her back before leading her towards the door. “Let’s go inside.”

Yejin almost refused to look at him. She walked inside the door with her head shoved into Jaemin’s chest as he stood in front of what she could only imagine was the bed Jeno was resting on. She could hear the machinery in the background, signaling a steady heartbeat that allowed Yejin to gather the strength to peer out of Jaemin’s coat.

It did nothing to soothe her as she watched Jeno breathe with the help of a few tubes, her hands trembling as she continued to sob. Had it not been for the mole under his right eye she would’ve never recognized him, falling to her knees as she took his cold hand, hands that were always warmer in comparison to hers.

“Oh Jeno,” she wept softly. “My baby, what did they do to you, my love?”

Jaemin was close behind, his hand on her neck before she turned around to cry in his legs again.

“Get up from the floor, baby,” Jaemin said softly. “It’s dirty.”

“I want to stay here,” she sniffled. “What if he gets lonely?”

“Jaemin is right, Angel.” Jihyun suddenly said behind her, rubbing her back as she eased her on her feet. “The floor is dirty, we’ll get you a chair.”

Jaehyun scooted an arm chair next to Jeno’s bed with help from Jaemin. Jihyun curled into Jaehyun’s hold as she watched Yejin take a seat on the chair, her head resting next to Jeno’s hand as she held it tightly, her fingers running over his knuckles as she continued to sniffle next to him. Jihyun’s heart broke at the sight, turning her head into his chest as she tried to fight tears of her own.

“Do you want to go home?” Jaehyun asked softly. Jihyun nodded.

Jaehyun and Jihyun said their goodbyes. Jaemin accepted only a hand on his shoulder from his brother as a silent goodbye and a kiss on the cheek from Jihyun with a weak smile. Jihyun kissed the top of Yejin’s head before telling her goodbye, a squeeze from Jaehyun’s hand and they were left alone.

Yejin was nowhere near ready to let go of Jeno’s hand until an hour and half after Jaehyun and Jihyun took their leave, noticing that Jaemin hadn’t sat down since. She looked up from her post and noticed that Jaemin was asleep standing up. She pulled away from Jeno’s hand and watched as his eyes flashed open, stumbling a bit backwards before catching himself with the help from Yejin’s hands.

“Jaemin, did you sleep last night?”

Said man shook his head, rubbing at his eyes before yawning deeply, “I couldn’t.”

Yejin got up from her spot on the chair and took Jaemin’s hand to pull him towards the couch, laying down and pulling Jaemin next to her, “sleep.”

“But—“

“If anything happens, we’ll both be here,” she reassured, running her fingers through his hair as he snuggled closer to her. “Sleep, Jaemin.”

It took less than five minutes for Jaemin to fall asleep, the twenty-two hours he had been awake were beginning to drive him insane. Yejin had woken up late either way, so she didn’t feel too tired as she continued to run her fingers through his hair and Jaemin breathed softly next to her. She noticed at that point that Jeno and Jaemin were breathing at the same rate, and despite the situation, she couldn’t help but to smile. She really did feel like she was intruding on their own romance sometimes.

Jaemin was awake for two hours when Yejin heard running outside before their door swung open, a very frantic Jisung lugging take out food in his hands appearing in front before he dropped it on the nearby table.

The youngest Jung brother had yet to take notice in Yejin and Jaemin’s appearance before Jisung ran towards Jeno sleeping figure, his hands running through his own hair before he looked over the body twice, “Jeno hyung! Oh my god, Jeno hyung—“

Jaemin groaned in his sleep, causing the youngest to snap his head to see Yejin sitting against the couch with Jaemin in her arms, still fast asleep.

“Oh, Yejin noona, I’m sorry,” Jisung suddenly whispered. He walked over towards the two before he took a seat in front of them, using the plastic chair seeing that the other two were occupied.

“What brings you here?” Yejin whispered.

“Jaehyun hyung asked me if I could do a favor after school, so I brought some food,” Jisung frowned deeply before looking back at Jeno. “I didn’t think this was why, though.”

“He’s going to be okay,” Yejin reassured, somehow finding it hilarious considering she had been the one crying for three hours.

“Are you sure…he doesn’t…look okay,” Jisung added carefully. Despite being dense at times, Jisung was fully capable of reading the room, most definitely noticing Yejin’s tired-from-crying eyes the second he saw her.

“I’ve been told, at least.”

“Do you know what happened?”

“A car accident from work, apparently.”

“How?”

Yejin gave a soft smile, shaking her head, “you know I’m not allowed to tell you Jisung.”

Jisung huffed in disbelief, “those rules only apply to Jaemin hyung and Jeno hyung, they don’t apply to you, noona!”

“I’m not allowed to tell you, Jisung. What if Jaehyun oppa finds out I’ve told you? Then who gets in trouble?”

“Me, I’ll tell him that I’m taking the suneung next week, and I’ll be an adult in a few months.”

Yejin continued to shake her head, “not a chance, Jisung.”

Jisung was the youngest of the three Jung brothers, a high schooler who was always too curious for his own good. Jaemin used to tell stories of Jisung hiding in their father’s office to hear about work, being yanked out by his shirt collar by Jaehyun or his father depending on who caught him first.

Nearing the end of their father’s life, Jaehyun became his primary at guardian at 25, taking care of his then 15 year old brother until he was accepted into an academy nearby, dorming with students his age and far from the life of delinquency both Jaehyun and Jaemin kept him from. However, this still didn’t ease her curiosity, often asking for updates and information despite Jaehyun scolding and reprimanding him time and time again. To help ease curiosity, Jaehyun presented an ultimatum: either Jisung end with curiosity and stick with school or work for his brother full time, dropping out of his dream school. Very obviously, Jisung chose the first option, but it still didn’t stop him from sneaking some information every so often from whatever Jihyun could tell him, but even then, it was low grade gossip and nowhere near the level his brothers talked at.

Jisung called bluff, but he never expected everyone to be so serious about it.

“Fine,” Jisung pouted. “I didn’t want to know anyway.“

“Good, that makes this easier for the both of us.”

Jisung scooted closer, “but can’t you tell me—“

“Enough, Jisung,” Jaemin’s deep voice came from Yejin’s chest. Jisung closed his mouth at the sound of his very irritated older brother, his pout deepening as his shoulders sagged.

“I’ll leave it alone,” Jisung sighed, scratching the back of his head aggressively before looking back at Jeno and to his wrist. “I guess I’ll get going. I got permission to leave for lunch because Jaehyun hyung called, but class will start sometime soon again.”

“Study hard, Jisung,” Yejin smiled. “We’re all rooting for you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.” Jisung smiled bashfully, waving as he made his way towards the door, “I’ll see you around. Campus isn’t that far from the hospital so I’ll be around more often.”

“Can’t wait,” Jaemin grumbled from Yejin’s hold.

Jisung narrowed his eyes, “what did he say?”

“He said don’t be late!” Yejin waved, watching as Jisung closed the door behind him. Yejin looked down at Jaemin. His eyes were still closed but there was no doubt he was awake at this rate.

“Jisung brought food, are you hungry?”

Jaemin squeezed his eyes before opening them slowly, squinting at the fluorescent lighting before rubbing at his eyes harshly, “kinda. What did he bring?”

“Chicken, I think.”

“Oh, thank god. I thought he cooked.” Jaemin smiled, lifting himself up from her hold and sitting on the couch, continuing to rub his eyes as Yejin brought the food towards them.

“I don’t think your brother would’ve sent Jisung if he had cooked,” Yejin smiled, opening the fried chicken box as they munched chicken quietly. “Did you sleep okay?”

“I feel better, for the most part,” Jaemin yawned, rubbing his neck before taking a chicken wing. “I don’t think a two hour nap has the ability to go against almost an entire day of no sleep though.”

“Are you going to stay the night here? If not, we can go home and sleep.”

Jaemin shook his head, “Johnny hyung said he was staying the night. I think they’ll be back later, my brother and Johnny hyung.  I think they want to talk about the next move, or whatever.”

Yejin nodded, silently eating her food and noticing Jaemin barely picking at the bits of his food. She didn’t find it strange at all, she wasn’t hungry all that much herself, but she can’t imagine that Jaemin had any kind of meal before this. Regardless, they kept eating, slowly no doubt, but steadily until Jaemin finally pushed the box away from him. Yejin took care to throw away the trash outside of the room, sliding back inside and noticing Jaemin sitting upright next to the armchair, looking through his phone while his free hand held Jeno’s.

She took it upon herself to sit on his lap, Jaemin immediately letting go of his phone before wrapping it around her waist. Yejin tilted his head back with her fingertips, watching as Jaemin gave her a weak smile before puckering his lips. Yejin chuckled to herself before leaning in to kiss him gently before cradling his head to her chest.

“Are you okay?”

“I can be.”

“What’s stopping you?” She mumbled, glancing over Jeno, “besides the obvious?”

“To be honest with you, I have no idea what I’m feeling. Whatever it is,” Jaemin moved his hand from her waist to her thigh, “it’s not good.”

Jaemin let go of Jeno’s hand to pull her closer, cradling her completely and locking his hands around her legs. Yejin got comfortable, resting her cheek against the crown of her head before she continued, “are you mad?”

“Towards?”

“Your brother?”

“Why would I be mad at Jisung?”

“You know that’s not who I meant, Jaem.”

Jaemin sighed, rubbing his girlfriend’s thigh as he took a moment to think, “I don’t think I’m directly mad at him, but I’m not entirely too happy with his methodology right now.”

“I understand.”

The couple continued to sit in silence before a thought slowly fanned into her brain. She bit her lip, wondering how to bring it up before Jaemin shuffled closer to her chest, specifically her heart.

“Your heart is racing?” Jaemin mentioned, looking up in confusion, “are you feeling okay?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Angel. Anything.”

“Why…” No, not like that. “How come you…” no. I don’t want him to think I’m blaming him either.

“Yes?”

“Is there a reason why you never told me Jeno had a sister?”

Jaemin froze under her. He was quiet for a moment, his hold on her loosening as she could almost hear the cogs in his brain turning.

“Who told you?” Out of the ways Yejin thought he would react, she never would’ve thought it would be cold.

“Does it matter?”

“Partially.”

“So, it partially doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter, Yejin.”

Yejin pulled herself away from his head to look at him, her eyebrows knitted together and her eyes slightly narrowed, “so then why are you telling me it partially matters when it definitely matters who told me?”

“Because whoever told you didn’t have the authority nor the right,” Jaemin snipped

“Jaehyun oppa told me.” Indirectly, she thought to herself. Via Jihyun.

Jaemin snorted, “of course he did.”

“I just want to know why he didn’t tell me, Jaemin. I don’t want to know the entire conspiracy behind it—“

“No one wants to talk about their murdered sister, Yejin.”

“But no one really wants to find out their boyfriend—“ Yejin paused, “or rather boyfriends were lying to her.”

“We didn’t lie-“

“You didn’t tell the truth either, Jaemin. Do you see how upsetting this is?”

Jaemin rolled his eyes. Yejin huffed in disbelief at the dismissive action as her blood boiled beneath her skin. “Hello?”

“What?”

“Are you going to tell me?”

Jaemin glanced at Jeno before nodding his head, “Jeno’s right there. Ask him yourself.”

“Unbelievable.” Yejin got up from his lap and grabbed her coat from behind the chair, “you never miss the opportunity to be a fucking asshole.“

“Jung brother specialty, baby.”

“Fuck you,” she spat. “I don’t know why I fucking put up with you, you’re such a fucking spoiled, egotistical brat!”

“Then leave! If I’m such a fucking asshole then get out! Nobody is fucking keeping you here! Jeno isn’t even awake to make you stay!” Jaemin yelled back, pointing to the door.

Yejin stared at the back of the chair before crying for what seemed like the hundredth time today. She opened the door and slammed it behind her, accidentally bumping into Johnny, apologizing quickly before she continued to run out of the hallway.

Johnny looked at Jaehyun and Jihyun, offering a grimace, “I told you I heard yelling.”

Jihyun looked at Jaehyun with concern, watching him sigh as he gave her the car keys, “go.”

“I’ll see you at home,” she said quickly, kissing his cheek before walking quickly in the direction Yejin ran off to. Jihyun couldn’t run as well as she could perhaps six months ago, but she thankfully managed to reach the elevators as she saw that Yejin was waiting impatiently for the doors to open. When they did, she shoved herself inside, disregarding the family that was trying to get out.

“Pregnant lady, move.” Jihyun announced, watching Yejin look up from her spot in the corner with teary eyes.

“Come here,” Jihyun gently pulled on Yejin’s arm, shushing her quietly as she sobbed in her chest. “It’s okay—“

“He’s such a fucking idiot!” Yejin cried, sniveling on Jihyun’s expensive sweater. “I get it, they all have their stupid fucking secrets, but Jaemin’s such an asshole about it it’s like he doesn’t even care--“

Yejin’s sentence is interrupted by another loud sob, causing the other people in the elevator to awkwardly look at the floor. Jihyun did her best to soothe, to calm her down before they reached the garage. Jihyun pulled her outside and sat her down on a bench, rubbing her back as her sobs were reduced to small sniffles.

“Better?” Jihyun smiled softly, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

“I guess,” Yejin took a shaky deep breath. “Not really.”

“Do you want me to take you home?”

Yejin shook her head, tears starting up again as she admitted what she had been thinking the whole day, “I want Jeno home.”

Yejin cried harder, causing Jihyun to hold her close and conceal her from the eyes of curious bystanders.

“I know, Angel, I know—let’s go to my place then, hm?” She prompted, “I don’t think you’ve been to my new house yet? I can show you the nursery I’m building.”

