#leaving a message with the front desk only works about every fifth time

[naamahdarling]

Can't wait to see what the consistently uncooperative nurse who answers my GP's messages has to say, if she messages me back. I bet you twenty bucks right now her reply makes it obvious that she didn't even glance at the rest of the thread.

Lady, you have way more going on than me. I know you're busy. I also know I am annoying. I'll stop bothering you if you tell me what you need from me so I can move on to the next step because until you do, I can't. Stop wasting your own time.

[wonwoosthetic]

Jealousy Looks Good On You | Chapter Two

Sooo, as per your guys' request, I'm turning my one-shot into a series :))) Thank you so much for the support on it, y'all are some big hoes for Mingyu, I see, I see

I do love a good slow-burn though, so have fun :)

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Anon Claims

Asks, taglist, and requests are open :)

Special thanks to the Anon who told me to put the prompt S3 into this :)

Summary: While Mingyu and yours relationship is in a confusing state, Seungcheol shows you how serious he'd be about the two of you

Pairing: S.Coups x Reader, Mingyu x Reader

Trope: Friends With Benefits to ???

Warnings: smut (18+), romantic ass love making, swearing, jealous!gyu

Word Count: 6.1k (it's a long one, get ready)

Please help me decide whether or not this should be an idol!au because I don't knowww. So please let me know!! :)

New Beginnings And Old Habits

Two weeks. Two fucking weeks since you last saw Mingyu.

After your little "incident" in the restaurant's bathroom, the two of you found the table, earlier occupied by DK and Seungcheol, suddenly empty. You excused yourself and ran out to get a hold of a taxi as soon as possible, and you haven't spoken to him ever since.

It wasn't like he hadn't tried to reach out to you - because he did. Almost every day, he would leave messages in your chat or even voicemails behind whenever you wouldn't answer your phone, which was every single time he tried to call you. Were you running away from your problems? Yes. Are you looking to change that? No.

You've known Mingyu for years, and never has it ever been like this before... alright, maybe once a few years ago when he scared away your ex-boyfriend, which in hindsight, you're thankful for, but that's a whole other story. What's important now is that you were hurting. You were not only hurting him but also yourself with your actions, by not trying to communicate with him. You didn't have your thoughts nor your feelings in order and didn't want to act on them before fixing them.

"(Y/N)?" After the fifth time of calling for your name, you snapped out of your daydream or rather day-worries and turned to your co-worker sitting to your left. You hummed, letting her know, you were back and listening.

"I'm gonna go now. Are you sure you'll be fine?" She asked, reminding you of her early leave as she had to pick her daughter up from school since her husband was out of town.

"Oh yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine," the repetition made her worry slightly more, "I was just... thinking about something, sorry."

"Okayyy," the older woman dragged, "I trust you, you know?"

"Yes, I know," she made you laugh, "And you can trust me. I got this."

"Alright, well then," she grabbed her bag and her jacket and walked in front of the reception desk, "I'll get going."

"Bye," you smiled before she left and wished her and her daughter and nice day.

So now it was only you left, managing the reception at the dentist's office you had been working at during your last year of college. Like your co-worker had told you before, not many patients were left to come in that day, making it easier for you to distract yourself with one of your workbooks next to you while trying not to think about the unread messages on your phone that had just started lighting up again. Like all of the other days before, you ignored it and returned to your work when new people came up to the front desk.

Three hours later, the number of people in the waiting room became less and less and fewer patients were coming in - only another thirty minutes and I'm out, you thought to yourself as you checked the remaining people's names on the list on your computer. Right at that moment, a voice in front of you spoke up, "Hello, excuse me," the familiar sound made you look up with wide eyes, "I'm sorry, but does the receptionist have time to see me."

"What are you doing here?" you whispered to Seungcheol, looking at him in disbelief.

"I wanted to know if the lovely receptionist may have time," he smiled at you, still not giving you a full answer to your question.

