#i think it may have to do with how i often slide between desktops. because thats just a fast workflow for me

[weaselishmcdiesel]

yay photoshop's crashing reverted to having no solution

[winterscaptain]

absence.

Aaron Hotchner x Gender Neutral Reader a joyful future fic

a/n: the next installment is here! this is the second-to-last piece in the berry hill section of a joyful future. as it has been lately, this one requires little ajf context, but i would recommend reading berry hill and waldosia, if you haven’t already. (thanks to aimz @ssaic-jareau, kira @good-heavens-chris-evans, and sabina @writefasttalkevenfaster) edit: this has been heavily revised as of april 29th, 2021. the changes and additions address continuity errors and ongoing subplots. 

words: 7k (prev. 3.8k) warnings: language, vomit mention, really accurate satellite phone protocol (eat your heart out, cm writers), beard!hotch, jack hotchner content, one last slow burn

summary: “absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great” - roger de bussy-rabutin. au!march-september 2011

masterlist | a joyful future masterlist | ajf faq | taglist | what do you want to see next? updated: april 29th, 2021

There’s a moment where he stops at your desk on the way out of the bullpen, but you just stare at him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then closes it. After a moment, he finally says, “Jack is with Jessica tonight.” 

You have no idea what your face looks like, but it’s enough to drop his shoulders and send him on his way, defeated.

+++

You let yourself into his apartment, slamming the door behind you. He’s been waiting for you, leaning against the windowsill across from the door. 

“How dare you.”

He sighs and presses a hand to his forehead. “You have to understand that I -”

“Bullshit, Aaron. I don’t have to understand a goddamn thing. What are you thinking? We need you.” 

His head tips up, and he looks through you. The haunted look in his eyes almost makes you falter - it so acutely reminds you of the days following Haley’s death - but you keep your resolve. He doesn’t say anything, just lets you yell at him until it's out of your system. You could never actually hate him and he knows that, which makes some of it easier, but not all of it. 

The tears start and pick up speed as you continue, nearly at a shout. “You've known for seven months that you were going to leave for Pakistan. I read the brief. Seven. Fucking. Months, Aaron. Since September, you’ve known and you didn’t tell us about the task force assignment in fucking Pakistan!” 

You pause, but the final nail in his proverbial coffin leaves your mouth without permission. “Emily died, and you’re still leaving?” He flinches. “You’re leaving me and Jack. You’re leaving our team. I never thought you could do something like that to us. Maybe them, but not me. Never to me. I mean, after everything we’ve -” You cut yourself off and raise the back of your hand to your mouth, unable to finish the unbearably painful thought.

He’s not sure which part is the most painful - the fact that you list yourself with Jack instead of with the BAU, the fact that you say ‘our team,’ or the tone that drips with hurt. The sob that rips through your chest breaks his heart. He leans heavily against the arm of his couch, knocked down by the weight of your tears. 

No. The hardest part is knowing he deserves it, that you aren’t saying anything that isn't unfair or untrue. 

“I can’t even look at you right now.” 

He can only watch you as you walk back out, leaving the door open behind you. 

About twenty minutes later, he receives a text.

9:34pm I’ll be there tomorrow at 12:30 to take you to base. Be ready when I get there. 

He crawls into bed about half an hour later, and receives another text.

10:05pm Goodnight. 

Fuck. 

+++

The ride to base ride is mostly silent, and you know something’s wrong. It’s nothing you can articulate or even really put your finger on, but it’s something bigger than just his imminent absence.

He’s boarding a C-130 supply transport with a few Marines and various agency task force members to an outpost in Pakistan. It will no doubt be a long and deeply uncomfortable flight. His go bag, packed with desert fatigues and a couple of creature comforts, looks smaller than usual at his feet. 

“How long?”

He sighs and shakes his head. “Task force operations are need-to-know.” There’s so much he can’t tell you, and it eats at him. Because it’s you, and he’s been an ass, he concedes a little. “Probably a couple of months.”

“We’ll be okay, Aaron.” 

A little laugh leaves him, and it pulls a smile from you. 

“What?”

“Remember when you chased me down last night to tell me the team couldn’t do this without me?” 

You roll your eyes. “It’s still true, but we’ll manage. We always do.” There’s a moment of silence, and you continue. “And you’re going where you’re needed. That helps.” 

It’s true. Your anger had cooled (just a little) overnight, and you decided you didn’t want to be upset with him when he leaves. 

You already miss him. 

“Don’t think I’m not still mad at you.”

He looks out the window, and you can hear the wheels turning in his head. Jack is on his mind, and so are you. There’s nothing more nauseating than the thought of leaving you while you’re still hurting from Emily’s loss. “I know.” 

Why are you going through with this, Hotchner?

Oh, right. You’re a coward. 

“I just don’t want our last conversation before you leave to be a fight.” You sniff, but don’t look at him as you continue driving down the highway. 

I am perhaps the most undeserving man on the planet. 

He says, “Thank you. I don’t want that either,” but he hopes you can hear what else he can’t say. 

I love you. I’m sorry. 

+++

“Alright, you’ve got everything you need?” You stand next to him on the tarmac, shading your eyes from the sun. 

Aaron hikes his bag higher on his shoulder. “Think so. You gonna be alright?”

You nod and reach for him. He embraces you, tucking his head into your shoulder. “You be safe, Aaron Hotchner. If you die out there I’ll kill you myself.” 

He chuckles, and you hope the sound is enough to keep your heart from breaking too much over the next couple of months. Your eyes close as he presses a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll check in when I can.”

Shoving against his chest, you turn him around and push him toward the plane. “Get outta here.” 

He takes one last look over his shoulder when he reaches the loading ramp and offers you a wave. You return it. 

+++

You manage to get to the highway before the tears start. The only person you want to talk to is Emily. She’d know exactly what to say, and she’d make sure your days off were full of fun and good company. You pull off on the side of the road, your head falling into your hands, sobs wracking through you.

When you’re able to keep driving, your chest hurts beyond belief. 

Without her, these months seem to stretch before you forever. 

+++ april 2011 +++

It’s not the first time you’ve ended up in his office alone, but it’s the first time you’ve really noticed the evidence of his absence. 

The picture frames on his desk started gathering dust, so you brought a little duster to the office. His desktop computer has stopped making noise, so you turned it on and off once out of pity. His phone hardly rings, unless it's the NSA trying to get a hold of one of you for a sat phone call, so you and Morgan take turns taking forwarded calls. 

The silence is overwhelming and seems to pull something intangible from you. It’s exhausting. 

“When’s the last time you slept?” 

You turn, finding Penelope in the doorway. You’re not sure how long she’s been there, watching your acquiescence to the bees that seem to have invaded your brain in the last couple of weeks. 

“I slept last night,” you tell her. It’s not technically a lie. 

She doesn’t look impressed. “Did you sleep through the night, or are you just trying to play one of your Jedi mind tricks on me?” 

With a sigh, you cop to it. “No, I didn’t sleep through the night.” You look out the window to the bullpen, and you know she sees something on your face. 

“I don’t like it either.” She looks over her shoulder, finding Spencer and Ashley playing a game of Go on the desk. Unsurprisingly, Spencer’s winning. Rossi and Derek speak quietly by the little kitchen, looking just about as tired as you feel. 

The short-handedness is getting to you. “There’s just…” You search for something to say. “There’s just so much to do.” 

Penelope looks back. Her mouth twists. “And we’re down a couple’a hands.” 

That’s an understatement. 

+++

“I would understand if you needed some time to think about it.” Erin leans forward in her chair, elbows on her desk. “With your team cut in half, even I wouldn’t feel comfortable sending you to another unit without some time to train a replacement or two.” 

“Or three,” you add.

She looks at you and nods. “Exactly.” 

You pick up the letter from the Special Agent in Charge in Los Angeles. You’d be his right hand - essentially the liaison between operational support divisions and units operating in the field. It’s a hell of an opportunity, a huge promotion, and a significant bump in pay. 

“Can I take you up on the offer to think about it?” You slide the letter across the desk again. 

Her eyes are soft, and you almost feel close to her in that moment. “Of course. Take your time. It’s a position created just for you, so there’s nobody else in line for it.” 

“Thanks.” 

+++ may 2011 +++

“Ready or not, here I come!” You call across the apartment, sneaking through the familiar rooms with practiced ease. 

Aaron’s been away for close to a month, and you’ve settled into a routine. Cases, of course, keep you busy. Derek’s rather good at playing unit chief - decisive and collaborative - but you miss Aaron’s steady, even hand. 

Really, you miss everything about him. You try not to think about him too much. 

You fail, often. 

Avoiding thoughts of Aaron gets even harder as you creep into the master bedroom. The smell of him hasn’t left. Past the doorway, the air is spicy, masculine, and warm. You squint at the bed. One of the pillows moves, just a little, and you pounce, pulling the covers back and grabbing the wiggling pillow. 

Jack screeches and throws himself at you. You catch him and fall back on the bed, laughing. “I found you!”

Jess is off running errands for the afternoon, taking some well-earned time off. You’ll more than likely spend the night over here tonight to give her more of her weekend. It’s never any trouble to stay with Jack. You adore each other. 

Usually, Jack leaps right to his feet for another round, but he stays put after his fit of mirth passes, sprawling across your chest. 

“What are you thinking about over there?”

He sighs, and brings his little hands under his chin, propping his head up so he can look at you. He’s six (and then some), now - still very much a boy - but the pensive look on his face starkly reminds you of his father. “When’s Dad going to be home?”

You push some hair off his forehead. “I’m not sure, my love. I’m hoping it’s only a couple more weeks, but it could be a little longer than that.” 

He sighs, and it breaks your heart a little. You turn on your side, and he curls into you, resting his head on your arm and tucking under your chin. “Are you and my dad best friends? I have a best friend named Connor and he says best friends are really important and I was just wondering.”

You laugh a little. “Yeah, I think so. Your dad and I have known each other for a long time.” His little hands play with the collar of your shirt. There’s more to his question. Jack’s just like his dad and takes a bit of ferreting out. Luckily, you’ve had plenty of practice. “What are you curious about, little bug?”

“Do you miss Dad?”

A track of Aaron’s laugh, his smile, the way his arms feel around you flies through your head. “Yeah, I miss him a lot.” 

“I’m happy you’re here so we can miss him together.” You can almost hear Aaron’s voice in Jack’s. It sounds just like something he would say, and probably has said, talking to his son about Haley.

“Me too, buddy.” You kiss the top of his head. “Me too.” 

Jess returns about an hour later, groceries in-hand, to find you and Jack curled together in Aaron’s bed, snoozing the afternoon away. She snaps a picture with her phone, saving it in an album she keeps for Aaron. After she puts the groceries away, she escapes, leaving a note. 

You’re on your own tonight and tomorrow. Have a good time with breakfast - he’s been picky lately. 

XO, Jess

+++

“You know,” Jess says, a little out of the blue one afternoon. “Haley told me something once.” 

You snort. “I’d imagine she told you a great number of things.” 

“Well, sure. But I mean about you and Aaron.” 

It’s pretty stupid that your body decides to panic over absolutely nothing. If this was a polygraph, you’d fail outright. And yet, nothing’s happened between you and Aaron. You’re just friends. 

Yeah but you love him. 

And he probably loves you, too. 

But we're all to chickenshit for that.

What a-fucking-bout it?

You take a little breath and a sip of your tea. “Oh?” You hope the query sounds casual enough and doesn’t give away the cool sweat blossoming over your palms. 

Luckily, Jess isn’t a profiler. 

“Haley told me - and this was the summer before she died, so it’s not like she told me under duress or anything - that she thought there may have been something between you and Aaron after the divorce.” 

She says that like it’s the simplest thing. You’re not sure what to say, so you keep your eyes on the grain of the coffee table, tracing the lines with your eyes. Eventually, you decide to answer in the simplest, most honest way possible. 

“There’s never been anything between Aaron and me. He’s one of my best friends and I care about him.” That sounds evasive even to your own ears. “I care about him a lot.” 

Jess hums. “I know, but Haley always had a sense about these things. And she knows Aaron better than anyone.” 

Her slip into the present tense makes your chest pull. 

“I don’t say that to put you on the spot or anything.” She shrugs. “I just think you guys would be good together. You’re good for him and I think he’s good for you, too.” 

She’s more right than she knows, but you can’t think about it for too long. You miss him too much. 

Out of a need to respond, you offer a half-hearted, “Maybe.” 

Jess reaches out. “He’ll be home soon. When he gets back, I think you should at least think about it. Or talk about it.” She shakes her head. “Or something.” 

“I have -” You cut yourself off, not really meaning to share. 

She squeezes your knee. “I know you have. So has he.” 

+++ june 2011 +++

Back to back cases - five of them, to be exact, pull you through the next four weeks by the ear. Formal leadership wears on Derek more and more by the day, and you find yourself making just as many decisions as he does. You’re immensely proud of him, but the whole thing is exhausting. Spencer does his best to slip back into his normal role, but Emily’s loss continues to wear on him. You don’t blame him.

Most days feel held together by duct tape, with you and Rossi acting as the adhesive. All that and the offer in Los Angeles you’ve hardly had time to process. 

Thus, your evening with Jess is both well-earned and much needed. 

“Wanna crash here tonight?” She sets a mug of tea down on the coffee table in front of you and sits heavily back on the couch. “It’s pretty late.”

You check your watch and find it is indeed late. Before you can answer, your phone rings, and you answer it with an apologetic glance toward Jess. “Hey, Morgan. What’s up?”

“We have sat call notification from Hotch. Can you come in?” He sounds exhausted. 

“Yeah, I can be there in twenty. Is everything okay?”

He sighs. “Yeah, looks like a routine check-in.” 

Jess sighs, knowing the drill. She goes to the kitchen and pours your tea into a travel mug. 

“Are you calling anyone else in?”

“Nope. Just you. See you when you get here.” He hangs up. 

You stare at your phone as Jess sits next to you again. “We have a call from Aaron coming in, and I have to head to the office.” She hands you your travel mug, and you take it gratefully. 

“You’re welcome back here - I can set up Aaron’s room for you. We’re a lot closer to the office than your place, and I don’t want you to drive if you’re too tired.” She sets a hand on your knee, and you reach over to embrace her. 

“Thanks, Jess.”

+++

When you arrive, Derek’s already on the phone. “... So, no leads?... Right.” He looks up and catches your eye. “Here, Hotch.”

You take the phone. “Hey.”

“Hi.” He sounds relieved. “Are you doing okay? How’s Jack?”

His questions make you smile. “We’re good. He’s good. I just left the apartment - Jess and I were having some grown-up movie time.”

You’re warmed by his laugh. “Good. Glad to hear it. I was just telling Derek that the leads out here have gone cold, but we’re still working.”

“Ah. Any chance you’ll be home soon?” You avoid Derek’s searching gaze. 

“It doesn’t look that way, no. We’re picking up on some chatter out there, but nothing firm. We’ll have to keep out for a couple more weeks at least.”

Your heart drops, but you hide it as best you can. “Alright. Anything you need from us back here?”

“Just keep doing good work.” You know he can’t say much more than that, with more than a couple of NSA guys in between you on the line, not to mention the archival recording of the call. Even then, you know he means looking for Doyle. “That’s all I need from you.” 

“We can do that.” You give him a quick rundown of some recent cases, all surface-level. You’re mostly stalling, using up incredibly expensive satellite time just to hear his voice. 

You hear him sigh. “Alright, I gotta get back. Tell Jack and Jess I love them.” 

“Of course.” You hand the phone back to Derek and wait while they finish up. Your eyes wander over the volumes of law books in Aaron’s bookshelf, the pictures of Jack and Haley and Jess behind his desk. Wandering over to his chair, you sit down and rest your head on your arms. 

Your eyes wander to a photo taken a year and a half ago at Haley’s service. You’re not sure who took it, but you’re crouched on the ground talking to Jack, while Aaron stands behind him with a hand on his head. Jack's little hands are in yours, and he’s smiling a little. 

Of all the photos to keep on his desk...

Derek hangs up the sat phone and puts it back in the lockbox. He crosses the office and leans against the desk beside you, placing a hand on your shoulder. 

+++

When you get back to the apartment (indeed much closer than your home), Jess is asleep in the guest room, and Jack’s still out like a light. 

You change into your pajamas, stuffed into your go bag, and curl up under the covers on Aaron's side of the bed. His pillow smells faintly like him, and you burrow into it. 

The bed feels far too big and far too cold without him. 

+++

“JJ!” You stand to greet her. “What are you doing here?” 

She holds up her credentials. “I’ve been reinstated as a profiler on temporary assignment, so don’t get too excited. It’s a contingent favor for the FBI and I’m sure the State Department will call to collect sometime soon.” 

You clear your consults and subpoenas off the desk beside you. “Good to have you back.” Looking over at the intimidating stack of files you ask, “Need anything to do?”

+++ july 2011 +++

The next time a sat call comes in, you can’t go into the office. Jack has the flu and is absolutely miserable. You can’t, in good conscience, leave Jess to her own devices. Between the vomit and the sleeplessness and the tears, four hands are absolutely necessary. 

“Derek, I can’t leave. Jack is literally puking his guts out as we speak, and I don’t have any new intel for Hotch.” 

Morgan huffs into the phone. “Come on. You know you’re the only one he actually wants to talk to and the only one who has any actual updates about Jack.” 

“You just have to tell him that I’m up in the middle of the night with his son, who has the flu. Isn’t that enough of an update?” You don’t really mean to snap at him, but the lack of sleep has made you a little punchy. 

“Fine. If he -”

“Yeah, I know. If he gets upset, just blame me. He can deal with me when he’s not in Pakistan. As long as there are five time zones between us, I’ll take my fucking chances.”

“Fair enough.” 

He hangs up, and you return to the hall bathroom, where Jack’s cheek is pressed against the toilet seat, his forehead clammy and face pale. Jess is taking her turn to sleep - you’ll switch off in an hour. 

“Hey, bubba.”

He mumbles something that sounds like, “Hi.”

“Can I get you some crackers or maybe some Sprite?” 

Jack shakes his head and lifts himself up, holding his arms out. The risk of illness far from your mind, you gather him up and lean against the cabinets, rubbing his back.

“Can you try to close your eyes for me?”

“I don’t feel good.” There are a few tears in his voice, and it breaks your heart a little. You’ve so been there. 

“I know, baby. I know. Just close your eyes for a minute, okay?”

He does, and his breathing evens out eventually. He’s still feverish, but you’re happy he’s sweating, at least. It could break by morning at this rate. 

The makeshift towel-bed on the bathroom floor looks more than inviting. You gingerly shuffle over and lay down, keeping Jack flat against your chest. 

It’s the best sleep you’ve had in weeks.

+++

“Strauss offered me that transfer to LA again.” 

Derek looks up at you from his report, his brows drawn low over his eyes. “You gonna take it?” 

You heave a sigh. Before you can say anything -

“Yeah, that sounds about right.” He puts his pen down, giving you his full attention. “What’s stopping you?” 

So many things. 

There are only a couple of them you can say aloud. Luckily, they have the benefit of being true, albeit incomplete. “I love this work. I love this team. I don't know if I want to be a lackey for an almost-politician.” 

“And?” 

He’s got you. He knows there’s more because he knows you. Even then, you can’t bring yourself to say exactly what it is that’s holding you back. So, you hedge your answer, knowing he’ll understand. 

“I can’t -” leave Aaron and Jack. You clear your throat. “I can’t leave this team. Maybe that makes me a coward or suggests a lack of adventure or something, but I can’t do it.” 

“It doesn’t,” Derek says. “It makes you human.” 

You smile a little. 

“And for the record, I don’t want you to leave. And I don’t think Jack and Hotch do, either.” 

A little incredulous laugh leaves you. Derek simply smiles, but doesn’t say much else. It makes your point for you. 

Nobody else knows you like this team. 

+++

The hardest days are the ones where you end up by yourself. Derek’s picked up kickboxing with Penelope, Spencer has withdrawn almost entirely, JJ has her family, and Rossi retreats to the cabin by the lake with an alarming degree of regularity. 

Thank God he’s not as cranky as Gideon. 

That would be too spooky. 

Everyone is out of the office, scattered to their respective distractions. You sit on the floor of Aaron’s office, leaning against his desk. Your laptop sits open in front of you, but you’re only half paying attention to the movie playing. 

It was only this afternoon you realized his office smelled more like stale paper, your house, and Tiger Balm than Aaron, and it broke your heart a little. Your only solace was his apartment - the evidence of his existence was inescapable there. With Emily gone for good, you often needed the reminder. 

His office phone rings. You pause the movie, stand, and answer it. 

“Agent Hotchner’s office.” 

NSA is on the other side, dry and professional. “We have an incoming call from Agent Hotchner. Is Agent Morgan available?” 

You tell him he’s not, but that you’re the next in line to receive task force updates. In an equally dry and professional tone, you relay your credentials and your unique intel code. 

“Thank you. Please stand by.” Click. 

You roll your eyes. 

God, they’re boring. 

Sitting down at Aaron’s desk, you wait for the armed guard to arrive with the phone. As per protocol, you’ll sign for the call and remove it from the lockbox yourself. You’ll return it for pickup when the call is completed. 

The guard shows up and you step through the motions, finally getting the phone to your ear. 

“Hey.” 

“Oh, it’s you.” He sounds surprised, but not displeased. 

You laugh a little. “Yeah, it’s me. Morgan’s unavailable at the moment.” 

“I see. Is Jack feeling any better?”

“Yeah. He’s been alright for about a week now. It was a pretty nasty bug, but he’s a trooper. Any new chatter down your way?” You trace the wood grain of his desk with your finger, only a little absent-minded. 

“There’s a little bit of activity on the border. We’re monitoring the situation. Is everything going okay over there?”

“Yeah, for the most part. We’ve been feeling the heat a little since Seaver transferred to Andy’s unit, but we’re managing alright. Dave’s called JJ back in to lend a hand, and she’s doing really well.” 

He hums. “That was a smart idea.” 

“I’ll tell him you said so.” 

“Oh, please don’t. It’ll go straight to his head.” 

You smile. “Fair point. Any updates on the timetable?”

When are you coming home? Please make it soon. 

“Not at the moment. I think we’re getting closer. Few more weeks.” There’s something behind his voice you can’t quite grasp, but you let it go. 

“Alright. Keep us posted.” 

“Will do. You know the drill.” 

“I sure do. I’ll relay the information to the team, tell your son you love him, and talk to you in a couple of weeks.” 

You can almost hear his smile. “Exactly. Talk soon.”

“Be safe, Aaron.” 

“Hey, before you go,” he says. “Can you, um -” 

You smile, tracing the wood grain on his desk. “I’ll tell Haley you said Happy Birthday.”

“Thanks.”

+++

Jess’s hand only shakes a little as she lights the candle and holds the cupcake between the three of you. While she takes care of the cake and begins to sing with Jack, you hold the camera, filming the impromptu party so Aaron can see it when he comes home.

“Okay, Jack you have to help Mom blow out the candle,” Jess says, holding the cupcake in front of him. With a great amount of glee, Jack extinguishes the candle with a big breath and a laugh. 

You turn the camera on Jess, who says, “We couldn't let Haley’s forty-first go unrecognized - she’s officially old and we had to let her know.” 

With a laugh of your own, you turn the camera around and wave before turning it off. 

“Can I eat the cake now?” Jack asks. 

Jess nods, pulling the candle and setting it aside on your picnic blanket. “Of course, but after we eat some fruit, okay? I don’t want the ants to get to the basket before you do.” 

The July sunshine beats down on the three of you, picnicking beside Haley’s resting place. It is, in fact, her forty-first birthday. You can only imagine the look on her face she would have adopt when you reminded her of her age. 

“Oh please,” she’d say. “When you get to be as old as me, you’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Jack sits in the sun, munching on a little apple slice. You reach over, rubbing a little splotch of sunscreen into his skin. He already has a little sunburn from your adventure to the District earlier in the week and you’re not about to make your life even harder. 

Aaron’s absence, even in its fourth month, is glaring. Jack has mostly stopped waking in the middle of the night looking for him and having regular meltdowns, but he always looks up when the front door opens with an expectant look that breaks your heart. He’s an adaptable kid, but months without contact from his father have taken their toll. If you’re honest, it surprised you a little bit. 

With a little bit of perspective, months are different than days, or even a week or two. Jack relies on Aaron more than you realized and the difficulty of helping Jess where you can has only further illuminated your ignorance.

“Will Mom always have a birthday?” Jack asks. 

Jess looks over at him. “What do you mean?”

He thinks for a moment, a little pensive. “I mean, because she’s not here. Do people who aren’t here still have birthdays?” 

“They do,” she replies. “That’s why we have to celebrate for them. They aren’t here, but it’s still special.” 

He nods, a kind of understanding look on his face that makes you think he knows exactly what that means. 

+++

“Yeah?”

You smile. It’s been a minute since you heard his voice, over the phone or otherwise. “Hey, Dr. Reid. How’s Vegas?”

“Hot. But it’s nice to be home.”

“How’s your mom?” You trace aimless patterns over the mat on Aaron’s desk, watching the suede imprint and erase as you go.

He sighs. “She’s alright. I think she’s about ready to kick me out, though.”

“It’s only been three weeks,” you laugh. “Surely you can make yourself useful?”

“I sent in her most recent publication to the journal, so I’ve outgrown my use until I find her a new thesis.”

You can almost see it - the two geniuses, mother and son, bickering over a game of chess or fourteenth-century novel. “Better find her a new thesis, then.”

Spencer’s thin smile is audible through the phone. “Guess so. How are things over there?”

“It’s a little hectic. It’s just me, JJ, Morgan, and Rossi now. Penelope’s still working with us regularly, but counter-terrorism keeps pulling her for ‘special projects,’ whatever that means.”

You don’t mean to guilt him into coming back or anything - you know he needs the time to recharge. He’ll come back when he wants to or feels he needs to but at this point, there’s hardly a difference between four and five agents on the team. You need Aaron. And Emily.

“With the amount of summer task forces coalescing, that doesn’t surprise me.” He pauses. “I’ll probably spend a few more weeks here unless there are any developments between now and then.”

By developments, you know it means any confirmed sighting of your target. “That sounds like a plan. We’ll be glad to have you back but take your time. You’ve more than earned it.”

“Thanks.”

+++ august 2011 +++

“How’s Jack?” 

“He’s doing alright,” you tell him. “He misses you.” 

I miss you.

Aaron sighs. There isn’t time for everything he wants to say, even less for the things he could. “I’m probably going to miss his first day.” 

“That’s what I figured.” It's hard to think about and probably going to be harder than you can imagine, especially if there’s a case that takes you away from home. “Jess will take lots of pictures and I’m sure he’ll be happy to tell you all about it when you get home.” 

It’s hard to keep the bitterness from your voice, but neither one of you could have anticipated this would go on for this long. ‘Over the summer’ seems a little abstract until the end of the summer arrives. 

This isn’t his fault. It isn’t. You know that. 

But it’s his fault for going in the first place. 

Conceptual anger isn’t useful. That’s another thing of which you’re keenly aware. 

And yet…

“Thank you for being there for them,” he says, as if he’s reading your mind. “I know this isn’t easy.” 

There’s nothing you can really say, but you hum anyway. 

The pair of you are just eating satellite time now, so you say goodbye and good luck before tipping your head back against his office chair. 

When the tears slip down your cheeks, you’re not sure if you miss him more than you’re mad at him or the other way around. 

+++

“Chief Strauss?” You knock lightly on her door and she beckons you in, just finishing up a phone call. She gestures to the little sitting area in the corner of her office, and you make yourself comfortable on one of the couches.

She hangs up and joins you. “Have you thought more about the offer?”

“I have. Thank you for your patience. I know it’s been a little while since we first spoke about it.”

Erin waves her hands, brushing off the implied apology. “The BAU’s work in the last few weeks has been exemplary. I’m impressed, especially considering the significant funding and personnel obstacles you’re facing at the moment.”

You laugh a little.  “I hope that doesn’t make anyone think working with this many people is acceptable, ma’am.”

“No,” she assures you. “I’ve made that very clear.”

There’s a small moment of silence before you speak again.

“I won’t be accepting the position in Los Angeles.”

Strauss sighs but doesn’t look surprised. “That’s as I expected. I will, however, add something that I did not share with you before to further inform your choice.”

You sit up a little straighter, a little more attentive.

“The push for a transfer is also in an effort to protect your reputation. I know the BAU has continued investigating Ian Doyle and while that is noble, it could go very wrong. And that much is above my head. DHS, ATF, NSA - they could all be upset by your unofficial involvement. This could go as high as Congress and could result in your permanent termination from the bureau, making you ineligible for work in federal law enforcement.”

“Yes, ma’am. High risk, high reward.” You shrug. “Or at least, that’s what Dr. Reid tells me.”

A wan smile pulls at her mouth. “Yes. As long as you’re comfortable with the consequences.”

“I am, ma’am.”

“Good.”

+++ september 2011 +++

“Alright, buddy! You ready to go?” 

Jack adjusts the straps on his little backpack while Jess finishes putting his lunch together. “I’m ready. Just need lunch.” 

“It’s right here!” Jess says, bringing his Captain America lunchbox to him and strapping it to the outside of his backpack. “You’ve got a ham and cheese sandwich, a juice box, some carrots, and a brownie. Does that sound okay?” 

He nods. 

“And if it’s not enough, we can always get some more food after school okay? It can be a special treat.” 

Jack grins and you all head off to the car together. 

+++

The little meltdown arrives when you and Jess move to leave him at the door of his classroom. Jack’s brown eyes get wide and rapidly fill with tears as soon as you take a step away from him. 

“Jack, baby, c’mere.” You drop to your knee and open your arms. He steps into them and you can feel his shaky, hiccuping breaths against your shoulder. 

While you hold him, you hear Jess debriefing his new teacher about their current situation, and the way things are in general. Dad in Pakistan, dead mom, goes by Jack rather than Jonathan, the whole nine. 

“You are so brave,” you whisper into his hair. “You are so smart. You are a good friend and you are safe.” 