The last thing Yejin wanted to see was a happy home, but it was better than going home to an empty apartment, where Jaemin would be later on. So instead of rejecting, Yejin nodded, sniffling once more before Jihyun took her hand and led her to her car.

//

Jaehyun and Johnny stood outside the door. Jihyun had just ran off to find Yejin as both men tried to figure out if they wanted to step inside or not. They argued quietly as to who should come in first.

“You’re older, hyung. You’re wiser because of your years in the world,” Jaehyun whispered harshly.

“Excuse me? You’re the boss, not only that you’re his brother, Jaehyun, you go—“ Johnny began to push Jaehyun towards the door.

“His brother that he currently hates.” Jaehyun hissed.

Eventually, Johnny managed to push him inside, glaring at him as he saw Jaemin sulking in the arm chair.

“Trouble in paradise?” Johnny prompted.

“Fuck off,” Jaemin grumbled, glaring at the machines.  

“Do you want to talk—“

“No.”

Jaehyun nodded, “right. I thought so.”

Johnny took a seat at Jeno’s bed as Jaehyun stood next to him, his arms crossed. “Jaemin—“

“No offense, Johnny hyung, I kind of don’t want to talk about work right now.”

“That’s too bad, kiddo, because,” Johnny smiled, “the worst part of work is that you have to do it anyway. Why? Because it’s your job, and this is not something I’m negotiating.”

Jaemin looked up at Jaehyun with questioning eyes, causing his older brother to laugh, “what? Are you talking to me now? Don’t look at me, Johnny hyung is talking to you now.”

“Did you tell Yejin about Jieun noona?”

What the fuck? Jaehyun furrowed his eyebrows together, “No? I speak to your girlfriend maybe twice a year.”

“I thought so,” Jaemin mumbled.

“Why bring up Jieun now, Jaemin?” Johnny asked.

“Yejin asked about her. Someone told her and I thought Jeno and I asked you not to say anything.”

“You’re getting real bold, these days, Jaeminie, don’t you think?” Johnny pressed, patting his head and gripping his shoulder almost to warn him for speaking informally.

Jaehyun sighed heavily, his head dropping into his hands, “I didn’t say anything Jaemin. But I think I know who did.”

“It’s fine, hyung. I did tell Jeno and Jaemin that I wouldn’t say anything,” Jaehyun reassured, looking for his phone and for a particular contact. “I think I forgot to relay the message to someone else, though.”

To: Jihyunie

We have to talk later.

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[flamehairedwritings]

Lost In Hawkins

FOR HALLOWE’EN 2019

Characters: Chief Jim Hopper x Female Reader

Words: 9,719, phew

Rating: M, 16+ ONLY

A/N: This story is inspired by the wonderful ITV series ‘Lost In Austen’, an idea I’ve had for a while and my own fantasies, tbh. Crack? AU? Angst? All of them? What is genre?

Tags include: Swearing, lots of it, and mentions of a drink being drugged.

Summary: Your Hallowe’en night takes an unexpected turn.

Masterlist

Please don’t copy, steal or repost my work; credit does not count.

“Get the fuck away from me, you shitting shit-bag.”

“Jesus, Meg—”

“No, I am not having a heart-attack tonight.”

You purse your lips slightly in an effort to stop a smile as she all but bares her teeth at the poor teenager dressed as a clown, decidedly less scarier than when he’d jumped out at you both with his now stunned expression.

Nearly growling, she pushes through plastic sheets and you follow after her, secretly delighted when she finds the nearest exit and you step out into fresh, open air.

“God, don’t people know what personal space is anymore?”

Manoeuvring past a group of smokers, Meg blows out a long breath as you adjust your corset, stepping towards the only nearest free space on the worn grass.

You hum in agreement as you join her. “I think a space capacity code is being violated here.”

“You can say that again.”

The cool air of the night feels wonderful, the Fun House having been stifling with sweat, paint and something you don’t want to know having filled the air. Pulling the white blouse off your shoulders from where it has ridden up, you turn to her with a nostalgic sigh.

“Remember when we used to just throw sheets on, walk around the block to get free candy and then be in bed by 8?”

“Yeah. Those were the days,” Meg also sighs, folding her arms with a wistful smile. “But, hey, this is what happens when you get peer pressured by colleagues.”

“Well, I was ready and raring for this two hours ago and now I’m just... tired.”

“I think we’re old now, darling.”

“I’m ready to accept it.”

“Me, too.” Huffing out another breath, she casts her gaze around. “I only really wanted to come because Elvira’s here.”

You arch an eyebrow. “That’s not been confirmed.”

“It has.”

“By who?”

“Aaron.”

“Aaron Watkins? He once told me moose aren’t real.”

“He said that when we were sixteen.”

“Far too old an age to be saying things like that.”

“He was joking... I hope.”

“He certainly wasn’t joking.” Clearing your throat, you shiver lightly and rub your arms, the once welcomed cool air now just cold. “Anyway, I think I’m gonna head home.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I think the week’s caught up with me.”

“All right, how are you gonna get home?”

“Well, I can’t afford a taxi so I’ll get the bus.”

“Do you want to die?” Meg gapes at you incredulously.

“If I die on Hallowe’en, don’t I get to walk the Earth on this day every year? How fun.”

“I’d rather you walked it 365 days a year. I will give you money for a cab.”

“No, Meg, c’mon,” you protest, shaking your head as she reaches for her purse. “It’s going to cost too much, it’s too far. I’ll get the bus, there’ll be other people on it, it’s a busy night, and I’ll text you every five minutes, I promise.”

“Fine. but text me discreetly,” she orders as she pulls you in for a hug. “I don’t want people seeing you with your phone out and then wanting to steal it. And call me when you get off the bus and you’re walking home, I mean it.”

“I will, I will. Love you.” You beam at her as she finally releases you.

“Love you, too. Please don’t die.”

Thankfully, the bus stop was only a little further up the road from the entrance to the carnival grounds. Other people seemed to have had the same idea as you, too, the stop somewhat crowded with families, the kids already asleep, teenagers chattering excitedly about their next destination, and some exceedingly tired people your age, muffling yawns and chewing sweets. 

When your bus had arrived it was already half-full but you managed to find a seat on the ground level at the back, sitting beside a teenager who doesn’t look at you, their hood up, headphones on.

Perfect. No possible way of someone initiating a conversation here.

The bus had trundled along slowly, stopping at seemingly every stop known to man, and people had trickled off until now, when it’s just you, an older lady near the front on the ground floor and possibly people on the upper floor.

The bus slows to a halt on a well-lit road, and you know you’re only a few stops away from your own, relief filling you.

I’m going for you, pyjamas.

The older lady shuffles off the bus and you hear someone descending from the top of the stairs, instinctive curiosity making you lift your gaze to see who it is.

It’s Barb from Stranger Things.

Except it’s not because she doesn’t exist, but the teenager looks exactly like her, complete with the perfect hair-style, glasses and outfit. They catch your eye and you smile. They smile back but it seems more out of reflex than genuine want to.

Stop staring, you look like a weirdo.

Once they’re off the bus, the doors close and the bus moves on. As it pulls away from the curb, you just can’t stop yourself from looking at ‘Barb’. They stand on the pavement, facing the road, waiting for the bus to pass, their hands in their pockets.

Just amazing. Absolutely uncanny.

You feel slightly bad that you didn’t compliment the person on their work, they obviously worked hard, but then again, you’re at the back of the bus and they probably wouldn’t have appreciated you yelling out to them, even if it was out of the goodness of your heart. They looked a little... sad, though, so maybe it would have cheered them up.

Facing the front again, you glance down at your phone and press the button to unlock it, wanting to tell Meg.

The screen remains blank.

You frown and press it again.

Nothing.

You definitely know it was at 78% when you last—

The screen lights up, pure white for a moment, then your lock-screen appears, complete with picture, the correct time, and the notifications you’d been ignoring.

Huh. Weird.

You don’t think too much on it, your phone does tend to glitch occasionally.

The light above you flickers, then so do the others, and your gaze darts up to watch them. In a line, one after the other, they go out, then shine brightly once more after a second.

... Right.

The bus slows, the last one before your own and, again, relief washes over you.

Not long now, so close—

“Last stop, lady.”

Your eyes snap to the bus driver, who’s leaning out of his seat to look at you.

“What? No, this isn’t the end of the line.”

There’s an edge to your tone, one you wouldn’t usually have with a public services worker if it wasn’t pitch-black outside and some lights flickering hadn’t just freaked you out a bit more than you’d like to admit.

He shrugs. “Sorry, I’m gonna run out of fuel.”

Ah, so that might explain the lights, then. That’s how it works... maybe.

“Is there another bus coming to finish the route?”

“At this time of night? Hell no.”

Oh my God.

You stare at him. “... What am I supposed to do, then?”

He shrugs again. “It isn’t that far to the end of the line.”

You can hear how desperate you are. “Couldn’t you take me some of the way?”

“Nah, station’s the other direction, I’d break down.”

Right, so this is a me problem.

Huffing and knowing you’re not going to win at all, you grab your bag and march down to the front of the bus, wrestling with your conscience that you can’t yell at him because it’s not his fault and you hate when customers yell at you when something isn’t your fault but also this is kind of his fault maybe in some way but it also isn’t and—

“Fine. Fine,” you mutter as you step off the bus before quickly turning to him. “I’m not the kind of person to do this, but I’m going to send the company a rather shitty email in the morning.”

“All right, miss.” Not one ounce of sympathy or care on his expression.

Clenching your jaw, you step back as the doors close and he pulls away, making you realise you were the only person left on the bus.

Right. No one else to rant with or pair up with and be safe with.

Okay, you know where you are, it’s not that far to home, you have perfume in your bag you can use as a kind of pepper spray, and you can call Meg. Scanning the area and pulling your phone out, you unlock it and type out a message to Meg.

Just my luck, bus running out of gas so had to get off and now walking. *skull emoji*. Isn’t this how horror films start?

Sending it, you glance up again to check for anyone before quickly typing and sending:

Can I call you?

Lifting your head, you’re about to lock your phone when it vibrates. Looking down at the screen, you frown.

‘Message unable to send. Try again.’ it reads next to ‘Can I call you?’

You tap ‘Try again’.

The message reappears a moment later.

‘Message unable to send. Try again.’

What the—

You look at the signal bars and—

No signal.

What the hell?

The first message was able to send and you haven’t even moved so how the hell hasn’t the second? You’ve never not had signal in this area.

Exhaling a frustrated breath, the cold night air helps you decide you can ruminate on it later. Heading down the path next to the woods that leads home, you blow out another, quiet breath and shove your phone into your bag. 

Maybe in a few steps it’ll be okay.

You glance to the side, eyeing the woods.

Do not think about ghosts and ghouls, do not freak yourself out, do not be a bitch to yourself.

You quicken your pace, staring ahead.

It’s quiet. Quieter than usual. Usually there’s crickets chirping or an owl hooting or cars passing but... nothing.

The street lights are out, too, and you contemplate using your phone’s torch.

No. Don’t signal your whereabouts to... anyone.

like...

murderers...

... shit ...

... Just like the white winged dove, Sings a song, Sounds like she's singing, Who, who, who

Singing loudly in your head always helped to calm you. Keeping your gaze directly ahead, you continue, reminding yourself you’re only ten minutes from home.

Just like the white winged dove, Sings a song, Sounds like she's singing, Oh baby oh said oh ,

Ten minutes until you’re home. Then you can get out of this costume, have something to eat and go to sleep.

And the days go by Like a strand in the wind In the web that is my own

I begin again

Said to my friend, baby Nothin' else mattered

Maybe you’ll watch a few episodes of something you don’t have to think too hard about.

He was no more than a baby then Well he seemed broken hearted Something within him

Or maybe a bath, ooh, a bath sounds great, why did you wear these shoes, well, you didn’t think you’d be walking ages in them.

But the moment that I first laid Eyes on him—

The sound of a dull, muffled explosion echoes across the forest.

You cry out in fright as you freeze, your head whipping to the side instinctively to find the source.

Oh my God... what the fuck was that...

Your gaze darts about, and a breeze suddenly washes over you, as if pushed in your direction but that’s impossible because there’s been no wind all night and there’s none now, it’s just gone—

An orange light flickers amongst the trees, not too far away.

It’s just a flash light.

It’s just some kids playing around.

You stare at it.

It’s not moving.

It’s just kids playing about.

They’re probably setting off fireworks and one went wrong.

Then how come I can’t hear voices.

Shit, are they hurt?

Concern takes over from fear as you narrow your eyes, trying to look for any signs of movement at all. Nothing.

Check.

Go and look.

People could be hurt.

Reaching your hand into your bag, you pull your phone out and glance down.

One bar.

Fuck, yes.

Dialling the emergency services, you find that one tiny bar has given you confidence, and you stride towards the light.

It’s not until you’re a few feet away that you realise it’s not a flash light.

It’s not until you’re a few feet away that you realise your phone is still dialling and hasn’t connected, a crackling sound taking over.

It’s not until it’s too late that you realise the light is drawing you in and you can’t look away from it, can’t stop walking.

It’s not until it’s too late that you realise you can’t hear or see anything.

It’s not until you’re walking through the light that you realise you’re going to die.

The last thought you have is:

Oh my God, I’m going to fucking die in a shitty pirate costume.

You’re falling.

How is that possible?

Wait, you can’t see anything and your stomach isn’t dropping like it should do when you fall and— Holy fucking shit, yes it is, now it is, holy fuck, you’re going to be sick, what the fuck—

You land face down on something damp with a grunted ‘oof’’. Groaning, your head spinning, your hands move out slowly and you feel you’re on something solid. Squishy, but solid. Pushing yourself up, your arms shake slightly as you lift your head, blinking several times.