"I'm at work,", "But only for thirty more minutes, right? I have an appointment anyways, but afterwards?" You scrunched your eyebrows, not understanding how he would know of your work times, but you quickly realised to have mentioned it during your dinner two weeks ago, after which you thought you would never see him ever again.

Without responding to his question, you checked the timetable to see his name in the system actually appear in the system, making your stomach flutter slightly, at the thought that not only did he remember where you worked, but also your working hours...

"You can sit down. The doctor will see you in a few minutes," you motioned to the waiting area, but he didn't move just yet. "And you?" he nagged further. His not letting go until he got an answer from you, made you have to press your lips together in order not to smile like an idiot, "I will see you afterwards," you let him know, not looking away from the screen in front of you. Even without your eyes set on the man, you could see the grin that spread on his lips as he walked away and took a seat from which he was able to see you only a little bit - thanks to the height of the front desk. Right after that, you saw your phone lighting up again, earning your focus for the first time in hours. On the lock screen, you saw two messages from Mingyu, but more importantly, five from Seungcheol as well as one missed call from him, and the newest text he had just sent:

You didn't answer your phone, but I had to see you. I hope that's okay.

His consideration and the short part of 'I had to see you' made you smile and you answered him:

I'm happy to see you, don't worry :)

Thirty minutes later, you started putting all of your things inside your bag and cleaned up the desk after no patients were left in the room and the doctors started getting ready to leave as well. The only other person in the room with you was Cheol. Yes, his appointment officially ended fifteen minutes ago, but he waited for your shift to end.

Once he saw that you had gotten up from your seat and looked almost ready to go, he copied your actions, walked up to you, and leaned on the desk, "Ready?" he wondered. Your head whipped around as your back was facing him and came to sight with his grinning face.

"Yep," you answered, taking off your white coat, hanging it up, and replacing it with your jacket.

"You look really good in white," he complimented you as soon as you were next to him, making you blush and exhale a silent "Thank you."

After bidding your farewells to the other doctors, the two of you approached the exit door, which Seungcheol opened first and motioned for you to walk out, following you right after.

"So, why did come today?" You decided to ask him directly instead of starting some small talk that wouldn't give you the information you wanted.

"I told you, I wanted to see you. I felt bad after leaving with Dokyeom-", you interrupted him with a hand on his arm while you kept on walking, not exactly knowing where to, "You're sorry? Oh god, no please... no, stop. I'm so incredibly sorry. I just left the table with Mingyu, and... I just... I'm really sorry. I should be the one-," you started rambling, not catching a breath in-between which made Cheol stop. He grabbed you by your upper arms to make you look at him, "Hey, it's okay. You don't have to be sorry."

"But I do," you sighed, "I really do, and I don't know how I could repay you. I'm really sorry."

"How about, you get into the car and let me treat you to a homecooked dinner," he nodded his head to his left that you only then realised was standing there. You looked at him in disbelief, not really understanding what was happening, "What? You want- I can repay you by you cooking for me?" But you tried to understand it. He nodded, "Yes," and smiled, "Let's just retry that date from two weeks ago. No guys are gonna interrupt us this time. I promise."

Seungcheol made it sound like it was his fault what had happened... which it most definitely wasn't. It was your fault, and you made a mistake, a huge mistake. How on earth was this man in front of you that forgiving? Did he not know what happened between Mingyu and you?

When you didn't answer him but looked into nothing, he tilted his head slightly and hummed at you to get you back to reality. You snapped back in and looked at him, "Why do you still want to see me after I just left you at the table with Dokyeom?"

"Everyone deserves a chance at love, right?" And he gave you the possible kindest smile you had ever received from a human being, and you swore you felt your heart even stopping for a little too long.