He nods. 

“I’m so sorry your dad can’t be here, honey, but he’s going to be so excited to hear all about it as soon as he gets home. And I'll tell him how brave you are on our next secret superhero phone call.” 

‘Secret superhero phone call’ was the best way you could describe using the sat phone (and why Jack couldn't talk to Aaron himself) so you just went with it. 

Jack nods again, sniffling a little and pulling back. You reach for him, wiping his tears with your thumbs. 

“I love you so much, bud.” 

“I love you, too.” 

You kiss his forehead, reminding him, “I might have to get on a plane for work, but otherwise I’ll see you after you’re done with your first-ever day of school, okay? This is so exciting!”

He finally smiles, and your work is done. When he steps into the classroom, he doesn’t look back.

+++

Thankfully, you’re not pulled for another case until the end of the week, so you’re able to see Jack through his first-ever week of school. 

It hits you more than once that you’re the person next to Jess right now while he hits these milestones. Long gone is that toddler that would giggle in his mother’s arms as she danced around the living room to Hall and Oates. In his place is an insightful little boy with a rapidly burgeoning sense of humor and a wickedly kind smile. 

You love him.

+++ 

The entire team got an emergency call, so you're all gathered in the roundtable room when Aaron walks in, looking all the worse for wear and -

Is that a beard?

Wait. He’s back. 

You just spoke to him on Monday, with news of a “few more weeks,” even in the face of developments on the Doyle case.

Fucking bastard knew he was coming home, didn’t he?

All of your joy in seeing him evaporates, and you narrow your eyes at him. Just like the last time you were in this room together, there’s an apology in his gaze. 

“Welcome back.” Derek doesn’t sound surprised, and your head whips toward him. He doesn’t look at you. 

Unbelievable. 

“Thanks. Everyone, have a seat.” You follow Aaron’s instructions, and sit, crossing your arms. It’s childish, sure, but the balance of personal and professional life has flown out the window. 

This feels like a personal slight, rather than a professional one. You try to push it away, but it lingers in your sternum like a lit flare. It’s uncomfortable, and you hate it. 

“Why?” Derek sounds a little concerned. Your anger cools a little bit. Derek doesn't actually know anything. “What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

“Seven months ago I made a decision that affected this team.” You notice, brow furrowed, that JJ stands beside Hotch like an ally. They both have odd looks on their faces. “As you all know, Emily had lost a lot of blood after her fight with Doyle.”

No. 

“The doctors were able to stabilize her. She was airlifted from Boston to Bethesda under a covert exfiltration.” 

No. 

“Her identity was strictly need-to-know. She stayed there until she was well enough to travel. She was reassigned to Paris, where she was given several identities, none of which we had access to for her security.” 

No. 

There’s silence, and you can’t tear your eyes from Aaron.  

“She’s alive?”

“We buried her...” 

Penelope and Spencer’s comments rush past you and you feel much like you did in the waiting room on that horrible, horrible night seven months ago. 

“As I said, I take full responsibility for the decision. If anyone has any issues, they should be directed toward me.” 

His eyes finally meet yours, and you find your vision blurred. You blink away your tears. 

It was a necessary lie. 

You go into this business expecting to be lied to. 

Not by Aaron. 

That’s not the issue and you know it. He left. 

He missed Jack’s first day of school. He was gone for five months. 

He left us. 

“Any issues?” Derek’s disbelief is marred by hurt, but you can’t reassure him through your own shock. “Yeah, I got issues.”

He’s cut off by Penelope’s glance toward the doorway. 

The team, save for JJ and Hotch, rushes toward her. You’re stuck to your seat until she approaches you. At her touch, you come back to life, throwing yourself into her arms. Her name sounds strangled leaving your mouth. “Emily.”

“I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” Her grip on you is tight, but your arms, looped around her shoulders, don’t feel like they’re attached to your body. 

She lets you go and continues to speak. Derek’s frozen, and you can’t imagine for a minute what’s going on in his head. Emily wraps around him. He’s stock still, his eyes misty. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when he brings his hand to her shoulder, his cheek falling onto the side of her head. 

It’s back to business faster than you can blink, and now you’re sure you’re not the only one ready to kill Aaron where he stands. Derek is livid. 

They stare at each other while Spencer starts asking questions. Eventually, they focus back. Aaron crosses to you, contributing where necessary. 

You don’t acknowledge him. It’s horrible. You hate being so angry with him, but there’s nothing to be done. 

You can’t be upset at him about Emily. There’s too much to understand, and yet the initial shock of it is like a never-ending bucket of cold water poured over your body. 

Selfishly, you realize you’re upset with him because he didn’t tell you he was coming home. It’s so small when there are other, much bigger, issues to address. 

Emily’s lie is professional. Just part of the job. This one feels personal.

You’re a child. Let it go. 

He knew and he left. 

He missed Haley's birthday.

He knew and he left. 

He shouldn't have gone. 

He didn’t tell you he was coming home.

[endless-love-ushigina]

Tendou’s Games

Character: Tendou

Warnings: 18+, Yandere!Tendou, dub/non-con, angst, small smut scene at the end

a/n: Hey everyone! I wrote this piece for @deathcab4daddy, a literal queen-- so I hope you enjoy it love. My heart is yours! I also want to send some love to @narutos-fat-meat​ for beta reading (and another love of my life from Discord who also beta’d for me). I hope everyone enjoys this piece! I’ll write something more fluffy for my next piece-- no promises.

You sat at the dusty library computer, fingers twitching idly, thoughts of him finding you plaguing your mind. All you needed to do was figure out how you can log back into your email. You knew you didn’t forget your password, you rotated between the same 3, but none of them were working. You felt a few tears fall down your face when you clicked “Forgot Password” and anxiously waited as the page began to load, but it needed your phone number to recover the password. A phone number that was disconnected a few weeks ago. You felt your chest tighten. You knew you looked far from okay right now; people were staring and muttering, but no one wanted to approach you. You had tried to ask for help, that’s the first thing you tried when you arrived at the library and saw people who weren’t him. You bit your lip as you thought about anyone you may have ignored in the past but quickly shook that from your mind. You needed to worry about yourself right now. You glanced at the clock, it was 3:15pm. You covered your mouth to muffle a choked sob. He always got home at 3pm, and you knew he had to be looking for you. His precious darling. How had he completely snuffed out all forms of communication for you? 

He started his games by driving all of your friends away. He greedily watched you ruin every relationship you had in your life, and once you had no more relationships to ruin, he got bored. You wished it were you he was bored with, but no, you’re his favorite toy. He has other games he can play with you.

His next game was moving you in with him. He started out light and subtle, he had asked you if you were interested in moving in with him at first. When you explained you didn’t want to because you didn’t mind your current roommate and didn’t want to screw them over by leaving the lease; Tendou smiled at you and nodded his head in understanding. What you didn’t realize was your unwillingness is what made this game so much more fun for him. The day he wouldn’t let you leave his apartment, and forcefully took your phone away, was the day his true colors came out, and the day your living hell started.

You know he had been the one to change your email password, what you don’t know is how he found your emails. You didn’t have any other ways of contacting any of your family members. You knew they didn’t check their emails often, but once they saw an email stating you weren’t okay, they’d react, and someone would come and save you from the hell you were stuck in. You felt the little flame of hope that you had, once you snuck out of the open window, dwindle down as you desperately tried to think of anything you could do. Why were you so afraid to just ask someone else to help you, had he really shattered any confidence you’ve had with interacting with other people. Why were you so afraid of another person turning you down, like the first person you approached?

It was another one of his games. Degradation at its finest.

“(Y/N), do you really think anyone else wants to be around you? Not even your friends wanted you around anymore. I still have your phone; you haven’t left our apartment for 10 days and not one message. That roommate you seemed to get along with hasn’t even questioned where you’ve been. I don’t remember you even telling them you were moving out either. Funny how you think anyone would care enough to help someone as pathetic as you. You sure are lucky to have found me, otherwise you’d really have nobody, huh?”

You put your head down in the crook of your arm as it is resting on the desktop as you thought of the things he's said to you in the past. This man had really done a number on you in the three months you’ve been stuck with him. You checked the time, 3:25pm. You don’t know how he hasn’t found you yet and claimed you as his again, but you only have a few minutes left to think.

You looked up when you felt a tap on your shoulder, and you fearfully glanced behind you to see a kind woman, who looked quite concerned.  

“Miss, are you okay? Is there anything I can do to help you? Do you need to call somebody, I have my cell phone?”

You felt your lip quiver a bit, and a sigh of relief wash over you. Having someone approach you right now is what you needed. “Yea, I would…” your sentence trailed off and all color left your face as you watched the red-haired man walk up to the two of you.

“Babydoll, I’ve been looking all over for you. Always getting yourself lost in public.” He raised his eyebrows at you and turned to the woman helping you. “I’m sorry that she caused you so much hassle, she’s getting her phone fixed so she couldn’t even call me to come find her”

“O, she really didn’t cause any problems, I just wanted…” the woman started but Tendou cut her off.

“No need to be so kind. I’ve watched her cause problems for many people—but she’s getting better at minding her own business”

The glint in Tendou’s eyes made the woman nod solemnly. “I’m glad I could help”

You watched with fear in your eyes as the woman walked off and Tendou wrapped his arm around your shoulders pulling you into him and he leaned down into your ear. “I didn’t have work today, and I never realized how fun people watching at a library would be”

Your eyes widened when you realized this was just another one of his games. A game to see how far he had broken you. Where he watched you try and reach out for help but fail. A game where he got to test how much he had ruined your independence. He was always there and in control, able to stop anything that he thought may have been too risky. You felt him warningly squeeze your waist and place a kiss on your temple while you felt the little flame of hope that was inside you dwindle down to a flame that was barely even lit. 

Tendou arrived at a car that you didn’t recognize as his, but as Tendou was pushing you into the back seat you noticed Ushijima was driving, and Tendou was sliding into the backseat with you. 

“How was your date?” Ushijima asked calmly and your eyes widened in surprise. 

“It went well” Tendou stated while sliding your pants and underwear down your legs while you were half heartedly fighting him on that. “Ushiwaka, do you think you could drive around for a while? You don’t mind me playing back here with (y/n) do you?” Tendou asked his best friend. 

“I have practice in the morning, but I could probably drive around for an hour or so” Ushijima stated while turning up the music in his car and rolling the window down slightly to get a breeze in the car. 

Your eyes widened. Tendou had never done anything around anyone else before, and you felt your breathing get heavier. “However long works for you, Ushiwaka” he smiled and started rubbing your clit while pulling his pants down. “I can’t believe you even thought you had the chance of leaving me, you’re nothing but a dumb little cocksleeve” Tendou stated while he hurriedly sheathed himself inside, letting out a groan in your ear while you felt a few tears roll down your eyes and the flame of hope get snuffed out with everyone of Tendou’s thrusts.

[honeyedhoseok]

Once More | V2 Drabble

Genre | smut

Word Count | 6.1K

Warnings | Lots of swearing. Sex. Dirty talk. Cheating and doing-the-do in the worst place possible a.k.a Y/N having NO conscience when it comes to Taehyung.

Summary | Taehyung gets the grand tour of you and Hongbin’s apartment and is determined to leave his mark with you in every room of the house.

A/N | I’m fully aware that this is way too long to be a drabble, but I’m going to continue calling it that!! P.S. Count how many times I used the phrase “once more” in this, I bet it’s a lot lmao. Enjoy! <3

You know it’s wrong. You absolutely know it is. 

It started with Taehyung coming over to keep you company—you were going to be alone for the weekend while Hongbin was on a business trip to the other side of the country—and it was a cold and rainy Friday and you had nothing better to do, so, you’d called him up. 

He’d stepped into your apartment looking a completely unfair amount of delicious. A leather jacket donned his thick upper body, and he had a wide, black headband pushing his bangs back from his forehead—simultaneously keeping his ears warm from the wind whipping around outside and providing a bit of effortless fashion to his outfit. 

He’d shed his jacket immediately upon coming in, revealing a loose white T-shirt underneath. You tried not to make your trailing eyes obvious when he bent down to unlace his boots, grazing over the flexed muscles of his shoulders and back through the thin material. 

It was unfair, really. He’d planned the whole thing on purpose, you think—no simple-minded man would ever be able to dress themselves this good.

You’d watched Taehyung look around. “Oh that’s right,” you’d said. “You haven’t seen the apartment yet, have you?”

Taehyung had hummed in agreement, looking about as interested in an apartment tour as one would be about going to the dentist. 

It probably didn’t help that before you’d asked him to come over, you two had been going at it through text in a rather flirty fashion. There may or may not have been mention of what Taehyung was going to do to you the next time he saw you.  

His smokey gaze had trailed you from head to toe before he gestured an arm out. “Lead the way, madam,” he’d said lowly. 

You’d walked into the kitchen, turning around in a circle. “Well, this is the kitchen, where I’m supposed to cook meals but a lot of nothing happens—” 

And that’s how you found yourself pressed up against one of the counters, Taehyung’s lips smashed against yours as he greedily swallowed the rest of your sentence with indecent licks into your mouth with his sinful tongue.  

So yeah, you know it’s wrong. But with Taehyung’s knee spreading your legs apart, his hands entangled in your hair and pulling your head to one side so that he can attach his lips to the soft spot under your ear—it all seems so right. 

“Keep going with the tour,” he murmurs against your clavicle, fingers digging into your sides. “Tell me more.” 

“Uh, okay,” you say, opening your eyes briefly and looking for something else to talk about while Taehyung trails his lips down your jaw and back. “We um, bought that table set from—oh!” 

Taehyung leans down to wrap his hands around your thighs, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you over to said kitchen table, setting you down on it so that you two are almost eye-level before pressing his lips back to your neck.  

“—table’s, really, nice—” he murmurs in between nips at your shoulder, pulling the soft fabric of your loose T-shirt down to give himself more access. “Sturdy.” 

Okay, so maybe you’d worn something loose and drapey on purpose. Maybe you’d worn the leggings that you knew made your ass look good. Maybe.  

Taehyung suddenly grabs your hips through those leggings, bringing your heated core to rub against the very obvious bulge in his soft, black joggers. You realize only then that you two are sort of wearing matching sweats, and the thought has you smiling into Taehyung’s kiss.  

“Next?” he grunts, scooping you off the table in one swift motion, and you wrap your legs around his thin waist, locking your hands behind his neck.  

You two make out as Taehyung walks—and briefly, you find yourself wondering where in the hell he got all this strength from. As he pulls away from your mouth again, you nibble on his bottom lip a little, earning a whimper-like noise from the back of Taehyung’s throat that has you giddy realizing you could produce such a sound from him.  

He lays you—or rather, you fall—back on the couch, and Taehyung wastes no time hovering over you, his knee back between your legs and placing light pressure on your most sensitive areas.  

You squirm a little as he leans down, eyes alight with want, dark pupils searching yours with a kind of hunger that makes your insides feel like jello.  

“Tell me about this couch,” he murmurs. “Real leather?” 

“Fake,” you gasp as Taehyung’s hand dives under your shirt, fingers finding purchase around one of your nipples as he shoves your bra out of the way. “Authentic leather is—“ 

“Expensive,” he says, grinning. “I know. What about the TV? How many inches?” 

You smirk at him, but you shrug. “Fifty?” 

Taehyung’s hand stills. “Just fifty?” he repeats, shaking his head. “Oh, he could have done better than that, Y/N!” 

You narrow your eyes at him, realizing suddenly it’s a jab at Hongbin. Taehyung hated that Hongbin was so well off—not because Taehyung was jealous, but because Hongbin was the type to tell other people about his accomplishments. Often.   

You reach up to bring his mouth back to yours, hoping to kill the game and focus on other, more important topics—such as the way your underwear are now sticking to you in a most uncomfortable fashion—but Taehyung stiffens, letting his mouth hover inches from yours.  

“Tae,” you whine, and you can tell by the flash of humour in his eyes he’s about to keep you from getting what you want.  

“You’re being greedy,” he scolds, leaning down enough to press a smoldering—albeit, closed-mouth—kiss to your lips that leaves you narrowing your eyes. “What about the rest of my tour?” 

Leave it to Taehyung to be such a fucking tease at a time where you want to speed things along. He’s good for this—amping up your emotions and then slowing everything down again when you get into it.  

His hand slides from your breast, fingertips trailing along the curves of your stomach until he reaches the waistband of your leggings. Your bite your bottom lip as you watch him with hooded eyes, watch his tongue run along his teeth in contemplation.  

It’s not like Taehyung hasn’t been there before. But right now, the atmosphere is heavy in the room because the realization dawns that it’s just you two, alone, in an apartment again for the first time since—  

“You’re pretty,” he murmurs, suddenly. “You know that?” 

The earnest tone to his voice makes your skin flush, a warmth that travels from your cheeks to the skin of your neck, shoulders and downward. You wonder what he sees right now, with you laying underneath him, your hair pushed back from your face, lips probably swollen and dry from all the kissing, eyes searching his for a hint of insincerity.  

You wonder, also, if he realizes what you see right now. Him, hovering above you with one hand pressed into the couch cushion near your head, the other tracing patterns into the soft skin of your lower stomach. Taehyung’s pretty lips parted, shallow breaths escaping. The smooth, tanned skin of his cheeks, his forehead, his neck and the vein protruding that you want so desperately to run your tongue along. He’s gorgeous—unbelievably so—and he’s yours, if you want him to be.  

To curb the feeling warming up in your gut, you bat your eyelashes at him.  

“Just pretty?” you ask. “I’m not sexy in this outfit made solely for cleaning the house or practicing yoga?” 

Taehyung grins. He pulls you up so that you’re both sitting, blinking the fog out of his eyes as the same ferocity from earlier replaces it. “Oh you’re plenty sexy,” he states. “Come here.” 

You scoot closer to him and he envelops your mouth with his again. He kisses you soft at first, warming you back up, and then his hands are in your hair, mouth slanted against yours with fervor, his tongue sneaking out to lace with yours.  

You settle back into it; this you can do. What you can’t do is think too hard about the freckle that dots the tip of Taehyung’s nose. Or the way he smiles. Or the cute little cackle he lets out when he finds a funny meme on his phone that he just has to share with you. 

“Next—room,” you breathe in between kisses. “The tour?” 

Taehyung pulls back from you a few moments later, looking at you with smoldering eyes. You raise your eyebrows at him in question.  

“Yes,” he murmurs, pulling you off the couch. “Continue, angel.” 

He lets you walk, but wraps his arms around your middle, resting his chin on your shoulder so that you have to do an awkward waddle-walk with his weight dragging you down. You’re in the hallway, now, with three rooms left to conclude your game.  

You point to the first door to the left. “Guest bathroom,” you say.  

“Nothing to see in there,” Taehyung replies. You giggle as he presses light kisses up the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Next?” 

“Guest bedroom,” you say, the two of you walking to the door on the far right. You push it open and Taehyung stops mouthing at your skin long enough to take a glance.  

The guest room has a minimalist appeal to it—a plain, white duvet sits on the full-sized bed with a dresser and small bookshelf off to the side. Your desktop computer is tucked into the corner of the room, and some paintings and a rug are all that offer any creative flair. Hongbin wanted to decorate more, but you’d chided him against it. It was a room that was rarely ever going to get used, what was the need in putting expensive decor in?  

Taehyung’s hands disappear from your sides as he walks into the room, looking around at everything, peering through the blinds at the parking lot below.  

“I’m not getting a good vibe from this room,” he says, shaking his head. “Something’s definitely off.” 

You see a trace of a smile skirting around the edges of his lips, and you decide to play along, again.  

“Oh?” You say, crossing your arms over your chest. “Tell me more, interior designer Kim.” 

He’s still sporting that thick black headband even though it’s comfortably warm in your apartment, and you watch him shake the long bangs sitting on his forehead out of his face before he speaks.  

“Come sit on the bed,” he says, running his fingers along the duvet. “Maybe this room needs something . . . sexy?” 

You roll your eyes but walk in after him. You sit on the edge of the mattress, watching Taehyung round the side of the bed with appreciative eyes. 

“Lie down.”

You do, stretching a little as you lift your arms over your head. You feel your shirt slide to reveal your stomach, and Taehyung’s eyes dart down at it. He licks his lips with a quick swipe of his tongue before he speaks, “No, no, that’s not it. There’s something else wrong.”

Taehyung leans over you on the bed, fingertips trailing the expanse of exposed skin underneath your belly button. The action has goosebumps arising, his face hovering inches from yours so that with every exhale, you feel a whisper of his breath across your lips.  

“Kiss me,” you say quietly.  

And he does. Taehyung kisses you until you’re breathless, until your head is spinning, until your mouth and lips feel dry and used, until your hands are entangling themselves in the soft tresses of his hair, pulling the black headband off and throwing it somewhere on the floor so the strands hang and tickle your checks when he pulls back to look at you, panting.  

“There’s one more stop on the tour,” he murmurs. “Want to finish up?” 

You nod, and Taehyung gives you one more soft kiss before pulling you up and off the bed. You trail him into the hallway, twisting the knob on the door to your bedroom and slowly stepping inside. 

It’s a bit more decorated than the guest room—a fluffy, grey duvet covers the bed with matching throw pillows and decorations. Hongbin cared a lot about aesthetics, and so you’d went with a cool-toned theme for the master, but you’d kept it feeling more like home with small added decorations to suit your own taste. A framed picture of you two sat on the bedside and a fluffy, decorative rug lay in the center of the room. There were string lights around your vanity, and a bookshelf with lots of Hongbin’s files and notebooks filling the shelves. 

You realize suddenly, upon looking at the room with another person, that it still looked like no one lived there. The bed was made perfectly like a hotel room, the curtains were drawn and not a single thing was out of place; even the throw pillows were placed in their proper spots on the duvet. The only thing slightly messy about the room was the dirty laundry basket—but even that was passable to the eye because the outside was a patterned grey fabric that fit with the theme.  

You don’t have anything to say about it, not even a joke to throw Taehyung’s way.  

When you look at his face finally, it turns your stomach to wonder what he might be thinking. He tongues the inside of his cheek in thought, his face impassive as he gives the room a slow once-over.  

“So, this is the master,” you say quietly. “This is—”

“Your bedroom,” he answers, and his tone makes your heartbeat triple. It’s a low murmur, so low it sounds like a hum. Taehyung takes a deep breath and walks toward the bed, spreading a small wrinkle on the duvet out with his hand. “What happens here?” 

“Taehyung,” you say, shaking your head. You can’t read the atmosphere anymore, and it feels awkward suddenly. What were you thinking, bringing him in here?  

Taehyung is quiet for a minute, before a wicked grin splits his face. “Now this room feels right.” 

“What?” You say, shocked.  

In seconds, Taehyung has you on your back on the bed, his face devilish in nature as he crawls over top of you. You look at him wide eyes, wondering how he can’t hear how loud your heartbeat is pounding underneath your thin t-shirt.  

“This is where it happens, huh?” Taehyung says slowly, drawing his face near yours. “This is where you and Hongbin make love?”  

The comment is mocking, as always. You swallow harshly, unsure of how to answer. Taehyung’s nose skims along your jawline and you close your eyes, fighting the urge to melt under his light touches. Even though you don’t answer, he continues. 

“In a room like this? It’s pristine in here,” he says, tutting under his breath. “He must not do it right.” 

You dare to ask, “Do-do what, right, exactly?” 

Taehyung stops tracing long enough to lick a bold stripe along your neck, letting his teeth graze the spot. How he’s able to keep such control over his actions for so long you have no idea—you just want him to kiss you again already. Take off your clothes. Touch you, for God’s sake. 

“Fuck you,” he hums simply. “Make you cum.”  

The words are enough to make your core clench, and Taehyung pulls back to look into your eyes. Back is the emotion filling them from earlier, except it’s intensified. Taehyung’s mind is set now, and there’s no going back—but his isn’t the only one.  

You and Taehyung hadn’t pushed your boundaries much. You were careful about your sneaking around—never going all the way because you were never fully alone with him. But this time was different. There was a bed, a locked door, and a complete evening by yourself. If you were being honest, you’d been contemplating those thoughts since the moment he stepped into your apartment.  

There’s something so dangerously enticing about sneaking around with Taehyung that your brain can't quite wrap around how wrong it is until after it happened. He was too easy to get caught up in, too easy to just be with—which is exactly what was happening again as you opened your mouth to respond to him.  

You pull him close, letting your lips brush against his a little as you whisper, “Show me, then,” you say. “Show me how you’d do it, Taehyung.” 

It’s a brash move. It’s a brash move you’ve never made before in your life, but Taehyung responds to it exactly how you hoped he would: his eyes darken, and he pulls back as if to give you a moment to breathe, to re-process what you just said to him.  

“No games,” you said, feeling shaky and breathless. “I’m tired of waiting.” 

Yes, your lust may have been consuming your thoughts, pushing out any sensibility you had left and replacing it with an unrelenting desire for Taehyung—but at the same time, it was a statement filled with the truth.  

Since that fated day when Taehyung came back into your life, your physical chemistry with him was unmatched when compared to any previous person you’d been with. He made you feel alive, made the bones that made up your body feel like they were bursting with light between the joints when he looked at you sometimes. If you believed in soulmates—you weren’t sure yet—every moment with Taehyung made you a little more convinced.  

But the physical attraction was just the surface of what you had with him. Here you were, in a long-term relationship with Hongbin, but you were constantly thinking about Taehyung. Texting him. Calling him. Spilling your guts to him when something was wrong. Wanting to see him, touch him, kiss him.  

Maybe you were in love with him. Or, rather, you were still in love with him from all those years ago.  

“Are you sure?” Taehyung asks, swallowing, and then licking his dry lips.  

Your train of thought stutters at the question, still lingering on the concept of loving him and so your eyes widen a fraction. Taehyung takes it as hesitation. 

He leans back further. “We don’t have to do this, Y/N—” 

“No, no, no,” you say, finally gathering your bearings. You place a slightly shaking hand on his chest—when you see your fingers trembling you ball them up in his shirt, tugging him down a little. “God, I’m—can you just, kiss me?” 

“I’d be honored to,” he murmurs with a smile, dipping his head down to press his lips softly against yours once more.  

They envelop yours with a fervor, diving in to capture the very breath from your lungs and leave you lingering in the afterthought of what it’s like to be intimate with Taehyung. He is all breath and lips, nips and grazes along your skin, hands grasping and mouths brushing and complete and utter melting into the way that he caresses your body.  

You lift Taehyung’s white t-shirt over his head, letting your nails scrape between the dent in his shoulder blades as he hovers above you. Your quiet, neat bedroom with Hongbin is filled with the smacks of mouths, sighs from you as Taehyung ravishes your neck with his lips, and the shuffling of bodies and light thumps as clothes are removed one by one and tossed onto the floor. 

When you’re in just your panties and Taehyung is in his briefs, the two of you pause, eyeing the other up as if to reassess the situation once more, give yourself one more time to stop it. But you don’t want to. All you can think about is how it’s never like this with Hongbin—your heart hasn’t raced this fast in years, your hands haven’t literally been shaking with want, nervousness and excitement because Hongbin has never whispered how beautiful your body is before giving the bottom curve of your breast a sensual nip.  

You’re not shy with Taehyung. Your upper body on full display for him is nothing, because he looks at you like you are the most ethereal human he’s ever laid his eyes on.  

Sexy isn’t a word you’ve thrown around before today, but you know that it completely and totally describes Taehyung. He is so confident with himself that it has you hot and needy under his touch, a demeanor that was unknown to him when you were teenagers. A brief memory crosses your mind of having to remind Taehyung that it was okay to be nervous during one of your first times having sex when he couldn’t get it up—but he has absolutely no problem with that now.  

His length, rock hard in his pants and pressing against your hip as he rests his lower half against your body has your mouth watering with need. You want to see him naked, and when you tell him that, he has the audacity to chuckle between presses of his lips to yours.  

“Oh yeah?” he murmurs. “Ladies first, baby.” 

The nickname sends a shock of nostalgia tingling down your spine but you welcome it, pushing Taehyung so that he’s sitting back on his knees. His dark eyes wander your frame as your hook your thumbs the sides of your panties, shimmying them down your legs and kicking them off and onto the floor.  

“I want to taste you,” Taehyung murmurs, placing his hands on your knees, edging them apart a little bit. “Can I?” 

Your face flushes with the bluntness of his words, but you swallow the tightness in your throat and nod, settling back onto the pillows—Hongbin’s pillows, on his side. Taehyung presses a line of kisses up your leg, taking his time and pressing a few around the place you’ve been waiting for him to ravish since—well, probably since he entered the apartment an hour or so ago.  

“So pretty,” he murmurs somewhere near your thigh.  

You close your eyes as his breath fans out over your pubic area, insides quivering with want as you try to calm your racing heart. You bite onto your lip, trying not to let on how desperate you are for him to touch you—and then he does. 

Taehyung dives in for a kiss between your legs, causing your mouth to take on a silent ‘o’ shape as he licks all the words, thoughts, and brain processes out of your body with confident strokes of his sinful mouth.  

“Fuck, Taehyung—” you gasp, back arching off the bed a little, “Slow down, fuck—” 

Taehyung hums contentedly against your clit, probably chuckling at how powerless you are underneath him. His right arm hooks around your thigh, pushing it up and over his shoulder so his mouth can fit better against the crook of your sex. You feel lightheaded with the way his mouth licks into you, almost embarrassed at how wet you are—not just from his mouth, but from the essences he’s coaxing out of you.  

Your thighs feel hot and sticky, and when Taehyung’s other hand slithers between your legs to press one finger between your folds while he licks smaller ministrations onto your clit, you think you might just lose your mind right then and there.  

You don’t have time to be embarrassed by the whimpers and whines that tumble past your lips as Taehyung works his hand-and-mouth combo that has your walls tightening around his long digit pumping in and out of you. When he adds another, you can’t help but mewl his name. 

 “Taehyung, please, oh my—god, don’t stop—” 

He takes a breather from your battered clit to look up at you with a smirk adorning his mouth, accompanied by everything he just coaxed out of you that makes his chin shiny and glistening.  