Glancing around, you find you’re still in the woods.

What the hell...

I must have tripped.

What the hell did I trip on?

Looking over your shoulder, you just see leaves on the ground.

Was there a rock hidden under all that? Yeah, that’s what it must have been.

Pushing yourself up with a groan, you brush the leaves and twigs from you, tutting at the streaks of mud across your costume.

I hope this bloody comes out or— Hang on a fucking second.

Turning quickly, you freeze.

Where the hell is that light?

You scan the area, still frozen.

... You must have imagined it. Or knocked it over. Or...

Just go home.

Turning, you start striding off.

Am I going in the right direction? I don’t care. Just get away from this area. No, get your phone out and Google Map it to see where—

There’s a road. Just up ahead. The trees thinning out.

Right. We’re back on track, this is where I was before, didn’t realise I was so close but hey, ho...

Striding towards it, you emerge out of the woods and stop abruptly.

Where’s the pavement?

You look one way, then the other.

... Is this a new road? Has it always been here?

It’s been a while since you walked through the woods but surely you’d have noticed if they’d been doing road works to create a new one... Unless...

Oh my God, am I concussed? This is the last thing I need.

You start walking before you realise it. Heading left down the road. You’re near to your neighbourhood. It has to be this way.

Google Maps.

Fumbling with your bag, you open it and pull your phone out, pressing the button to unlock the screen. Nothing.

Oh, not again, please...

You press it again, then again, then again, then again.

Still... nothing.

Right, don’t get upset, you’ll be fine, one way or another you’ll end up in your neighbourhood of the next one over, so at least you’ll know where you are.

You shove your phone back in to your bag and fold your arms tightly. It’s so damn cold. Why didn’t you just stay at home tonight.

You stare down the road. You don’t recognise a thing.

Everything looks different at night. You’ll be okay.

Bright headlights suddenly appear at your feet, growing larger as you hear a vehicle approach.

It slows as it nears.

Right, I’m either going to be murdered or get directions.

Steeling yourself, you also slow as it nears.

Here we go.

Turning, you’re blinded for a moment as the headlights hit your eyes. Squinting and shielding them, the vehicle, a car, pulls to a stop beside you.

Oh. Not just any car. A police car, apparently.

The window rolls down and a man pops his head out.

“You okay there, ma’am?”

“Yep. I’m fine, thank you.”

You’re not, but it’s an automatic response. He seems to know you’re not, casting a glance over you... and as he sizes you up, you size him up.

You recognise him.

You don’t know how, you’ve never had a conversation with a police officer before. Not knowingly, anyway. Maybe he’s a regular customer, or you’ve just seen him around.

“Where are you heading, ma’am?”

“Home.”

Why am I being questioned.

“And where’s home?”

“Hanover Street.”

He stares at you.

“Hanover Street?”

“Yeah.”

He’s still staring.

“Whereabouts is that, ma’am?”

God, you’re a rubbish cop.

“Just around the corner from The Lion and The Unicorn.”

“Right.” He looks you over again, frowning. “Have you been out this evening, ma’am?”

You frown in return, unease starting to creep up. “Yes.”

“Right.” Meeting your gaze, he then opens the car door and steps out, and your stomach drops. “Ma’am, if you’d just like to get in the car...”

Oh my God, this is the last thing I need.

You open your mouth, then close it because you are not about to argue with a police officer right now. Stifling an irritated sigh, you climb into the car as he opens the door behind his.

On the bright side, I might get a ride home.

You do not get a ride home.

The officer is silent as he drives, occasionally glancing in the rear-view mirror to look at you. You pretend not to notice, your own gaze darting down to your concealed phone every now and then. Still no signal.

I can’t wait until I find this hilarious.

The ride only takes a couple of minutes before you realise you’ve reached his destination. The police station.

You don’t recognise it, but then again you’ve never had a reason to go to the station.

You didn’t know the station was so close, though.

Once the officer parks up, he opens the door for you and waits for you to step out before gently instructing you to follow him. You obey.

The station is busy, phones ringing and people walking up and down.

Well, it is Hallowe’en.

Slightly overwhelmed and tired and maybe perhaps a little frightened, you do as you’re told, sitting at a desk the officer points at. You hold your bag on your lap, your shoulders slightly hunched.

You only have to wait a few moments before another officer takes a seat opposite you, not looking at you as he greets you with a weary ‘Good evening’.

Hang on. You recognise this officer, too. Maybe he’s also a customer. Not important right now.

“Right...” he slaps a notepad down in front of him and takes a pen from his shirt pocket before finally looking at you. “... What were you doing walking down a dark road on your own, miss?”

“Uh...” Just tell the truth, you haven’t done anything wrong. “I was walking home.”

“Nobody wanted to give you a ride?”

He’s making notes and you can’t help but stare at his pen moving.

“Uh, no, well, there was no one to give me a ride, I got the bus but then I had to get off ‘cause it was running out of fuel, but it’s not far to my home so it’s not too far a walk.”

“And home is Hanover Street?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.”

The fact he’s conversed with the other officer makes you nervous.

Please don’t obsess about what they might have said.

“Around the corner from The Lion and The Unicorn?”

“Yeah.”

Too late, you’re obsessing.

“And what is that, miss?”

You can’t stop yourself from frowning.

“It’s the pub, it’s only probably about five minutes away from here.”

“Right.”

The way he says it makes you feel like you’re wrong, but you can’t be, you’ve been to that pub a thousand times before. You might not have recognised the road you were on, but as it was in your woods you know the pub is close by.

“And why were you by the woods, miss? Seems a bit dangerous for this time of night.”

“Oh, well...”

Do you tell the truth? Oh, yes, deflect from whatever it is you seem to have done wrong.

You sit up a little straighter, slightly more confident now because you have vital information. “... I heard an explosion in the woods.”

His pen pauses as his gaze snaps up to you. “An explosion?”

“Yeah. It sounded quite quiet.”

Gazing at you, his eyes then lift to something behind you. “Hey, Flo, we heard anything tonight about an explosion?”

A woman wearing large glasses passes by the desk. “No, honey, just drunks and people calling about the poor boy.”

“All right.” The officer raises his eyebrows slightly, then looks to you. Then he frowns. “Hey, you all right?”

You’re staring at the woman’s back, frozen.

Oh my God. Oh my God... Flo.

“Miss—”

“What the hell is going on here?”

Your tone and suddenly sharp gaze takes him aback slightly, but he recovers swiftly.

“Excuse me?”

You stare at Flo again, then back to him.

“What is going on here?”

“Miss, how much have you had to drink tonight?”

You would have been offended by the question if your mind wasn’t racing. Your racing mind also doesn’t give you a chance to really think about what to say in return.

“Not a lot. Four cocktails.”

“Four?”

“2-4-1, all day, every day.” You’re practically trying to stare him down now, trying to make him crack. “What is going on?”

He changes tact, clasping his hands together on the desk. “You’re being questioned because you were found wandering alone on the side of the road, and you seem somewhat disorientated.”

Yes, I’m fucking disorientated.

You place your finger on the desk. “This is, this is Hawkins Police Station.”

He doesn’t react. “Yes.”

“From Stranger Things.”

Now he reacts, his eyebrows raising a fraction.

“... Miss, have you taken any narcotics this evening?”

“No.” You can’t stop yourself from lowering your voice. “Am I being pranked right now?”

His voice is suddenly gentler. “Do you have someone we could call?”

You just stare at him, trying to find an inkling of something on his features.

The joke should have ended by now, surely.

Your anger starts to turn to agitation. “May I go?”

He’s looking at you sympathetically which isn’t good at all. “Do you have someone we could call to come and pick you up?”

Your eyes dart about the station.

Everything is exactly like it is on the show. There’s no way this is a set up. How could it all have been set up? You fell in the forest and suddenly there was a road that had never been there before, an entire sound-stage and the exact actors?

Nausea washes over you as you swallow hard.

“Can I have some water, please?”

“Yeah, sure.” He rises, his gaze lingering on you, before he walks around you.

Exhaling a long breath, you stare down at your bag.

I think I just need to sober up. Probably more drunk than I realised I was. Or I’m concussed.

You close your eyes.

Shit, shit, shit, think. How can I think when I don’t know what the fuck is going on? How is this possible, what the fuck is going on, oh, God, don’t faint, don’t faint—

Your eyes open as you hear him return and a glass of water appears before you. You instantly grab it, taking a long sip. Your hand shakes slightly as you set it back down.

He sits down again, a troubled expression on his features as he watches you. “Sure you’re all right?”

Oh, no.

Don’t do it.

“Uhm...”

Don’t you do it.

“... I think...”

Don’t you dare.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Oh, shit—”

You make it just in time. Turning your head, your body lurches forward as you bend at the waist and throw up in to the waste bin by his desk. You close your eyes tightly as you vomit again, hearing people around you.

“Oh, Jesus, Flo, can we have some paper towels, please?”

“Someone’s havin’ a rough night, huh?”

Oh, no.

Oh, fuck.

Oh, no, this isn’t possible.

Lifting your head as you inhale a shaking breath, not thinking to wipe your mouth, you look up and meet the gaze of Chief Jim Hopper.

His frown is the last thing you see before you pass out.

Ah, unconsciousness.

Oh, no, not unconsciousness because you’re having a thought. A thought that unconsciousness is nice. Uncomplicated.

There’s a weight on your shoulder, a gentle weight. Slowly opening your eyes, you gaze up at the faces of three people.

Oh, fuck off.

Flo, the officer, Powell, you remember his name now, and... and Hopper.

David Harbour. Hopper.

I hope I pass out again.

You don’t, forcing you to realise you were only unconscious for probably a minute or so as you’re still on the floor.

Oh, God, it’s still happening.

“Hey, you okay?”

You look to David/Hopper.

I hate this.

I’ve masturbated thinking about you.

Oh my God, stop it.

“Yeah... yeah... Can you... Can you back off, please?”

“Uh, yeah.”

All three of them move away and stand as you push yourself up, wincing slightly. Nobody apparently caught you because there’s a dull ache at the back of your head.

Brilliant. Concussion on top of concussion, probably.

You know you won’t be sick again but you feel so overwhelmed, like you can’t breathe.

“I need some air.”

Powell, thankfully, speaks this time. “You wanna take a walk?”

“Yeah, on my own. I’ll be fine.” You’re already walking towards the exit.

Then, David/Hopper is at your side, pushing the door open for you. “Nah, can’t let you do that on you’re own.”

You take extra care to not be one inch closer to him than you need to be as you pass through the door. Stepping out, once again, into the welcome, cold night air, you inhale a deep breath. You can’t look at him.

“Am I under arrest?”

“No, we’re just concerned.”

The parking lot is quiet, half empty, small. You start to pace, still unable to look at him.

“I’m fine.”

“Is there anyone who could come and get you?”

I’d love it if everyone would stop asking me that.

“I—” Just play along, don’t look at him, don’t do it. “No.”

“Where do you live?”

“i, uhm, I don’t live here, I’m just visiting a friend.” Nice cover.

“Do you know the address?”

Oh, shit.

“No.”

“Do—”

 “Hop, come on, we gotta go, there’s a fight at McCorley’s.”

You lift your head to see Powell, calling out to Hopper/David, heading for a truck. 

You can’t stop yourself from glancing at Hopper.

God.

Season 1 Hopper.

You’ve missed the stubble.

Stop it.

“Shit. Hang on,” Hopper/David answers before turning back to you, a frown returning to his features. “Do you know the neighbourhood where your friend lives?”

“No.”

“Right.” ‘Real helpful’, you can practically hear him thinking. He raises his eyebrows and holds his hand out in a stay put gesture. “Stay here until we get back, all right?”

You nod, still unable to meet his gaze, swinging your arms slightly. “Yep, okay.”

He watches you for a moment, then nods, turning and striding away to his Blazer.

You stand still, watching as he gets in, starts the engine, then reverses and drives away. As soon as he’s out of sight, you’re moving. Where, you have absolutely no idea.

This isn’t real. This cannot be real.

You can feel the ground beneath your feet as you head down the main road and a light breeze on your face but it can’t be real.

Unless...

That was it. 

Someone’s drugged my drink. I don’t know when or how, I bought all my own drinks and didn’t put them down once, but someone has, that’s the only explanation. I’m having a very, very, very vivid hallucination and I’m actually walking around my house right now.

You suddenly come to an abrupt halt.

What am I supposed to do, then.

Like anything, you suppose; sleep it off.

But where?

Are you even in your house? You could be in the forest, that’s when you’d seen that damn light and that’s probably when the drugs had hit. Rubbing at your forehead, you blow out a breath and close your eyes. You’re starting to get a headache and you have no idea what’s going on and you just—

Stop it, take a breath.

Inhaling and exhaling three long, slow breaths, you lift your head and open your eyes.

Yep. still here.

But, there, a short walk away, you see the centre of Hawkins, lights shining brightly in the darkness.

Sleep it off.

Sleep it off.

Motel. There has to be one.

Moving forward, you’re striding now.

Play along with the hallucination, just play it out. This could all just be in your head.

Oh, God, I hope this is all in my head.

What the hell am I doing.

Coming to a halt, you groan as you bend over, your hands on your knees, your eyes closed.

Please don’t be sick again.

Or do, it’ll give me something to do.

“Excuse me, dear?”

Oh, God, what now...

Straightening up, you lift your head and find Flo, the actual Flo, standing a few feet behind you, her hands clasped together. She raises her eyebrows expectantly.

“Uh... I was just... going.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yep.” Why am I crumbling under her gaze.

“Chief let you go did he?”