The drive to the dorm was shorter than expected, or at least it felt a lot shorter since both of you were able to fill the time with an easy-going conversation, mixed with singing along to songs, and him listening to you rambling about rude patients that kept calling the doctor's office. In the apartment, after taking your shoes off and him taking off your jacket to hang it up, you noticed how it was surprisingly quiet and remembered him mentioning 'No guys would interrupt you this time'.

"You really got rid of them, huh?" You followed him into the kitchen where he seemed to already have put most of your guys' dinner ready - he must have prepared this before visiting you.

"Rid of what?" He asked you. "The guys. It's really quiet, that's not usually like from what I remember," thinking back to the times you had visited Min- no, no. You would not think about him tonight. He cannot occupy your mind 24/7. You're there with Seungcheol, that's what mattered.

"Oh yeah," he chuckled, "They've gone out," Not mentioning how he literally begged them to leave him alone just for this evening.

This was nice. It felt comfortable - domestic almost. Something that you had never experienced with Mingyu in that sense... There was something about Cheol's aura that would make anyone immediately at ease around him. It made standing next to him as well as talking to him a whole lot easier.

"So," you jumped slightly to stand next to him, "What's on the menu, chef?" The newly given nickname made him laugh, "Why don't you sit down and let him surprise you." As much as it sounded like a question, the look in his eyes told you that it was a softly given order. You nodded with a smile and took a seat on one of the barstools right at the kitchen island. As your eyes kept following his silhouette moving around the kitchen, analyzing him closely and more importantly his mouth that moved as he spoke, pictures of Mingyu kept interrupting you. Your best friend's dorm had the almost exact same layout, and with every movement Seungcheol made, the other man seemed to be standing right next to him, doing the same thing. You remembered all the times he would pick you up from campus and bring you home just to stay there with you and cook for you, and if that didn't happen, he'd get you to his apartment where you would spend the entire evening eating and laughing.

As much as you were trying to focus on the man in front of you-

"(Y/N)? You still there?" A hand waved in front of your face, snapping you back into reality, "You're drifting off kinda a lot today. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you shrugged it off with a smile, "I just keep on thinking about uni and work." Your immediate lie surprised you yourself.

"I just asked if you like pepper," you didn't deserve the kind look on his face. "I don't hate it. It's fine with me. If it's part of the recipe," you assured him, after which he quickly got back to preparing your two plates.

A short bit and a few more sentences spoken later, he put down the dishes on the dining table, one at the head, the other on the right side next to it.

As you went to sit down, Seungcheol quickly got behind you, pushing the chair back, and once you sat down, he shifted it closer to the table again. Before sitting down himself, he went back to the kitchen, "Red or White?" You immediately knew he was talking about wine, remembering your talk in the restaurant about both of you being wine enjoyers.

"White, please."

He came back with the bottle in one hand and two glasses in the others.

"I feel like I'm in a restaurant," you commented,

"Well, I told you I want to re-do our date," he answered, looking you in the eyes, letting you know just how serious his words were.

After clinking your glasses and taking the first sip, both of you started to enjoy the meal, and wow... you had no idea Seungcheol was able to cook that well, "Oh my god. I didn't know, you were such a good cook."

He smiled, "Well, thank you very much. I guess, younger people can teach very well." You immediately knew who he was referring to but decided to ignore it.

Two glasses of wine later, the food was already gone and both of you had switched to sit on the couch, some show playing in the background. You didn't remember that you hadn't eaten anything properly the entire day besides the dinner from Cheol, but it did explain why you were already able to feel the effect of the alcohol in your system.

Currently, you were openly talking about the dates the two of you had already shared.

"You know, I really did enjoy all of our dates so far," he told you honestly.

"But?" You could hear it from the way he ended his sentence.

Cheol turned to you, one hand now on your jeans-covered thigh, the other one resting in the back of the couch, "But I do regret one thing."

"And that would be?" You asked with big eyes, slightly scared of the answer. Because as much as you didn't think you'd get into a serious relationship with someone within the next few weeks, this felt nice... very nice.