“You close?” he asks, slowing down the pace of his fingers so that you can get better adjusted. You’re sure he can tell from the tenseness of you body, the way you’re clenching around his fingers like your life depends on it.  

 “Like this?” he murmurs, and begins hitting that spot within you that has you breathless again. “Cum for me, baby.” 

“Yes, yes, yes,” you whimper, “Tae—” 

You fall apart around his fingers incredibly quick—a few more strokes is all your insides can take before Taehyung has a moan tearing from your throat with a volume that you can’t remember reaching before now.  

When it feels like you can breathe again, like the world has stopped spinning around you from the force of the orgasm that just ripped through your body, you slump back down onto the bed, looking up at the ceiling of your bedroom in a daze.  

Taehyung crawls over you, coming into your line of sight with a grin plastered on his mouth, and you tug him down for a kiss that has you tasting yourself on his lips and tongue. You don’t even care at this point, so fucked out that the bitterness doesn’t bother you like it usually would. 

“You okay?” he asks as he moves to press a small kiss underneath your ear. His tongue traces the shell before he speaks in a quiet voice, “What’s next?”

 There’s only one thing on your mind: “Condom.” You breathe the word out and Taehyung stiffens, pulling back so he can see your eyes again. 

You realize then that Taehyung was only thinking you were going to go to your usual lengths—a bit of touching, some oral maybe—just with the added luxury and excitement of doing it in a bed. 

But now that Taehyung’s strong, beautiful hands aren’t between your legs, the ache has returned. It’s an ache that you feel when you’re around him, when he licks his lips a certain way, or when he adjusts his pants, or when his shirt rises above his waist to show off the light trail of hair leading down into his underwear. And you know what you need to sate it. 

“You sure?” he asks, but the way he bites hard on his bottom lip lets you know he isn’t opposed to it whatsoever. 

“I want you,” you whisper, leaning up from the bed to connect your lips with his again. 

They’re soft against you own, pretty petals meant just for your undoing. Nothing ever feels wrong with Taehyung, and you know that’s your downfall but you can’t do anything about it. With his body pressing into yours in the right places, his cock still half-hard in his briefs and pressing against your inner thigh while he leaves small, soft kisses against the line of your jaw, you know this is what you want. Need. 

You lift your hips against Taehyung’s, reminding him with a brush of your still-wet core against the head of his dick. He stutters against your jaw, and his hand comes up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb resting against the curve of your bottom lip. When he looks at you again his eyes are darker, the lids sitting low in a way that makes your stomach clench. 

“You want to fuck,” he murmurs, “right here? In this bed?”

You swallow, heart beating fast in your chest. “Yes.”

Taehyung laughs—actually laughs. “You little minx,” he tuts, shaking his head. 

And then he kisses you—hard—with all teeth and tongue; the breath is stolen from your lungs with the heat of his movements. If there is one thing you know about Taehyung, it’s that he is turned on by shamelessness. When you are quaking with need and willing to get it any way that you can from him is when he’s at his peak—which was precisely what was happening now. 

After separating his lips from yours with an audible smack, he moves off the bed to grab his wallet from his jeans, where a single condom sits in one of the cloth slats. You don’t have time to make a joke about why it’s there before he is removing his briefs, letting his cock spring free from the fabric. When it bobs in the air you swallow harshly, trying not to show how your mouth is quite literally watering at the sight. 

He crawls back on the bed, sitting back on his heels at the end while he works his cock with one hand, bringing the aluminium packet to his mouth and ripping it with his teeth. He spits the piece out on the bed, and you internally remind yourself to make sure it’s picked up later. 

“Like what you see?” he asks with lowered eyes, watching you watch him fist himself and pump up and down his length a few times. 

You hum somewhere in the back of your throat, unable to form words just yet. You sneak a hand down to your clit, running your fingers over the sensitive nub while warming yourself back up. 

Taehyung watches you, his bangs sticking to his forehead a little now from the warmth filling the room—both the heat coming from the vents and the heat of your actions mingling in a way that makes the room feel stifling. 

For just a moment, you try to remember what it was like when you and Taehyung were teenagers, sneaking in little moments in your parents’ houses while they were at work. It was never this hot or needy—though you’re sure your little teenage heart would say otherwise—and it hits you that you and Taehyung aren’t the same people you used to be, but your attraction for each other has never waned.  

Taehyung slides the condom over his length, now fully hard, and his eyes meet yours once again.  

“You okay?” he asks in reassurance for what feels like the millionth time.  

You nod as he crawls back over you, pressing a kiss to the skin of his bare shoulder as he settles between your legs. You hook one over his hip on instinct, dragging him forward with a dig of your heel into the space underneath his butt. You need him, and you need him now.  

When Taehyung finally sinks into you, your head kicks back out of instinct, feeling every glorious inch of him sliding in between your walls in a stretch that is so foreign but so, so good. He releases a low moan as well, the sound sending a shiver up your spine at the way it sounds filled with joy—relief, even.  

“Fuck,” he groans, leaning his head onto your shoulder and nipping at the skin there, “So fucking tight, baby.” 

“I know,” you whimper out, digging your heel a little harder and lifting your hips. “Move, Taehyung, please. Just, move—” 

He obliges, covering your mouth with his to muffle the sounds of your whimpers as he starts a rhythm. Every dip of his hips back down to meet yours has a small, mewling sound spilling from your lips that you have no time to be embarrassed about—everything just feels that good.  

Taehyung’s cock hits all the right places inside you, eliciting a feeling of fullness unknown to your quivering insides. You hold onto his shoulders, digging into his soft, tan skin with blunt nails while he does the same with the hand pressing your knee back, allowing him to angle his hips in a way that has you seeing spots. Your head has inched up towards the bed frame now, and every snap of his hips makes a soft knock of the headboard against the wall.  

“Tae—ugh, oh my god, Taehyung,” you whimper, closing your eyes. You almost don’t want to say anything for the sake of ruining the moment, but he urges you on with breathy narrations.  

“Yeah?” he says, voice low in your ear. You can feel the sweat from his forehead making your shoulder damp as he ruts into you, but you could care less. “What is it—baby? How’s it feel?” 

You moan for him as an answer, but he doesn’t take it. His hips slow down a little and he holds himself up with his hands sinking into the mattress beside your head.  

“Say it,” he coaxes between pants. “Tell me how it feels—to be fucked—right here in your boyfriend’s bed.”

“So good, Tae,” you mewl. 

Your face flushes at the confession, but you want to do it for him. You weren’t one for dirty talk normally. But with Taehyung making the wet mess you feel between your thighs, in this heated moment, you think he could probably get you to say anything. 

“—want you to come,” you say breathlessly. “Wanna see your face—”

“Oh yeah?” he says, hard rocks of his hips accompanying the soft words floating from his lips. His fingers dig into your hips but its a pressure that feels good. “You’re so fucking pretty, god—fucking beautiful body—”

He was always a sweet talker during sex, managing to say the words that made you feel soft and mushy and hot and needy and the same time. You put your hands on either side of his face, pulling his mouth down to yours so that you can sink your teeth into his pretty, pink bottom lip. You pull the flesh into your mouth, sucking on it a little before releasing it with a small pop back against Taehyung’s teeth. 

He grins with a sinful vengeance down at you, his hips starting a faster cadence against your own until the room is filled with nothing but the squelching of your essence and the claps of your thighs against his as he chases his high. 

You squeeze around him, opening your eyes briefly so that you can see his reaction above you: his skin flushed with heat, the muscles of his chest and neck strained with the pursue of his impending release. He looks good like this, the long strands of his hair somewhat sticking to his forehead while others hang down, ticking the tops of your cheeks. The sight of his lip tucked in between his has your core clenching rather harder, and he sucks in a breath at the feeling. 

“Fuck, don’t—” he gasps. “I’m really fucking close.” 

You smooth his hair back, coaxing him now with all the dirtiness of your mouth you can muster.  

“Come on, baby, cum for me,” you whimper, pressing small kisses up his shoulder. “I want you to—want to feel you come all in this pus—”

Taehyung groans loudly as his body stutters, letting your walls milk him for everything his as he finishes with slow, lingering strokes inside of you. After a few more sloppy dips of his hips, e pulls his length out of you, still covered in the condom and softening by the moment. You wince a little at the missing feeling between your legs. He drags his lips across your cheek just as his body goes limp, pressing on top of yours heavily as he struggles to catch his breath afterwards. 

You use to the time to come down from your high as well, enjoying the way Taehyung’s body fits into all the crooks of yours with a comforting, albeit sweaty and sticky, warmth. Your fingertips graze the middle of his back, drawing aimless patterns in the soft, tan skin. 

Taehyung sighs contentedly in your ear, pressing a small kiss there and then a few more in a line that leads back to the corner of your mouth. Down from your Taehyung-induced high, your head feels clearer, your heart sitting a little heavier in your chest as you think about the possible repercussions of what you’ve done.  

Taehyung commands your attention though, pushing his soft lips against yours and coaxing you to make out with him for a minute in your dual, post-coitus bliss. His tongue drags against yours lazily, his hands coming up to push some stray strands of hair off your forehead, fingertips dragging down the side of your face until he has your cheek cradled in his palm.  

He’s so fucking gorgeous it hurts, and your heart beats a little off rhythm as he smiles a sated grin at you, seemingly unaware of your naked bodies still pressed against each other on top of your comforter.  

“You okay?” he asks once more—softer this time, with more implications. His eyes hold a bit of hesitation, almost as if he’s scared of you giving him a real answer instead of your usual one.  

But you are okay, and so you say it, watching his small smile split into an even prettier grin. He kisses the tip of your nose and the tops of both your cheeks before he sighs in satisfaction.  

“Well,” he says, humming deep in his throat. You watch his eyes alight with mischievousness. “This might be the best room in the house now—don’t you think?”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

STARTUPS AND MODEL

If you can't already do it, the best way to get to know good hackers. Running a business is so much more. We had general ideas about things we wanted to get staffed up as soon as this thought occurred to me, a whole bunch of other things fell into place. And not only will they give you this advice for free, just by installing the relevant hardware. But I don't think it takes years to learn how to hack than get an MBA. Hard, but doable. Buying larval startups solves that problem for them: the acquirer doesn't need anyway. If I remember correctly, the most successful startup founders have had to struggle against them.

When you use a Web-based application, your data will be safer. Not politically, of course, but probably as close to the truth to treat stuff as worthless. In outline, it was Stripe. The most interesting subset may be those in their early twenties get into debt, because their expenses grow even faster than the salary that seemed so high when they left school. But they were still only about a tenth of your time on that. And yet a lot of people at first, for the company to exist, you have to make something people want, and to want to do it in a bank? What novice founders don't get is what insanely great translates to in a larval startup.

Professional means doing good work, not elevators and glass walls. He thought perhaps he needed a little dose of sociopath-ness. You just try to get upwind of their opponents. What makes startups different is that usually it doesn't. One reason founders resist describing their projects concisely is that, at this point attempted certain gambits which I will not describe in detail, except to remind readers that the word angel is a metaphor. The investors got a lot more than you spend, the easier it is to do things that don't scale that we call pulling a Meraki. They felt under pressure to hire more, because we wanted to improve, but if we knew how we would have really liked to add to HTML and HTTP. With the bizarre consequence that high school students now had to write in school is to be consciously aware of this pattern is for those who naively discard part of it. You can afford to be rational and prefer the latter. Companies often claim to be benevolent, but it didn't last long. Companies often claim to be benevolent, but it seems like your startup is doomed. For most startups the model should be grad student, not law firm.

The key to this mystery is to rephrase the question slightly. For example, Web-based applications, there is a way for VCs to save themselves. Public school teachers are in much the same position as prison wardens. Are you kidding? I hated it so much. So as long as you're a product company. This was too subtle for me. Who's right? Kids are sent off to spend six years memorizing meaningless facts in a world ruled by a caste of giants who run after an oblong brown ball, as if you have a lot of people aren't sure what's the top idea in your mind. Someone has to watch over them, and I've noticed a definite difference between programmers working on their own startups and those working for large organizations, and the next you're doomed.

It was not just a series of slides built by marketing people. Mostly because they're optimistic by nature. Unconsciously, everyone expects a startup to write desktop software, because writing applications for them seemed an attainable goal to larval startups. Starting a startup is grim and hard than have founders go into it expecting it to be fun? You can write and launch a product with even fewer people and even less money.1 When we started our startup, I think, is that monstrous new chemicals, hormones, are now coursing through their bloodstream and messing up everything. And a program that attacked the servers themselves. Of course I wanted to make more than you spend, the easier it becomes to start a new channel. Being able to release software: the last thing you changed. Whether they like it or not, because there are no versions. You could have some other kind of client.

Microsoft's original plan was to make money. There is nothing more important than understanding your business.2 For example, many startups in America begin in places where it's not really legal to run a business. If this were true, but that's only the immediate cause. It can get you factories for building things designed elsewhere. We did go fast, but we thought very carefully before we released software onto those servers. And more to the point where your group attaches to the tree. All other things being equal, a society prospers in proportion to an estimate of your company's value that you'd both agreed upon. So by this point you've been riding on a subway line for twenty years, and then buy it, as two separate steps. So the acquisition came to a screeching halt while we tried to sort this out. Once you cross over into obsessive.

That will change the balance of power between generations. For hardware startups there's a variant of doing things that don't scale that we call pulling a Meraki. Maybe this is as it should be. Credentials are a step beyond bribery and influence. If someone broke into the clothing retailer's servers, it will be better for the company, after giving the investors a brief tutorial on how to administer the servers themselves should find them very well defended. Sometimes, just like a river, you run up against a blank wall. When startups need less money, investors have less power over them. And if that is the future. When you're young, you should get new releases without paying extra, or doing any work, or possibly even knowing about it.

Notes

What happens in practice is that they've already decided what they're really saying is they want impressive growth numbers.

You can retroactively describe any made-up idea as an idea where the recipe: someone guessed that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Some who read it ever wished it longer. At two years investigating it.

Thanks to Sam Altman, Aaron Iba, Chris Small, Patrick Collison, Trevor Blackwell, Fred Wilson, David Sloo, Paul Buchheit, and Richard Jowsey for their feedback on these thoughts.

[ewankoseyo]

perfectly you || mark imagine

A/N: Finally finished (with extra cheese!) after having sat in my drafts for weeks! This is probably best to read on desktop rather than on mobile since mobile editing is being wonky. Decided to try something new with the OC. Also realized I could kill three birds with one stone by fulfilling three requests in this imagine. Enjoy!

“your mark imagine about the car ride made me tear up, your writing is so good ! i was wondering if you could write another fluffy mark drabble about a girl who is super focused on school and doesn’t rlly have any friends, but suddenly mark comes around and insists on being her friend, but she doesn’t want any friends. so she’s totally in denial when it’s obvious he likes her and she likes him. dk if that made much sense but hopefully it did to you! thank u sm in advance <3”

——

“Kang Jisoo? Are you related to—”

“Yes, she’s my sister.” Jisoo took her uniform from the teacher with a short bow and not another word.

She was used to it, expected it every time she entered a new space.

“Oh Kang Jisoo, you just got your uniform? Great, you can sit right over here by the window!” The giddy teacher chirped. Jisoo slowly made her way to the only empty seat, ignoring the stares from her new classmates as she passed. “What a coincidence! You know, Jiwoo also sat there when she was in my class two years ago!”

Jisoo gave a feeble laugh. “Yes, well...”

“I’m sure you’ll be a delight to have in class just like she was!” The teacher said before addressing the rest of the class. “Well, now that we’re all here, let’s get started. Welcome to high school orientation everyone! You will all be my homeroom students for the year...”

For Jisoo, it was just another day stuck in the the shadows.

——

“Hello, are you even listening?”

Mark glanced at the boy sitting in front of him before letting out a bored sigh. “Yes Jackson, you did look so cool at your match yesterday.”

“Ugh you weren’t even listening!” Jackson groaned, putting his head down on the table in defeat. “I've been asking if you could volunteer for the fencing team’s carwash fundraiser this weekend since one of our members can’t make it.”

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Mark replied dismissively, returning his gaze past Jackson. For Mark, it was just another day at lunch with some of his closest friends. Jackson would blab about some random topic of the day while the others would passively listen as they ate, occasionally taking jabs at the talkative boy.

Jinyoung, sitting next to Mark, had noticed between bites of his lunch that Mark had been checked out of their group’s usual silly conversation. He turned to see where the boy was staring and let out a snicker. “Why are you staring at Kang Jisoo?”

Jackson, being the King of Subtlety, quickly whipped his head around to the object of Mark’s attention. Jisoo was sitting alone at her usual spot a few tables down, completely engrossed in the book she was reading for a class. She would take a sip out of her milk carton every so often, but never put her book down, completely unaware of the stares she was getting. Jisoo was often seen eating by herself during lunch, so Jackson thought it was odd how Mark was paying her mind that day. “Oh? Does someone have a thing for Ms. Kang?”

“Jisoo? That’s her name?”

“You don’t know her?” Jaebum, usually half-present during these lunchtime conversations, looked at Mark incredulously. “It’s the last year of high school!”

“Exactly! I know I only transferred here in the second year, but don’t you think it’s weird how I’ve never seen her before? Or wouldn’t think of talking to her? It’s our last year yet...JB, do you know who that is?” Mark quizzed his friend, pointing to a boy tossing his trash.

“Uh...I actually don’t know...I think I have him in bio?”

“And Jackson! That girl over there!” Mark pointed to another girl walking into the cafeteria. “What’s her name?”

“Kiso? Miso?” Jackson scratched his head in confusion.

Jinyoung raised an eyebrow at Mark. “Is this your way of telling us you’re tired of us?”

“Of course not,” Mark assured. “All I’m saying is that even though our school is so small, we don’t even know our own classmates. We’ve been stuck in a bubble, not that there’s anything wrong with our group, but it’s our last year of high school. I think we should try getting to know our own class, don’t you think? JB, Mr. Class President, you of all people should agree.”

“You do have a point,” Jaebum agreed pensively. “So what? Are you going to try and be best friends with Jisoo now?”

Jinyoung sneered. “Yeah, good luck with trying to even talk to her.”

Mark looked at the three boys curiously. “What do you mean?”

“That girl will not give you the time of day unless you are a textbook,” Jackson joked, going back to picking at his food. “She’s all about school and grades so she doesn’t have a lot of friends. Or any friends, really.”

“See, all the more reason to try,” Mark contended.

“I’m surprised you don’t at least know of her,” Jinyoung said thoughtfully, hand under his chin. “Don’t you know her sister?”

“Who’s her sister?” The simple question was met with audible gasps.

“Wait, you really don’t know?!” Jackson looked around, making sure Jisoo—though far away and still not paying attention to anything around her—wasn’t listening. “Her sister is—”

“Hey Jackson!” A boy had sidled up to their table, notebook in hand. “Here are those notes you asked for earlier.”

“Oh thanks man!” Jackson took the notes and brought the boy in for a pound hug. “See you in math!”

“You’re hilarious! I’ll see you in English!” The boy chuckled before heading off. The three friends looked at Jackson with amused expressions.

“You have no idea who that is, do you?” Mark asked dryly.

Jackson simply shrugged. “I could have sworn the only class I needed notes on was math.”

——

The next day, Mark made it a point to hunt down Jisoo. He didn’t know why he was particularly drawn to attempt befriending her, perhaps it was the challenge? Mark wanted to prove his friends wrong. Was it so bad to want to try making new friends? Maybe she just didn’t have a lot of friends because people were jerks. And Mark wasn’t a jerk, he got along with people really well, even if he was the more soft-spoken one in his friend group. But there was a first time for everything. Mark could break out of his shell and make a new friend.

But if he didn’t know anything about her before, how was he supposed to find her now?

Luckily he had made it a point to actually look up when he was walking into his classes today rather than scroll on his phone as he strolled in, because he finally spotted her sitting in the back of the classroom—nose shoved in another book—during his third period.

“Hi, is this seat taken?”

Jisoo glanced at the seat next to her. “No, go ahead,” she replied, removing her backpack from the chair so Mark could slide in next to her. Before she could return to reading, Mark spoke up again.

“Thanks. I’m Mark, by the way.” He stuck a hand out to Jisoo.  

She only smiled at his hand, returning her attention back to her book. “Mark, I know who you are.”

He shyly retreated his hand to his lap. “You do?”

“Yeah, I’ve only been sitting a few rows behind you the whole year.” She smirked, eyes still glued to the pages before her.

“Oh, but—”

“Just because you don’t know me doesn’t mean I don’t know you,” Jisoo interrupted, glancing at the boy in amusement.

“Oh.” Mark didn’t expect their first interaction to turn out this way. He imagined Jisoo to be more...shy and soft-spoken. Lost when it came to people. Kind of like him, but more so. He didn’t expect her to bite. Dumbfounded but determined, Mark pressed on. “I know you like reading. What are you reading now?”

“What are you trying right now, Mark Tuan?” Jisoo put her book down and gave Mark a bemused expression. “You’ve never spoken to me a day in your whole life, despite us being in the same Honors English class for the last three years, and now you’re coming up to me asking what I’m reading?”

Mark looked up at Jisoo ashamedly, suddenly feeling small under her gaze. “It’s never too late to make new friends, is it?”

Her gaze softened a bit. “It’s a book of poems in English. Mrs. Baek let me borrow it to practice reading English prose.”

“Oh, cool.” Mark nodded, wanting to relate. “So do you like writing? Are you planning to go into it after you graduate?”

Jisoo shook her head and gave Mark a wry smile. “You don’t need to try so hard Mark, I don’t need your pity.”

Mark was silent for a moment. “I wasn’t taking pity on you. I was just thinking about how weird it was that we’ve been in the same classes but I didn’t know you, though I should, and that’s why I wanted to talk to you.” He averted his attention to the front of the classroom. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Jisoo continued reading until the silence became too unbearable for her to handle. 

“Do you really not know who I am?”

Mark shook his head. “Should I? You know, I didn’t imagine you as the type to have an ego.”

She grinned to herself at the boy’s cluelessness. How refreshing. “I do like writing, but I may go more into journalism later. What about you? What are you thinking of doing, Mark?”

Mark returned the smile, giving Jisoo his full attention. “Well I’m glad you asked...”

——

The usually empty desk next to Jisoo in her English class had become Mark’s self-assigned seat. Every day at the beginning of class, he would cheerfully slide into his seat as she was hovered over some assignment due the following week. 

“Good morning Jisoo!”

“Good morning Mark,” Jisoo would greet back quietly with a small nod before returning to her work. 

Despite having sat next to her for weeks, Mark felt he had barely learned anything about Jisoo. Jisoo had a tendency—and was really good at doing it without him noticing—to deflect questions back onto Mark whenever he’d ask questions about herself. When he asked her what she liked to do for fun outside of school, she had said she didn’t have much free time because of all the work she had to do for her other classes.

“But what about you Mark?” Jisoo asked before Mark could press on. “You’re on the volleyball team, aren’t you? What’s that like? When did you start playing?”

Seeing as only fifty minutes of class every day was not enough for Mark to get closer to Jisoo, and Jisoo would quickly leave to her next class as soon as that one was over, Mark knew he had to try even harder. 

Which brought him to lunch today. 

“So are they like...together now? Or something?” Jackson, Jinyoung, and Jaebum were baffled as they watched the unusual pair sitting together tables away from theirs. “Mark always sits with us during lunch.”

“Of course not, Mark would have told us if he was seeing someone,” Jinyoung assured Jackson, though he was half-convincing himself. His friend wasn’t one to step out and talk to others, but here Mark was, speaking animatedly to Jisoo. “I guess he was serious about trying to make new friends.”

“Still, this is the first time I’ve ever seen him talk to her,” Jaebum stated confusedly. “With Jisoo, Mark looks almost...outgoing.”

“See Mark, your friends think this is weird too.”

“What do you mean?” Jisoo nudged her head in the the direction of the three boys burning holes into the back of Mark’s head. They immediately busied themselves as Mark turned around, attempting to seem like they weren’t staring. Mark chuckled as he turned back to Jisoo. “So what? They think everything I do is weird. They can’t talk though, they’re really weird too.”

“No wonder you guys are friends,” Jisoo stated pointedly, stabbing at her salad. “So why aren’t you sitting with them right now?”

“Why? I can’t sit with my other friends?”

Jisoo looked at Mark skeptically. “You think we’re friends friends? You sit next to me in English and we talk before class starts.” 

“Hey, I told you about the time I split my pants in elementary school in front of my crush, and not even the guys know that,” Mark explains, darting his eyes at the aforementioned boys. “We are friends.” 

Jisoo studied Mark’s face for any sign of insincerity before relenting. “Okay Mark Tuan, I’ll bite. So what brings you here to sit with me today of all days?” 

Mark simply shrugged, finally allowing himself to start eating. “Well I realized that you know a lot about me, but I wanted to know more about you.”

“What do you want to know?” Jisoo closed her notebook, giving Mark her undivided attention. It didn’t seem like Mark was going to budge, so she knew there was no point in trying to get some studying done for tomorrow’s quiz. Jisoo was also just genuinely curious as to what Mark was getting at. 

“Oh! Uh...” His eyes darted around as if searching the cafeteria for the right question. Mark hadn’t expected her to open up that easily. “What is your favorite...color?”

“Mustard yellow.”

“Why?”

And that’s how it started. Jisoo went into a story of she had an affinity for fall colors and was compelled to buy everything she saw in those shades. Jisoo and Mark amicably went back and forth sharing stories of the random things about them, Mark feeling touched by the sentiment that these were now things only he knew. Jisoo was obviously very closed-off so Mark felt a sense of accomplishment with how much she was sharing with him, trusting with him, in such a short amount of time. Judging by how rarely he saw Jisoo talking to others, he thought that people also knew very little about her. Though he did vaguely remember the guys saying something about knowing her—

“So what does your family look like?” Mark asked after finishing a story about how his sisters used to dress him up when he was younger. “I think Jackson or Jinyoung mentioned something before about you having a sister too?”

The small smile that had inched its way onto Jisoo’s face instantly dropped and she looked almost panicked. She abruptly got up from her seat and started to gather her things. “I should probably start getting to my next class, it’s a bit of a walk.” 

Mark frowned at her sudden disposition. “Sorry, did I—”

She gave a small bow before leaving him. “See you tomorrow!”

He sat there watching Jisoo’s retreating form, completely dumbfounded by what just happened. Mark turned around, meeting the now-shameless stares of his friends who had watched the whole interaction happen. The three of them just shrugged at Mark, at a greater loss than he was. 

——

Jisoo found herself inexplicably looking forward to her daily interactions with Mark. 

After she brushed him off that day in the cafeteria, she was really worried about how she was going to talk to him ever again—Jisoo was even more shocked that she wanted to talk to him—but it turned out that she had nothing to worry about. The following day, Mark had sat next to her during class like usual and talked to her normally, asking if she had understood the assigned reading. He never mentioned anything about family ever again, conversing happily with her as if the end of their lunch together had never happened.

That’s when Jisoo realized she considered Mark a friend. 

And it was normal for friends to look forward to seeing their friends every day, right?

“Good morning,” she greeted teasingly as Mark lazily slid into his seat. “You look awful. Did you stay up late playing video games for the fourth night straight this week?” 

“Very funny. It’s the only way I can play with friends in other timezones.” He laid his cheek on the desk and side-eyed her. “But I’m glad you’re enjoying this.” 

“Oh no, it pains me to see you looking tired. It means you won’t be listening to me nagging you to put as much effort into your homework as you do video games.” Mark rolled his eyes before rolling his head on the desk so that he was facedown. Jisoo let out a hearty laugh as she finally took notice of his outfit. “Mark, were you too tired to even turn the lights on this morning? You look like you dressed yourself in the dark!”

“Wait, what do you mean?” He shot up in his seat and looked down at his clothes.

“Your shirt’s inside-out! How’d you even button up your shirt this morning?!” 

Mark quickly put on his cardigan, slightly hiding his little mishap. “Oh my god, I’ve been walking around like this all morning, and no one told me anything!” Jisoo, amid her fit of giggles at her friend’s troubles, wiped away the stray tears that had formed in her eyes. Her laughter subsided when she noticed Mark silently staring at her, an impish smile quirked on his lips. 

“What?” 

“You look prettier when you laugh. You should do more of that.”

Jisoo’s face quickly flushed. “Prettier? What do you mean by ‘pretty’?”

“What do you mean what do I mean? You’re pretty!” Mark shook his head and chuckled. “Oh wait I remember, the Kang Jisoo has a bit of an ego. Fine, when you laugh, you’re so beautiful,” Mark corrected himself with another laugh. “Happy now?”

Mark broke into more fits of laughter as he noticed Jisoo’s face turning shades darker by the second. She slouched in her seat and covered her face with her hands. “Mark, why would you just say that so easily? What am I supposed to do about it?!” To Jisoo, Mark had said it as if he were talking about the weather. 

“I don’t know, I think it’s Jackson’s sappiness rubbing off on me. We’ve been hanging out too much lately,” Mark joked, turning to the front of the classroom as Mrs. Baek walked in, signaling the start of the period. For the first time ever, Jisoo couldn’t focus on the lesson, Mrs. Baek’s words going in one ear and out the other. 

It was also normal for friends to call their friends beautiful, right?

——

Jisoo told herself she only let Mark walk with her home because her house was already on the way to his and the days were getting shorter. It’s better for a girl to walk home with someone, especially a guy, when it was starting to get dark, of course. 

And Mark most certainly forced his jacket onto her when a gust of wind had whipped past them that afternoon. She hadn’t asked to use it and she definitely did not exaggerate how cold she was by wrapping her arms around herself so that Mark would notice. Jisoo really was cold and Mark, being the nice friend that he was, had forced his jacket over her. 

“See if I weren’t walking with you, you’d be freezing!”

Jisoo rolled her eyes as she returned the jacket to Mark. “We were a block away from my house, I think I would have been fine.” 

 “Yeah, yeah whatever you say,” Mark replied with a sneer, waving you off. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if you don’t oversleep and actually make it tomorrow,” Jisoo joked, earning a playful shove from Mark. “Bye—”

“Jisoo, you’re home!” 