“Yep.” Oh, God, this is a criminal offence. She definitely knows I’m lying.

“Where are you goin’ to? Remember where your friend lives?”

“Uh, no, I was just... I was going to find a motel.”

“Like hell you are in your state.” She drops her arms and gestures for you to return. “Come on. I got a spare room.”

“Uh...” You stare at her, not really knowing what to do. “... I could be a serial killer, you know.”

She eyes you. “Nah, you ain’t.”

Then, she turns and starts walking back to the station.

... Right. 

You follow after her. 

Because what the hell else is there to do.

Flo had said if you needed anything, to let her know.

Oh, Flo. Oh, Flo, even you can’t help with this.

Holding the blankets up against your chest, you stare up at the ceiling. 

This is mad. This is bizarre. But it’s real.

That much you’ve come to terms with.

You’ve seen enough TV shows and films to have some sort of an inkling of what’s going on.

You’ve gone through some sort of a dimension.

That, or you’re part of a prank show you’ve never heard of. 

The former seems more likely than the latter, though. Your friends would never put you up for a prank show because they know you’d hate it. and you’re not aware of having an arch-enemy. So, you’ve passed into another dimension. A dimension that houses the land of your favourite TV show.

Right. So. What’s the plan, then.

Sleep, get up in the morning, rifle through the bags of clothes Flo said you could, find something to wear, then go back to the woods and find the portal back.

A snort escapes you.

I can’t believe I’m actually thinking about portals and dimensions and how to get back to my own world. And now i’m laughing about it. I’m delirious. Maybe I will just wake up and this will all be something other than real. That would be amazing.

Closing your eyes, you pull the blankets up a little higher.

This is the weirdest night of my life. And possibly the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept in. Silver linings.

You’d followed after Flo, dutifully, like a good law-abiding citizen, even if you are in a different world, and gotten into her car.

She’d asked you a few basic questions as she drove; your name, if you were hungry, how you were feeling. You answered truthfully, still absolutely baffled by the bizarreness of the situation.

Once at her home, you’d not had much of a chance to look at where the actual Flo lives as she’d led you straight to the guest room, having told her you weren’t hungry but tired.

Add overwhelmed and incredibly confused to that.

That’s where you now find yourself.

Closing your eyes, you want to make a plan but you also don’t want to think too much about what is happening right now because you think your brain might actually explode.

Just sleep.

Just sleep, maybe this is all actually a dream.

That would be amazing.

You’re awoken what feels like only three seconds later by the bedroom door opening and knocking against the chest of drawers beside it.

Your eyes snap open and your head shoots up.

Flo stands in the doorway, already dressed, smiling at you warmly.

“Good morning, sweetie. Up you get, I’ve got breakfast ready.”

Your head drops back down as she, leaving the door open, heads back to the kitchen, your arms covering your eyes.

Oh, God. This is still real.

Rolling out of bed, you shuffle over to the bin bags in the corner, untying and rifling through them for an outfit. A dress and leggings come out in your size so you quickly tug them on, pull your boots back on, and shove your costume and bag into a tote bag you came across.

Breakfast with Flo is... interesting. 

She asks essentially what you’d been asked the night before, why you are in town, who you’re staying with, what their number is, if you’d like to call any family or friends.

You manage to deflect each one, saying you’ll be fine, you can’t remember your friend’s number or where they live, your family don’t know your friends number so it wouldn’t help.

Taking your empty plate away once you’re done, Flo places them in the sink and claps her hands together. “Well, come on, then I’ll take you back to the station.”

You nearly choke on your mouthful of water. “What?”

She looks faintly surprised. “Maybe your friend’s come looking for you or made a call. Either way, I think it’s the best place for you.”

“Yeah, you’re right, sorry, bit of a restless night,” you answer quickly with a small smile.

She nods sympathetically before grabbing her car keys.

Shit. No, don’t worry. The station is close to where the portal is. Just give them the slip when you get there, run for it, get back home.

Perfect. An excellent plan.

                                                             You’re ready.

You’re so ready to do it.

You’ve psyched yourself up throughout the whole journey.

You can do this.

You’ll be home within the hour.

You’re full of hope, you’re stepping out of the car, you’re getting ready to run, you’re—

The Station door slams open.

“Flo, what the hell?”

Oh, no.

You and Flo turn, you swiftly, guiltily, Flo slowly, arching an eyebrow.

Hopper strides out of the Station, stopping only a couple of feet from you both, his hands on his hips.

“You can’t just take a person of interest out of the Station without tellin’ anyone!”

Hang on, ‘person of interest’?

Flo folds her arms. “Well, I wasn’t gonna let her sleep here, where would she? In a cell? She’s not under arrest, Hopper.”

Hopper sighs, rather exasperatedly. “Flo, you’re not responsible for her.”

She bristles at that, her back straightening. “Well, then who the damn hell else is?”

Bizarrely, her protective display warms you but you still keep your eyes on Flo, unable to look at him. She looks at you then, smiling.

“Come on, honey, let’s get some more coffee and see what we can—”

“Actually, Flo, I’d like to talk to her.”

You don’t catch yourself in time. You look at him. His mouth is set in a thin line. He’s so handsome. You hate everything that’s happening right now.

“’Her’? She has a name,” Flo huffs.

I feel like a kid with my divorced parents.

He gives another exasperated sigh. “Well, if I was given the chance to talk to her, then I would know that.”

“Powell already spoke to her, Hop, so—”

“She’s a potential suspect, Flo.”

“Excuse me?”

You both say it together, but Hopper looks at you instead of Flo, perhaps out of sheepishness at speaking about you rather than at you, or because it’s the first time you’ve spoken.

“You’re a potential suspect in a missing persons case, miss.”

Flo inhales sharply. “You can’t mean Will’s case. Hop, look at her, she couldn’t have—”

“Flo.” His voice is quiet but firm.

She presses her lips together, then looks to you.

You’re still staring at Hopper, your heart pounding.

Shit.

Oh my God.

I’m about to talk one-on-one, completely alone, with Chief Jim Hopper.

And I’m a suspect in the Will Byers case.

That can’t be right, though, because from your somewhat extensive knowledge of Stranger Things Will doesn’t go missing until the night of the 6th November...

Don’t ask, you’ll look crazy, just...

Your gaze darts about his desk as he closes the door to his office and you take a seat.

Desk calendar, yes.

It’s November 8th.

You’ve not only come through a portal to another world, you came to it on a completely different day.

The night after Will Byers went missing.

Oh, God, why is this happening?

“So...” He rounds the desk and sits behind it, taking a few pages from the stack beside him and glancing over it. “... I read Powell’s report. You were walkin’ alone by the woods.” He then looks to you. “Why?”

We’re getting straight to it, then.

Thankfully, strangely, your anxiety at the fact you’re being tied to a crime has taken the edge off the fact you’re talking to Jim Hopper.

You lick your lips. “As I said last night, I was walking home.”

“From where?”

A fair would be too risky to say, as you have no idea if there’s one in the area, so... “A friend’s house.”

“You there for a fancy dress party?” He gestures at you. “You were dressed as a pirate if I remember rightly.”

You smile faintly. “Yeah. We were celebrating a birthday.”

“Right.” He glances down at the notes before him, then sits back. “Why were you alone, though? Powell wrote you got the bus but then it was running out of gas so you were made to get off and walk.”

As silence continues after a moment, you raise your eyebrows slightly. “Yes, that’s correct.”

His features give nothing away. “There’s no bus that passes through that route at that time of night, though.”

You have to react quickly. “Well, I was on a bus, so.”

He’s silent again, and you’ve seen enough cop shows to guess this is a tactic. You remain silent, too.

Hopper inhales a breath, then folds his arms. “Powell also wrote that you said you had four cocktails last night. Would you consider yourself a ‘light-weight’?”

The question sends a flash of irritation through you. “No. I wasn’t drunk, if that’s what you’re implying. I’d had those cocktails a few hours before I got the bus.”

“You also said you heard an explosion in the woods.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Where?”

“Close to where I was. I was going to investigate it but I was too afraid.” I wish I had been.

Hopper runs his hand down his mouth. “You don’t think it was just a firework?”

You press your lips together, trying to control your irritation. “I know what a firework looks like, nothing lit up the sky and it didn’t sound as loud as one. It just sounded like it was muffled. I did see a light shining in the trees so I thought there were people there, maybe kids playing.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“No, I didn’t see anything but the light.”

“You didn’t see anyone at all, though? You didn’t pass anyone on the road, there was no one else on the bus?”

That’s when you realise.

Shit. I have no alibi. Just the truth, which will see me locked up for insanity in a different world.

Clearing your throat, you can’t help the edge of resignation that laces your tone. “No, I didn’t see anyone else. Two people got off the stop before where I had to get off at, though.”

Two people who don’t even exist in this world. Fake-Barb and an old lady.

Hopper is silent for a few moments, watching you. Then, he clasps his hands together on the desk. “Look, we don’t have any reports of an explosion, but we do have a missing kid to find so how about you—”

Raised voices break out outside the office.

Both your heads whip to the side out of reflex, but the blinds are down, blocking your view. Hopper stands and you turn in your seat as the voices near the door.

It bursts opens.

Flo is the first person your eyes land on, her eyebrows raised. 

“Chief, I’m sorry, I couldn’t—”

“Hop, I think I—”

Joyce Byer’s, her eyes wide, her hands in mid-air, freezes as she stares at you.

“You...”

Oh, no... 

You already hate what you don’t know is coming.

She exhales a heavy breath. “... I dreamt about you.”

“Joyce...” Hopper’s voice is so gentle behind you as he moves to her, but you can’t take your eyes off of her.

You’re torn between the fact this is Joyce Byers, and that you want to comfort her because she’s so distressed.

She doesn’t stop looking at you either. “I did, Hop, I did. You. you had a phone in your hand but it was so small, and you, you were—”

Hopper stops only a step or two away from her, his voice still gentle. “Joyce, do you know this woman?”

She shakes her head. “No, no, I’ve never met you, have I?”

The way she says it is so... aware, somehow.

You find your voice after a moment. “Ah, no.”

“Then how did I dream about you.” She says it so quietly, her eyes shining with tears.

You know it’s a show. You know it’s not real. They’re not real.

But now, with Joyce standing before you, heavy, dark circles under her eyes, her hands shaking, tears beginning to fall, it feels so real. You feel your throat closing slightly with emotion.

“I’m, I’m so sorry about your son.”

She just nods faintly, still staring at you.

From the corner of your eye, you see Flo nod in Hopper’s direction, and gently takes Joyce by the arms. “Come on, honey. I need a glass of water. Let’s get one for you, too.”

Joyce allows herself to be led away, finally tearing her gaze from you as her features crumble.

Swallowing hard, you have to prevent your own from doing the same.

As the door closes behind them, you sniff and turn back in your seat to face the desk. Hopper returns to his chair and you feel his eyes on you. You don’t meet his gaze until he’s seated.

Exhaling a long breath, he then looks down at his hands.

“You’re new in town, you were walkin’ alone on a road with no bus route the night after Will Byers goes missing, you don’t come up on any of our systems, you’re convinced you heard an explosion, Joyce Byers believes she saw you in her dreams...” He looks up at you. ”... How about you start tellin’ me somethin’ that makes sense.”

You open your mouth, then close it.

Oh, fuck it.

What is there to lose. Well, you could still make a run for it. You’re not a fast runner but you could give it your damn best.

The door bursts open for the second time, making both of you jump, your head whipping round to find the source.

Officer Callahan, slightly out of breath, points at you both. “Wait, wait, wait, hang on a minute, Chief—”

“Callahan, where the hell have you been?!”

The officer waves his hand slightly, trying to draw breath. “Hang on, Chief, she... she’s tellin’ the truth...”

Both of you stare at him.

What now.

Inhaling a deep breath, Callahan continues. “I was drivin’ by the woods, patrollin’ for any signs of the kid, last night, and I saw this flash of light and this sound like somethin’ blew up, I thought it was some kids dickin’ about so I went to see but it wasn’t, there was this...”

“What, Callahan?” Hopper demands as Callahan pauses to take a breath.

“... it was this...”

You can’t stop yourself, half-hopeful, half-desperate.

“... Portal?” you murmur.

Callahan snaps his fingers and points at you. “Yes, yes, that’s it. A portal. All circular and wavy and weird.”

You realise you’re smiling, relief flooding over you.

I’ve got my fucking alibi.

Of sorts.

We must have just missed each other.

You realise, after a moment, that Hopper hasn’t said anything. Turning in your chair, you look at him. His eyebrows are raised, his mouth is open slightly and his jaw is tight.

“Well,” he suddenly says in a bright tone, as if you’re his two, overzealous children that he has to entertain. ”Let’s go see this portal, shall we?”

You’re surprisingly grateful that Callahan talks for the entirety of the ride.

He switches his gaze from the road to Hopper in the passenger seat, then to you in the rear-view mirror.

“... I ain’t ever seen anything like this in my life, Chief, I thought I was goin’ mad until Powell told me just now about this lady that had come in and she’d heard an explosion and she didn’t seem to be from around here and I knew we’d see the same thing...”

Hopper doesn’t say a word.

Each word Callahan says, though, gives you a new spark of hope.

I’m going to go home.

It’s not long before Callahan pulls up by the side of the road. It has to be the road you walked down, though it looks so different in the daylight. Stepping out of the car, shouldering your tote bag, you gaze across to the woods. It’s less frightening, even inviting—

Behind two trees, partially hidden, shines a light.

You feel the two men pause in the same moment you do.

“What the hell...” Hopper crosses the road first, his hand instinctively going to his gun.

You glance at Callahan who glances at you. You follow behind him.