"I never got to kiss you." Your eyes locked after the last letter left his lips. How did you deserve to sit next to this man? He. Who was considerate, honest, as kind as it could get, and ready to take a step forward with you. And why, as much as you wanted to do it too, did something try to hold you back. It tried but failed.

"Then why not do it now?" This was what he had been waiting for. Your consent for him to finally show you how he felt. Your smile assured him that your words weren't just empty, but actually filled with meaning and honesty. Yet, he didn't want to rush anything or start off too hard, so carefully reached out to place his hand on your cheek and started leaning in slowly, waiting for a response from you - which you gave him by copying his action and letting your lips finally meet.

A month after you started going on dates, he was eventually able to show you his sincerity in form of a kiss. And the wait was totally worth it. His mouth fitted almost perfectly on yours, moving against each other in a slow rhythm you had found quickly. As much as he wanted to kiss you for much longer, again, he didn't want to rush you into anything you didn't want to, so he separated his lips from yours, but kept his hand on your cheek. You kept your gaze on him, giving him a look of kindness and assurance, letting him know that at that moment, this was exactly what you wanted needed.

"I," he cleared his throat politely, "I just wanted to let you know that... I don't know how you feel about this. But I'm serious about it. I'm sure, and I'm ready. If you are." In his eyes, you could see how much he meant the words that just fell from his lips, but you didn't know what to say. Yes, you were sure. Relly? I want this just as much. I don't think so. I can love him. No, you can't. Yes, I can, I just need time. No, you can't. Yes, I can. No, you could never love someone else, he-

You interrupted your own thoughts by leaning back to Seungcheol and put your lips in the same position they had been only a few seconds ago. He didn't hesitate to kiss you back, having waited way too long for this moment. His hand, which had been resting on your cheek, travelled further to the back of your head, pulling you closer to him. Your hands were on either side of his face, making sure he wouldn't let go another time. Because if he did... you didn't know if your body would let you respond in the same way again.

The alcohol helped you overcome the little voice in the back of your head telling you that this wasn't what you wanted, and it wasn't what would make you happy, and this voice had an oddly familiar sound to it. Pushing it back, and you were all in for what was happening, not caring about the consequences.

"(Y/N)", Seungcheol stopped for a second, "Are you sure?" He noticed the passion in your kisses, and as much as he was ready to devour you, he again wasn't sure that you were on the same wavelength as him. A faint "Yes" left your lips before he initiated the next make-out. After getting your consent, he knew what he could do and what he most definitely would do. His hands travelled lower to your hips, nudging them slightly, so you would move your body as well and sit on his lap, which you did without spearing another thought. You hoped though, that you would soon find another spot since sitting like that wasn't the most comfortable in your jeans. His lips started leaving yours again just as you were holding onto him by his shoulders. Leaving kisses along your cheek, down to your neck until he stopped to find your sweet spot. Easily, he found it quite quickly and started sucking on it, making you moan silently, forgetting that you were the only ones in the apartment and no one would be able to hear you.

"We should probably take this to my room," Cheol commented when noticed you starting to grind your core on his thigh. You nodded quickly and moved some hair out of your face.

"Hold on," with that, you wrapped your arms around his neck as he stood up, holding you by your ass, and started walking towards his bedroom. After entering it, he shut the door by kicking it with his foot, which you found extremely hot at that moment, and carried you to the bed on which he laid you down carefully. With your hands still around him, you pulled him closer, not wanting to lose the feeling of his lips on yours.

He kissed you like you had never been kissed before in such a situation. As hot and bothered as both of you were, his lips grazed over yours and moved so softly and slowly, not rushing into anything. But as slow as his mouth may have moved, it was deep. Oh god, was it deep. The passion that man put into a make-out session was insane. Normally, you wouldn't be able to catch your breath by how quickly your mouth would move against another one, but with him, it was because of how much he took his sweet time with you.