A middle-aged woman donning an apron and with fresh dusts of what seemed to be flour on her face had emerged from Jisoo’s front door.

“Oh Mom, yes, I just got back.” 

The older woman walked up to Jisoo, lacing Jisoo’s fingers with hers and beaming brightly. “I just got the best news today! We’ve got a special surprise arriving tonight!”

Jisoo smiled as she dashed her finger across her mom’s cheek and flicked the powder off. “Is that why you’re going crazy in the kitchen?”

Her mom nodded. “It’s not every day we get this surprise, so we’re having a feast tonight.” She looked behind Jisoo to see Mark still standing there in the walkway, watching the interaction. He waved when Jisoo’s mom looked his way. “Oh! Is this a friend from school?”

Jisoo gave a nervous laugh. “Yes, well...” She nudged her head and gave Mark a slightly-panicked look, motioning for him to come over. “This is Mark Tuan from my Honors English class. He lives a few blocks that way so we walk home together sometimes.”

Mark stuck his hand out to the older woman. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kang.”

She gladly took it, shaking his hand profusely. “Very nice to meet you, Mark! You must join us for dinner, I made a lot of food and this is the first time I’ve met one of Jisoo’s high school friends. More of a reason to celebrate!”

“No Mom, Mark is really busy—” Ignoring Jisoo’s protests and before Mark could get a word in, her mom had dragged the two of them into the house. 

Jisoo’s house was simply decorated, the mustard yellow walls doing most of the eye-catching. It was warm and cozy as the smell of her mom’s cooking wafted in the air. One thing Mark noted to himself was that he couldn’t spot any family pictures anywhere. 

“I think I’ll be learning more about you today than I have in all the time I’ve known you,” Mark teased, giving Jisoo a nudge as her mom ushered them to the living room. 

“Whatever you do, don’t ask too many questions, answer all of my parents’ if they have any—but be vague when you answer—and just give me your food when my mom’s not looking if you can’t finish it,” Jisoo hissed quietly as she pulled Mark to sit on the couch. She turned back to her mom. “So what’s the surprise?”

The older woman shook her head, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Well it wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it? Your father is picking it up right now.” She was about to return to the kitchen but quickly turned back to Jisoo. “I almost forgot! Dear, could you go over to Mrs. So next door? I asked her to fix my pants and was supposed to pick it up today before she went on her trip with Mr. So, but I still have so much to cook.”

“I can come with,” Mark volunteered. 

Jisoo gave him a hesitant look. “No...you better not. Mrs. So gets weird about strangers coming over. You can just relax, I’ll be right back.”

Mark went to join Jisoo’s mom in the kitchen. “Mrs. Kang, I can help you finish cooking or set the table while waiting.”

She clapped her hands gleefully. “Oh, I’d appreciate that Mark! You can help me make the cheesecake, it won’t take too long to make. Here’s an apron!” Mrs. Kang lowered her voice to Jisoo as Mark busied himself with the apron. “He’s handsome. Bring him around more often.” 

“Mom!” Jisoo gave her mom a frightened look, silently ordering her to stop, before turning to Mark. She stifled back a laugh as she noticed he was wearing her dad’s “kiss the cook” apron. “I’ll be back. Don’t make too much of a mess.” 

Jisoo was at Mrs. So’s longer than expected. As soon as she rung her doorbell and the older woman came to the door, Jisoo found herself answering a parade of questions. Mrs. So claimed to have not seen Jisoo in so long and wanted to catch up, even though Jisoo would sometimes join her mom and the other older women in the neighborhood for weekly tea. Mrs. So had occupied Jisoo with so many questions that she had almost forgot the reason why she was there. 

Taking a breath after finally leaving Mrs. So’s with her mom’s pants in hand, Jisoo headed back to her house, hoping her mom wasn’t similarly bombarding Mark with questions or embarrassing stories about her. She was also really looking forward to whatever surprise her parents had in store. Perhaps it had arrived when she was gone? Maybe they were finally getting a dog? With that exciting prospect in mind, Jisoo happily bounded to her doorstep and opened her front door, ready to be greeted with a—

“Surprise! I’m home!”

Frozen in her spot, Jisoo allowed herself to be engulfed in a bone-crushing hug by her older sister. 

“Unnie...you’re—”

Suddenly Mark emerged from the kitchen, looking as giddy as a kid at a candy store. “Jisoo! I didn’t realize your sister was the Kang Jiwoo! I see her on tv all the time! I should have put two and two together. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Yes, well...” Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, Mrs. Kang had enjoyed them in the foyer.

“Come and take a seat before the food gets cold!” She ordered, ushering the kids into the dining room. “Jiwoo dear, you must be starving! I made all your favorites!”

Jisoo felt like a lost scubadiver with only a couple of breaths left in her oxygen tank, a few seconds away from drowning.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to get away. But she could only sit there and watch silently as Jiwoo seemed to bewitch her friend at the dinner table like she did with everyone else she encountered. Jisoo couldn’t even enjoy her mom’s cooking. 

“This is top secret information, so keep this on the down low,” Jisoo advised jokingly as Mark pretended to zip his lips. “But we’re shooting the music video for our comeback single. One of the locations is a half hour away, and the other girls are just staying at a hotel, but I decided it was close enough for me to come home and spend the night.”

Mark had stars in his eyes as he conversed with Jiwoo. “Wow, a comeback? You must be super busy! You probably have a tour coming up too! I saw some footage from your concerts overseas before on the news, you guys got really big!” 

Jiwoo gave a shy laugh, looking down at her plate in modesty. “Yes, well...”

“Jisoo does that too!” Mark pointed out, turning to the silent girl next to him. “You probably get it from her, don’t you?” Jisoo could only shrug as she occupied herself by tossing the food around on her plate, not wanting to answer and confirm his speculation. 

“Oh, Jisoo gets a lot of things from me,” Jiwoo added with a lighthearted laugh. “When we were younger, she used to always follow me around and copied whatever I did. I remember I used to get so annoyed when she’d mimic what I’d say.”

“Really, she used to copy you?” Mark looked back and forth between the sisters. “But you two are nothing alike!”

Mark had no ill-intent behind them, but as those words left his mouth, Jisoo knew she was done for. He had finally seen Jisoo for what she really was—everything that Jiwoo was not. 

Out of breaths in her oxygen tank, she was drowning.

——

Mark was certain Jisoo was avoiding him. 

He thought nothing of it initially. She had been quiet during dinner at her house, but Jisoo was always quiet, so that was nothing out of the ordinary to him. The next day during their class together, she had arrived just as class was about to start. She had no choice but to take one of the seats up front, so Mark had no chance to talk to her in class. Perhaps she had been running from her last class? Mark knew Jisoo could be a bit of a grade grubber. He speculated that she was probably trying to negotiate her grade up from a 99 to a 100 with a teacher, and that’s why she ran a little late. 

But then it happened again the next day. And the day after that. And after that. And so on. He noticed she wouldn’t look his way during class. Then she’d quickly leave as soon as class let out. Jisoo was also nowhere to be seen during lunch. Nor was she at her locker after school, where Mark would meet with her so they could walk home together. 

Jisoo didn’t answer any of his texts or his calls. Had he not seen her every day during English, Mark would have been really worried that something happened to her.

But it had been a week after the dinner at her place and Mark was still worried because something did happen to her, otherwise she wouldn’t have been ignoring him for that long. He felt helpless, he didn’t know who to ask about her whereabouts. 

Jisoo had really opened up to him in the last few months, so why was she closing herself off again?

Mark finally caught her on her walk home. As soon as school finished that day, he had made it a point to race to her block so she would run into him. Jisoo was a good girl, she surely wouldn’t be skipping out on class just to go home early so she could avoid him. 

Jisoo found him leaning against a lamp post near her house. Waiting. She was about to make a run for it when Mark turned and saw her. 

“Jisoo, wait!” 

“Mark, jus-just leave me alone.” She tried to sound assertive, but sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than Mark instead. 

He walked up her, eyes boring into her skull, willing her to look at him. “Why have you been avoiding me?” She stayed silent, averting her eyes in any other direction but his. Mark knew she was trying to figure out a way to make a run for her house. Jisoo knew he was a fast runner and could easily catch her. “Did I do something wrong? Was it something I said at dinner to your parents? To your sister?” Taking her chances, Jisoo attempted to dash past Mark. With cat-like reflexes, he grabbed her arm, spinning her around and holding her in place so she was forced to look at him. “Whatever it was Jisoo, I want to apologize for it properly, but you need to talk to me.”

She had never been so close to him. She found looking Mark in the eye unbearable so she averted her gaze elsewhere. “Why do you care?”

“Why do I care?” Disbelief laced heavily in his voice. 

“Yeah, it’s fine, it’s not like my sister’s going to hate you for not checking on me or anything,” Jisoo said offhandedly, slipping herself out of Mark’s grasp. “She loves all her fans.” 

Suddenly it all made sense to Mark. 

“Jisoo, do you really think that lowly of me?” 

Whatever resolve Jisoo had built up came crumbling as soon as she heard the hurt in his voice. “Mark...”

“I always thought that you were only distant from others because you were so focused on school and people misunderstood you, but you were doing this deliberately, weren’t you?” The heartbroken look on Mark’s face tore Jisoo to shreds. “Jisoo, how could you think I was being like everyone else? We’re best friends.”

Jisoo could feel herself getting choked up. She felt like a fool. Of course he wouldn’t purposely use her like everyone else did, Mark Tuan was the nicest person she had ever encountered. Never did he ask anything of her, except for her time. 

Which is probably why she had fallen for him, slowly but surely. 

“I’m sorry,” was all she could say, with her head hanging down. 

Mark looked at her with a stern expression. “You know what your problem is? You push people away before they can hurt you. You’ve never let anyone in long enough for them to see how amazing you are.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out a small mustard yellow gift bag. “Talk to me when you like yourself as much as I do.” Without another word, he tossed the bag to Jisoo and left in the direction of his house.

——

“Do you...mind if I join you all?”

It was an odd sight to take in. The boys looked to Jaebum for guidance, always yielding group decisions to the unofficial leader.

“Sure Jisoo,” Jaebum choked out. The boys hurriedly moved their stuff from the table, shifting themselves to make room for her. Jisoo quietly took a seat directly across from Mark and began digging into her lunch, unaware of the stares she was receiving. 

“So Miss Kang...” Jisoo made a funny face at Jackson’s formality. “What brings you here to sit with us?”

“You guys are always staring at me during lunch, I figured I’d join you so you wouldn’t have to strain your eyes so much,” Jisoo teased, side-eyeing the boys as she ate.

“Oh, she bites!” Jackson bellowed. All of the boys, except for Mark, laughed at the usually quiet girl’s uncharacteristic jab. 

“I was also just thinking about how it’s our last year. It’s kind of weird how I see all my classmates every day but I’ve never really made the effort to talk to them. So I guess, here I am now.” Jisoo gave them a sheepish smile, as if asking for permission.

“Well you’re more than welcome to sit with us during lunch whenever you want,” Jinyoung invited graciously with one of his signature eye smiles.

She smiled warmly at them. “Thank you.” 

Mark could only stare silently across the table at Jisoo as she conversed easily with his friends, his eyes fixated on the mustard yellow bow tying up her hair. It had been over a week since he had last spoken to Jisoo. Joining him and his friends at their usual lunch table was the last thing Mark expected her to do. Watching as she blushed and giggled softly at one of Jackson’s typical flirtatious jokes, he didn’t expect her to get along with his friends so well either.

“Better get going,” Jaebum announced as the bell rang, signaling the end of the lunch period. They all got up to clean up after themselves. “Don’t forget about the meeting after school. And Jisoo...”

“You’ll have lunch with us again tomorrow, yeah?” Jackson asked, looking at Jisoo hopefully.

She glanced at Mark who looked back at her with an unreadable expression. “Well...if it’s okay with you guys...”

“Of course it is,” Jinyoung reassured. “Anyone who’s able to completely debunk Jackson’s stupid conspiracy theories is all right with us.”

“Hey!”

“Sure, see you guys tomorrow,” she replied gratefully, waving the three boys off as they headed to class.

“Jisoo...”

“I’m sorry, am I overstepping boundaries?” She looked at Mark worriedly. Of course he’s still mad. She silently scolded herself for imposing. “I knew I should have asked you first if it was okay.”

Mark shook his head as he pulled Jisoo aside from the other students leaving the cafeteria. “No, not that. You always sit at the same table or spend lunch time cleaning lab supplies for Ms. Kim. What are you trying to do here?”

Jisoo sighed as she gazed up at Mark’s questioning eyes. There was no point in trying to come up with a lie, Mark had already seen right through her once before. “Can we talk and walk at the same time? I really can’t be late to History, we have a quiz.” Mark rolled his eyes before gesturing Jisoo to lead the way to class, a small smile playing on his lips. That was the Jisoo he was used to—always prompt.

“I missed you.”

Now that was the Jisoo he was not used to.

Mark stopped in his tracks. “Are you sick?” He placed a hand on her forehead. “Your temperature seems fine. Are you really the Kang Jisoo, the one who thinks nagging someone about how much sleep they’re getting is a sign of affection?”

She removed Mark’s hand before continuing to walk. “It means I care.”

“So do I.”

“And that’s why I missed you.” Jisoo stopped walking again to look at Mark properly. “Mark, you were right. I do tend to push people away because I’m afraid of getting hurt. Like before. I thought I was going to get hurt again so I pushed you away too.” She gave him a regretful look. “I’m sorry I thought so little of you, Mark. Of course you weren’t going to be like everyone else. You’re my best friend.” 

“But why do you keep pushing people away?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” She smiled sadly as she looked down at herself. “I’m not Unnie. She’s a beautiful and successful Hallyu star that everyone wants to be or be with. I was always compared to her ever since we were kids, and whenever people talked to me, it was always about her—they would ask if I could get them tickets to her concert or an autograph or if I could give her a letter and to let them know what she says when she reads it. I was always living in her shadow.”

Now Mark was the one looking apologetic. “That must have felt awful.”

“That’s why I’m so focused on school. I can finally do something that Unnie didn’t get a chance to finish. When it comes to my education, I can just be me, not Kang Jiwoo’s younger sister.”

They gazed at each other for a moment, letting Jisoo’s words sit. Though she had said that he was right, Mark now felt horrible about berating Jisoo before. He suddenly took her hand and started walking hurriedly. 

“You’re right, you’re not your sister,” Mark announced undoubtedly. Jisoo didn’t have it in her to protest. She could only stare at Mark’s grip and let him tug her along. “Jisoo, you’re you, perfectly you. You’re Kang Jisoo, the girl who silently judges my unkempt hair in the morning even though she’s basically had the same haircut since the fourth grade.”

“Hey!”

He gave Jisoo’s hand a gentle squeeze as he continued walking, unintentionally causing her stomach to stir. “You’re everything you should be and nothing less. I wouldn’t have it any other way, and neither should you.”

They had arrived right outside of her History class. With her hand still in his, Jisoo scanned Mark’s face with uncertainty. “So we’ve confirmed that we are best friends, but still, how could you be so good to me? I feel like I’ve always given you 10 when you’ve given me 90.”

“Because I like you,” Mark replied simply, releasing her hand with a shrug. “And don’t worry, you don’t have to say it because I already know. Otherwise you wouldn’t be wearing the bow I got you.” 

Jisoo felt her face flush red. “But I—”

The bell rang again. “I better run to class before Mr. Jeong gets mad again. Meet you at your locker after school?” Unable to produce a proper sentence, Jisoo nodded dumbly, earning an ecstatic smile from Mark. He quickly pecked her on the cheek before heading off in the opposite direction. “Go be the educated Jisoo that I like, bye!”

She grinned to herself like an idiot as she slid into her seat, Mark’s words replaying in her head over and over again. More motivated than ever, Jisoo happily greeted her classmates around her as she got ready for the rest of the period. 

“Because I like you.”

Slowly but surely, with the help of a good friend, she was beginning to like herself too. 

——

[bethhxrmon]

All the odd ones 😘

Oooof of course you would do this. Soooo it’s super long so I’m probably gonna put a read more thingy so it’s not obnoxious.

1.What is/are your OC’s nickname(s) and how did it come about?

Annie’s actual name is Annika, but Annie’s super short and so is Ann which is sometimes used. Although, once he finally meets her, Tony Stark calls her Pikachu because of her powers and his need to make pop culture references.

3. How tall is your OC?

Since Annie’s faceclaim is Auli’i Cravalho and she’s 5′3, that makes Annie 5′3. Kind of short, but not as short as me so she’s a lucky gal.

5. What does your OC normally wear? What would your OC wear on a special night?

When there isn’t rehearsal to be done, Annie wears lots of hoodies, sweatshirts, and the occasional cardigan with a t-shirt under it and some jeans with either her brown or black combat boots. When she is rehearsing, just swap out the jeans with her assortment of leggings because she likes the stretchiness. Hence why the original White Swan costume involves silver leggings (silver because Harper’s extra and likes the theme). But for formal events, Annie goes with her favorite black and white polka-dot dress that cuts off just above the knee with flats. She also has a floor-length dark blue dress with silver flowers sewn in, but that was for a dance she never got the chance to go to.

7. Does your OC have any markings, such as a birthmark or a scar?

Considering she’s a superhero and has a death wish??? Annie has scars all over the place. Though they’re mainly on her legs from bumping into buildings wrong. Also, she has a deep scar on her thigh from a certain part in I wanna say chapter 12 but who knows, I sure don’t!

9. What does your OC’s bedroom look like?  His/her living area?

Since Annie is a superhero trying to hide from her parents, her bedroom is her living space. She has a full-sized bed against one wall, all of them are a light blue color. Right next to the left side of the bed, which has a fuckton of blankets and a couple stuffed animals, is a large desk with her desktop computer and a spinny chair. Right next to that is her window (it’s plot convenience, but ya know what? fight me how else can she get out undetected???). She has a built in closet and it has all her hoodies and cardigans and also her Heather Macnamara costume from her freshman year’s Halloween party.

11. What is your OC’s relationship with his/her mother?

Annie absolutely loves her mom. She’s always wanted Annie to do what was best for her. Whether it’s dancing or acting or writing, her mom’s the supportive one without a doubt. And while Annie knows she makes her share of mistakes, she’s able to let it slide because at the end of the day, Annie’s not dumb. She knows whether or not what someone did was selfish or not. And more often than not, her mom doesn’t have selfish intents.

13. How many siblings does your OC and what is his/her relationship with them?

Annie has no siblings, but if she did, they would definitely know that she was a superhero and the whole plot of her story would be bribing them to keep their mouths shut.

15. What was your OC’s childhood like?

I answered this one here! 

17. What is your OC’s imagination like? 

Annie has a seriously great imagination. She kind of has to in order to be decent at acting. It’s super easy for her to think of a scenario or person and put herself right into the middle of it. Also, it makes her think of all the possibilities and that gets in her way because she overthinks some aspects of her life too much.

19. What does your OC think of children- either in general or about having them?

Considering Annie’s only sixteen right now, she doesn’t want to have kids. Even in the future, she isn’t sure how practical having a kid is given some parts of her past that are kinda spoilery and she doesn’t wanna pass on her powers on accident. But she does enjoy talking to little kids. She thinks they’re funny.

21. Who are your OC’s closest relatives?

Annie rarely sees her extended family, so her closest relatives are her parents. Though she currently feels like her dad can go suck it. Which is fair, he sucks.

23. Who are the people your OC surrounds him/herself with?

Before the fanfic, Annie was basically a knockoff Cady Heron and tried getting in with the popular crowd. But currently she surrounds herself with Harper, the fashion design genius, and her two favorite nerds Ned and Peter who are actually the sweetest people she knows.

25. If your OC has a soulmate, who is it?

Everyone’s favorite Spider-Dude, Peter Parker for sure. It works great, they’re both superheroes. That’s not all, but I don’t wanna spoil stuff.

27. What are some things your OC admires about his/her soulmate?

Okay, if it’s physical, Annie is always going off about Peter’s eyes. Like, if she wants to get a real conversation done, she has to look at something that isn’t his eyes. And can you blame her? Those puppy dog eyes could work on anyone! She also really likes his hair, it just looks so soft. But if it’s not physical, Annie can’t get over how genuinely sweet Peter is. He just gives so many people so many chances and is literally one of the kindest and smartest people she’s ever met. And she does think he’s pretty funny too, which is always a plus for sure.

29. What is your OC’s level of education?

At the start of the fic, Annie’s a sophomore in high school, and at the end she’ll be a junior. Do with that what you will

31. What is your OC’s opinion of school?  What kind of student was s/he?

Annie likes school for the purpose of learning about different stuff. Even if she won’t use it, she doesn’t mind the random trivia. She’s always handing things in late, but she’s normally on the teacher’s good side so they tend to just let it slide because if she’s good at conversing then she must be a responsible student and working hard, right?

33. What subjects interested your OC?

Annie’s a huge theatre kid so she likes anything to deal with acting. English, history, and psychology are probably her favorite. The only subject she can’t get is physics, but she’s pretty solid in almost everything else.

35. How is your OC working towards his/her dream job and/or achieved his/her current profession?

Theatre classes and trying to participate in the school plays and musicals is how she tries. Also, I’m only saying this because it’s not a serious spoiler with how things are going to go, Annie definitely gets into Julliard for acting. Just saying.

37. What is your OC’s biggest dream?

Annie would KILL to be Christing Daae in The Phantom of the Opera, it’s the ultimate dream come true.

39. How does your OC handle anger?

Poorly. Annie loses control over her powers when she’s extremely angry and what happens as a consequence, she can’t control.

41. What is your OC’s greatest fear?

Annie is terrified that her powers will scare away everyone she’s ever cared about.

43. What kind of sense of humor does your OC have?

Being the regular Gen-Z kid she is, Annie has a pretty dark sense of humor, but she also likes puns and creating silly nicknames for people.

45. What are some things that annoy your OC?

Being told acting’s not a viable career, that she’s dumb, and that she’s a bad person (she can say it but will fight anyone else who says it).

47. How easily does your OC forgive?

It genuinely depends on what it is and how often the person’s screwed her over. If it’s the first time and Annie likes the person, she’s quick to forgive, but observant. If it’s a repeated deal, it wears on her and she has no qualms about messing with them.

49. If your OC experienced trauma, what was it?

I see you, trying to find out about the Fuckening™. That’s not gonna happen. You gotta read the fic to find out about all that, my dude.

51. What are some of your OC’s morals?

Don’t betray friends, don’t go down without a fight, if you know something and it’s potentially harmful then you gotta say something, and don’t leave people behind.

53. What is the health of your OC?

Physically? Annie’s pretty good except for sleep deprivation. Mentally??? Wellllllllp she may or may not have manicdepressionandanorexiai’mnotsureyet.

55. What are your OC’s thoughts on death?

Totally okay option for her, but definitely not allowed for her friends and loved ones.

57. What are some of your OC’s weaknesses?

Annie’s very critical of herself, sometimes overly competitive, she doesn’t always know when to stop, very impulsive and will do something stupid if she thinks it’s right for .5 seconds.

59. What does your OC think of him/herself?

Annie either thinks she’s the best person ever or she totally hates herself, no in between.

61. What is the general impression your OC gives other people?

Annie comes off with a bit of a resting bitch face. So she looks a little intimidating, but she’s also short so how intimidating is that really?

63. How does your OC display love?

Annie pays attention to little things and tries to do small things. Like if someone likes a certain type of tea, she’ll make it for them. Or she’ll compliment them while teasing them at the same time. That’s how anyone would ever know that she’s absolutely smitten.

65. What is your OC’s favorite drink?

Coffee, it lets her get away with sleep deprivation. Although her all-time favorite is a peppermint mocha. She would kill for it year-round.

67. What is your OC’s favorite sweet?

Annie loves anything that’s sour apple flavored. Not only because it matches her Hogwarts house and green’s her favorite color, but because the tartness is just so satisfying.

69. What is your OC’s favorite kind of weather?

Rainy, it reminds her of Seattle.

71. What is your OC’s favorite movie and/or TV show?

Annie absolutely loves all the Harry Potter movies and will proudly display her knowledge of it at any time. She is a huge fan, but she also loves movie musicals to death. Except for the 1961 West Side Story  movie. It uses brownface.

73. What is your OC’s favorite form of entertainment?

Dancing around an empty room like an idiot to music. Either by herself or with someone close to her.

75. What is your OC’s favorite scent?

Rain mixed with fresh baked goods. It reminds her of the market and she would kill to go back.

77. What is your OC’s favorite sound?

Definitely the ukulele. It reminds her of some really good times.

79. What is your OC’s favorite kind of ice cream?

Green tea flavored. Ever had it? It’s so good and I recommend it hardcore!

81. Okay one thing you know about Annie that’ll never make an appearance in the story but is important to who she is as a person - whether it’s a little detail of something she experienced or a belief she has.

Alright, Annie definitely has or had a Captain America themed fidget cube that she keeps in her hoodie pocket because she used to play with the loose thread on the sleeve part and ended up constantly making thumbholes that Harper would have to fix. They got tired of it and gave her the fidget cube.

[blackrose-ffxiv]

A Little Local Flavor 07/19

“I c-can make tea, also, I suppose, if you’re going to stay.” Rinha’li Dhavha offered reluctantly. On the desktop appears to be a map of the southern shroud, with several additional locations drawn on it in red and black ink. Charcoal lines are sketched between them, as though trying to sort out the outline of something that once stood there that is now marked only by ruins.

“You may as well. It is a rather long trip.” Lebeaux Desrosiers noted, waving a hand to dismiss Rin to task before his attention turned to the maps laid out on the desk. The medic reached for one, sliding it closer as he peered down his nose at them. “Marking lines between, if I recall the Shroud’s layout properly, ruins?” He mused as he hovered a finger over the lines as he traced them, unwilling to get charcoal on his fingertips. “These would be the remains of Amdapor, would they not? I thought your interests would lie closer to the saltmoors.”

Rinha'li moves to stop Lebeaux, then realizes he’s not actually touching his work. “Their histories are…intertwined, but Amdapor is…it is…” he trails off, not sure what to say about the topic. His life’s work? An obsession? A calling? “…of particular interest to me d-due to a number of personal factors,” he settles on. He makes his way to the door and confers with a passing employee of the coffee shop on the other side in quiet tones before retreating back into the library. “I’m…s-surprised you…recognize the area. It’s…n-not exactly well traveled by most.”

Lebeaux smiled lightly, pale eyes moving intently over the map. “I have some passing familiarity. It was the fascination of someone I knew previously. It became an obsession. It eventually consumed him.” He noted calmly. Actually, technically, it was an aggravated mud puddle that consumed him. But that was like the same thing, anyways. The medic reached for his glasses and slid them onto his nose before he flashed that saintly smile over at Rinha’li. “You’re not concerned you may fall into the same pattern, are you? You’re a far more reasonable sort I’m sure.”

Rinha'li cocks his head and regards Lebeaux warily, wondering if this is some kind of conversational trap. Of course, everything is a conversational trap with Lebeaux, so maybe it hardly matters. His interest almost immediately gets the better of him. “I…did not know you knew a scholar of the War of the Magi,” he says. “It is a topic that often leads t-to…um…strange circumstances.”

“Not as such.” Lebeaux noted as he settled onto Rinha’li’s desk chair as it was the closest to a light source, sitting with his back to it so he could observe the surrounding room. “I have only a passing familiarity, but something of an interest.” He noted. “The Amdapori practiced a sort of magic you don’t see very often anymore, didn’t they? Something similar to conjury, yet more powerful. Their white magic?”

Rinha'li frowns as Lebeaux sits down at HIS workspace – doesn’t he know not to do that? So rude – but is distracted by the arrival of tea, and Lebeaux’s mention of white magic. “…yes,” he says in a hushed sort of tone. “It’s…not practiced anymore, save b-by the horned children the Gridanians revere, or so it is claimed.” He brings the tea over, and tries to act casual. “Who was this…individual who lost himself?”

Lebeaux tilted his head and wrinkled his nose slightly. “I’ve seen one who is capable of it.” And proceeded to demonstrate in his face. “Perhaps once we’ve stabilized the other research it could be another avenue of investigation. Trying both sides of the spectrum to find a balance.” He noted offhandedly, waiting patiently for the tea to be brought to him. “An Isghardian scholar researching methods of improving aether control. He felt Amdapor and perhaps even Gelmorra held the keys to unlocking potential. Is that your interest as well?”

“…you’ve m-met a mage of the white who wasn’t a padjal? Rinha’li’s ears tilt forward, and for the moment he ignores the rest of the question

Lebeaux nodded. “A troublesome sort in Gridania. One of their trumped up ‘Hearers’, a hyuran boy.” He explained calmly, the serene smile remaining perfectly in place as a brow lifted slightly. “Potentially a valuable subject to research if that’s truly your interest.”

Rinha'li stops, thinks, and tries to steady himself and disguise his excitement. How would Lebeaux even KNOW he’d seen true white magic? He was very likely to be either lying or mistaken. “I should like to meet him, yes,” he says. “Though I…um. Typically I have n-not gotten along well with…G-Gridanian Hearers.” He rubs at one ear, indicating the tea tray. “There’s, um…there’s brandy, too.” Rinha'li sighs and takes a seat at the table he uses to mix ink. “…Aether control methods are not my…P-PARTICULAR area of interest. I am…I am interested in the city itself. Much of what they did, and who they were, has b-been…lost. Hidden away, in many cases.” He wrinkles his nose.

“You’ll likely not get on with this one either. He’s an ill-tempered brat and incredibly stubborn. Selfish to boot.” Lebeaux explained with absolutely zero awareness he could very well have been talking about himself. “Ohh? I’d say you were trying to butter me up. I’ll have brandy, cream and double sugar in my tea.” He noted, expecting Rinha’li to prepare it for him. He settled back in his chosen seat, resting his elbows back on the edge of the desk once he was sure they wouldn’t end up in ink or charcoal. “Historical rather than aetherical culture?” He sniffed. “A shame.” He had been hoping to have that Hearer taken care of. Permanently. Maybe dissected to see where his abilities came from, though vivisection would have been preferable.