Your heart is pounding. Well, you don’t think it’s been at its normal rate for 24 hours, but now it accelerates that bit more.

You’re not mad. This is real.

Don’t think about that too much or you might actually go mad.

As you approach, you hear a faint, low humming coming from the... You and Callahan had both settled on calling it a portal but now you actually get a look at it it seems more like a...

Wait, I didn’t actually see it when I came through.

You’d looked around, having thought you’d tripped on something but you’d seen... nothing.

Why the hell didn’t I?

It’s more like a mirror, shimmering and reflecting the forest.

Maybe because it was dark, that’s why I didn’t.

Hopper’s low scoff pulls you from your thoughts. He’s staring at it, his hand still on his gun. He takes a step towards it and—

You all make some sort of a sound as the portal shrinks. Hopper automatically takes a step back, and it widens to its normal size.

The silence between you all stretches on.

You’re about to announce that, well, this was great but you’re heading home, when Hopper turns sharply and locks his eyes on you.

“Tell me the truth, now.”

Slightly taken aback by A) the force of his gaze and B) trying to figure out exactly what to say, your mouth drops open slightly.

“Uhm...”

You glance at Callahan, maybe hoping he’ll just start talking and give you time, but Hopper seems to interpret the look differently.

Looking to his officer, he drops his hand from his gun and starts to stride back towards the road.

“Radio in to Powell to help you get this place cordoned off, don’t talk to anyone else, we don’t need a panic. You,” he directs at you, “Come with me.”

Before either of you can question him, he’s already at the road, crossing it to the car.

Clearing your throat, you give Callahan a light smile before you’re once again following after Hopper.

Callahan lifts his hands, then drops them.

“Right, I’ll just be... here.”

I’ve imagined this a thousand times.

But in definitely sexier circumstances.

You’re at Hopper’s trailer.

Hopper’s trailer.

You’re still hovering by the door so you let your gaze sweep the room. It’s as messy as it had been portrayed on the show. The coffee table is surprisingly clear, though, save for a local newsletter which you have to stop yourself from picking up and reading. A blanket lies draped across one of the couches.

That’s where he sleeps when he’s too drunk to get to bed.

It’s incredibly strange; knowing so much about someone you’re supposed to regard as a stranger. It feels... intrusive.

You’d both been silent for the ride here, but now you have a hundred questions. You decide to settle on the most sensible one, though

“Uh, why are we here and not at the station?”

Not that I’m complaining.

“I thought you maybe didn’t want to say what you’re gonna say in front of Callahan.”

He emerges from behind the refrigerator door, closing it with one hand, his other one holding a beer bottle. He doesn’t offer you one. Uncapping the top, he tosses it into the sink then moves across the room and sits in the nearest armchair. He gestures for you to sit, too.

You do as you’re bade, sitting on the couch next to you, the tote bag at your feet, your hands in your lap.

“Explain,” is all he says.

And, after a pause, you do.

You hardly pause to take a breath, not daring to in case he takes the chance to laugh or call you crazy. To his credit, though, he doesn’t react once throughout.

You start with what year you’re from, how you were out on Hallowe’en night and retell the story of the bus debacle more truthfully. You tell him about your phone losing its signal, how you heard what sounded like an explosion and went to investigate it, then how you felt like you couldn’t turn or look away from it, how it pulled you in. You continue on, recounting truthfully up until the moment you met him.

The only thing you leave out is that, to your world, his isn’t real. For some reason, it doesn’t feel right to tell him.

When you finish, he looks at you, silent. The beer bottle is balanced on his thigh, his hand tight around it, his features expressionless.

You shift slightly, playing with your hands.

“Well, I—”

“You’ve got to be shittin’ me.”

It’s your turn to look at him, your mouth open. He scoffs, raising his eyebrows.

“You’re tellin’ me the truth?”

“Yep, it’s all true.”

For some reason you’re... annoyed.

He scoffs again. “You’re tellin’ me I’m supposed to believe you’ve, what, time-travelled here?”

“Yes, actually.” Your back’s straighter now, your lips pressed together.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?”

“A joke? You saw it with your own damn eyes, Chief.”

If he’s surprised by the bite to your tone he doesn’t show it, and, thankfully, he doesn’t scoff again either.

“How, then? How did this all happen?”

“I don’t know, I’m not a fucking scientist.”

“So, I’m just supposed to believe you, huh?”

“Yes.”

Your sure, rapid response makes his lips twitch slightly, and you can’t believe he might actually want to smile.

“Why is it so hard for you to believe?” you continue, your voice having risen slightly, “You saw it with your own eyes.”

“I don’t know what I saw,” he counters in a way that has you realising he’s wrestling with the facts and the impossibility of them.

Well, then.

If he doesn’t believe this, then how is he going to believe Joyce about anything.

You don’t know where that thought comes from.

"I’ll go back through, I’ll prove it to you,” you announce as you rise to your feet, lifting your bag.

“What?” He’s full-on smiling now in disbelief, staring at you.

“Take me back there, I’ll show you.”

He regards you, your arms folded, your eyebrow arched, your features determined. Sighing heavily, he sets the bottle down on a table beside him and pushes himself up.

“All right, but then afterwards we’re goin’ to the Station and we’re gonna find your friends.”

“... This is a fuckin’ waste of time...” Hopper grumbles behind you as you trudge through the dry, fallen leaves.

I’ll show you.

Callahan leaning against a nearby tree, raises his eyebrows at the sight of you both.

“Gee, that was quick.” He glances from Hopper to you. “He doesn’t believe whatever you told him, does he?”

“Nope.”

You stride past him, heading straight for the portal. Powell stands on the other side of it, finishing tying some tape to a tree to cordon the area off. You wish you had the time to get his opinion on it. You duck under the tape before you and turn to Hopper.

He stays behind the tape, his arms folded. Glancing at the portal then to you, he shakes his head wearily.

“Well, if this miraculously works and you don’t come back, it was nice knowin’ you, sweetheart.”

You hate the sarcasm dripping from his tone.

I’ll show you, you bastard. This isn’t even gonna be the weirdest thing you’ll see this month.

“Yeah, you, too.” 

You turn to the portal.

You turn back after a split second to add before you can think, “You’re such a pain the ass, even bigger than I would have thought.”

“What did you just say?”

 His words, however, are drowned out by the growing humming of the portal. You’ve turned back and your gaze is locked onto it now and you can feel the familiar pull and tug of it. 

You can’t look away. 

You can’t stop yourself from moving towards it.

You can’t hear Hopper as he tries to get closer to you, calling to you.

It’s night time.

You’re staring up at the stars in the sky.

There’s so many of them.

There’s something digging into my back.

Pushing yourself up with a groan, your hands pressing into mud and leaves, you get to your feet. Looking down, you find the source of your discomfort is your bag. Lifting it and brushing leaves off of it, you look around.

Trees. Lots and lots of trees, and...

No portal.

You can’t stop a wide smile from spreading across your lips.

There, see, you disbelieving dick, I was right, now I’m...

Home.

You’re home. You’re still grinning, looking beyond the trees. Yes, there’s the road you had walked on before this whole mess, now you can go home and...

Your smile starts to fall.

You’d been in Hawkins.

You’d spoken with Powell, Callahan, Flo, Joyce and... Hopper.

You’d actually been there, in their world.

There were so many missed opportunities. There was so much more you could have done, could have said, could have asked.

You could have...

Stop it, you’re home now, that’s what you wanted. That wasn’t real. That was... That was...

Your phone buzzes in your bag.

Looking down at it, you open it after a moment and pull it out.

You have a message.

From Meg.

UGH nightmare, that’s why I hate public transport. CALL ME!!

You release a sound, half of disbelief, half of relief.

No time has passed at all.

Your thumb moves quickly, and you lift your phone to your ear.

“I cannot believe this has happened, it is such an outrage, I am going to spam the bus company’s Twitter until you get some kind of compensation, how dare they, the absolute fucking bastards...”

As Meg rants on, a smile returns to your lips and you start to walk.

It only takes you five minutes to get home, and Meg talks the whole way, only drawing breath when you close your front door.

“... ugh, anyway, I’ll help you write up an email. Are you all right, anyway?”

You pause, placing your bag on your couch. You think back over the lost 24 hours, everything you hadn’t had time to feel. You can’t stop your eyes from filling.

“Hey, why are you crying?” Meg asks with a great deal of concern as you sniff, wiping at your eyes

“I just...” You exhale a long breath. “... It was a bit scary, that’s all.”

“O, babe, oh please don’t cry. You’re fine now, you’re back home. But the TV on and get into your pyjamas. How about I come over in the morning, we have pancakes and watch whatever’s on?”

You crack a smile even though she can’t see it. “That sounds amazing.”

“Duh, I’m going to be there, of course it will be.”

You laugh, grateful for the release it brings you.

Forget about everything. Write it off as a weird day. Never tell anyone. It wasn’t real.

Shoving everything, everything from your mind, you lose yourself in making plans with Meg, crossing the room and entering your bedroom as you laugh again.

Behind you, unseen, the lamps flicker. Slowly, then rapidly. The TV turns on, the screen flashes white. 

Then, they cease.

The lights shine warmly.

All is as it should be.

                                                     The End... ?

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[themurphyzone]

104 Words for 104 Days: Umbrella

This quarantine is giving me way too much time to write silly stuff. I’m just trying to keep things lighthearted so we can laugh together. 

“Acute Triangle is approaching your position, Gretchen. Large orange umbrella in hand. ETA two minutes.”

“Roger that, Holly. Standby in case we need a distraction for the entourage,” Gretchen replied before signing off and setting the walkie-talkie aside.

“I still think we should have gone with Isosceles Triangle,” Ginger muttered, peering out from beneath the camouflage umbrella with a pair of binoculars. The rain beat down mercilessly, soaking her face within seconds. But she didn’t react, continuing to survey their surroundings.

“You’re just mad because you wanted to use ‘A Cute Boy’ for Baljeet’s codename,” Gretchen said. “What’s our current status?”

Gretchen checked the weather report one more time, just to make sure the rain wouldn’t suddenly clear up and ruin their efforts. In that case, they could always fall back on Plan B and transport Phineas and Isabella to Seattle.

“Pink Powerhouse is still without an umbrella. Currently shielding herself with a raincoat. Raincoat proving ineffective,” Ginger reported. “Her hair is gonna be a mess after this.”

Gretchen winced in sympathy. Isabella’s hair didn’t react well to this sort of weather. “Yeah, that’ll be a pain alright.”

“Perimeter alert! Obsessive Fan encroaching on setup! Will intercept Acute Triangle in one minute on his current trajectory!” Holly shouted, the static crackling against her panicked tone.

Snatching up the walkie-talkie, Gretchen quickly called in the rest of the troop. “Security team! Get Obsessive Fan out of there stat!” she barked.

“We took care of it the moment we heard Holly’s transmission,” Katie replied, her voice confident and calm. “Obsessive Fan is currently in our custody and Acute Triangle was unaware of his presence. Permission to interrogate?”

“No need for interrogations, Katie,” Gretchen said. Next to her, Ginger sighed in relief. “Just hold him until our targets leave.”

A garbled male voice sounded through the speakers.

“You lucked out, Irving. If that’s even your real name,” Adyson said. “Our acting leader might not be so lenient next time.”

“I’ll have you know that my brother is planning to be a lawyer. I’ll call him and you’ll be sorry,” Irving declared smugly.

“We have several gift cards for that trendy coffee shop downtown,” Millie replied. “We’re not above persuasion tactics.”  

“Ha! You actually think that would work? Imported coffee beans from Jamaica can’t possibly take priority over the bonds of sacred brotherhood and-oh, who am I kidding? This is Albert we’re talking about.”

Since the security team was handling Irving just fine, Gretchen didn’t feel the need to monitor the situation any further.

“Acute Triangle’s within range!” Ginger exclaimed. She bounced on her knees, almost dislodging the umbrella. “I repeat, Acute Triangle’s within range!”

Gretchen pulled out her own binoculars, glad that the organization had sprung for the waterproof lens.

It was impossible to hear anything further than twenty feet over the roar of the rain, but she was satisfied with just visuals in this case.

Isabella paced along the pathway, occasionally splashing through a puddle in her rainboots and looking miserable, which was heightened by her hair plastering to her face. It would be impossible for even the toughest brick wall to ignore her plight.

“Acute Triangle and Pink Powerhouse are at the rendezvous point,” Ginger said into her walkie-talkie, and everyone else responded with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhhs’, even Irving. “Acute Triangle has initiated the conversation.”

“Come on, Isabella. You can’t play the long game anymore,” Gretchen murmured as Isabella rocked back and forth on her heels. She was trying the cuteness spiel again.

Hadn’t Isabella learned anything? Her cuteness didn’t faze Phineas! He already knew she was cute! She couldn’t catch him off-guard that way!

Groans of disappointment came from the walkie-talkie.

“Every time without fail!”

“We’re gonna catch colds and it’ll be for nothing!”

“Any chance we could intervene?”

“Hold your position, girls,” Gretchen ordered. “This is something our leader’s gotta do on her own. We’re just making sure the venue’s clear.”

She studied Phineas carefully. Mild concern had replaced his usual smile. He glanced up at the heavy clouds, then back at Isabella, who tightly held her hood in place with both hands. His grip shifted on the handle.

He took a step forward.

Then another. Isabella stopped speaking, giving Phineas a shocked look before a wide grin overtook her face.

Ginger screamed in delight.

Isabella was finally underneath the umbrella, and the Fireside Girls cheered.

Phineas and Isabella disappeared around a corner, the umbrella large enough for them to be close but not close enough to be uncomfortable.

“Mission accomplished, girls!” Gretchen praised, switching the channel on her walkie-talkie. The background noise was much quieter this time. “We’ve met our goal, Silent One. Have you upheld your end of the bargain?”

“…the forms are in your Fireside emails. Thank you for helping my brother along. Silent One out.”

“You heard him! Pack it up, girls!” Gretchen said over the celebratory yells. “Onward to headquarters and those matchmaker patches!”

Ginger snapped her walkie-talkie back into its case, then glanced at Gretchen in confusion. “Do you feel like we’re forgetting anything?”  

                                              O – O – O – O – O

“Girls? You forgot to untie me! Oh well, I’lI Spy by myself while I wait for someone to come and save me from this downpour. I spy with my little eye, something wet! Which is everything! Okay, something a little harder now. I spy with my little eye, something lavender! It’s the plant next to my foot!”

3…

2…

1…

“IT’S RIGHT NEXT TO MY FOOT! GET IT AWAY! GETITAWAYGETITAWAY! MY INEXPLICABLE FEAR OF LAVENDER HASN’T BEEN CURED YET!”

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Fifty: In the Shed ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hyūga Hinata, Uchiha Mikoto, Uchiha Fugaku ] [ SasuHina, pregnancy ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

He’s looked for it everywhere. And yet, to no avail. H even goes so far as to call his parents, asking if they recall seeing it anywhere around their place. Mikoto gives a thoughtful hum, trying to remember while her husband gruffly assures her there was no way it was there.

“Well honey, I’ll look around, but honestly I don’t think there’s too much of your stuff left here. You’re sure it’s not there with you?”

“I don’t think so...at least, not that I’ve been able to find. You’re sure there aren’t any boxes of mine left there?”

Another sound of contemplation carries over the phone. “...well...if there are, we’ve probably moved them to the shed. That’s where most of the more random things get stuck anymore. Ever since we did all those remodels, it’s become a bit of a hub for lost things. If you want, you can head on over and check. Why all the fuss about it?”

That gets him to pause. “Just...feeling nostalgic. Been a while since I’ve seen it. Y’know, the older I get, the more I tend to kinda...look back and remember.”

Mikoto can’t help a laugh. “Oh believe me, you have much more of that to look forward to, dear. It’ll only get worse from here!”

Chuckling in tandem, Sasuke smiles against the receiver. “Well...if I have some time this weekend, maybe I’ll drop by and look.”

“All right, honey. We’ll be home, so any time is good.”

“Thanks, Mom. See you then.”

“Bye!”

Ending the call, Sasuke considers his mobile for a long moment before stuffing it back in his pocket, mulling the conversation over. Odds are it is somewhere in that shed. Hopefully nothing’s gotten to it...moths, or mice.

“What was that all about?”

“Asking Mom if she knew where it was.”

“Did she have a clue?”

“Might be in the shed there. Which...is a bit convenient, seeing how they’re going to be home.”

Stepping up beside him, Hinata tilts her head curiously for a moment before brightening in understanding. “...oh! That’s a great idea! I’ll go with you, then.”

“Yeah. We’ll just hint we were on our way somewhere else, decided to swing by and look. They’ll never suspect a thing.”

A hint of mischief shines in Hinata’s eyes. “I n-never thought you’d be so underhanded.”

“Oh, please - it’s not like there’s going to be any harm. Just a little surprise.”

“I know, I know. Just teasing you. Anyway, I was going to fix some lunch - hungry?”

“For your cooking? Always.”

The rest of the week passes in typical fashion. Hinata heads back to work as a first grade teacher, always eager to get back to her class and the job she loves. Sasuke, on the other hand, remains at home. It’s where his office is after all, as an independent architect. His days are spent emailing clients and working on new models, occasionally traveling for expos to pick up new ideas and learn about the newest materials and styles. But this week is rather tame: nowhere to go, and most of his current projects toward the end of their development cycles. A few more weeks, and he can open up again to a new round of bids.

But first, the weekend arrives.

The drive to the other side of town isn’t exactly strenuous, and the pair embark in the late morning after Sasuke texts his mother and announces their travel plans. Her reply reveals she’s excited to see him - doubly so when she hears Hinata will be joining him. Already she assures him there will be a hearty lunch upon their arrival. Or...after their perusal through the shed in search of his desired object.

“Do you think she has any clue?”

“Nah...doesn’t seem like it. She’s pretty shrewd, so...honestly, if she thought something was up, she’d have said something by now.”

“Oh, I hope not...I want to see the look on her face. And this is the perfect way to do it!”

“I hadn’t even thought of that when the idea struck me to dig it out. Honestly it all just had me sort of nostalgic.”

“I’ve been the same way...maybe I should dig out some of mine. I think my father still has those boxes at his house. Couldn’t really take them with me to college!”

“Yeah, same. I mean, I didn’t have that many, but...I’m pretty sure what I did have is over there.”

“Well...guess we’ll find out.”

“It better be...otherwise, I have no idea where else to look.”

“There’s no chance you...got rid of it, right?”

“Nope.” The admittance makes him go ever so slightly pink, though he knows he has no reason to. “I don’t think I ever could. And I looked through all my unpacked boxes, so...either it’s at my parents, or...I dunno. Maybe Itachi ended up with it.”

“That would be weird…”

“I’ve run across some of his stuff with mine every so often. We just swap.”

The conversation idles on until their reach the proper neighborhood. The house, from the outside at least, looks pretty much the same as it did growing up for him. The only real difference is the addition of a front porch. It’s the inside where Mikoto and Fugaku have done the most work renovating.

Much of it is Sasuke’s own designs, his parents eager to help support his career.

Mikoto makes her way out to greet them, burying them both in hugs. “It’s so good to see you! Gosh, you two just don’t make it over here often enough!”

“Well, we’re not retired yet,” Sasuke jokes in reply. “Some of us still have jobs and mortgages.”

That earns a hearty laugh. “I know, I know...now, do you want to go digging first, or eat?”

“Dig, I think. We’ll work up our appetites braving the shed.”

“Oh, please - it’s organized! Just dusty - we hardly ever go in there. But there’s nothing to worry about. If the boxes are there, you’ll find them no problem.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

Hinata follows as Sasuke makes his way to the back yard, whereupon sits a rather unremarkable shed. At one time it had served as a playhouse for the brothers, but now is a glorified storage container for things no longer suitable for the house. “All right...let’s see what we’ve got.” Undoing the latch, Sasuke lets the door creak open.

Two rows of shelving divide the space, all chock full of boxes and loose paraphernalia. Every box, to his relief, has a label on the front in black marker. “All right...you take that wall.”

“Got it.”

Scanning the box fronts, Sasuke sees mostly his parents’ belongings: stuff packed out after the remodels to help minimize clutter. A few have his brother’s name on them.

“...I think I found them!”

Glancing over, Sasuke sees his wife point to a few boxes, one of which has the sublabel he’s looking for. Grinning, he opens the flaps, digs around...and pulls out a dusty, slightly-worn dinosaur plush.

“...mister Roary.”

Hinata beams. “He’s so cute!”

“I was such a dino nerd as a kid…”

“...should we head in, then?”

“Yeah.” Closing the box back up, Sasuke considers it a moment. “...should we take the rest?”

“Hm...maybe another time. We k-know where it is, now.”

“Yeah, true.”

The pair then head into the house, smiling as the Uchiha pair greet them fondly. Well...Mikoto is a bit more exuberant than her husband, who gives acknowledging nods.

“Oh, you found it!”

“Yup. Right in the proper box.”

“Oh good, good...it’s been so long since I’ve seen that stuffed animal…” Mikoto looks to it fondly.

“Yeah, me too…” Considering the plush in his hands, Sasuke glances to Hinata before offering, “...figured he was in good enough condition, might as well let him have a round two.”

Expression a bit uncertain, Mikoto tilts her head. “...what do you…?”

Fugaku, ever sharp, stiffens before his wife does.

“Round two, I…” After a pause, her eyes go wide. Staring at her son, she then looks to Hinata, resting dainty hands on her shoulders. “Are...are you saying…?”

“We’re going to have a baby!” Hinata blurts, unable to take the tension any longer. She and Mikoto both burst into excited laughter as Sasuke and Fugaku exchange a look, and a nod.

Latching onto her son, Mikoto beams. “I was wondering what brought this on! You sly thing!”

“You know me,” he replies, embracing her back.

“When are you due, Hinata dear?”

“August. Around the twentieth or so.”

“Another Summer baby, oh good! Boy or girl?”

“We’re leaving it as a surprise,” Sasuke replies.

“Oh, I hope for a girl...I always wanted a girl,” she muses. “But! Either way, it will be so exciting! I won’t be able to stand the waiting…”

“How do you think we feel?”

“You have to indulge your mother, dear. Have you told Hiashi yet?”

“No, not yet.”

“Oh, I bet he’ll be thrilled! Happy to see the family growing again.”

Hinata gives a soft, somber smile. “...yeah.”

The pair stay for lunch, enduring all of Mikoto’s questions as Fugaku lets his wife do all the talking. Only once they’ve exhausted her are they allowed to leave.

“Bye you two! Take care, and make your way across town more often, all right?”

“Will do,” Sasuke calls back before getting in the car.

“Well...I think that worked out perfectly,” Hinata praises.

“Yeah, it was definitely worth the drive. Hope you’re prepared to be hovered over until August.”

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll be the least of my worries.”

                                                      .oOo.

     Well, it's...very late, and I'm very tired. Had a very bad, stressful day so...it was nice to end it with some fluff, but I'm exhausted OTL I dunno if the mystery was much of a mystery, but...I tried? lol      I live for Mikoto gushing about her future grandbabies. Heck you canon for taking that from me xD      Anyway, I...reallllly need to go sleep - thanks for reading!

[skvaderarts]

Soliloquy Chapter Eight: Realignment

You can check out the Masterlist Here for more links to places to read!

Chapter Eight: Realignment

Notes: This chapter is for Aureux on A03 for inspiring me with their comment and their awesome profile picture. Georgia O’Keeffe Squad for life! Thanks for the midnight inspiration. More like 4:50 am inspiration, but still. Same to you, He Who Wanders! And to Mallovarwen: I’ve noticed your lovely reviews! I get emails for them! I just can’t respond on FF.N for some reason. It’s truly odd. They just don’t show up! But I still enjoy reading them nonetheless! You’re great! Also, go check out BeansWithBones fics after you finish reading this chapter. She’s got some really original and unique stuff going on and you’ll probably love it. I know I did! The POV is just the coolest thing ever!

-~-

Nero stared at him blankly for a moment as V let go of him and blinked wearily, his long eyelashes fluttering slowly as his eyes adjusted to the bright ceiling light. After a moment, he decided to try and sit up, immediately regretting it as a wave of vertigo hit him like a freight train. Nero reached out to try and steady him, catching him as he lurched forward. V closed his eyes and leaned into Nero, breathing heavily as he looked down towards the floor. The youngest Descendant of Sparda looked down at him, mystified by the situation he now found himself in. V wasn’t exactly the type of person to allow others to touch him. He must have been truly disoriented. 

After a minute or so, V attempted to push away from him, only to have the uncomfortable feeling return. He sighed and continued to look down, trying to force the nausea brewing in the pit of his stomach to subside. What on earth was wrong with him? Better yet, where was he? What was going on? His short term memory was more than a little bit foggy at the moment, but he hoped that would change soon. He was in no condition to deal with this and being incapacitate left him even more vulnerable than he normally felt. It was a feeling that he detested. The idea of being helpless frightened him more than any opponent that he could ever hope to face in battle.

For the third time in the same number of minutes, V attempted to lift his head. This time he succeeded, although he had to do so laboriously. Every centimeter felt like it took the passage of a full lifetime, his head an unliftable weight that he couldn’t circumvent. This wasn’t the first time that he had ever felt this way, but it was most certainly the worst. At present, he was simply trying not to throw up. That would certainly do him no favors.

After what felt like a lifetime, he finally lifted his head, his eyes heavy as he came face to face with… someone. His vision had been blurry ever since he had first made the mistake of opening his eyes, and this was no different. As he slowly blinked, he recoiled in discomfort as a familiar voice spoke to him.

“... Wow, V… you look like shit.” Nero said with more than a hint of concern tinting his voice. He hadn’t seen V look this bad since he had helped him through the Qliphoth after Malphas’s defeat. Although he wasn’t physically cracking this time (thankfully) he was notably pale, to the point that a few vanes in his face and neck were visible. You had to be close to see them -and he most certainly was- but they were still there. That was an event that he never wanted to relive. When V had tripped and fallen into his grasp, he was sure that he was going to drop dead then and there. And yet, here he was. He still looked dreadful, but he was alive, at least. That had to count for something. Nero scoffed to himself at the thought. Though he lacked the physical strength of basically everyone else in their family, his mental fortitude was immense.

It took a moment, but V seemed to register that he was being spoken to. The longer white-haired young man blinked heavily as if doing so would clear his vision, unable to truly make out any of his surroundings. In an unkind sort of irony, his hearing was hypersensitive, even the quietest of sounds grading on him and wearing at his mental resolve. To top it off, he felt relatively numb, his entire body unusually heavy. With the exception of his head, of course. He felt that way too well. To say that he was experiencing a sensory overload would be an understatement. And he was hating every single solitary second of it.