Rinha'li pushes the tea tray towards Lebeaux pointedly, indicating the cream saucer and tasteful silver sugar bowl. “You c-could…say that,” he says. “Though they are intertwined. They s-seem t-to have had…a m-method by which they made their very walls to walk. And much of what they knew has b-been…deliberately suppressed.” Rinha'li pauses, considering for a moment. “I’m f-from there, you know,” he adds quietly. “The ruins.” Maybe this information will help convince Lebeaux to continue offering information.

Lebeaux tilted his head thoughtfully, though he still made no effort to reach for the tea service. “Brandy, cream and double sugar.” He reminded him with a small wave of his hand as his attention drifted briefly. His efforts to be rid of Marvik for good slipping away as Rinha’li seemed more interested in chasing his ancestral home. “And what would you do with such a method?” He mused with a smile. Rin’s moving castle, of course. 

Rinha'li nods at the description of the tea. Yes, that sounds dreadful and cloying, his opinion has not changed. “I would…” here, he finally stops. What WOULD he do? He was not an architect. He simply wanted to know how it worked. He wanted to know EVERYTHING. And his deepest desire in toying with the powers of Amdapor made for poor conversation. “….w-well, to start, I should like t-to see how such processes interact with aetherically active geometry forms employed by arcanima,” he says. “Imagine if…if you c-could build such glyphs into the very blueprints of buildings. If you c-could have them shift direction according to your will.”

Lebeaux blinked slowly, considering that. Sure he had heard about shifting walls. But more importantly, statues. His pale gaze flicked aside as he considered that. The towering statues of the Saints brought to life to march beside him when he brought revelation and redemption to Ishgard. Alright, maybe it wasn’t as stupid as he initially thought. “The one I mentioned, he had done some research and paid several visits to the ruins.” He noted slowly as he smiled at Rin. “I could perhaps be convinced to allow you to have a look at his grimoire. If it would help you reconnect with your roots.” Because he was just that sweet and considerate, wasn’t he.

Rinha'li cocks his head. “You…h-have a grimoire in your possession?” he asks. “I d-didn’t know you took much interest in…the aethero-mathematical arts.”

Lebeaux looked a little smug as he tilted his head at the question. “I’ll have brandy, cream, double sugar.” He repeated for the third and final time. Folding his arms lightly across his chest as he waited to continue the conversation until after he had his tea in hand.

Rinha'li stares at Lebeaux, then sighs and mixes the tea delicately, as though dealing with volatile compounds. He wrinkles his nose quite obviously at the amount of sugar and cream – unused to a rich diet, or even much of a diet at all, all of this would make him dreadfully sick. “I know Geoff has some ability b-but I do not know the general state of arcanima research in Isghard.”

Lebeaux accepts the tea with an entirely too-pleased smirk. “It’s developing, something of a newer interest so far as I know. I’ve not dabbled with it myself but I worked with one for some time. It certainly has its uses. Spreading illness and ailment throughout the body that can then be aetherically cleansed at will. The ability to cure or kill. It’s rather impressive.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to allow you a look. So long as you allow me to accompany you on an expedition or two, once you’re prepared for it.”

Rinha'li cocks his head, not prepared for this offer. “An expedition into the Shroud?” he asks.

“You’re planning to revisit the ruins, are you not?” Lebeaux took a sip of the tea. “Not bad, could have used a bit more brandy.” Another sip showed he didn’t mind too terribly. “I would be interested in seeing it for myself. This is, after all, the subject that drove an otherwise reasonable and respectable man to madness. I wonder what’s buried amongst those moving stones that called to him. Though of course I wouldn’t be foolish to venture in on my own.” Lebeaux smiled too-sweetly at Rin. “Not without a local’s expertise to guide me.”    

@black-omen-born 

[sweetsoursugarcube]

The Ghost Ship

I wrote this to celebrate Eren’s birthday, but it’s been over a week since the big day D: In my defense, I’ve been busy translating it from Swedish to English.

Please read the original story, Spökskeppet, if you can, either on AO3 or on FF.NET

You can also read The Ghost Ship in English on AO3 and FF.NET

Summary: The sea rages and Eren awaits a visitor. Jean tells Marco the ghost story of the captain and the lighthouse keeper in the stormy night. And through the mist sails the ghost ship; the Captain’s coming to meet his lover. ~3k

EDIT: tumblr is having problems with the “read more” feature and some strange symbols might pop up if you read the post on desktop, but if you view it on my blog it should be fine :) i didn’t put them there myself lol

Once again the clock strikes twelve and it’s the thirtieth of March. The light of the crescent moon and the stars waltz across the smooth surface of the sea and the heavy air rests. A thick mist from the north glides over the calm waters. Above it rolls the clouds. And the world slumbers.

Standing on his islet, Eren looks over the sea. When he catches sight of the gray mist wall in the horizon, he hops down the cliff and slides down to the water’s edge with wildly flailing arms. There he sinks to his knees on the small, charcoal stones covering the beach and stretches his hand over the water. It’s hardly comfortable despite that the stones have been polished smooth by the waves, but he doesn’t register the pain. He’s only interested in the rippling surface and how the tips of the tiny waves lick his palm.

These waves aren’t common. The sea outside of Shiganshina bay behave like this only once a year, on the thirtieth of March. A hundred years ago or so it might have done so more often, but it’s been long since then and the circumstances have changed over time. Eren doesn’t remember the details of his past very well either, so maybe he’s mistaken. It doesn’t matter.

He wipes his hands on his pants. Visitors are on the way, they must be. The ship has never missed his birthday, but that’s not enough to put him at ease. “The sea has its own mind. You can’t control the damned thing,” Levi used to say. And when Eren’s temperament exploded, he’d say “you’re just like the fucking sea” in that special tone of voice with a tenderness only Eren could hear.

He runs despite the lighthouse door being thirty scarce steps from the beach and he could make it walking as well. Leaving the door open behind him, he rushes through the lighthouse keeper’s apartment and to the stone stairs. So often have they been plodded up and down that the edges have become slanted and the surface worn into slipperiness. Hence why he kicks his shoes off before climbing two steps at a time all the way up.

Lighting the lamp in the lighthouse is like second nature to Eren. Once the light is on, he pushes the balcony door open and gazes northward.

The enormous waves heave greedily. Some break against the cliffs, while others throw themselves over the stone beach to leave thick stripes of sea foam behind, over and over again. It’s a game for them. Sometimes their tips glimmer when the crescent peeks out from between the clouds. The wind that had been mild all afternoon pulls now at Eren’s clothes. It blows through him and nips at his soul as it passes.

The mist is thick and the clouds dark. Eren shields his eyes from the wind and his own hair that whips him in the face. He has to confirm that the travelers are going to pay him the visit he’s been longing for every day, every minute, all year long.

But there in the distance flutters a flag. Not wildly like Eren’s hair, but proudly. It’s green, with a pair of white and blue swords painted across it. Or maybe they’re wings? Hard to tell, because the picture is as worn as the lighthouse’s stairs. Worn and familiar.

He leans over the balcony railing and peers in the mist. Its damp, silky lips have reached the lighthouse and are prepared to swallow him. And all he wishes is to make sure his visitor has arrived.

Surrounded by a bubble of stillness, despite being the eye of the storm, glides the ship across the sea. The mist hangs over her like a bridal veil, but the wind is mild and the air is lukewarm. The floorboards and masts creak, and on the starboard side gapes a hole so big you’d think the ship should’ve sunk a long time ago.

But she has not.

The wind blows away but Eren and the lighthouse remain. They’ve been swallowed by the ship’s private bubble.

“There she comes,” he whispers to himself. “There comes Kuchel and her crew.” And her captain. Kuchel’s son, who has named his most important belonging after he. If only she knew how far away he’s sailed and how much he’s seen and done. The world’s strongest captain, they call him. She’d be as proud as Eren is.

The mist following the ship lies heavy as a curtain and the sight is poor, but there’s nothing wrong with the sound. If you get close enough, you’ll hear the ship creak and the ropes beat the masts, and if you get even closer, you’ll hear the men sing and laugh. In the commotion a command may ring. “Order aboard” or “scrub the decks” will a low but silky voice yell then. And always will it be answered by a “yes, Captain!”

Shanties echo over the calm water. Eren’s heart pounds. Fluttering wild against his ribs, like a flag in the September storm.

Vaguely sung words about storms and sea monsters are carried to him on the wind. The crew has changed course since they’ve caught sight of the lighthouse light. They’ve avoided grounding and are on their way past the islet. The shanty fades away and the low but silky voice shouts “do you call this clean? Deck’s covered in shit, redo it!”

Afterwards it’s silent. Not even a small ”yes, Captain!” rings through the night.

The ship has passed Eren without anchoring. He squeezes the balcony railing so hard his knuckles shine white.

“Wait,” he yells. “Wait!”

Now he’s running again. Down the lighthouse stairs, two steps at a time. He trips, but gets a hold of a window aperture and continues without missing a beat.

This can’t happen, it can’t be true. For the first time ever the ship passes the lighthouse on the thirtieth of March without stopping. Has the old Captain gotten senile? Has he forgot what he came here for? Or does he not have the time to take a break? But Eren’s waited for this night! He’s waited for it for a whole year, every day and every minute, he cannot wait another year. He just can’t.

The lighthouse door has locked itself. Without yanking on his shoes, Eren twists and pulls the lock. He kicks the door.

“Open up, you old bastard,” he says and jerks the handle. The door groans but obeys and Eren falls out onto the cliff.

The pier lies in the southeast. If he waves and shouts from there perhaps the ship’s crew would hear him. And if not, at least he can threaten their captain with what’ll happen the next time his collar is within reach of Eren’s fist.

“We’ll see how much you love the uncontrollable sea then, all right,” he hisses from between his teeth.

The islet is slippery after the mist and the great waves washing the cliffs. The chance of falling into the sea is high, especially if Kuchel continues onward and the storm following her gets a hold of Eren before he gets inside. But he’s not afraid of drowning for he’s been the lighthouse’s keeper for decades already and he can take care of himself. Besides, the legend says that if you drown, you’ll grow a tail over your legs. Though that sounds more like a beautiful tale told to comfort the parents of the hopeless girls who’ve drowned themselves.

When Eren reaches the pier, something splashes at its end and he halts abruptly. An oar pokes out from behind it. In the background sits Kuchel surrounded by her heavy veil.

A man disembarks on the pier. Kicking the rope that keeps his rowing boat in place with the tip of one boot. He raises his gaze and meets Eren’s with an emotionless expression.

Short and pale as a ghost, he is. The hair’s inky black and his eyes light. A few wrinkles sit in the corners of his eyes with black bags underneath. He’s dressed in shiny, knee-high boots and around his neck hangs a white cravat.

The awaited visitor has arrived.

“Levi,” Eren shouts. His legs are numb and yet he runs. On the last step he jumps despite being at least half a head taller than his guest.

They stagger but Levi gets a grip of Eren’s waist and holds him up, unaffected. He tilts his head back to study Eren’s grin.

Eren squeezes the cravat in his fist. “You little bastard, I thought you’d leave without seeing me.”

A small smile pulls at Levi’s lips. “Never. Congratulations on your birthday, love.”

  Jean and Marco sit wrapped in a blanket on a fallen pine trunk. The weather had been calm all evening, but around midnight a storm blew in and Marco confessed that he was too nervous to sleep. Together they left the tent to watch over the sea, sheltered by the forest. The shared blanket was Jean’s idea.

“I wonder where this wind came from,” Marco says. Only his eyes peek out from behind the blanket.

“Who knows,” Jean mumbles. Gravity pulls at his eyelids, even though his company has an uplifting effect. It wouldn’t be all that knightly of him to fall asleep in the middle of the storm that worries Marco, so he fights bravely against the Sandman’s temptations.

“It shouldn’t be this windy by the end of March.”

“The end of March. . .” Jean blinks. The sea raging outside of Shiganshina. . . by the end of March. . . A vague bell rings somewhere at a distance, but his brain is too tired to remember what it wants to remind him of.

“Oh but look, someone turned on the lamp in the old lighthouse. I didn’t know it was back in use. Who’s the keeper?”

“Huh? Where? The old lighthouse has been empty for at least a hundred years, why would anyone turn on the lights there?”

“I wonder as well. But since the light’s on someone has to have done it. Look.” Marco shoves his hand out from the blanket fort and points before he quickly tugs it back into the warmth. How cute he is. Jean can’t help his feelings. He wants to say something, but peers northward instead. And as it is, the light from the lighthouse shines through the thick mist.

And then it hits him.

“Oh shit.” Gravity gives up on Jean’s eyelids, because now he’s wide-eyed. Goodbye, Mr. Sandman. “Someone’s playing us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Haven’t you heard the ghost story?”

Marco pales. “No, which one?”

”The one about the captain and the lighthouse keeper?”

“Sounds scary.”

A wide grin spreads across Jean’s face. ”Not really. Come closer and I’ll tell you.”

Marco squirms until he sits pressed against Jean’s side. Hip to hip, arm to arm. He pulls the blanket closer around them.

“It’s said that the old lighthouse is haunted. It’s the crazy son of a doctor, Eren Yeager, who lives there. He’s the last one to live in the lighthouse before it was shut down. Eren died on that islet on the thirtieth of March, on his twenty-eighth birthday. He turns on the light in the old lighthouse every year, on the night before the thirtieth.”

Sorrow weighs Marco’s voice. “In his own memory?”

“Nope. He’s showing the way to passing ships.”

“Only once a year? The lighthouse isn’t used anymore, it’s not needed.”

“No, but it’s more of a signal to one ship alone. Or to its captain. When Eren turns on the lamp, it’s to say ‘here I am’. He’s hoping for visitors, you see.”

Marco gasps. ”The Captain.”

Jean nods with a serious countenance. ”Yeah, that’s his lover. Eren was barely twelve years old when he met the Captain for the first time here in Shiganshina. He was known as a merciless pirate before he was employed by the state. They said that he was the strongest man in the world, that he was invincible. When his ship Kuchel arrived to the battle, it was already won, because she was the quietest ship in the world, and her crew the most skilled. The Captain always led his men himself.”

“What was his name?”

“No one knows. Eren probably was the only one who was allowed to call him anything else than Captain. He was known to be very strict and tidy. And short. It made him scarier, you couldn’t get a good grip of him.”

“Did Eren become a sailor as well?”

“No. His father made him a doctor. And Eren was young, the Captain didn’t want him coming along either. It wasn’t until he turned fifteen that they started to seriously socialize. It’s a bit unclear with all of that. Some pages have been ripped from Armin’s book.”

”Armin’s book?” Marco frowns. ”Is this a fairytale?”

“No-no. It’s Eren’s childhood friend’s diary. That’s where everything’s written. People were worried when weird things happened on the sea and wanted answers, so they dug up some old books. But I personally think it’s only little boys who’re playing around. They probably row out to the lighthouse once a year to turn on the lamp and then they come back again. It’s all in good fun, I know it.”

“Yeah. . .”

”Anyway. The Captain and Eren were in love and Eren goes with Kuchel as the ship’s doctor. One time, when they return home, they’re told that there are many sick in Shiganshina and that Eren was more needed here than on the ship, so he stayed. Kuchel and the Captain sailed away. But they were supposed to return on the thirtieth of March because the Captain insisted on being here on his lover’s birthday.”

“How romantic.”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe.” Jean rubs the back of his neck and looks over the sea. The mist is thicker and heavier than before, but the lighthouse lamp shines bright. “Problem is, they never came back. People said they must’ve lost their way. Or that maybe the Captain had grown tired of Eren and left him for good. That maybe he had found some nicer and more handsome ship’s doctor. You see, Eren was known for his temper and stubbornness and the Captain was invincible, so it was unlikely that he would’ve died. We still don’t know where Kuchel is, but it’s known that she and her Captain visited the city she was supposed to. She disappeared after that with all of her crew aboard.”

“Do we really not know their fate?”

Jean shakes his head with pursed lips.

Marco shivers. “What do you think happened?”

“Some people blamed sea monsters. It was the only thing people thought could’ve overpowered the Captain. But it’s more likely that he upped and left to a faraway country, painted his ship and lived there for the rest of his life. Eren didn’t want to believe that of course. He insisted that the Captain would keep his promise and sat down to wait. ‘Crazy, he’s completely lost it,’ people said about him. So Eren decided to become a lighthouse keeper instead, since no one trusted him to be their doctor anymore.”

“People are terrible. He was just mourning, poor thing.”

“Yeah, maybe. He was a lighthouse keeper for four years, but then he drowned. No one knows how, but it was on this night, between the twenty-ninth and thirtieth, after he had turned on the lighthouse lamp. It’s said that it was terribly misty back then. The next day Armin and Eren’s sister went to the lighthouse to celebrate Eren’s birthday. They found him dead on the beach by the pier.”

“No, that’s too horrible. I don’t like this at all.” Large, brown eyes stare out at the sea, pause at the lighthouse and turn then pleadingly toward Jean. “It was his birthday. How can something like this happen?”

“Take it easy, it’s just a story.”

“But you said it was written in Armin’s book.”

“I’m sure he’s exaggerated for the sake of drama, it’s okay. So, once Eren had died, everyone thought that was the end of the Captain and the doctor’s son’s romance. No one wanted to move into the lighthouse so it was abandoned. Besides, it wasn’t needed anymore. Everything was forgotten. But then, exactly a year later-”

”The light in the lighthouse was turned on.” Marco swallows. He searches for Jean’s hand beneath the blanket and holds it tight.

“Yeah. Armin and Eren’s sister rowed out on the thirtieth. They’d been warned for the confusing mist that seemed to roll in by the end of March. They were the only friends Eren had and wanted to leave flowers in his memory. But guess what they saw on their way there?”

Marco holds his breath and Jean raises an eyebrow before continuing.

“Kuchel.”

“No, that can’t be true.”

“But it is, according to Armin. Kuchel had been anchored outside of the lighthouse and someone had tied their rowboat to the pier, so Armin and Eren’s sister didn’t have room for theirs. They left their flowers there and rowed away. When they passed the Captain’s ship, they saw an enormous hole in its side and heard shanties sound in the mist. And on the pier stood Eren and the Captain waving at them, side by side. They realized that they’d seen a ghost ship and that Eren had reunited with his lover.”

“But why would Eren still light in the lighthouse if he’s found his Captain?”

“I already told you, it’s not him who turns on the light, it’s just someone playing around. But . . .” Jean bites his lip. ” Armin thought that the Captain’s not done sailing yet. He’s no landlubber you see, he loves the sea. Besides, Kuchel’s disappearance was never explained, so maybe she was cursed.”

“Eren could’ve become the ship’s doctor again,” Marco says.

“But he died as a lighthouse keeper. Armin suspected that he can’t leave the lighthouse and that the Captain can’t abandon his ship either. It’s their destiny to be forever separated and only meet once a year.”

Marco buries himself deeper into the blanket. His eyes glimmer in the light from the lighthouse. “Such a sad ghost story.”

“It’s a myth, don’t be sad because of it,” Jean says. ”It’s just some brats who are trying to trick us with the lighthouse lamp.” And yet he had goosebumps.

Marco sits in silence. ”But it’s misty out here. It’s always misty by the end of March. And the storm began so suddenly too. . . that’s weird, isn’t it?”

Jean rubs his knuckles. ”Ha, no, that happens all the time, every now and then. It’s not weird at all.”

“But a little bit.”

“A little bit, maybe.” And he straightens his back. ”But don’t worry about it. You didn’t get scared, did you?”

“No, just sad.”

Jean grins, but shivers run down his spine again. “That’s so like you. But Marco, shouldn’t we maybe go back to the tent now? Not because I’m scared or anything like that, I just don’t want you to catch a cold.”

“How nice of you,” Marco says and smiles.

“Yeah, haha.” Jean jumps up. ”Let’s go.”

“Okay, I’m coming- oh, but look!”

”What? Where?”

”The ghost ship. It’s there. I swear I can see it.”

Jean laughs, but it sounds more like a cough. He stares wildly over the sea. “No-o, you’re just making things up. It’s so misty, sometimes you imagine seeing things in the mist.”

“No, look past the lighthouse. If you look carefully, you’ll see it.”

He follows Marco’s pointing finger in the thick mist around the lighthouse and its bright light. And he distinguishes a proudly fluttering flag on the top of a mast, and under it the contours of a ship.

“The Captain’s ghost ship,” Jean whispers. His voice is hoarse and so low he barely hears it himself.

“The Captain’s come to meet his lover on his birthday. How nice.”

“You’re the one being nice.” Jean grabs Marco’s arm. “I think it’s for the best if we leave now.”

Into the forest they disappear, Jean and Marco, hand in hand. And out on the open sea rocks the ghost ship, while her captain disembarks on the little islet where his lover has waited and longed for a visit, every day, every minute, for a whole year. As he’s done for many years and will do for many, many more

[itsmyrayeraye-blog]

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[archived-fic-writing-fandom-blog]

Restless, Chapter One

This blog is for ages 18+ ONLY! If you are under 18, and interact with this blog, you will be blocked. No exceptions.

Series Summary: You are a hunter that has Restless Leg Syndrome. You live with the Winchesters and hunt with them. They finally know about your illness but don’t realize how bad it is until one night you have to share a bed with one of the brothers and your medication fails to stop the tremors in your body. Life, for the three of you, will change and you look forward to this new adventure.  Chapter Summary: You confess to the brothers about your illness. Also cute fluffy moment. Castiel arrives with a case for the three of you. Word Count: 3506 Characters: Reader/(y/n), Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel (brief) Pairings: None for this part, but a hint of what’s to come Warnings: medical related stuff (no blood or gore, just neurological), mention of arousal but in a clinical way, fluff A/N: I wanted to go into a lot of detail but i decided against it since this part was already going to be so long. If anyone reads this and wants to ask about my RLS, feel free to ask! I included a link to an RLS website, but I don’t mind answering questions about my specific type of RLS.

Link on AO3

Series Masterlist

(All links that do not work in the tumblr mobile app, will work in the mobile and desktop browsers - including the “Keep Reading” link. I have tried fixing this issue with zero success.)

You have been a hunter for as long as you can remember. You moved in with the Winchesters, after you ran into them while hunting the same monster. You saved their lives, they took you in. Things were a little rocky at first, because being in a new place affects your illness. It flairs in times of stress or routine change. So when you snapped at Sam one morning and immediately apologized and explained you hadn’t had any sleep the night before, you had to come clean about what was affecting you. This was the third time snapping at one of them for no reason other than lack of sleep and you hated yourself for it. You loved these guys and you didn’t want them to think otherwise.

Your eyes go wide as it registers that your tone was less than friendly. “Oh god, Sam I am so sorry. I keep doing this. I haven’t had any sleep and I am on edge. You don’t deserve that.” You let out a sigh and your eyes beg the younger Winchester to forgive you.

He just looks at you with concern on his face. He knows what it’s like to miss sleep but you haven’t been sleeping well for a while and snapping at one of them has become more common than either of you would like.

“What’s going on (Y/N)? This has been going on for a while and you’ve snapped at me and Dean at least three times this week. You can talk to me. I am here for you. You know that.”

You take a deep breath “I know, Sam. I just wasn’t ready to talk about it just yet. I am a hunter. I’m not suppose to be weak. But this affects me every single day and I didn’t want you guys to think that I couldn’t watch your backs while out on a hunt. You know I’m good at what I do. Probably better than a lot of hunters even twice my age. I just don’t share this part of me because i worry that others won’t take me seriously. Once Dean wakes up, I’ll explain it all. I’m sorry again, for snapping at you.”

You both sit in comfortable silence. Him enjoying his coffee, eating his breakfast, and reading the news on his laptop, while you enjoy your herbal tea and try and collect your thoughts.

Dean walks into the silent kitchen and grabs a cup of coffee and sits down. You have a Winchester sat on either side of you and your nerves ease. You loves these guys so much. They have done so much for you. You didn’t know if your deep feelings were romantic or not, but you didn’t care. You just wanted to be with them. They were your family.

Quietly you whisper “When everyone’s done eating, can we meet in the library? I have something I need to tell you guys.” You look down at your hands, waiting for a response.

Dean puts his hand on your shoulder and you look at him with a shamed expression on your face “(y/n) whatever it is, it will be ok. We trust you. You are our family.”

Sam grabs your hand from your lap “What Dean said. We are here for you. We care about you.”

You exhale sharply and get up to put your dishes away, making yourself another cup of herbal tea. Lemon Zinger with honey always calmed your nerves. They watch you and you can feel their eyes on you. You can also tell they are doing that silent conversation thing with their eyes that they are known for. You only hope that their view of you doesn’t change. Your mind is made up, though. It is time.

You grab your cup and head for the library and open your laptop and bring up a web page you frequent often. https://www.rls.org/ It’s a website for Restless Leg Syndrome. You hope you can answer any questions they may have, but you have the page open just in case. You take a sip of your tea and wait for Sam and Dean to join you.

Sam and Dean quietly walk in, careful not to make too much noise. They know you are on edge and they don’t want to upset you further. You have a bit of anxiety, but they knew that already. Who doesn’t, when it comes to this life?

You wait for them to pull up chairs around where you are sitting on one of the tables so they can see both you and your laptop. You wait for them to be settled before you get started. You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, closing your eyes while you do it. You open them and begin.

“What I have is an illness. It isn’t terminal. It isn’t curable. It isn’t contagious. But it I do have to take medicine for it and it does affect me every single day. Because of this illness, I also have another illness that pairs with it. They sorta work together.” You observe them following your words attentively and continue.“The main one is called Restless Leg Syndrome. The name may not mean much. But it affects more than just my legs. Sometimes my arms, my stomach muscles, my back, and my pelvic muscles are affected. Its often body wide but it mainly affects my legs. 

My RLS is caused by low iron. I have had borderline and full anemia my whole life. No one knows why. But it is made worse by my period. I take medicine to control the RLS but when I am stressed or eat or drink something I shouldn’t, it does what we call ‘flare up’. When it flares up, sometimes the medication I take doesn’t work. Like at all. Which means I move a lot before I fall asleep. When it affects my hips and pelvic muscles, it… well it triggers the same feelings as being aroused. But it isn’t the same. Just the same muscles and nerves are engaged and it gets a little exhausting. The only bonus to this is that sex sometimes releases enough endorphins that it helps alleviate my symptoms. It doesn’t always work. But sometimes it helps.” (You noticed Dean makes a face at this but doesn’t interrupt. Sam just looks as concerned as always and smacks Dean for his facial expression. This makes you smile.)

“The second illness. I call it a ‘sub illness’ since i developed it as a result of having the RLS. is what’s called Periodic Limb Movement Disorder. This sometimes makes my body move on its own, usually while I am asleep. You know that thing your body does when you are falling asleep too fast and you jerk awake? (Sam and Dean Both nod) It’s kinda like that but worse. When I was younger my bed was against the wall and I woke up in the middle of the night because I had smacked the wall in my sleep with the back of my hand so hard it bruised the bones in my hand. I’ve hit myself in the face before, waking up with a bloody nose. I also sometimes grip my own thigh so hard I leave hand shaped bruises. It isn’t fun.” You take a deep breath, moving a bit on the table you are sitting on, before continuing.

“The RLS affects me every single night. Before I was diagnosed, I would have body tremors during the day. It looked like a nervous tick but it wasn’t. Living with it is hard, since I don’t have insurance and technically I’m legally dead… my meds are expensive. But I manage. RLS and PLMD are considered both movement disorders and sleep disorders since it affects both.”

“This is why you’ve been snappy with me and Dean lately?” Sam offers, keen to show his observational skills.

You smile. “Yes, this is why I have been so snappy lately. I am use to going from motel to motel. They all look the same. But moving into a place that’s actually a home. The stress has made my illness flair and as a result my legs and hips are very sore and I haven’t been sleeping. When the nerves misfire in my legs causing them to move, it makes the muscles move so they get sore a lot. Its why I prefer baths instead of showers. Soothes the muscles.”

Dean rubs his chin before speaking. “Why didn’t you tell us before? We care about you, could have gotten you meds or at least helped you get some.”

You sigh guiltily. “I didn’t tell you because before I was diagnosed I couldn’t shoot straight. I couldn’t even hold a gun properly because my muscles were so tired and because my body was so tired. And I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t be effective on a hunt after learning what is wrong with me. I’m still the same girl. But knowing that I have an illness that affects my whole body every single day… I didn’t want you look at me differently.” You finish your speech and look at them hoping they don’t hate you.

Dean stands. He has anger in his eyes but not at you. You still flinch anyways, expecting the worst. Instead he surprises you and walks up to you putting his body between your knees and wraps you in big hug, pulling you off the table. With his arms still wrapped around you, you slide off the table and your feet hit the floor. He walks a little backwards and nudges Sam “Sammy get in on this man” You smile against his chest as you feel the other Winchester move behind you and wrap his arms around your belly, effectively sandwiching you in between their bodies.

“We got you. We got this. We trust you. We love you. We will never leave you.” You don’t know who said it or if they both did. All you know is that you are now sobbing into one brother as they both hold you tight.

Relief starts to wash over you and you sigh heavily. Your sobs finally subsiding. When you are done crying they both slowly let you go. You move so you can look at them both, putting your arms around each of their waists, and they do the same to you. “Thank you. I was so scared…”

They both look down at you and smile. Taking turns they both kiss the top of your head and squeeze your sides. Sam is the first to break away “I don’t know about you guys but I could really go for some Netflix time. How about we find something good to watch and relax together.”

Dean chimes in, “Tell us what you need and we will help you as best we can. You are not alone in this.”

You beam at your two boys. Well they weren’t really your’s, but you knew they weren’t going to kick you out. Time would only tell, if they’d trust you on a hunt. But you weren’t going to focus on that right now.

“Let me go get something and be right back.” You leave the room to change into some really short pajama shorts with pigs with wings flying in adorable circles all around the butt, and you grab some baby oil with chamomile in it. You were going to see if you could get them to give your legs a rubdown, since it’s awkward and difficult to do it yourself.

You walk back into the room. “Now don’t get the wrong idea about me. I really, really need a rub down. My legs hurt so bad today and I would really appreciate some strong hands to rub the knots out.” You wave the bottle of oil and they both smile and giggle at you. “Just throwin’ that out there.”

Sam has picked out one of the many superhero movies that are out that you haven’t seen yet and you sit between them on the couch. You prop your legs up on the coffee table, with your feet on the edge so your knees are bent just a little, and you set the bottle of oil between your feet before squishing down into the plush fabric and get comfortable, enjoying the heat from both their bodies.

Sam and Dean both get very quiet and you know they are doing that thing again. You sigh heavily and shake your head with a smile. “Quit brain talking and enjoy the movie, boys. Come on now.” You giggle.

Sam grabs the bottle, to your surprise, and squirts the gel like substance into his hand. He hands it to Dean and he does the same. You look from one to the other as they move to better reach your legs. Dean grabs the edge of the coffee table and pulls it forward so that your knees are bent more and they can better reach your legs.

There wasn’t anything special about what happened. It wasn’t sexual or suggestive. They both worked silently. Rubbing your leg muscles, starting at your upper thighs and working down. When Sam’s hand brushed against your core while rubbing the inside of your thigh, you gasped a little, he blushed, but you both moved on like it was no big deal. Dean eventually did the same and of course you and he had the same reaction. Can’t really avoid someone’s leg junction while rubbing their muscles unless you are very creative and things are awkward. But aside from that, it wasn’t a big event.

They both got down to your feet and you thought you were going to melt. Your calves and feet were the sorest and it was really hard to get in the muscles and get at where the pain was coming from. You start to moan a little when they rub your feet. Turning red from head to toe as you do it and you look at the two of them and they are very politely ignoring you. You let out a little giggle and they both relax. The last thing they both do is crack your toes. You sigh with relief as each toe pops at least twice.

“Thank you so much for that. You have no idea how much better I feel..” you smile at them. “Why don’t I pause the movie so you guys can wash your hands.” They both nod and walk towards the kitchen. You hear them chattering about something but you can’t focus on it. Your eyes get heavy and you start to slump a little. By the time they get back, you have fallen asleep. Rather than leaving you there, they sit on either side of you again after Dean grabs a soft blanket and drapes it over you. You snuggle down into it and as you fall fully asleep you whisper “I love you boys so much” and just like that, you were out.

Sam and Dean are sitting really close to you and you can feel their warmth. Eventually both have a hand on you somewhere, just resting in comfort. Several hours pass like this as you snuggle into your blanket and as your nap goes on you notice that two distinct snores are added to your nap. You shift in your sleep and snuggle against one brother and then the other. By the time you do wake up it is very late and your stomach is rumbling.

What actually woke you up, was the sound of a cell phone taking pictures. You slowly open your eyes and are greeted with a pair of blue eyes and a look of concentration. Castiel puts the phone down… you notice that it’s actually your phone, and looks at you and smiles.

“I am glad you were finally able to get some sleep. I saw you all laying here like this and I thought you might want to keep this memory so I found everyone’s phone and took a picture of you. I mean, moments like this are the kind anyone would want to savor.”

You smile at the angel and nod. Looking at both brothers you can’t help but giggle. They are both smooshed down on the couch with their heads on your shoulders and an arm draped across your torso. This cannot be comfortable for either of them but you can’t help but feel safe and warm. With a sigh you poke both of them, each in turn, gently waking them up. Both brothers snuggle deeper into the crook of your neck and you giggle because it tickles. “Boys, as much a I love this. And gods do I love it. We need to wake up. It’s late and all of our stomachs are rumbling.”

A muffled voice comes from Dean’s side “just five more minutes. Don’t wanna move yet.”

Another muffled voice, this time from Sam (and you can’t help but notice that his lips rub against your skin as he talks, giving you goosebumps) “mmm not moving. You can’t make me”

You giggle again and start poking them both in the ribs, right where you know they are ticklish, effectively making both of them jump a little. Dean looks down at you “hey that’s playing dirty!” you start laughing as Sam retaliates and tickles you back which makes you move into Dean even further. By the time you give in, you are in Dean’s lap, he’s got your hands behind your body and Sam is tickling you so hard you can’t breathe… and you couldn’t be happier. You love moments like this where you can just play and be yourselves and forget about the big and bad in the world even for just a short time.

This whole time, Cas was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, waiting patiently. He had popped in to talk to you all about a case and everyone got distracted. Once everyone calms down, Dean finally greets Cas.

“Hey Cas, what’s going on? Everything ok?”

“Yes, Dean, everything is fine. I found a case for you. Its vampires. In New Orleans. I thought it a bit cliché but it looks like a quick nest cleanout and that’s it. They are getting too bold and draining tourists.”

Sam goes off to order some Chinese food, while Cas gives you and Dean all the details of the case. This was going to be a cakewalk. Only about 8 vamps. No ancients. Just newborns rebelling and being stupid. Halloween is close and a lot of things have been happening around towns that are popular in pop culture for monster movies. New Orleans is no exception. Apparently they killed the new owners of one of Anne Rice’s mansions and were squatting there. How original. You roll your eyes at this bit of information.

While everyone eats, you all make a game plan about what to do. Tonight you will pack and rest and tomorrow you head out. This was gonna be easy. You liked a good vampire beheading. There was just something about the sound of the blade as it whipped through the air and sliced cleanly through their necks. You weren’t a “kill all monsters” type of hunter. It was case by case. But Cas had confirmed they were killing and being too open about it, so you all had to step in. And since you lot were the closest, Cas figured you would be the one to handle it.

You clean up your dinner mess and head off to your rooms. Cas goes to his room as well, and you hear the soft notes of classical music coming from his open door. You pack your duffel bag, your fancy clothes bag, you check the small bags that contain your identity cards and your toiletries, you make sure you have your phone charger, headphone, and you set your phone on your desk. You didn’t have to pack weapons since you kept your personal stash in a space in the trunk of Baby.

Satisfied that everything was ready, you take your meds, put them on the night table stand so you don’t forget them, make sure your small backpack was by your bed (this contained all your meds, and had pockets for bottled water and the like). You called it your medicine bag, since you were like a walking pharmacy. The smaller pocket even contained a full first aid kit complete with suture kits and antiseptic and stuff to perform minor surgery. It was more like an EMT bag but medicine bag flowed better. You settle into bed, turn 8track on, on your phone and plug into your favorite playlist, Beauty is Terror, that has some haunting classical music. The music washes over you as you feel your meds kicking in and you fall asleep. Tonight you would finally get the sleep you so desperately needed. Hopefully the trip out to Louisiana would be just as uneventful.

Chapter Two

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[shirlleycoyle]

Students Are Rebelling Against Eye-Tracking Exam Surveillance Tools

As a privacy-minded computer science student preparing to start his first year at Miami University, Erik Johnson was concerned this fall when he learned that two of his professors would require him to use the digital proctoring software Proctorio for their classes. The software turns students’ computers into powerful invigilators—webcams monitor eye and head movements, microphones record noise in the room, and algorithms log how often a test taker moves their mouse, scrolls up and down on a page, and pushes keys. The software flags any behavior its algorithm deems suspicious for later viewing by the class instructor.

In the end, Johnson never had to use Proctorio. Not long after he began airing his concerns on Twitter and posted a simple analysis of the software’s code on Pastebin, he discovered that his IP address was banned from accessing the company’s services. He also received a direct message from Proctorio’s CEO, Mike Olsen, who demanded that he take the Pastebin posts down, according to a copy of the message Johnson shared with Motherboard. Johnson refused to do so, and is now waiting to see if Proctorio will follow up with more concrete legal action, as it has done to other critics in recent weeks.

“If my professors weren’t flexible, I’d be completely unable to take exams,” Johnson said. “It’s insane to think that a company [or] CEO can affect my academic career just for raising concerns.”

His case is just one example of how college campuses are revolting against the use of digital proctoring software, and the aggressive tactics employed by proctoring companies in response to those efforts. In recent weeks, students have started online petitions calling for universities across the world to abandon the tools, and faculty on some campuses, like the University of California Santa Barbara, have led similar campaigns, arguing that universities should explore new forms of assessment rather than subjecting students to surveillance.

“We need to really think long and hard about how we are adapting,” Jennifer Holt, a film and media studies professor at UCSB, told Motherboard. "We’re supposed to be protecting our students.”

Surveillance at Home

Algorithmic proctoring software has been around for several years, but its use exploded as the COVID-19 pandemic forced schools to quickly transition to remote learning. Proctoring companies cite studies estimating that between 50 and 70 percent of college students will attempt some form of cheating, and warn that cheating will be rampant if students are left unmonitored in their own homes.

Like many other tech companies, they also balk at the suggestion that they are responsible for how their software is used. While their algorithms flag behavior that the designers have deemed suspicious, these companies argue that the ultimate determination of whether cheating occured rests in the hands of the class instructor. The companies consider the algorithms proprietary and Proctorio, in particular, has reacted swiftly to prevent anyone with access to its training material or underlying code from disclosing their analyses.

“Any plan that calls for schools to just ‘stop using’ proctoring will make cheating more common than it already is, escalating a severe threat to all higher education,” Scott MacFarland, the CEO of ProctorU, another proctoring vendor, wrote in an email to Motherboard. Comparing his product’s deterrent effect to that of more ubiquitous surveillance technology, he added “we may not love the idea of being on camera every time we visit a bank or go to a convenience store, but no one is suggesting taking them down.” 

There is little peer-reviewed evidence about how digital proctoring affects students’ honesty and test-taking ability, and the little research that has delved into the issue doesn’t offer a clear consensus. A 2018 study tracking 2,686 students across 29 courses found that those whose exams weren’t monitored using Proctorio received grades 2.2 percent lower than those whose were. The authors concluded that the results were likely a result of cheating by students not using Proctorio. But a 2019 study involving 631 students found that test takers who felt higher levels of anxiety during exams performed worse, and that the cohort of students monitored by proctoring software felt more anxiety than those who weren’t.

A slide from Proctorio's training materials, detailing how the system measures "suspicion levels" while students take exams.

Students’ and educators’ objections to exam proctoring software go beyond the privacy concerns around being watched and listened to in their bedrooms while they take a test. As more evidence emerges about how the programs work, and fail to work, critics say the tools are bound to hurt low-income students, students with disabilities, students with children or other dependents, and other groups who already face barriers in higher education.

Every day for the last week, Ahmed Alamri has opened ExamSoft and attempted to register for the practice version of the California state bar exam. Every time, the software’s facial recognition system has told him the lighting is too poor to recognize his face. Alamri, who is Arab-American, has attempted to pass the identity check in different rooms, in front of different backgrounds, and with various lighting arrays. He estimates he’s attempted to verify his identity as many as 75 times, with no success. “It just seems to me that this mock exam is reading the poor lighting as my skin color,” he told Motherboard.

Alamri isn't alone. Law students around the country are organizing to fight against the use of any kind of digital proctoring software like ExamSoft on bar exams. In California, two students have filed an emergency petition with the state supreme court requesting that it cancel the exam entirely and institute a new form of assessment. A similar effort is underway in Illinois, while Louisiana, Oregon, and Wisconsin have already scrapped their upcoming bar exams as a result of student pressure. Other states, including New York, are fumbling for solutions as deadlines for the exams quickly approach; at one point, New York's test proctor announced it was going to ban the use of "desktop computers" to take the test.

In their petition, the students say the use of ExamSoft discriminates against people of color because facial recognition technology has been shown on numerous occasions to be worse at recognizing people with darker skin tones, and particularly women of color. The California bar exam would require test takers to verify their identity with facial recognition checks eight separate times, according to the petition, and a single failure would end the test.

The petitioners also conducted a survey of 1,413 law students who were preparing to take the bar exam. “78.8 percent of African-American/Black respondents, 91.7 percent of Alaskan Indian or Native American respondents, 71.5 percent of Asian/Pacific Islander respondents, 81.4 percent of Southwest Asian North African respondents, and 75.9 percent of Latinx, Latino/a, Hispanic respondents” reported that they either would not have reliable internet during the exam, or were unsure whether their connection would be reliable.

“They aren’t taking into consideration people from underprivileged communities,” Alamri said. “This sort of online exam is really measuring a person’s generational wealth and not their knowledge of the law.”

Abnormalities

Another major point of contention between proctoring companies and university communities has been the algorithmic techniques the software uses to detect potential cheating.

In training documents Proctorio provides to universities, the company explains that its software determines whether a test-taker’s “suspicion level” at any given moment is low, moderate, or high by detecting “abnormality” in their behavior. If a student looks away from the screen more than their peers taking the same exam, they are flagged for an abnormality. If they look away less often, they are flagged for an abnormality. The same goes for how many keystrokes a student makes while answering a question, how many times they click, and a variety of other metrics. Variation outside the standard deviation results in a flag.

That methodology is likely to lead to unequal scrutiny of people with physical and cognitive disabilities or conditions like anxiety or ADHD, Shea Swauger, a research librarian at the University of Colorado Denver’s Auraria Library who studies educational technology, told Motherboard. “These coders are defining, mathematically, the ideal student body: how often it does, or doesn’t do, these certain attributes, and anything outside of that ideal is treated with suspicion,” he said.

A slide from Proctorio's training materials detailing how the software detects "abnormalities" by analyzing keystroke patterns.

Proctorio and other proctoring companies strongly disagree with that assessment. “The biggest thing is that we’re not making any sort of academic decisions, we’re just providing a quicker way [for teachers] to review places in the exam based on the things they’re looking for,” Olsen, Proctorio’s CEO, told Motherboard in an interview. Teachers can choose which types of behaviors to monitor, and it’s up to them to decide whether an abnormality constitutes cheating, he added.

Students from multiple schools across the US told Motherboard that while teachers ultimately choose whether and how to use exam-monitoring software like Proctorio, they often do so with no guidance or restrictions from the school's administration.

"Each academic department has almost complete agency to design their curriculum as far as I know, and each professor has the freedom to design their own exams and use whatever monitoring they see fit," Rohan Singh, a computer engineering student at Michigan State University, told Motherboard. 

Singh says that students at the school objected after professors began using an exam-monitoring software called Respondus without proper notice at the end of the spring semester, when many universities began converting to online learning. He added that while it's ultimately up to the instructor how the software is used, it generally helps teachers who are predisposed toward doling out Academic Dishonesty Reports, or ADRs. "As a rule of thumb, the professors who choose to use Respondus are the professors more inclined to use their discretion to hand out ADRs," he said.

Nearly a dozen other students told Motherboard that they or their peers had objected to professors' use of exam-monitoring software at other state universities across the US.

In April, Swauger, who is organizing an effort to convince the University of Colorado system to drop Proctorio, published a peer-reviewed article critical of algorithmic proctoring in the journal Hybrid Pedagogy. In response, Proctorio sent a letter to the journal demanding a retraction. The journal’s editors declined. 

The company’s response to Ian Linkletter, a learning technology specialist at the University of British Columbia, in Vancouver, was even sharper. After Linkletter began sharing Proctorio training videos and documents that explained the company’s abnormality methodology on Twitter, the videos were removed from YouTube, and Proctorio filed for a court injunction to prevent Linkletter from sharing its training material. Linkletter declined to comment for this article due to the pending legal case.

Olsen said Proctorio welcomes public critiques of its service, but takes action when critics share records the company hasn’t made public.

Other proctoring companies have also been litigious when faced with criticism. 

In March, after students approached faculty members at the University of California Santa Barbara, the faculty association sent a letter to the school’s administration raising concerns about whether ProctorU would share student data with third parties. The faculty asked UCSB to terminate its contract with the company and discourage professors from using similar services.

In response, a ProctorU attorney threatened to sue the faculty association for defamation and violating copyright law (because the association had used the company’s name and linked to its website). He also accused the faculty association of “directly impacting efforts to mitigate civil disruption across the United States” by interfering with education during a national emergency, and said he was sending his complaint to the state’s Attorney General.

Although ProctorU never filed a lawsuit against the UCSB faculty association, the threat had a chilling effect on professors’ willingness to discuss the software.

Holt, one of the faculty members who first raised questions about proctoring software, declined to talk to Motherboard specifically about the ordeal or ProctorU. But in general, she remains worried about the spread of proctoring tools on campuses.

“We must do better than subjecting our students to surveillance and violations of their privacy,” she said. “We must do better than allowing algorithmic policing through biometric surveillance as the new normal for education.”

Students Are Rebelling Against Eye-Tracking Exam Surveillance Tools syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[canadian-riddler]

‘The Usual: Part Three’

 First two parts

The third part of the Scriddler Canadian Coffee Shop AU

Edward woke to the sound of a reversing snowplow and someone yelling about being out of vegan butter. Odd.  He lived on the seventh floor, why –

That was when he noticed the clutter, and the general aged atmosphere, and he got the impression he was in the house of grandparents he had never met.  It was oddly pleasant.  He fumbled for the glasses that had fallen off his face and into the space between his ribs and the back of the couch and sat up, managing to catch his laptop before he dumped it onto the floor.  Jonathan was sitting on the floor with his back against the front side of the couch, at his papers again.  His own glasses were most of the way down his nose and he looked very pale. Edward rubbed his nose and sat up.

“What time is it?” he asked, as best he could thirty seconds after waking.  He generally preferred to spend more time easing himself into his day, but that simply wouldn’t be polite.  Jonathan shrugged.

“I have no idea.”

Edward pushed his glasses on and reached into the pocket of his discarded pants for his phone.  He had to be at work in an hour and a half. He lay back down but not before catching sight of Jonathan’s face.  He had not slept at all that night.

“You look tired,” he said. Jonathan looked at him with the smallest motion of his head possible, but said nothing.  There was a cup of coffee on the floor next to him.  His legs were crossed and the span of his knees must have been at least a foot and a half.  “You drink coffee here and then go to Tim Hortons?”

Jonathan eyed the cup for a moment.  “I drink a lot of coffee.”

Edward sat up and pushed himself onto the floor next to Jonathan, the sheet still tangled around his legs.  He couldn’t get all that close because of Jonathan and his general mess, but that didn’t really matter.  He was just trying to get on his level.  “It’s not good for your skin, you know.”

Jonathan almost smiled. “I don’t believe that anything I do is.”

Edward folded his arms. “You don’t plan on living very long, do you.”

“I will live as long as I need and no longer.”

After that Jonathan took Edward to work, bought his coffee, and left, without speaking a word the entire time, which meant Edward had to stand there all day and think about that statement.  It had such fascinating implications!  How long would that be?  How long did one know they needed to live for?  How did Jonathan even know what it was he was alive to do?  That was certainly something Edward hadn’t figured out yet, but Jonathan had.  No, of course he had!  He was so clever and he knew himself so well…

He impatiently awaited the end of his day, in which he commandeered a coworker to drop him off at the university, coffee for Jonathan in hand.  Jonathan barely looked at him when Edward closed the door to his office, and he frowned and put the coffee on the desk.  “Did you sleep last night at all?”

Jonathan took a long breath and sat back in his chair, removing his glasses.  “I did not.”

“Is that… normal?” Edward ventured, folding his arms onto the desktop and leaning on them. Jonathan straightened the glasses so they were more parallel with the edge of the desk.

“Somewhat.”

Edward found himself biting the inside of his cheek and forced himself to stop.  He hadn’t been able to sleep because of Edward.  That was the reason, wasn’t it.  But he wasn’t saying it because he was trying to be polite.

Now when had Jonathan ever cared about being polite?

“Is it a bad time to mention I left my laptop at your place?”

Jonathan actually smiled and slid his glasses back on.  “I noticed, and it was quite clever of you.  But I have to take you back there anyway so you can pick up your car.”

Maybe Edward was overreacting again.  Jonathan didn’t seem disinclined to have him over again at all.  “I may have wanted to ensure I was invited back inside.”

Jonathan yawned and used one hand to further disarrange his hair.  He had crooked teeth.  “You were so unimpressed yesterday I’ll admit I couldn’t be sure that was the case.” He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum.  Edward straightened.

“I’m still deciding on that.”

Jonathan gave him one startling, appraising look, then proceeded to packing things into his briefcase as per usual.  Edward tried to figure out what it meant as he followed Jonathan into the lot to his truck, and had decided by the time he climbed into it that Jonathan must not have expected that answer.  It further implied he was using the mess as camouflage. Jonathan started the engine with one naked key and flicked on the wipers.  They cut something of a swath through the snow on the windshield, but they seemed as old as the truck itself and smeared the stuff across the very section they were supposed to clear.  Edward looked at Jonathan for a long moment, who was far more interested in his coffee.

“Do you want me to brush off the windshield?” he asked after a moment and before realising he didn’t actually see such a tool anywhere.  Jonathan shook his head.  

“I don’t have a brush to do that with.”

“Does it not snow in Newfoundland?”

He thought that Jonathan almost laughed.  He seemed genuinely amused, at least.  “It snows a great deal more there than it does here.”

“But you own neither a shovel nor a brush?”

Jonathan shrugged. “Someone else always does.”

They didn’t speak again until Edward had followed Jonathan back into his apartment, and Edward had walked as slowly as he could towards his laptop while Jonathan looked at the half-full coffeepot and apparently decided he was going to make a new one instead. As Edward was neatly gathering the cord Jonathan asked, “Are you from here?”

Edward froze.  Jonathan was actually asking him a question about himself?  “…Yes.”

Jonathan opened the top-situated freezer and frowned into it, removing a block of some yellowish substance covered in saran wrap.  “Do you know what that is?” Edward asked, abandoning his laptop in favour of entering the kitchen.  Jonathan shook his head and put the block back into the freezer.

“Then why did you – “

“Perhaps I’ll remember later.”  He pulled open the refrigerator.  “Do you mind bologna?”

It took him a moment to remember what it was. He hadn’t eaten it in years.  “Uh… no.”

“If you’re staying, that’s what I’m having for supper.”

He was having a bologna sandwich.  For dinner.

They should have gone to Edward’s condo instead.

Jonathan at least had condiments in his refrigerator, one of which was Dijon mustard, and Edward was also relieved to note Jonathan made them both two sandwiches.  Not only because Edward would still be hungry after one, but because he didn’t want to know if Jonathan could live off one sandwich a day.

“And your parents?” Jonathan asked after a few minutes.  Edward grimaced.

“My mother disappeared when I was eight.  I have no idea where she went.  As for my father… after I left, he returned to la belle province, since he no longer had his kid tying him to Toronto.”  Only out of habit did he properly accent the French.  He’d been trying not to for years, but it had been ingrained in him too early to shake.  Jonathan looked at him with lowered brows.

“To where?”

“Québec.”

“Ah.”  Jonathan took a drink of his coffee.  “Quebec is… interesting.  Dignified.”

“I’ve never been.” And he never planned to go, either.

“Because your father is from there and you dislike him?”

‘Disliked’ was a severe understatement.  “That would be why.”

Jonathan shook his head. “You shouldn’t eschew your heritage because of one man.  If anything, you should embrace it.  He would probably be extremely angry for you to lay claim to something so important to him.”

Edward found himself staring at the back of his laptop in amazement.  It was true!  His father would be furious!  He should have thought of that years ago!

“Was your family upset you moved so far away?”

Jonathan put aside the remaining piece of his second sandwich.  “I have no family.”

Edward tried to feel empathetic, but failed.  He found himself saying, somewhat bitterly, “I often wonder if that would have been easier.”

Jonathan appraised him briefly.  “It may have been.  In some ways.”

Edward would have loved an explanation for that, but Jonathan for some reason decided to turn the television set on just then, which entirely discouraged further inquiring on the matter.  

Jonathan then largely ignored Edward for the next few hours, except for the time Edward got up to inspect the cups in the back of the cupboard to see if there was an actual clean one in there he could use.  Jonathan was probably mostly interested in the fact Edward had to climb up on the counter to actually reach up there.

He had the passing thought that would be useful one day, when they both had their own things in the cupboards and each were more comfortable reaching into shelves at different heights, and when he actually realised he’d had this thought he almost dropped the cup he was holding. Not this again!  He wasn’t going to move in with Jonathan.  He’d only known him a few months, and not very well at that.  Jonathan was far too interested in keeping everything very close to the chest.

Because he knew he had few redeeming qualities.  He knew he had only one way to get Edward to stick around long enough to become attached.

That was a little manipulative.  But… clever. Very clever.  And if Edward had said he’d never been manipulative towards a prospective partner before, he would have been lying.  Which was another thing he’d done for that reason.

He sat back down on the couch with his drink, realising belatedly that he had put his laptop down on his original spot and he had now had to move to the left.  That was, closer to Jonathan.  Jonathan was going to think he’d done it on purpose.  He was going to analyse it and come to the conclusion Edward was making a move on him.  He wasn’t.

He could be.

Yes.  Why take this opportunity away from himself!  He could pick his laptop up and slide back over to the right, but he wasn’t going to. He was just going to pick it up, and put his feet on the table like so, and he was just going to stay right there. As though he’d done it on purpose.

Oh, but Edward was having to make all the moves!  It wasn’t fair.  Would it have killed Jonathan to have tried to seduce him, just once?

He doesn’t know how, Edward reminded himself.  

He could have learned through observation by now!  He’s… observant!

“Have you ever wanted to do something that isn’t quite right, but even so you cannot put it out of mind?”

If that was Jonathan’s attempt at seduction, he needed to be a lot more observant.  Edward rubbed at his nose, where his glasses pressed into the bridge.

“I do things like that all the time,” he said, before remembering he hadn’t actually told Jonathan about his… side jobs.  “If you want something, take it.  Just make sure you won’t get caught.”

“You aren’t big on morals, are you,” Jonathan said, with an incredibly straight face.

“Wasn’t raised with any,” Edward responded with nonchalance, and they each went back to what they’d been doing.

 //

 It was only when Edward became supremely irritated by the impression of his glasses digging into the left side of his face that he realised he’d fallen asleep, and someplace very uncomfortable.  He was about to sit up and figure out just where he was when he realised there was something on top of his head.  It wasn’t heavy, or bearing overt pressure, in fact… it was –

It was Jonathan’s hand!

Now that was a new development.  Now that he had been startled awake enough to realise it, it could have been nothing else but.  Jonathan’s lap was amazingly hard, and he was going to have a bruise in the morning from the ear of his glasses pressing into his skin.  But Jonathan’s hand was too fascinating for him to move.  He was stroking Edward’s hair, but hesitantly, even… shyly.  As though someone were in the other room and he was prepared to stop as soon as they appeared.  It was nice. It made Edward feel… cared-for.

He’d gone and made himself upset with that one.  Nothing new, but for the joy at Jonathan’s behaviour – finally! – aggressively replaced with the thought that this really should be nothing new to him was sobering.  He almost wished he’d never woken up in the first place.  He always broke up with people before they could make him feel this way.

Except this time, he supposed.

He reached up to remove his glasses and Jonathan immediately pulled his hand back.  Edward managed to toss the glasses onto the table and put the now-empty hand onto Jonathan’s leg with a hesitance of his own that surprised him. He’d gone too far.  He didn’t know what to do now.  He wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

“Don’t stop,” Edward said, without really wanting to.  He stared at the television across the room, which was muted and hard to see lying sideways, but it was better than acknowledging that he wasn’t really in control of this anymore.

It took some minutes, but Jonathan continued albeit with a little more surety, and only then did Edward feel comfortable enough to close his eyes.

 //

 When Edward woke up Jonathan hadn’t moved.  His head was tilted back against the couch and the shadows beneath his eyes had deepened considerably.  Edward didn’t usually make an effort to get up as soon as he realised he was conscious, but the man looked terrible.  He had the feeling he should probably ask about that.  He wasn’t sure what the feeling was, exactly, but it might have been concern.  He had only ever known that rarely before, so he had no real way of knowing.  He sat up, rubbing at the corners of his eyes and focusing on getting his mouth moist enough that he could talk without embarrassing himself.  Jonathan remained still, but Edward could feel those eyes on him and it created a thrill in his stomach.  He maybe took a little longer than he needed in order to savour it.

“I’d ask how you slept, but it seems self-evident,” Edward said, pleased that his voice seemed more or less normal.  He crossed his legs, parallel with the edge of the couch cushions, and smoothed out the sheet absentmindedly.  He realised Jonathan hadn’t answered the question he hadn’t really asked and looked over at him.  Jonathan had turned his eyes to the other side of the room, unfocused on a sagging bookcase both collapsing with and being held up by his endless collection of books.  “Jonathan?”

Jonathan looked at him slowly, as though it required a great deal of energy he didn’t have.  “Mm.”

“Did you… sleep at all?”

Jonathan took a long breath. “I’m afraid you rendered me incapable.”

Edward was about to open his mouth to argue – everyone always brought up the snoring, as if he could help the fact he had a deviated septum! – when Jonathan continued, “It’s not what you think.”

He chewed on his tongue a moment.  “What is it, then?”

Jonathan pressed his hands against his knees and stood up.  The raised blue veins there were shocking against the pale skin.  “Nothing you need to worry about.”

For some odd reason, Edward discovered he was worried about it anyway.  He had no idea why.  If Jonathan said he didn’t need to, why bother?

Because that’s what you do when you care, he found himself thinking.

He usually tried not to. It was easier that way.  But Jonathan had certainly done his fair share of it, right up to and including allowing Edward to sleep all night in his lap. Given the size of his legs, it could not have been that comfortable nor that pleasant for him.  Maybe it had even put his legs right to sleep and he was just very good at hiding it.

“Make sure you take your laptop with you,” Jonathan called to him.  Startled, Edward looked behind him to see that Jonathan had left to change his shirt.  Soft blue plaid.  It enhanced his eyes a little.  When Edward realised he was staring he snapped his eyes back to the computer in front of him.

“Oh,” was all Edward came up with.  There was a watery unpleasantness in his gut.  He’d done something wrong.  He’d ruined everything, somehow.  It was the not knowing that bothered him more than anything.  It always had been and always would be.