After a few deep breaths, he exhaled and blinked a final time, his eyes finally clearing enough for him to make out his surroundings. He was in an unfamiliar room with white walls and a bookshelf that was empty, save for several blankets that had been squeezed into the empty space. Two doors sat in front of him, one on the same wall as the bed that he had apparently just been sleeping in. The low droning hum of a ceiling fan could be heard above him, no doubt the source of the warm, bright light that flooded the room. But none of those things threw him for a loop in quite the same way as the sight before him. Much to his bemusement, Nero was down on one knee in front of him, using his left hand to steady him, his other arm being held by V in an attempt to steady himself. The younger demon hunter held him by the forearm, gently gripping him as if he thought that squeezing him any harder might dislocate V’s shoulder. And, to be honest, he probably wasn’t wrong. Nero was absolutely capable of doing something like that without really trying too hard.

V didn’t move as he stared back at him, confusion gripping him tightly. Was he seeing things? Where were they? What was going on? And why did he feel so awful? He searched his memory, but he couldn’t recall coming to… wherever this place was. Then again, he didn't’ remember very much aside from stumbling down a hallway towards Malphas’s lair after escaping her dreaded pocket dimension. After that, everything was relatively hard to decipher. There were flashes of later events, but no clarity. What he did know was what that he felt… lighter somehow. As if some sort of weight had left him that he couldn’t quite place. This was all very confusing to him, and that didn’t help his state of mind at all. And then a thought occurred to him, something clicking for the first time since he’d registered that he wasn’t alone in the room. Nero was trying to get his attention and he looked… concerned?

“... Nero…” V spoke with a sudden, harsh cough. His lungs didn’t seem to have the same amount of air in them that they once did,”... What… where are we?”

Nero sighed in relief. The other man had been looking at him for a few minutes now, but it seemed more like he was staring through him than at him. “Shit… for a second there I thought we’d fried part of your brain with that lighting bolt or something,” Nero joked, unable to shake the nervousness in his tone of voice,” You alright?”

V slowly released his grip on Nero’s arm, regaining the feeling in his fingers as he did so. It seemed that the feeling in his body returned to the parts he used. Regardless, he had no immediate plans to try and stand up. The sensation of falling face-first onto the floor was not one he was eager to revisit. “I… will be. Maybe. I’m… I’m actually not actually sure,” He confessed as he tried to process everything,”... Where are we? Is… is it over?”

V stole a few glances around the mostly empty room, taking in the quiet space he now found himself in. The clouds in his head were starting to dissipate, and he was now capable of conscious thought aside from whatever panicked thoughts his fight or flight reflex had conjured up. Nero let go of him slowly, noting that V watched him as he did so. To his perplexment, his handprint remained. The bright red indentation stood out harshly against V’s pale complexion, now so more than ever. After a moment, it darkened, indicating that it might develop into a light bruise. Apparently, V bruised easily. Nero wasn’t honestly too surprised to discover that.

Nero stood up and gestured towards the bed, nonverbally requesting permission to sit. V nodded sluggish, seemingly unbothered. As he joined him, he couldn’t help but note the irony in his actions. V had done the very same thing to him in his bedroom when they had first met not so long ago. He thought for a moment, processing his brother’s question. Magnolia hadn’t mentioned anything about acute memory loss from what he could recall. He decided to call her about that when he got the chance.

“You’re at my place in Fortuna. Thought you’d recognize it from that one time you broke in and scared the living shit out of me in the middle of the night,” Nero said lightheartedly, trying to break the uncomfortable air between them,” And yea, everything is over. It has been for a few weeks now.”

V squinted slightly as he took in Nero’s answer. A few weeks? Had he been asleep that long? Although he enjoyed the occasional cat-nap, that wasn’t like him at all. Had he been in comatose this entire time? From the brief flashes of memory that came and went through his subconscious, he was willing to believe that his injuries could have incapacitated him for that long. 

“... I’ve been asleep for several weeks? V asked in what Nero wasn’t sure was disbelief or confusion. He found him particularly hard to read. Vergil, he could at least get a rise out of if he pestered him enough. V was another story entirely. Although he seemed to be a bit more receptive in this particular instance, he was still a hard nut to crack. Even when his mental faculties weren’t all the way there (had they ever been?) He was still as pokerfaced as always. In a way, it was quite impressive.

Nero shrugged in discomfort. This didn’t seem to be a good time to remind him that he had basically died, but V wasn’t the type you could easily dissuade from getting the answer to a question. He sighed and leaned back on his arms, looking up at the ceiling for a moment to watch the ceiling fan spin idly before craning his head to the side to steal a glance at  V. It was odd. He had never really registered the fact that V had such vibrant green eyes before. Maybe that came from his mother’s side of the gene pool? After all, no one else in their family possessed that particular trait. Maybe it was a recessive gene? Or maybe his bleach white hair just made his eye color stand out more. He couldn’t really say. Then again, he had never noticed his hair color either. But that was different. It had been dyed or something at the time.

Nero combed over the proper way in his mind to tell his brother that he had literally been reduced to ash, but couldn’t find a polite way to say it. The amount of anxiety it caused him to think about it was frankly, perplexing to him. He didn’t normally really give a shit. But something about this just made him uneasy. He exhaled the breath he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding before resuming eye contact with him. There was no point in avoiding this conversation any longer. “You weren’t asleep… you were basically dead. We just got back from pulling your soul or something out of limbo or something a few minutes ago. During some conversation you had with Urizen, there was a huge blast and you kinda got atomized. Vergil said it had something to do with our souls transferring or something. Somehow that’s not the wildest thing he’s told me in the two days he’s been back from the Underworld, either… Um, V...”

The horrified, stunned look on V’s face could not be understated. He looked like he had just had the wind knocked out of him, discomfort clear in his posture. Everything he’d forgotten from the Redgrave City Incident suddenly came back with a vengeance, flabbergasting him. He slumped slightly towards the headboard, an unexpected desire to be further from everything around him suddenly overtaking him with such force that he couldn’t reconcile it himself despite the fact that he was experiencing it. Above all else, he felt the need to recoil and hide within himself. That had… not been the answer he was expecting.

His prior concerns returned as V began to breathe heavier than he had been a moment ago. While he wasn’t quite hyperventilating, he was clearly perturbed. He trembled slightly as Nero reached over and gripped his shoulder, barely fighting the involuntary urge to jerk away from the unexpected contact. He pulled the knitted blanket up over himself higher until the soft yarn brushed against the underside of his neck, the sensation snapping him out of the borderline panic attack that he felt creeping up the base of his spine. He glanced over at Nero, unsure of what to say or do for the first time in an immeasurably long time. He blinked away the burning sensation he felt in his eyes, unsure of why his pupils felt so irritated all of a sudden. With his free hand, he scratched his arm in discomfort. He wasn’t sure if he actually itched or not. He just felt the compulsion to do so.

Nero gripped his shoulder firmly, tugging at him slightly as if to shake him out of his current state. The longer he said nothing, the more uncomfortable and concerned he grew. Neither of them truly knew what to do in this situation, and it was dreadful. After a moment, V closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, his breath trembling as he did so. “... What else did he say?”

The youngest Descendant of Sparda cringed inwardly. He was now absolutely regretting saying that. V was just now calming down. He didn’t really want to push him any further than he already had. But, at the same time, it might be best to get all of the shock-inducing revelations out of the way at once. Fuck it. Why not?

“Well… Were apparently half brothers. I would have never guessed that looking at you, but I think I get it now,” Nero said as he gestured towards his brother’s hair. Their distinct white hair seemed to be a shared family trait.

V’s demeanor shifted again, this time taking a violent left into blatant befuddlement. For perhaps the first time ever, he went visibly wide-eyed, his entire body posture falling. Nero scoffed in surprise. It seemed that V’s unreadable demeanor could be shattered after all. He stared at Nero in a way that made his skin crawl, as if by doing so, he could glean some unknown information from him. After a moment, he nodded slowly, a distant look in his eyes that Nero couldn’t quite comprehend. He seemed lost in thought for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice betraying some unknown emotion.

“... I can see that,” He said knowingly, his train of thought clearly elsewhere,” After all, you do favor him quite heavily, and there is… something to you that I can’t quite put words to. It is a positive thing, to say the least, but still… there is something about you that makes me believe what he says is true.”

V looked away for a moment before speaking again, this time much quieter. “... And I would be lying to say that I am upset to hear this. I find you…” He stopped then, the words he wanted to say unwilling to pass through his lips. He had never been very adept at having intimate conversations with others. He most certainly wasn’t going to start with family.

The eldest of the two would probably never admit it, or perhaps he truly didn’t understand it, but he felt at ease around Nero. It was rare that someone simply took him at his word, and he did that readily without upset. It wasn’t something he was accustomed to in the slightest, but there was no denying the fact that he had come to find the younger man enjoyable to be around. Or at least tolerable compared to everyone else he knew. That was an incredibly short list to be sure, but still. It was substantial.

Nero’s demeanor softened slightly at the statement. He wasn’t sure whether to be flattered or unhappy about being reminded of how much he looked like their father, but V hadn’t taken the news as badly as he had taken the revelation of his untimely demise, so he was going to file this one away as a victory. Maybe, at some point, they could have a proper conversation about this. If there was one goal he had for their “relationship” it was to not develop the gigantic quagmire of unspoken misery and repressed emotions that Dante and Vergil had developed between them in the last few decades. Regardless of if either of them enjoyed doing so, they were going to actually talk about their issues like adults. Or, at the very least, handle things better than those two did. Then again, that wasn’t a very high standard to meet. They were both high functioning Neanderthals.

Just then, a soft knock bounced off of the bedroom door. A long red ponytail draped over the shoulder of none other than Kyrie as she peaked quietly into the room. Nero gestured for her to come in and she did so, closing the door behind her. As she turned to face Nero, she yelped in surprise as she dropped the small woven basket she was carrying in her arms to the floor. Nero reached for the basket, but she picked it up before he had the chance, brushing it off as she wrapped her arms around it. She turned to V with a warm, welcoming smile, a concerned look in her large brown eyes. 

“Oh! It’s so good to see you awake. You looked a little under the weather when Nero brought you in,” She said as she stepped forward, setting the basket down on the empty bedside table,” Sorry I couldn’t find anything else. I don’t know what size you wear. That, and the children are tripping all over me to meet you. I practically had to lock them in the coat closet to get away from them!” She giggled to herself at the ridiculous situation she had just found herself in. The children could be a handful at times, but they were funny.

V spared a glance in the direction of the basket and then returned his attention to her. He had no idea who this woman was, but she seemed to live here. Was this the woman Nero had mentioned before. Something that started with a C or a K that he couldn’t quite recall. Nero just looked at them both. While he could interject, this was more entertaining to watch. Why ruin a good thing.

As if she could read his mind, she hopped forward and extended her hand, eager to introduce herself. “Silly me, I forgot to introduce myself! I’m Kyrie, Nero’s girlfriend. It’s wonderful to have you here. I hope the clothes and blankets I brought you are comfortable. Please don’t hesitate to let me know if you need anything. I’m here to help.”

Nero blushed slightly. She didn’t use that term very often. It was rare that they met people who didn’t already know them both. It gave him the warm and fuzzies inside, he couldn’t lie. Something akin to a slight smile crossed V’s face for a split second before he took her hand and kissed it gently, bowing respectfully as he released her tiny hand. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Kyrie. You can call me V.”

Kyrie smiled brightly and blushed, clearly flattered. Even in a town this oppressively religious, V’s old fashioned mannerisms stood out. Nero shot him a bewildered look that his brother returned, a questioning look of confusion crossing V’s face. He wasn’t entirely sure what he had done to offend him. V then leaned forward to pick up the basket, earning him startled shouts from Nero as Kyrie covered her eyes to spare herself the potential mental scarring she might induce by not doing so. V stared at them both for a moment before a perplexed look crossed his face. He then lifted the blanket, a few shaded of color returning to his pale complexion. He dropped the covers back onto his lap abruptly, scrambling to grab literally the first thing he could get his hand on in the basket. As it turned out, It was a pine green t-shirt. He immediately put it on before the obvious fact that it wasn’t going to cover the part of his body he was trying to hide occurred to him, earning him a self-deprecating groan. Sometimes he hated himself.

Just then, the door opened again and a small curly head peaked into the room. Kyrie immediately shooed away the curious child before going out the door after him, shouting something over her shoulder about coming back to check on V soon. Nero decided to join her if only to give V a moment of privacy. Keeping Kyle, Carlo, and Julios’ curious eyes away from the door was going to take more than just Kyrie alone. They were crafty little devils, after all. As he slipped out of the door, V stopped him. Clearly, he had something to say.

“... Nero… thank you.”

Nero allowed himself a small smile that V couldn’t see from his current sitting position. It had probably taken quite a bit for him to say that, and Nero knew that. He peeped at him from behind the door as he stepped out, trying not to let one of the children in as he did so. “Don’t worry about it, V. Put something on. Were not going anywhere.”

With that, the door clicked shut and V was left alone with his thoughts for the first time since he’d woken up. In a rare occurrence that he would only dare entertain when alone, he genuinely smiled to himself. No. No, they were not going anywhere. And for the time being, apparently, neither was he. For the first time in maybe his entire life, he felt welcome somewhere. And he was going to relish that. But first, he was going to put on some clothes. It was drafty in here and it was starting to become uncomfortable.

-~-

I got to use “flabbergasting”, “gleaned”, and “befuddlement” in a sentence! My mom would be so proud of me… If I was ever deranged enough to let her know that I’m writing this. She’d be unironically horrified, but I don’t think she’d be surprised. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. Thanks for reading this chapter and for all the great conversations I’ve had with you this week! I’ll see you all again on the 27th of May with chapter nine. Wow. I can’t believe I’ve written nine chapters in one month. I haven’t done that since high school back when I struggled to write a thousand words per chapter and my descriptive abilities were non-existent. I have no words. Funny how much better I got at writing after I left school lol. Talk to you guys soon!