Jonathan said nothing else to him as he made his preparations to return to the university. When Edward told him he was leaving first, because if they arrived at the Tim Hortons simultaneously it would be quite awkward – not to mention it would leave Edward with a  great deal of explaining to do – he only nodded vaguely.  Edward swallowed against his dry throat.  All signs pointed to him having done something terribly wrong.  He tried to convince himself it was because Jonathan was exhausted.  He looked it.  

He didn’t show up at the store until about half an hour after Edward had already clocked in, and Edward almost asked him if he was all right.  He looked almost as ill as he had when he’d actually been sick.  But his tongue locked up for some reason and they made their daily exchange in silence.  Edward kept away from him as much as he could.  During an accidental look over to that corner, he saw Jonathan hunched over the table with his eyes closed, one hand pressed against his forehead and his other arm draped on the edge of the table.  Edward took a short breath.  Jonathan seemed almost… despondent.  If Edward knew what he’d done, he would have apologised.

Edward never apologised for anything.  The fact that he wanted to do so for something he wasn’t even sure he’d done was a bit… terrifying.  It reminded him a little too much of things he was ready to forget.  It was nearly the same: he was being given the impression he’d done something terrible, and this uneasy silence was his punishment before the real outcome was revealed. Apologising early never really helped, but he still had the urge to do it each and every time regardless.

Jonathan left at the usual time without looking at him and Edward’s stomach continued to sink.  He hated not knowing.  Hated it.

And then, for a second time, Jonathan went silent on him.

He didn’t come to the store. His office was dark and so was Edward’s phone on that front.  One day went by, and another, and another… going on two weeks in all.  He spent hours every day going over all of the time they’d spent together, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong.  What was it he’d said?  What had he done? He should have been used to it by now. When he bothered to stick around, the other person left.

When Edward looked up one morning and saw him, he was almost certain he was hallucinating.  He wasn’t in the habit of doing that, but there was scarcely any other explanation.  He’d never seen anyone that looked like Jonathan, therefore this Jonathan he was seeing clearly was not real.

“Good morning,” Jonathan said.  Edward licked his lips.  All right. Maybe he was real.  He wished he wasn’t so excited about it.  Tenuously so, but he had… missed him.  A lot.

“Good…”  No.  No, he wasn’t going to do this.  He straightened his spine.  He opened his mouth to speak but Jonathan beat him to it.

“You have every right to be upset about what I did.”

He closed his mouth.

“I had some thinking to do,” Jonathan continued.  “But it had to be… solitary.  Without exterior influence.  And hopefully you can believe me when I say you were very influential even so.”

Oh.  Well, that wasn’t so bad.  He poured out Jonathan’s coffee with deliberation, hoping there would be more. Of an explanation or flattery, he didn’t know.  Either would do.  He was leaning more towards the explanation, though.

“And so that is why I’ve come to tell you that I’m leaving.”

Edward accidentally poured coffee over his hand and had to bite his tongue to keep quiet about it. He stuck his hand underneath the nearby faucet as casually as possible.

“Oh.”

Nice one, Eddie.

“I don’t know when I’ll be returning.  There’s something in Newfoundland I must do and I can wait no longer.”

Edward nodded and passed over his coffee.  He had no intention of putting it into the computer.  Jonathan did not take it immediately, nor did he withdraw his wallet. He seemed uncertain.  Edward had to ask.

“What?”

Jonathan took another moment.

“I don’t wish to pose an ultimatum.  But I am faced with the need to tell you the truth: I have no intentions of returning here.”

Edward put his hands flat on the counter and stared studiously at the cream machine.  He didn’t like the sound of that.

“If you do not come with me,” Jonathan continued, more quietly, “we shall never meet again.”

Edward looked up at him without immediately realising what he’d done.  Go with Jonathan?  To Newfoundland?  To do… something?

He knew nothing about Jonathan.  But he had the distinct feeling this trip would tell him everything.  He had no idea what he was going there to do, but it must be something either great or terrible.  And it would be indicative of his true self.  A self that no one else knew, and that no one else had ever seen.  And perhaps no one ever would, if Edward let this chance disappear.  He was no longer upset about Jonathan’s absence.  It lined up with his previous actions, with the way he seemed to think. Jonathan was not used to explaining himself to other people.  It was all right.  Edward would be glad to teach him.

He was going to do it.

He had no idea what was going to happen.  He didn’t even know where he was going.  But Jonathan was the most interesting, most intriguing thing he’d known in a long time.  And all of that was on top of the need to place his head in Jonathan’s lap again, to speak to him.  To hold his hand.  To kiss him.

There was a man beneath the mess, somewhere.  Edward needed to find it.  He had to know Jonathan.  He needed to –

Jonathan had turned around. He was leaving.  Edward leaned over the counter as far as he could.  “Jonathan!”

Jonathan looked behind him.

“Wait there.”  And he ran into the back of the store to retrieve his things.  His mind raced through what he needed to do, at a bare minimum, to leave this life behind and start a new one somewhere else.  Anywhere else.  He would have to ask Jonathan to stop at his condo, if only for his citizenship documents. He couldn’t leave them.  

His heart almost thrust through his ribs when he did not see Jonathan in the foyer.  He pushed the doors open and had to exhale in relief when he saw that Jonathan was standing beside the driver’s side door of his truck, arms folded across his chest.  He was looking at the road.  Edward smiled in relief and walked over to him, putting his bag on the ground.  “I’ll need you to stop by my condo for about five minutes,” he said, and Jonathan looked over at him as though he’d forgotten he even existed.  “I need some things.  And I don’t want to go on a road trip wearing this.”  He pinched at his pocketless waist.  

Jonathan returned his gaze to the road.  “Are you certain this is what you want?”

Edward frowned.  Why would he ask such a thing?  On the one hand, it did sound a bit bizarre… but on the other, Jonathan really did not know him that much better than Edward knew Jonathan. Neither of them really knew anything, except… except that there was something.  Something that had caused Jonathan to make the suggestion in the first place, and something that made Edward think it was a good idea.  But how to demonstrate it?

Ah.  Of course.

Edward opened the door of the truck and swung his laptop bag onto the bench, pushing it in the direction of the gearshift.  He’d move it later.  He then stuck his left foot into the corner of the doorframe and stood up there, his hand secure around a position higher there.  Before Jonathan could react to any of this Edward used his free hand to press his shoulder against the truck and kissed him, long and hard.  After this he let go and Jonathan just looked at him, seeming vaguely dazed.  It was hard to tell, honestly.  Edward couldn’t help smiling at his naïveté.  It was so out of place on a man like him.  But it was also… cute.  Imagine that.

“Did you feel that?” Edward asked.  He had. A thrill that ran far deeper than that of abandoning his life spontaneously.  Jonathan hesitated before nodding.

“I believe so.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Jonathan turned his head sideways, towards him.  “… no.” The one word was the most hesitant Edward had ever heard out of him.

Edward brought his other foot into the truck.  “Me neither. But I want to find out.”  He climbed into the driver’s side and slid himself along the bench, pushing his laptop bag onto the floor before raising his legs over the console, careful not to collide with the gearshift.  He smiled to himself at how quaint it was Jonathan owned a manual.  By the time he’d gotten arranged Jonathan had seated himself, but then he’d gone stationary again.  Both of his hands were in his lap and he was staring through the storefront ahead of them.

“So would I,” he said, finally.  His glance at Edward was nearly nonexistent.  “I am glad you agreed to accompany me despite a… significant lack of information.”

Jonathan seemed perturbed yet about this whole thing, so Edward did not push him to talk.  He took a little longer than five minutes getting changed and gathering what he needed from his condo, but Jonathan did not remark on the extra time taken.  And he shouldn’t have.  Edward’s need to find the proper outfit was to both of their benefits.  When he climbed back into the truck and saw where Jonathan’s hand was, he had an idea that would hopefully ease Jonathan’s mind a bit.  Edward hadn’t figured out just yet why he seemed so discomfited, but this would help.  Probably.

His plan was thwarted when, upon feeling Edward’s hand atop his, Jonathan yanked his hand away from the gearshift.  “What are you doing?” he asked, startled.  It crossed Edward’s mind that he might think Edward about to sabotage him somehow.  Well, he was about to learn how very wrong he was.  And not only because Edward didn’t know how to drive stick.

He shrugged.  “I’ve always wanted to do that.  Unfortunately, usually only cranky old men drive cars with stick shifts and they’re in lamentably short supply these days.”

Jonathan laughed. Edward was surprised at his own reaction to this – that of some warm, comforting excitement – until he realised it was because he’d never heard Jonathan laugh before.  It was quiet, and husky.  You’d have to be paying attention to even know it was there.  But Edward liked it.  He wanted to hear it again, as many times as possible

It helped to convince him that he’d made the right decision.  By all accounts, what he was doing was very, very stupid.  For all he knew Jonathan just wanted to throw him in a ditch somewhere.  But on the off chance he wasn’t, this was going to result in something that one only came upon once.  It would be far beyond worth the risk.

When Jonathan put his hand on the stick again, it was cold enough that it sent a chill up Edward’s arm. But that wasn’t the only reason for it: Jonathan’s long fingers enclosed his entirely.  He liked that.  He also liked how Jonathan seemed to be applying more pressure to the gearshift than was probably necessary.  And the way Jonathan was quite obviously not looking at him, and how he quite negligently only had two fingers on the steering wheel because he was resting his elbow on the windowframe, and how he actually seemed relaxed for the first time, and…

He didn’t know where he was going.  He didn’t really know who this man was, or what he wanted to do.  Edward didn’t know what was going to happen, or even what he himself was really doing.  But he did know one thing: it sure beat working at Tim Hortons.

   Author’s note

That last part would’ve gone a lot better if this make and model of truck had running boards.

There’s another part where they go Do the Thing in Newfoundland but IDK if I should put it as a fourth part yet or just put it as its own thing.

[izanyas]

Bliss (Alongside Part 7)

New installment of the Hot Single Dad Shizuo series, Alongside! Thank you Laidon for the beta as always.

Rating: T Words: 5,100 No warnings.

Bliss

Izaya has lived through two bad break-ups in his life. It's either irony or fate that he's only had two relationships at all, and that the first caused the second.

Shiki breaking up with him had felt like white-hot rage, like simmering humiliation, like revenge churning in his stomach and bursting out of his mouth bile-like. Izaya hadn't let himself feel heartbroken so much as hate-filled and hate-fueled for weeks, for months afterward, until he had Shiki's name and prison sentence under his eyes in the morning papers. He'd run his index over the printed characters as he smoked from a half-full pack of cigarettes he had stolen from the man, until his fingertip was black with ink. Until his throat ached from the sweet-smelling tobacco Shiki favored.

Only then had he felt satisfaction. Only then had he started looking back at every shared memory and souring all of them for himself. Slowly, meticulously, like needlework. There was no heartbreak to be felt when he was done.

Shizuo breaking up with him feels like tachycardia; it feels like sorrow is trapped between his ribs and making his heart tire itself out; it feels like every day going by unseen, like Namie texting him There's nothing to report, he's living his damn life and he looks fine, every day at four-thirty. She keeps telling him she won't help him stalk his ex anymore and she keeps doing it anyway because, he surmises, it's better than seeing him like this. This break-up feels like a sob waiting to be let out. It feels like guilt.

Izaya spends two months like this—holed into work, avoiding all but clients and professional emails, Mikage's pathetic efforts at friendship going unindulged—until he slams a fist down against his glass desktop with all the strength he possesses.

"Fuck," Namie says breathlessly, startled by the noise. "What the hell, Izaya?"

His fingers shake when he uncurls his hand, every knuckle aching smartly. "I'm going out," he replies.

"To do what? Punch a brick wall this time? You've got a client coming in ten minutes."

"Reschedule, then," Izaya says, sliding a hollow smile in her direction.

She grits her teeth and turns her head away from him.

Some of the tension in him has been smothered by the pain, but Izaya isn't stupid enough to think it won't come back. He's not stupid enough to think this was any kind of a smart move either. He knows how he is more honestly than he wishes to, and he knows a slippery slope when he sees one—just because he isn't a teenager anymore doesn't mean harming himself isn't a temptation.

Still. There are better ways to harm oneself than simple brutal violence.

Spring is well underway now, closer to summer in heat and sunlight. It's a bright Saturday afternoon and people are out everywhere to enjoy it. Izaya doesn't hear any of their laughs and yells as he walks near public parks and open cafés. His feet take him in the direction of Akane's school because it's where he goes on days like this, when he's sure she doesn't have class and Shizuo doesn't have a reason to come. He sits down at the bad coffee place that was their first meeting and their first date, and he orders tea and broods.

The place is mostly empty, as he expected. Its strongest selling element is its location—rush hours are what makes its success, not the quality of their food and drinks. The tea is tasteless, tepid. Izaya likes tea when the water is right off the boiler, when he can feel his tongue burn on it. All this cup does is make him ache more.

This is stupid, he thinks, like he does every time. And yet he does it every time.

He hasn't been here five minutes when he stands up from his seat. He doesn't linger much longer than ten on worse days. Even the sight of the school hurts, yet another reminder that on top of Shizuo himself it's everything Shizuo loves that he misses as well. He misses Shizuo, and he misses Shizuo's handsome handwriting, and he misses Akane. He misses being loved like he knew from the start he never deserved to be, and just because he knew it could only end badly doesn't make the aftermath any easier to live through.

Izaya's eyes fall down from the school's bell-tower and meet Shizuo's across the street.

His fingers tighten over the plastic cup, making lukewarm tea spill over his hand and shoes.

For a second he doesn't know if he hopes that Shizuo hasn't noticed him; there's a good thirty meters between the two of them and people walking on the sidewalks that separate them, it's not entire inconceivable. Izaya's physical appearance is nothing out of the ordinary in a sea of other ordinary-looking men and women. But Shizuo looks to his right, then his left, and when he crosses the street his eyes are back to Izaya instantly.

Izaya watches him approach silently and doesn't have the strength to steel himself for anything through the longing that grips him by the throat. Shizuo falters a few feet away from him on the wide sidewalks, his gaze searching and sad.

"Hey," he says. He tries to smile, but all it does is make it impossible for Izaya to meet his eyes.

"Shizuo," he replies as evenly as he can.

It's awkward. Shizuo takes another few steps forward—Izaya would step back, but he has the table's edge pressed against the back of his thighs, so what he does instead is turn around a little to put down the tea he's not going to finish and give himself an excuse to bite his lip unseen.

He's tasting blood by the time he straightens up, so he doesn't even try to smile. "It's been a while," he says. "Did you want something?" He nods toward the entrance of the coffee shop. "The cheesecake looks slightly less like it's likely to poison you today."

Shizuo doesn't look away from him, doesn't take the bait, but his lips shiver in the beginning of a smile, and Izaya's heart soars all the way up to his throat in a long, aching beat.

"It has been a while," he replies warmly. "How've you been, Izaya?"

Izaya's chest feels like a solid bruise. He almost answers, Don't say my name like this, almost answers, I've been waking up in the middle of the night to dreams of you kissing me like I wake up from nightmares.

"Fine," he says. "Terrorizing my secretary, making men twice my age beg for mercy. You know how it goes."

Shizuo's mouth twitches again. "Yeah, I can believe that."

Izaya wants to wrap his hands around his neck and press their lips together so hard he'll stop breathing altogether.

He looks at the school again and asks, "How's Akane?" And he means it as a jab or a reminder, as something to make Shizuo remember the reason he's left Izaya feeling like he's carrying his own weight in regrets for two months, but his voice quivers over Akane's name in a way much too telling, and Shizuo's eyes soften.

"Ah." Shizuo brings a hand up, rubs it over his nape. "She's, uh, a little mad at me right now, actually."

"Mad at you?"

"Yeah."

Izaya can't think of anything that would make Akane mad at Shizuo short of Shizuo murdering someone she loves in cold blood, which makes the present situation so unbelievable he wonders for a second if he's dreaming again.

"That's…" he doesn't know how to end his thought.

Shizuo smiles at him briefly, like he knows exactly what Izaya means. Then he clears his throat and says, "Listen, I… do you have some time right now?"

Izaya's fingers rub together, knuckles still painful from earlier. "Why?"

"I'd like to talk to you for a moment."

"Are you free?"

"Yeah. I had the morning shift only."

Izaya hesitates.

He has an idea of what this is, and he doesn't… he doesn't do long heartfelt conversations with exes. He doesn't seek closure because he's incapable of finding it. He doesn't know that he can apologize—and Shizuo will want an apology—and even if by some miracle he can restrain the true and rotten self he's been trying to hide around him, even if Shizuo manages to get some modicum of peace out of whatever Izaya says, Izaya won't. He'll walk out of this feeling worse than he went in. He'll be scratching at wounds that haven't yet scabbed. It's why he hasn't contacted Shizuo once since Shizuo asked him to go.

Shizuo looks at him with no expectation, sunlight glowing in his hair and eyes. He still looks like he did the first time Izaya saw him enter that same place, when he thought of him as a stranger to talk to and drag into his bed. But Izaya has had Shizuo in his bed. He's had Shizuo in Shizuo's bed, and in many places more. He knows exactly what Shizuo looks like with nothing but heat between them—he knows what Shizuo's hands feel like on his skin and he knows what Shizuo sounds like gasping into his neck—and the only thing he can think of is that he'd sacrifice even those memories for the chance to hear him say I love you again.

"I have time," he says, and it comes out more hoarsely than he intended.

--

They don't touch at all as they walk. It's not unfamiliar—neither of them so much as held hands in public even when they were together. Shizuo may not be ashamed of displaying innocent affection, but Izaya tenses when he feels eyes on them. This is not one of the concessions that came as a problem between them.

Now, though, the distance between them aches all the more with the knowledge that they are walking in the same direction and for the same purpose. Izaya would gladly accept the weight of Shizuo's hand and that of onlookers.

"Have you eaten lunch yet?" Shizuo asks quietly.

Izaya glances at him, but Shizuo is looking ahead, troubled. "I'm not hungry," he replies.

"You've lost weight."

Of course he would notice.

Izaya hasn't had an appetite for much more than tea and the occasional takeout. He's skipped breakfast more often than not and left much of the food Namie prepares to go to waste in his fridge. She's been very unhappy about it.

Shizuo takes him to a restaurant without saying more on the topic. It's not a place they've visited together, which Izaya would consider an insult if he weren't so sure that Shizuo is trying to spare his feelings. The sign outside is colorful in the worst way and the people inside noisy. Izaya is trying to parse the concept of a sushi restaurant owned by Russians, eyeing the white man behind the counter and ignoring the loud crowd when someone says, "Shizu-chan!"

"Fuck," he hears Shizuo mutter.

The owner of the voice is a woman seated with three other people. She waves in direction of the entrance, jumping to her feet and urging them over. Shizuo gives Izaya an apologetic glance, which Izaya waves off with more grace than he feels, before heading toward her. He's not going to resent Shizuo for being more social than he is.

"Karisawa," he greets curtly, Izaya a few feet behind him.

"I haven't seen you in forever," the woman says, giddy. "Come on, sit with us!"

The man sitting next to her grabs her by the sleeve and pulls her back down, saying, "Can't you see he's got company? Act your age."

He looks vaguely familiar.

Karisawa pouts. "But everything's so fun with Shizu-chan."

"Don't call me that," Shizuo says, tired. "I'm busy—I'll hang out with you guys later, all right?" He gives a friendly nod to the man with the beanie and raises his hand to answer the other two men's greetings before turning to walk toward Izaya again.

It's then that the man in the hat meets Izaya's eyes for a second, looks away, and then looks back with recognition and surprise etched onto his face.

"Izaya?" he asks, bewildered.

Shizuo pauses, glancing between the two of them.

The man stops looking confused to look glad instead, and his voice is surer when he says, "You're Orihara Izaya, right? Man, it's been a while."

"Have we met?" Izaya answers coldly. He's not exactly in the mood for pleasantries.

"Yeah, we have," the man grins. "I'm Kadota Kyouhei. We went to highschool together."

And suddenly it clicks; the man's face falls into place alongside memories Izaya hasn't browsed in years, younger but no less friendly than it is now. One of two people Izaya talked to on a regular basis in school, and the only one of the two he's likely to forget.

Izaya feels his lips curl into a smile. "Dotachin," he says slowly. "I expected you to be in prison by now."

Kadota laughs and replies, "I expected you to be dead."

"Seems like we both missed out."

"Ooh," one of the two other men says, the one with light blond hair. "Is this the guy you told us about, Kadota-san? The one who started a gambling ring in your school?"

"The one and only," Kadota replies dryly.

"Figures," Shizuo says under his breath. Izaya is the only one who hears him.

It's enough to remind him of why he's here at all. He puts his hands in his pockets and toys with his house key with the tip of his fingers. "Not that I wouldn't love to revisit fond memories, but I'm rather short on time, Dotachin," he says. "If you don't mind catching up later."

"Sure," Kadota says, with the air of someone who knows exactly how unlikely Izaya is to do just that. "I'll ask Sharaku for your number."

It's a threat as much as a promise, but the kind of threat Izaya can brush off with a smile that feels almost genuine.

He and Shizuo walk away, and Izaya hears the Karisawa woman say, "Why are all your friends hot, Dotachin?" and Kadota reply, "Don't ever call me that," with the voice of someone who regrets a lot of things.

Shizuo leans in closer. "I'll get us a private booth," he murmurs, breath running along the shell of Izaya's ear.

It leaves Izaya still all the way to his heart.

He does get them a booth, somehow. It's at the very end of the dining room, where no one can see them except by standing right next to their table. Izaya sits down and doesn't touch the menu.

"Sorry about that lot," Shizuo says after an awkward silence. "They're not exactly discreet."

"Kadota has always had a knack for surrounding himself with eccentrics," Izaya replies evenly. "I had no idea you knew him."

"I had no idea you knew him either. We worked together a couple years before I got my current job and got along well."

"Small world," Izaya mutters.

Shizuo nudges the menu in his direction. "Get yourself something to eat," he says.

"I'm not hungry."

"Have you eaten anything today?"

Izaya frowns and bats away the plastic. It almost slides right off the table and into the feet of the fast-walking waiter who comes out of the kitchen in that moment, but it gets the point across, no matter how childish it is.

"Okay," Shizuo relents. "Sorry."

He sounds so sincere is the problem. It makes the guilt that has clung to every breath Izaya takes shiver inside his throat, makes his face flush with it.

"Look, Shizuo," he says—has to swallow after saying, because Shizuo's very name feels like a knifecut on his tongue. "Just tell me what you want to talk about. Let's not pretend either of us wants to be here."

Shizuo just looks at him in silence for a long moment. Izaya stares unseeingly at the kitchen's door next to the booth, doesn't move when Shizuo waves over the waiter and orders whatever it is he wants before sending him off again.

"I wanted to talk to you," he said, "about what happened the last time we saw each other."

"You mean when you broke up with me."

"Yes. When I broke up with you."

Izaya's lips curl into a smile more feral than friendly, but Shizuo doesn't flinch away when their eyes meet. "What's there to talk about? You made the right choice. The only choice you could've made under the circumstances. I respect that."

"I know," Shizuo replies. "I can't say I've ever had this clean a break with anyone before. Thank you."

The pain in Izaya's chest is so sharp it feels physical in every way. Like Shizuo just stabbed a knife right between his ribs.

"What do you want," he says between his teeth, eyes close.

"I want to know why you never told me the truth."

It's nothing Izaya hadn't expected.

"We've had this conversation—"

"Yeah, and you never answered me properly," Shizuo cuts him off. "You made fun of me, and you acted like you didn't give a damn, and you left when I told you to. I want to know."

"There's nothing to know," Izaya replies icily. "I hid it from you because I knew you'd break up with me if you found out. What more do you want?"

Shizuo is silent for a moment. The waiter comes back with his food—he pushes half of it in front of Izaya, and Izaya feels too hollow to throw it off the table like he wants to, so he settles for letting it sit untouched in front of himself.

Shizuo eats a piece from his plate, looking down. "Did you know about Akane when we got together?" he asks once he's done chewing.

"Yes."

"I see." He looks up again, and Izaya can't read anything in his eyes. His fingers clench together in his lap. "So you were lying from the start."

Izaya smiles. "I was. How does that make you feel?"

"Not very good."

Izaya huffs and looks away.

"The thing is," Shizuo says a moment later, after toying with more of his food, "I can understand lying to me for a while if you only wanted a fling. If you just wanted to sleep with me or something. But that's not what you wanted, was it?"

"Maybe it was," Izaya lies.

Shizuo smiles sadly. "Then let's put it that way, if it's easier for you." Izaya tenses, but Shizuo continues before he can put in a word, "I wanted a relationship. I wanted a real, solid thing, and I consider what we had to be that even now. And you knew it."

Denying it would be fruitless, so Izaya doesn't.

Shizuo sucks a stray drop of soy sauce from his thumb before speaking again. "It lasted a year. That's no fling, Izaya, no matter how much you want to pretend to the contrary. You're smart. You knew the truth would come up eventually." His hand drops down onto the table, fingers splayed wide and gentle. "So why delay it? Why not talk to me about it?"

"Why not tell you that I hurt the person you care the most about?" Izaya parrots dryly. "Yeah, that would've been smart of me, Shizuo."

"It would've been smart of you to give me a chance to hear you out."

Izaya grinds his teeth. "This is useless," he hisses.

"Maybe. But you won't leave, 'cause you know you owe me this much."

It's true. It's the only reason Izaya hasn't listened to the urge to flee yet.

Shizuo takes the time to finish his food this time, to take long sips from the tea he's ordered and which has been steaming softly beside him the entire time. Izaya looks at his hand instead of looking at him. He watches the curve of his knuckles against the heat of the cup and tries to think of nothing.

When he's done, he straightens up in his seat, and his legs extend forward under the table, brushing Izaya's.

"I've been thinking," he starts. "I think there's a lot more to this than you or that Shiki guy want to let me know." Izaya has to restrain an angry shiver at Shiki's name as always, but he says nothing, just looks at Shizuo with what he hopes is bored neutrality. "And some of it is probably legitimately none of my business. But I also know you didn't just want to keep it secret just so you could have sex with me."

"You're just that good. You should be flattered."

Shizuo ignores him. "I think you care a lot about all of this, Izaya."

There's nothing but ruthless honesty in his eyes.

"Enough," Izaya says.

Shizuo shakes his head. "No," he replies. "Not until you tell me the truth."

"What do you want from me, Shizuo?" Izaya's hand flies over the table before he can help it, grasps Shizuo's wrist tightly and tugs it forward. He can feel Shizuo's heartbeat under his index, and it's peaceful, nothing like the storm gathering inside his own chest. His voice turns as derisive and hurtful as he knows how to make it. "Do you want me to beg you? Do you want me to apologize? Because I know how you are, and I know you would like me even less if you knew just how low I'd be willing to stoop. You wouldn't enjoy me begging you like this."

"I want to hear you out, Izaya," Shizuo replies with the first hint of anger he's shown all day. "I want you to tell me the truth with your own words. I don't want to leave everything we had behind just because of a stranger who's angry at you."

Izaya tries to release his grip, but all Shizuo does is trap his hand over the table with a press of his palm, and it doesn't hurt at all in spite of Izaya's bruises.

"Tell me," Shizuo says softly. "Just tell me. I won't mock you. I just want to understand."

His hold is absolute.

Izaya licks his lips. "Just tell you," he repeats.

"Please."

Shizuo squeezes his wrist, and even this much is a better physical contact than Izaya's had in months. It makes warmth spread up his arm and settle in his throat with a purr.

"Shiki and I were in a relationship," Izaya says. "When he broke up with me, I was angry. Angry enough to want to make him pay in a way he'd never forget. So I sank him and his organization."

Shizuo doesn't ask for details, thankfully.

"I'm not a good person," Izaya tells him lowly, flicking a glance toward him and then looking down at their joined hands. "You probably had an idea from the start, but you can't even begin to imagine the number of people I've played like this, Shizuo. I've destroyed countless lives over the smallest offenses—I didn't care at all about collateral damage when it came to taking actual revenge.

"I recognized Akane when Mikage told me her name, but I said nothing, because what would be the point? I wasn't even expecting to see you again." He chuckles. "Then I kept silent because I didn't want you to break up with me, it is the truth."

"But it's not all the truth," Shizuo replies.

Izaya's hand curls into a fist, and Shizuo's hold on his wrist doesn't waver, not for a second. "I didn't want to tell you because you're a good man. You're a better person than anyone I've ever met before. And I didn't want you to—" Izaya sucks in a breath rather than let himself choke, blinks quickly to erase the stinging in his eyes. "I didn't want you to look at me and know, really know, the sort of person I am. I didn't want to disappoint you. I wanted to pretend I deserved you for as long as I could."

"Izaya—"

"So that's it," Izaya interrupts, because he can't handle Shizuo's pity, not now, not ever. "It's just that stupid."

"What about Akane?"

Izaya rips his hand out of Shizuo's grip, finds his eyes and holds their stare, neck aching on his own tension. "Yes, Akane too," he says between clenched teeth. "It's just that fucking stupid, okay? I fooled myself into falling in love with you and getting attached to your daughter and I didn't want you to stop looking at me the way you did. I didn't want you to be disappointed with me, and I didn't want Akane to hate me, and I didn't want either of you out of my life! Is that what you wanted to hear? Because that's the truth. The whole truth. There's no noble grand reason, Shizuo, I'm just selfish."

His voice has become more of a whisper with every word. It's better than yelling and causing a scene. Izaya cradles his aching fingers into the palm of his other hand and stares at the untouched food in front of him, willing his heartbeat to quiet.

His breath stalls when Shizuo reaches forward to take his hand again; he lets him have it because Shizuo's pull is impossible to resist regardless of physical strength, and he has to close his eyes when Shizuo's thumb strokes over the red and blue on his knuckles.

"Enough," Izaya says again in a wisp of a voice. "Please. Just let me go now."

It's a weird parody of the words they exchanged two months ago. Shizuo squeezes his hand, and Izaya wants to cry with the knowledge that he'll crave even this—pressure against aches—if it's from Shizuo.

I'm never getting over him, he thinks, throat so tight with longing that he can't swallow without aching.

"Akane's angry at me," Shizuo says roughly.

Izaya's eyes open just enough to see light and not much else. "So you said."

"We had a talk after you left. She was hurt, yeah, she's angry at you too. But she said I should've let you talk to her before telling you to leave that night."

"She's ten," Izaya replies painfully. His hand feels weak, no matter how tightly Shizuo holds it. "She wouldn't have understood."

"Maybe. But she likes it better when people assume she can understand, even if she can't."

"So what," Izaya scoffs. His entire face burns with shame—it's all he can do not to hold Shizuo's hand back because he's lost that right. "Even if I'd told her, it wouldn't have changed anything. You would've still told me to go."

Shizuo doesn't answer immediately. He turns Izaya's hand around so his palm faces upward and follows one of the lines in it with his thumb, and Izaya doesn't know anything of palmistry, but this is a love line. This is something he'll feel for days.

"She's mostly upset that I'm so miserable," Shizuo says finally. "And she misses you."

Izaya's hand shakes. "Stop."

But— "Izaya," Shizuo murmurs, "I think you think way too highly of me."

"You don't have to comfort me. This isn't how it works." This time, when he tries to take back his hand, Shizuo stops him.

"I was never looking for someone perfect," he continues, implacable. "No one's perfect. I had a hunch that you were involved in illegal things, and that didn't bother me. And now I know for sure that you're not as bad as you make yourself out to be."

Izaya's eyes rise to stare at him, incredulous, and Shizuo smiles. The tiny lines around his eyes deepen as he does.

"You feel like shit over it, Izaya," he says. "You look miserable. Whatever you were before—you're not like that anymore."

"I destroyed your daughter's life," Izaya retorts.

"Would you do it again, knowing her?"

The answer rips itself out of him with no thought: "No."

Shizuo's smile turns softer and deeper, his fingers gentler against Izaya's. "I'm not saying I forgive you. That's not up to me."

"What are you saying?" Izaya breathes.

He has to hunch over the tabletop when Shizuo brings their hands up. The feeling of Shizuo's lips against his knuckles shoots up his arm and settles in his stomach like liquor, warm and dizzying.

"I'm saying that you regret it, and that's good enough for me," Shizuo says. His breath is warm on Izaya's fingers. "And that, if you want, we can figure the rest out together."

Izaya's ears ring from the blood that rushes to his head. When he exhales, all the air in his lungs comes out at once.

"Shizuo," is all he knows how to say.

"Yeah," Shizuo replies, looking down from his eyes to watch his mouth instead. "Izaya."

The table lets out a loud whine when Izaya pushes it forward in his haste, his free hand slamming dangerously close to the food still present by his side, but it wouldn't matter even if someone came to enquire after the noise. Shizuo's lips are warm under his, pliant and accommodating; Izaya shakes his hand out of Shizuo's grip to grab the hair at the back of his head and tilt it sideways, so he can lick the sharp tang of the food he ate directly off his tongue. Shizuo hums into it, holding Izaya's chin and then his shoulder, his hot breath running short against Izaya's cheek.

Izaya's lips are wet when he pulls away. He feels too hot under his clothes and too hot under his skin. Like all the warmth in his body has gathered in his lungs.

He doesn't let go of Shizuo's hair. It's as much to feel the soft of it under his fingers as it is to hold himself upright instead of falling.

"I missed you," Shizuo says, breathless.

"Me too." Izaya can't look away from him, not for a second. "I missed you so much," he says, and he learns forward to kiss him again, thinks about staying like this for hours on end despite the beginning of an ache in the lone arm supporting his weight over the table.

He lets Shizuo drag him around the table and press him into the farthest corner of the booth, lets Shizuo kiss the breath out of him and tread fingers through his hair until all of his scalp tingles and all of his chest burns.

The first time Izaya tells Shizuo he loves him is muffled against the other's mouth.

[livingmybestfictionallife]

Proximity (06)-Oblivion

Prompt: Sebastian meets his newest neighbor and immediately finds her to be an interesting and genuine person. Before he knows it, he’s developing feelings for his much younger friend that he tries not to act on because of their age difference, only the proximity of their lives has other things in store for the couple.

Warnings: mild language, you may be a little angry with me after this chapter

Tags: @yourgayonlinemom, @broken-pieces, @bubblyanarocks3, @yessy2012, @sebstanwassup, @starkxpotts, @kyleannsmut, @joshuad-n, @bucky-bear-barnes, @metal-arm-red-star, @dammnnbucky, @crystallimythium, @harleenquinzzel, @camillechan, @marvelouslyloki, @msdrmarvel, @jesuistresjolie, @castielkitten, @ilovethings-somuch, @boyzines, @thelamegatsby, @huntressxtimelady, @left-boob-chris, @champssole-blog, @ruefulposts, @licoricelace, @pleasantbucky, @jjlevin, @anniemadeofclay, @-tulipsunflower-, @shakzer00, @kitty11223, @one-of-the-boys, @come-and-figure-me-out, @miraisnotavailable, @ladymelissastark, @msharleyquinn, @seargantbcky, @ballerinafairyprincess, @aliciajodiefoster, @mydragulesebastian

Previous Installments:

Prologue 

My Place at Six 

 Just My Neighbor 

Forty Percent 

Writing My Goodbyes 

If You Want  

(Y/N) paced anxiously outside the elevator doors as she waited for them to open so she could find a way to the seventh floor. Usually the stairs weren’t a burden on her, however the events that had transpired twenty minutes ago had her heart racing and she refused to allow the possibility of passing out in the stairwell to arise. Once inside the elevator, (Y/N) jammed her thumb into the ‘7′ button and then turned her phone’s  Airplane Mode feature on. She didn’t need to be any more distracted than she was and the lingering spark of Sebastian’s lips against her cheek only caused her mind to go further and further into the oblivion she desperately wanted to get lost in.

Upon reaching the seventh floor Isabel impatiently pulled (Y/N) from the elevator and hurriedly dragged her toward the English department offices. (Y/N) was given a small corner room she was convinced had once been a rather large closet that someone put a window in and was since the designated student-teacher office. She tried decorating but the extent of the room’s decor consisted of posters she had collected from Comic Cons or her artistic friends had drawn. The array of posters crossed through various universes including MCU, Harry Potter, Supernatural, with a splatter of Sherlock and a dash of Doctor Who. The poorly decorated office space often decreased the anxieties of the students who were having to meet with her privately, but she could never keep from laughing at the fact that these people were only four or so years younger than her and panicking about having to talk to her about their lessons.

“What have you not been telling me?” Isabel asked as soon as the two women entered the room.

“It’s nothing,” (Y/N) tried to say without blushing. She turned her face and locked the door, giving herself enough time to allow the blood rush to drain from her cheeks. “That picture doesn’t have me in it at all, does it?” she quickly asked with a rather panicked tone.

“No, there weren’t any pictures I could find of the two of you together,” Isabel said while dropping herself in the rather uncomfortable, overly cushioned chair opposite of (Y/N)’s desk.

“Good,” she muttered and quickly turned on her desktop computer and dropped her phone and house keys on the desk.

“What do you mean ‘good?’” Izzy gasped while trying to gain her friend’s full attention. 

“I mean nothing is going on between me and Sebastian and if the news tries to blow that out of proportion, whatever we do have will be compromised,” (Y/N) tried to convince herself rather than her friend. 

“I know what you’re trying to say, but your home screen says otherwise,” she teased while holding (Y/N)’s unlocked phone up mockingly, revealing the rather rustic/hipster photo of a barefoot Sebastian sitting on the porch of a lake house he rented for Labor Day weekend a few months earlier. 

“Give that back!” (Y/N) demanded while lunging toward the device, the memory of Sebastian inviting her to his weekend party lingering in her head as well as the moment she snapped the photo that was now her screen saver.

“Only if you start talking,” she protested. (Y/N) pursed her lips and turned back to face the computer as it loaded the university’s grading database. “Fine, I guess I’m forced to scroll through your phone and make you uncomfortable until you cave,” she teased. Upon realizing (Y/N) wasn’t paying any attention to Isabel’s blackmail, she began to open various apps. “Nothing on Snapchat,” she announced. “Facebook is a dead end too,” she continued.

“Izzy, stop,” (Y/N) grumbled.

“Instagram, here we go!”

“Iz!” (Y/N) demanded.

“Someone recently became friends with a certain Elizabeth Olsen and Tom Holland,” she teased. “Oh, and you have a DM from mister Holland: hi, (Y/N)! Nice meeting you today. Would love to grab a drink or lunch sometime,” Isabel read. “Damn, girl, you’re making all these Marvel men swoon!”

“He did not send that,” (Y/N) laughed as she read over the red ink on the stack of essays sitting beside her only to have Isabel turn the phone around and show (Y/N) the message.

“And Sebastian doesn’t think you’re more than a friend,” she replied cockily. “Spill! Tell me about this whole roommate thing you have going on with him, how the hell do you know Tom, and why do you have a new contact saved as Lizzie O. in your phone?” (Y/N) bit her lip as she contemplated telling Isabel anything but she knew she needed another opinion. Lizzie’s advice was great and made (Y/N) feel hopeful that she had a chance with Sebastian, but Izzy was different. She was blunt and straightforward and would spare her friends no shit. 

(Y/N) caved. She told Isabel the full story of how they met rather than the abridged version she opted for when she first decided to tell her friend about her misadventure. She tried not to go into too much detail about how sweet Sebastian had been and how concerned he was about potentially losing a genuine friendship on the account of her not being willing to deal with his stardom or her only wanting to be in the friendship because of his stardom. (Y/N) continued to divulge into the time she spent with Sebastian and the domesticity of their friendship: the morning coffee trips, daily messages telling the other to turn down their volume or to get their toilet to stop running because the pipes were louder in the other’s apartment, and she talked about the occasional movie nights at the other’s place.

Izzy smiled at her best friend’s glee as she spoke of the man living above her. She had lived with (Y/N) for the past three years and hated to lose her as a roommate, but she couldn’t stay in NYC and (Y/N) couldn’t go to Jersey. She’d missed their boy conversations but listening to what (Y/N) had to say about Sebastian, she feared for her friend’s emotional wellbeing. (Y/N) was two years younger than Izzy and she never wanted to see her hurt. Thankfully, (Y/N)’s dedication to graduate early kept her from divulging in the college-slut phase, but now Izzy worried she had pushed (Y/N) toward something she wasn’t quite ready for.

“It sounds like Tom likes you,” Izzy tried to distract her friend as the phone buzzed in her hand again.

“Tom only met me a few hours ago,” (Y/N) protested.

“Still,” Izzy said with a shrug of her shoulders. “You seem so happy talking about Sebastian,” she continued, “but I don’t know if you two are on the same page, you know?” (Y/N’s eyes furrowed at Isabel’s statement but she tried to play it off as a confusion with the grade displayed on the screen. “You’re only twenty-one,” Isabel sighed. “You have plenty of time to figure the whole dating thing out. Just go out and have fun. Try not to get tied down into anything,” Isabel said lightly while sliding (Y/N)’s phone back to her across the desk. She glanced down at the bright screen to see Tom’s messages shining up at her. Her heart started pounding with excitement and guilt as she read the words written and took them into consideration.

Hi, (Y/N)! Nice meeting you today. Would love to grab a drink or lunch sometime

A couple of friends invited me out to a club tonight. You’re welcome to come if you don’t have any plans!

(Y/N) looked back at Isabel who smiled lightly at her. “I’m not telling you Sebastian is bad news or anything like that--I’m sure he’d be great for you--I just don’t want you getting involved in something you’re not ready for yet.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” (Y/N) asked with a lump in her throat.

“Well,” Isabel said softly and readjusted her position in the chair, “he’s much older than you, meaning he’s at a different stage in life than you, he’s had more experience in the life that he lives than you have, he has more experience in the world than you have. He may be ready for settling down when, realistically, you’re just getting into the game.”

“So, what are you saying? Are you saying to go on a stupid meaningless dating spree to have a few more guys under my belt before getting involved with someone I care about?” (Y/N) couldn’t help the sense of betrayal in her voice, but she knew that she was expecting something from Izzy that Lizzie wouldn’t have given--stark honesty in presenting (Y/N) with her fear in relationships. 

“I’m not saying that, I’m just saying that whatever you do, make sure you’re careful. Keep in mind that he may be wanting more than just a dating relationship, but also you need to figure out what it is that you want out of a relationship right now.”

“I don’t know what I want in a relationship, but I know that I’m happy when Sebastian is around and you know that ‘happy’ doesn’t come easily for me.” Her heart was swirling with the realization that Sebastian could be more than she was looking for and that their age difference would be more of an issue than she had previously expected.

“Hang out with Tom and his friends and just get your mind off of everything for a night,” Isabel said with a smile and lightly put her hand on (Y/N)’s shoulder.

“Can I not hang out with you?” (Y/N) asked with a slight chuckle.

“You know you’ll just be talking about Sebastian the whole time which is the opposite of getting him off your mind,” Isabel laughed.

“Fine, you’re right,” (Y/N) sighed and opened her phone to reply to Tom’s messages.

Sounds like a good time. Mind picking me up from Baruch College? 7th floor. Let me know when you’re coming.

Continued Installments:

IDFC 

Last Night 

Boo at the Zoo Part 1 

Boo at the Zoo Part 2 

Girlfriend 

Needed You 

[webart-studio]

The Final Information to G Suite

As each an worker and small enterprise proprietor, I adore G Suite. I’d think about it top-of-the-line instruments I’ve at my disposal, primarily as a result of it’s really easy to make use of and extremely multi-functional.

Whether or not I’m collaborating with my editor on a brand new HubSpot weblog piece, scheduling time to speak with a brand new consumer, or emailing my buddies a humorous canine GIF, G Suite turns out to be useful for nearly something you’re doing in your laptop — productive or in any other case.

Google entered 2019 with 5 million paying G Suite prospects — a quantity that’s elevated by 25% because the starting of 2017. I’ll let that statistic converse for itself: G Suite is a extremely precious instrument for people and companies worldwide. Notable G Suite prospects embrace Uber, BuzzFeed, PwC, and, in fact, HubSpot.

If you happen to haven’t tapped into the G Suite platform for your corporation, we encourage you to test it out. Learn via this information to raised perceive the G Suite platform, how one can optimize your account, and the way you should utilize the instrument to develop higher. Higher but, bookmark this so you possibly can reference it later.

What’s G Suite?

G Suite is a group of enterprise, productiveness, collaboration, and schooling software program developed and powered by Google. The first G Suite instruments embrace Gmail, Drive, Docs, Sheets, Slides, Varieties, Calendar, Google+, Websites, Hangouts, and Maintain.

G Suite was launched 12 years in the past as “Google Apps for Your Area”. The preliminary launch included Gmail, Google Speak, Google Calendar, and Google Web page Creator (now often known as Websites). Google Apps for Training adopted two months later.

Over the past 10 years, Google launched numerous instruments and updates as a part of its software suite. Google Apps was rebranded to G Suite in September of 2016, and never lengthy after, the corporate launched its first {hardware} product: Jamboard.

The G Suite platform additionally contains the G Suite Market (which was initially launched in 2010), via which you’ll be able to set up third-party cloud purposes to make use of as a part of your assortment of G Suite instruments.

Who makes use of G Suite?

Each companies and people use G Suite.

Client accounts aren’t essentially referred to as “G Suite,” although. For instance, once I’m signed into my private Google account, the highest proper nook of the display screen seems like this:

Alternatively, once I’m signed into my private enterprise Google account, the highest proper nook displays this:

Whereas G Suite companies are free for customers, companies need to pay for enterprise options corresponding to a customized e-mail area, limitless cloud storage, extra administrative and advertising and marketing instruments, and 24/7 assist. (We’ll get into the G Suite pricing construction later.)

If companies have a number of customers on their G Suite, additionally they need to pay per individual. Right here’s what Google seems like once I’m signed into my HubSpot worker account:

Not like different free client software program, although, free G Suite customers don’t see advertisements whereas utilizing the companies. Bonus: Google doesn’t use the data saved in G Suite purposes and accounts for commercial functions.

  The G Suite Merchandise

Google affords all kinds of merchandise for each private and enterprise use. Most are accessible with a Google account (by tapping the menu within the prime proper nook), although some must be put in as Google Chrome extensions to realize full performance.

Later, we’ll stroll via the right way to arrange and handle your G Suite account, however for now, let’s evaluation the completely different instruments accessible in your G Suite.

Gmail

Gmail is the G Suite e-mail software program. It was launched in 2004 and now has over 1 billion customers worldwide.

With a G Suite plan, companies take pleasure in 30GB of space for storing, customized firm e-mail addresses (yourname@firm.com), limitless Google Group e-mail addresses, 24/7 telephone and e-mail assist, and appropriate add-ons accessible via the G Suite Market.

Know the second a lead opens an e-mail, ship a superbly timed follow-up, and shut offers quicker than ever with HubSpot’s Electronic mail Monitoring — appropriate with Gmail.

Drive

Google Drive is the G Suite cloud storage platform and was launched in 2012. Drive manages your whole firm’s content material and helps collaboration throughout your total group. It additionally permits you to view numerous file codecs so that you don’t need to obtain extra software program to your gadgets.

Relying on the G Suite plan, companies take pleasure in 30GB, 1TB, or limitless storage per consumer and audit and reporting insights for Drive content material.

Docs, Sheets, and Slides

Google Docs, Google Sheets, and Google Slides are the G Suite phrase processor, spreadsheet, and presentation packages, respectively. They have been added to the platform in 2006.

These packages permit real-time collaboration, save modifications routinely, and observe revision historical past. Customers can insert feedback, counsel edits, talk via a built-in chat, and create templates for future use.

With a G Suite plan, companies take pleasure in limitless revision historical past amongst different perks.

Varieties

Google Varieties is the G Suite internet type and survey instrument. Additionally launched in 2006, Varieties shares lots of the identical options as Docs, Sheets, and Slides, corresponding to automated saving, real-time collaboration, and template creation. To gather information via Varieties, customers can personalize surveys or quizzes, ship respondents the URL, and evaluation the information (that’s routinely collected in Sheets).

Obtain HubSpot’s Free On-line Type Builder to transform your guests into leads and begin rising your corporation quicker.

Calendar

Google Calendar is the G Suite on-line calendar. It was launched in 2006 and integrates with Gmail to handle schedules, appointments, conferences, and duties (by way of Google Duties).

With a G Suite plan, companies take pleasure in sensible scheduling (the place staff can see open home windows of time on coworkers’ calendars), calendars for Google Teams, calendars for assembly rooms and shared assets, public calendars so prospects can view firm occasions, and straightforward migration from exterior calendars (e.g. iCal, Outlook, or Change).

Google+

Google+ is the G Suite social community. It was launched in 2011, and as of October 2018, Google is planning to sundown Google+ for customers in April 2019.

However, with a G Suite plan, companies can nonetheless benefit from the service in addition to restricted communities and enhanced privateness controls.

Websites

Google Websites is the G Suite web site builder. It was added to the platform in 2008 and permits customers to create web sites with little to no coding data or design expertise. Touchdown web page and venture web sites will be created utilizing pre-made templates and printed internally or publicly.

Hangouts

Google Hangouts is the G Suite communication and messaging instrument. Initially launched in 2006 as Google Speak, Hangouts helps textual content, voice and video conversations (for as much as 25 members) and can be utilized between desktop and cell gadgets. It’s additionally a standard different to Slack.

With a G Suite plan, companies take pleasure in a seamless integration with Calendar, display screen sharing for members, auto focus and clever muting options, public livestreams routinely saved in YouTube, and customized administrative controls.

Maintain

Google Maintain is the G Suite note-taking instrument. The latest addition to the G Suite platform, Maintain can be utilized to create, set up, and share memos, lists, photographs and voice notes throughout a number of gadgets. It’s accessible as a Chrome obtain and cell software.

With a G Suite plan, companies take pleasure in a seamless integration with Google Docs amongst different perks.

Want extra hours within the day? Obtain our full office productiveness information right here.

G Suite for Enterprise

There’s little question G Suite is a precious instrument for companies of all sizes. It’s the digital equal of a pocket knife — it helps collaboration, group, productiveness, advertising and marketing, and gross sales.

Do you suppose G Suite could be an ideal addition to your organization? Observe alongside this part as we talk about the right way to arrange G Suite for enterprise.

G Suite Pricing

Over the past ten years, G Suite has grown and expanded tremendously … with out altering their costs. (How loopy is that?)

Since day one, Google has provided two G Suite enterprise choices: the G Suite Fundamental Version (at $5 per consumer per 30 days) and the G Suite Enterprise Version (at $10 per consumer per 30 days). Learn extra in regards to the G Suite Editions right here.

On January 16, 2019, Google introduced that, for the primary time in a decade, they’d be elevating the costs of G Suite (albeit by a fraction). Beginning on April 2, the Fundamental Version will improve to $6 per consumer per 30 days, and the Enterprise Version will improve to $12 per consumer per 30 days. Pricing for G Suite Enterprise Version prospects gained’t change.

Regardless of the incremental improve, G Suite remains to be a improbable funding for your corporation. The per-user pricing mannequin presents a price that’s proportionate to every enterprise, no matter measurement. Additionally, with the G Suite Versatile Plan, companies pays month-to-month and keep away from long-term dedication.

Setting Up Your G Suite Account

Making a G Suite account is straightforward. Head to the G Suite homepage and click on “Get Began.”

Enter your firm identify and point out what number of staff you will have. You may at all times change this quantity as your group grows.

Subsequent, enter your contact data (or the data for whoever can be managing the G Suite account). Google will ship a affirmation to the e-mail tackle you insert right here, so make certain it’s accessible.

  The following display screen will ask when you’ve got a enterprise area identify. If you have already got one, insert it right here. If you happen to don’t, Google will assist you discover and buy one — most domains are $12/per 12 months if bought via Google.

  Enter your enterprise tackle and make contact with data on the subsequent display screen.

Lastly, select a username and password on your G Suite account. You’ll use these credentials to signal into any G Suite instruments sooner or later. Be aware: Your username can even be the primary half (or local-part) of your corporation e-mail.

  To finish your account arrange, you’ll be requested to evaluation your account and take a look at. On this display screen, you’ll see a abstract of your month-to-month expenses (after your 14-day trial) and some other one-time expenses, corresponding to a site identify. You’ll even be requested to evaluation your account data and enter your fee methodology.

  Lastly, you’ll see two selections to routinely renew your area and hold your area data personal — we encourage you to maintain these checked to simplify the area buy course of.

Managing Your G Suite Account

When you create your G Suite account, you’ll be directed to your G Suite Admin panel. That is arguably crucial a part of your G Suite account — you’ll handle all of your settings from this web page.

  Let’s break down the sections and what you are able to do inside every.

Customers

That is the place you add new customers to your G Suite account. You may also handle your customers and assign them numerous attributes, like Job Title and Division, in addition to observe their Final register and Electronic mail utilization.

Firm profile

That is the place you replace details about your organization and personalize your G Suite account together with your firm emblem. You may also create customized URLs to your numerous G Suite companies on your customers.

  Billing

That is the place you view your account expenses and handle your G Suite license(s). You must see whichever Version (plan) you selected for your corporation mirrored right here.

  Studies

That is the place you observe the utilization of your G Suite companies and apps in addition to consumer exercise. Underneath Highlights, you’ll see an summary of utilization exercise per app, consumer standing, storage statistics, and safety. Underneath Studies, you’ll see choices to run reviews on particular companies, gadgets, and customers. You may also run audits to see what customers are accessing what companies and instruments.

Apps

That is the place you handle your G Suite companies and their settings. Right here, you’ll see what number of G Suite core apps you’re utilizing, what extra Google companies you’re utilizing, and any Market or Safety Assertion Markup Language (SAML) companies you’ve related to your account.

  Gadget administration

That is the place you safe your organization information on all gadgets related to your G Suite account. You’ll see what number of cell and Chrome gadgets are related in addition to what number of Google gadgets (like Jamboard) are linked to your account. There’s additionally a useful display screen on which you’ll be able to handle all of your company-owned gadgets.

  Safety

That is the place you handle all safety features on your G Suite account. From password administration and monitoring to organising single sign-on (SSO), this web page equips you to maintain your G Suite account and customers safe.

Help

That is the place you entry G Suite assist, which is offered 24/7 over telephone or e-mail. Earlier than being directed to a stay assist line, although, you’ll be proven a Assist for Admins pop-up field with advisable assist content material.

Knowledge migration

That is the place you import your organization e-mail, calendar, and make contact with information. Google makes it simple to carry over any firm information it’s good to efficiently set up and use your G Suite. You’ll have to run this instrument for every sort of knowledge you migrate. To run a migration, you’ll want the migration supply, connection protocol, and the credentials of an account to confirm that you just personal the information.

  Dashboard

That is the place you see related insights about any enterprise domains related to your G Suite account.

Buildings and assets

That is the place you handle and displays any buildings, rooms, and firm assets related to your G Suite account. Right here, you’ll plug in any assembly and convention rooms that you just need to be accessible on your customers to schedule on their Calendar. You may also entry insights that inform you how and when your rooms are getting used.

Teams

That is the place you create teams and mailing lists. Teams are useful for speaking with total groups or elements of your group directly. You may also give every group its personal calendar for scheduling occasions and managing group conferences.

  Admin roles

That is the place you add new admins and handle present admin roles and permissions on your G Suite account. You may also set admin permissions for particular teams, companies, and gadgets. You’ll see what admins have what permissions, and you’ll change these accordingly.

Domains

That is the place you possibly can add or take away domains related together with your G Suite account. You may add a brand new area or area alias on this web page, so long as you possibly can confirm possession. You may also handle the place your guests are redirected once they go to your area.

  Be aware: I used my private enterprise G Suite account to tug instance photographs for this part. You’ll see that there’s just one consumer on my account (me

) … your account and admin panel will possible look a lot completely different when you’ve got a number of customers, teams, admins, and domains.

Six Methods to Use G Suite to Develop Higher

G Suite is a precious platform on your firm. However how are you going to use it to develop your corporation higher? Beneath, we cowl seven particular methods for benefiting from your G Suite account.

Take a look at the G Suite + HubSpot integration in the present day and see the way it can profit your corporation development.

1. Create On-Model Templates with Drive

Model identification is essential, and the price of branding and emblem design will be expensive. Who needs to see their advertising and marketing {dollars} go to waste (i.e. see staff utilizing off-brand paperwork, displays, and graphics)? I certain wouldn’t.

Use your G Suite companies to simplify the method of staying on-brand. Google Docs, Sheets, Slides, and Varieties all have template capabilities — have a designer create on-brand design templates and save them to your Drive. Then, encourage your staff to make use of these templates as an alternative of ranging from scratch.

2. Gather Buyer Suggestions with Varieties

Buyer suggestions is the lifeblood of a wholesome, rising enterprise. If you happen to don’t know what you’re doing proper, you possibly can’t do extra of it. In case your don’t know what you’re doing improper, you possibly can’t repair it. Buyer suggestions needs to be a excessive precedence on your firm.

Google Varieties makes it simple to collect and analyze information from prospects and purchasers. Use the instrument to create easy surveys that gather buyer suggestions, market analysis, your Web Promoter Rating®, and extra. You may also use Varieties to conduct inside analysis or collect data from friends and coworkers.

3. Empower Distant Workers with Calendar

Take it from me — as superior as distant work will be, there’s one thing to be stated about working alongside your group day-after-day. For one, it may be simpler to collaborate in case you see one another in individual. However that’s not at all times attainable for many who work remotely or internationally.

In case you have distant staff, Google Calendar might help them really feel related and included in what’s happening at work. Calendar makes it simple to see coworkers’ schedules and ebook time in an open room by their desk — with out ever having to step foot within the workplace. You may also arrange devoted calendars for company-wide occasions or extracurriculars just like the gymnasium or after-work ebook golf equipment. Workers can merely subscribe to these calendars to remain up-to-date.

4. Handle Crew Duties with Maintain

The web retains us related, however it could actually nonetheless be arduous to collaborate remotely. If you happen to’ve ever wished a spot to digitally jot notes, make lists, draw sketches, and save photographs, all whereas working in tandem with a number of individuals, Maintain is the answer for you. Maintain is a standard Evernote different that’s tremendous useful even in case you’re not utilizing G Suite.

Use Maintain to handle group duties, excellent initiatives, and ongoing collaborations. Create checklists to remain on prime of assignments, and hyperlink a Collaborator to allow them to see what’s due. You may also save articles and web sites to your Maintain folder and add notes with vital ideas and concepts — making on-line analysis even simpler.

5. See How Workers are Utilizing G Suite with Studies

Not everybody makes use of G Suite equally. The Studies panel in your Admin Console can inform you how and the way usually your group is utilizing the G Suite instruments and apps. Use this perception to raised educate your group on what G Suite has to supply. Additionally, the Studies panel can present precious safety data — like what gadgets have been used to login and which customers would possibly want to put in updates — so you possibly can hold your group and information secure and safe.

6. Leverage New Instruments on the G Suite Market

The G Suite Market is considered one of my favourite locations to buy. Google has built-in actually lots of of third-party instruments that solely serve to make your and your staff lives simpler. Select from instruments for enterprise, productiveness, communication, schooling, and utility. Obtain apps like Zoom, Xero, Google Analytics, and Asana to hyperlink seamlessly to your G Suite account and combine with different apps like Sheets, Calendar, and extra.

Tip: Control how your staff are utilizing any new instruments to see in the event that they’re benefiting your corporation or not.

Take a look at and set up the HubSpot app on G Suite Market in the present day.

Take Your Enterprise to the Subsequent Degree with G Suite

For the final decade, G Suite has been serving to companies collaborate, talk, and develop. Via easy instruments and an excellent less complicated on-boarding course of, G Suite has turn out to be an indispensable instrument for firms worldwide. No matter what trade you’re in, G Suite can solely serve that will help you enhance your corporation processes, inside and outside.

G Suite equips your staff to finish lots of of duties with ease — productive or in any other case.

Initially printed Feb 26, 2019 7:30:00 AM, up to date February 26 2019

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