[juleswolverton-hyde]

Comfort is coming (YG x Reader)

Genre: Fluff, College/University AU

Pairing: Student!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Warnings: No warnings apply

Summary: Hard academic labour deserves to be rewarded with a treat every once in a while. For example, with holding a marathon of a favourite series while eating a tub of ice cream.

And the unsuspected company in the form of the silent force under the same roof. 

There are times when life is hard, when it knows periods wherein every single thing that is normally so ordinary now forms an extraordinary addition to the amalgamation of educational stress. Each day is filled with nothing but typing on the flat slightly illuminated keyboard of the matte silver MacBook filled with academic files, hoping to finish that close reading essay that was thought of too easily, when a heavily caffeinated mind is not occupied by trying to process every bit of information eyes framed by glass absorb from paper. It always is the same song and yet its dance can never be learned.

Day in, day out.

Sigh after sigh.

Nevertheless, they pass, eventually, invoking feelings of tremendous relief, mental devastation and exhausted defeat to flow throughout a learning being again and again. Today is one of those moments in which this memorable potion is drunk after completing the deadline and cramping up with pain inflicted by ink in a most powerful tool and chaotic panic at not understanding the capability of the human intellect despite cramming hours on end.

The leather bag is thrown onto the floor at the entrance of the apartment shared with a silent stoic raven-haired force who composes music in the hush habitual to the residence, headphones always on in the bedroom functioning more as a studio even when nobody is home. In fact, it is not unlikely to think the padding of toes merely clad in socks goes unnoticed, the noise-isolating padding tuning them out immediately after removing nightly black and crisp white Adidas sneakers in the tiny entryway and putting them into the shoe closet next to the entrance. 

It is not minded since it is part of the routine, the only moments of really enjoying each other’s company being dinner and occasional mutual trips to the supermarket to stock up for the coming week. Lunch is never shared because either party picks up something in the cafeteria of the university building they have to be for a seminar or lecture or somewhere in the big concrete jungle, alone or with a friend. Breakfast is also rarely a moment of true friendship, Yoongi skipping it on a daily basis yet always nagging the curiously accepted housemate when there is a risk of giving into the same habit. It has gotten to the point of being forced to wait until the musician finishes his characteristic double espresso and preparing a decent enough meal for one likely running late for class whenever the scenario presents itself, nonchalantly blocking the way in every instance feet try to slip away from the scene to crack on or sending empty threats behind a turned back.

Although, in hindsight, the same happens in the event of dinner and not feeling too hungry if at all.

Withal, skipping a meal will have to be excused for the day because when bone tired limbs have exchanged the complicated outfit - consisting of onyx leggings matching the same-toned dress underneath a denim jacket and above knee-height light brown leather boots - for dusk-shaded Puma sweatpants and a plain ivory V-neck shirt, nothing will be done anymore. Bare feet crawl under the alabaster thick sheets after wrapping them in the blanket coloured in a murky earth and mossy tone, moonlight-shaded MacBook opened to the downloaded Game of Thrones episodes the quiet strangely kind power roaming the same house shared by email at accidentally discovering a mutual love for the series during a boring lecture, sharing earphones to watch season one painfully unfold all over again because, apparently, Yoongi had just started it.

And, although already having seen the first few batches that were sent by digital means before illegally online, they nevertheless bring a grateful smile to tired lips each time because it is due to this sharing of documents a splendid opportunity has been steadily formed to indulge in a marathon to withdraw from the world in silent celebration of a liberation from stress.

However, it would appear the musician has stopped watching recently since conversations have led more often to forbidding giving any spoilers for season four and further. Though, when asking to brand new seasons bought on DVD on the hard drive to add to the little nerdy collection on the bedside table also functioning as a headboard, Yoongi gladly rips the files and sends them over email thus adding both to the personal collection and that of a soul glad for the kindness in spite of the more stranding chit chats since there have not been many moments of bonding since moving in four months ago. Other than the series, there is little to talk about that which has been discovered as common interest let alone bond over and both working and hanging out with different people besides the study does also not greatly help in forming a deeper meaning to the fragile friendship.

Just as a comfortable position is taken up and noise-cancelling white headphones put on, a digit hovering above the touchpad for the cursor to start from the very beginning of the visual version of “A Song of Ice and Fire”, a dimly audible knock is followed by an immediate opening of the door to the private haven. Obviously disregarding the polite pause to wait for consent, Yoongi stands on the threshold, bangs as dark as ink covering a pale forehead and the light skin of the resident stoic silent force further accentuated by the overall casual outfit of ripped jeans and a T-shirt that could blend easily into the shadows. ‘Judging by your appearance, I wager it’s either that time of the month again where you get grumpy at me for no good reason and act like a drama queen or you just made your exams and deadlines.’

‘Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be composing or something? You normally ignore me until before dinner.’ The constraints on hearing are removed while eyes wander to the bright green slightly translucent plastic convenience store bag held by bony skillful fingers, light up at registering what the item within it is and seeing a comforting sympathetic curve on lips having lost every sense of mocking when looking back at the unexpected visitor. ‘Why the ice cream?’

‘I never ignore you, Y/N. I know I don’t say much and we don’t have much of a relationship, but ever since you’ve been here I’ve had no choice but to observe you on a daily basis, looking as shabby a-’ An offended palm lashes out as the flatmate sits down on the edge of the mattress - a bed frame a disturbance to the overall minimalist aesthetic - on the cedar floor and puts the bag down, the sharp slap of skin on skin resonating in the temporary hush. The hit has a deceivingly powerful impact because a red outline already begins to form and makes the baffled young man cover it protectively in the instant the imprint is noticed. ‘What the- Y/N! What the hell?’

‘That’s for calling me shabby. It’s not, it’s comfy.’ The pout in which the last statement is made returns clear amusement with a caring undertone to the other’s shocked expression. The digits reaching out to pat locks depicting the aftermath of academic stress are swatted away, arms crossing in defiance afterwards while an unforgiving glare holds a warning strengthening the one made in a voice that cannot sound entirely angry due to the gratefulness towards the pale onyx-haired lad for checking up on an exhausted somewhat friend. ‘Don’t touch me. I’ll bite your fingers off if you try again.’

‘Fine. Here I was, thinking I’d cheer you up with the ice cream you always buy when you’re like this, but apparently, it isn’t appreciated. Guess I’ll give it to Joon or Jimin, instead.’ An attempt at getting up is made yet stopped directly by apologetic palms at the ends of uncrossed arms clad in too long sleeves, a tug on the wrist asking to return while also not being able to help but glance longingly at the icy cinnamon roll treat that threatens to leave alongside the present company. ‘Oh, so now you want it, huh?’

‘I’m sorry, if that’s what you want to hear.’ Albeit reluctantly, an apology for the defiance is given, knowing full well the playful mocking attitude of the fellow student though personal pride was still damaged at being called badly composed style-wise.

‘You’re forgiven. Look, I’ve gotten to know your personality through actions. In university, you’re the independent hard-working calm girl while at home you’re one giant ball of stress who’ll get frustrated with deadlines again the day following a bit of rest. But it is days like this one that you’re happy and it’s annoyingly rubbing off on me.’ The tub in the plastic bag is put in the lap covered by the thick alabaster duvet. ‘Making me want to see you be a little content hermit. Here, eat up and relax. You’ve earned it.’

Brows furrow in played confusion, teasing like him howbeit in retaliation for the insult earlier in spite of the oddly satisfying confession at not being a mere invisible force like the musician. ‘How am I supposed to eat this without a spoon?’

A contemplating nod, acknowledging the treat cannot be enjoyed without otherwise and should have been brought along from the beginning. ‘Right... I’ll get you one.’

‘Can you make it two?’

‘What?’ The surprise at the request raises the indifferent husky voice by a few tones.

‘I can’t eat this all by myself, though. So, do you-’ Doubtful irises shift from the favourite ice cream to the screen, awkwardly moving on the mattress thanks to the self-made constraints on wrapped feet, and back to Yoongi whose expression briefly transforms into characteristic stoicism before showing a ghost of a rare gummy smile. ‘Do you want to watch Game of Thrones with me?’

‘Sure. Which season, though?’

‘Three. Where are you?’

Sheepishly, the creative genius rubs the back of the neck in obvious hesitance to admit something. Regardless, as always, what needs to be said, is said is as serious a tone as possible. ‘I’ve kinda forgotten since I think I stopped halfway. Although, I’ve seen the Red-’

‘We. Do. Not! Talk about The Red Wedding.’ An accusing finger rises in offence at bringing up the sensitive subject about a most traumatic and tragic event in Westeros. ‘Not a single word more about it, Min Yoongi.’

‘I forgot how immersed you are in the series.’ A roll of the eyes goes accompanied by an amused sigh as palms plant themselves on hips and a headshake emphasizes the entertainment at the, perhaps, too extravagant reaction. ‘Alright, I’ll shut up. You start up the point from which you want to watch, but no further than the event we just spoke about, and I’ll get the spoons. So you can shovel the ice cream in.’

‘One more degrading comment and I’ll have your head!’ The empty threat is shrugged off by the leaving flatmate who has always laughed off these types of statements, either frustratingly coaxing more out or merely mumbling something along the terms of being cute which, in turn, raises more protest that, again, gets treated in the same manner. It is a viscous endless circle.

‘Who are you? Geoffrey Baratheon?’ A smug glance over the shoulder invites a new discussion that on one hand wants to be held while, on the other, the aftermath of educational stress does not allow it.

Henceforth, it is hoped to be ended with a final deciding futile violent phrasing. ‘I will be if you don’t get the bloody spoons.’

A reflecting tilt of the head, raven locks partially covering up the devious expression of the annoying yet beloved musician. ‘Maybe Cersei.’

‘Go.’ The command comes out between gritted teeth, absolutely done with the subject and too eager to attack the tub of cinnamon roll goodness before it is all melted.

‘As my lady commands.’

Vaguely in the distance sounds the barely audible padding of bare feet towards the kitchen after the flatmate has left the room, leaving a small crack in the door in the wake filled with endeavours at soothing kindness. Although it might mean inherently nothing, the tight grip on the edge of the warm duvet cannot be helped as the heart flutters with innocent joyous sentiments bordering on a deeper version of themselves. Especially when Sense comes in to calculate the outcome of the sum of caring behaviours and recalled mental transcripts of past conversations, however trivial, alongside the little gestures in the studying composer’s absence in the form of song recommendations on post-it notes or sharing earbuds inconspicuously during boring lectures or seminars to listen to the same song.

The clinking of the cutlery drawer being searched, looking for the right spoons.

The sound of a metal wave when the loud impact of the momentum makes the insides shake in unison when it is being slammed shut despite the mechanism ensuring a gentle closing.

Returning bare toes underneath a delighted sliver of a grin as slim pianist fingers present the retrieved items, one of them handed over with a broad smile that is glad to see the eagerness with which it is accepted and the tub opened to attack immediately.

Once more Yoongi strikes down on the edge of the mattress but this time to look for a comfortable position to sit in and getting incredibly close while doing so. It is not unusual to be fairly intimate during educational hours, but this is a whole new sort as the onyx-haired man tries to secure a seat just in front of the night table functioning as a headboard, thus placing an utterly confused girl between black pepper and ink scented legs. ‘Scoot over. And don’t you dare eat that whole tub by yourself. You always get me worried for your health when you do. I enjoy seeing you eat, but you shouldn’t overdo it.’

‘It’s only 360 calories and I’m an adult. I can do what I want.’ Awkwardly, an attempt is made at putting a bit of distance between bodies by trying to ease into a lying position next to the curiously intimate flatmate so that only shoulders touch.

However, the composer does not allow it and makes use of the clumsy unbalanced shuffling to pull the spine flush against a soft warm chest, locking the captured party by grabbing the laptop from the side and placing it on top of the two-person lap which has just been created and locking ankles in place after rearranging the warm sheets to cover both parties.

Both friends.

Or more, though that remains to be seen when the confusion will be explained by the course of Time.

As if nothing unusual has happened, blatantly ignoring burning ashamed crimson cheeks, the cursor flies over the screen to start up one of the episodes without knowing the exact point from which an original beginning of the marathon wanted to be made. ‘Where do we start?’

Hands still wrapped about the cinnamon ice cream carton, spoon balanced between nimble fingers, grab the treat a little bit harder to calm down while speech clearly portrays being affected by the sudden show of closeness. ‘Season three, episode- no, wait. Season one, episode one.’

The best way to remember all that has transpired in the politics of Westeros after escaping the realm for a while is to watch the game of thrones unfold all over again despite almost being able to recite every scene by heart. ‘That’s where we’ll start.’

‘I think I still rec-‘ The considering protest is broken off by a spoonful of cinnamon ice cream from the rapidly opened carton box, tired of having to wait to finally kick back and relax in, apparently, good human company.

‘Shut up, Lannister, and just start the series.’ The nicknames from the houses each individual supposedly belongs to have become a sort of inside joke to refer to one another and it would be a lie to say it was not missed in rare actual conversations. It brings back the memories of that first moment of watching this exact same beginning to the turbulent fantastical political chaos, huddled together while plainly ignoring the professor talking about a subject undoubtedly important for the exam but which at the time did not matter whatsoever. Perfectly content watching the battle for The Iron Throne unfold and taking a quiz to figure out where one would be in Westeros was it the real world.

The topic of the lecture did matter, as would be discovered, for the close reading.

‘Okay, fine, Tully, we can still cha-’ Another icy bite cuts Yoongi off again before irises return to the screen and a weary head lies down on the top side of a cushiony stomach in splendid delight, eating ice cream while regarding a bloody imaginary history.

Winter is coming.

But comfort is already here.