His hands were just as slow as his mouth. Touching you softly, travelling up your shirt only millimetres with every few seconds passing. "You know, I'm not made of glass, you can touch me harder," you let him know, thanking the wine for the confidence.

He chuckled, "I know that. But you have no idea, how beautiful you are and I want to make sure to not miss a thing." His words left your stomach filling up with butterflies. Past lovers had every intention to please you just right, but no one had been like him. For the past year, you only knew what hot, rough sex was like. Have you ever made love though?

"I'll make sure, that you know how fucking gorgeous you are," he whispered in your ears as his right hand grazed over your covered boobs. With his lips back on your neck, his hands travelled over your torso, grabbing your tits every now and then, holding them gently and feeling them. Since you didn't know how much longer it would take him and you were getting more than just needy, you decided to take matters into your own hands and crossed your arms at the seam of your shirt and pulled it over your head.

"Alright, alright," Cheol chuckled deeply, "Impatient. I see."

"You have no idea," you told him honestly before pulling him closer again and wrapping your legs around his hips. He held onto your ass and pushed you up on the bed, before turning both of your bodies to lie down properly. Your hands went to the end of his shirt, indicating him to take it off since you were only lying there with your pants and bra on. He listened to your silent plea and got rid of the white top he had been wearing. For a short second, before you went back to the deep make-out session, you couldn't help, but to stare at his muscular chest. The hours he had spent in the gym with Min-

Your hands got busy again as they went to the buttons of your pants, opening them and ready to pull them down, but when you were just about to do that. Seungcheol's hands on top of yours stopped you. With only a look, he told you, he'd take care of it as he started leaving kisses down your upper body. Between your breasts, he stopped for a short to leave more kisses on the parts that weren't covered by your bra. His mouth went down more until it reached your jeans, where he started using his hands to pull them down, at such a slow speed, making you want to throw him on the bed and ride him immediately, but you let him do whatever he wanted to do. Cheol sat down on his knees to get your pants of easier. After doing just that, he threw them onto the floor, next to the bed and started trailing your legs up, once again, with his mouth. Before going any further though, he quickly got rid of his own bottoms.

He didn't spare another second and got back to riling you up more if that was even possible anymore. His lips left faint kisses along your legs until he was back up, hovering over your clothed core. Seungcheol started touching every inch of skin around your underwear with his lips, leaving behind a tingly feeling after each touch. Your breaths had become heavier as soon as you could feel his face getting closer to your heat, almost wanting to scream at him to rip your underwear off, but he had other plans with you.

His warm fingers started playing with your panties, painfully slowly pulling them down, after you lifted your ass a little bit to give him permission to do so. As soon as the cold air hit your throbbing core, your legs wanted to close automatically, but Cheol's hands kept them from doing so. His lips got dangerously close, you could feel his hot breath on your clit, making you shudder.

"See, I knew it," and he placed a gentle kiss right on the little nub, "So beautiful." You threw your head back once he places his entire mouth on your clit, his tongue immediately starting to draw circles around it, "Oh fuck," you shivered, and you could feel the hairs all over your body standing up. His tongue moved desperately slowly, letting you know that he had no intention of making you come just yet, but that he was just enjoying the moment. Your hands found their way to his hair, gently tugging on it, copying the softness with which he had been handling you.

"Cheol," you moaned out his name, not being able to hold it in anymore.

His head shot up quicker than lightning, "What's wrong?" he worried, to which you only shook your head, looking at the ceiling and called out desperately, "Please hurry up."

A deep chuckle echoed through the room, and he pushed himself up to hover over your face, "I didn't know you'd be that impatient."

"You've just been teasing me for too long," you answered, and he nodded, "Alright. A princess shall get what she asks for." You smiled at the nickname only before his lips went back to yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. But instead of letting your tongues fight each other, it felt like they were dancing melodically with each other. As the kissing went on, Cheol reached over to his nightstand, opening one drawer to fish out a condom, when your hand stopped him, "It's okay, I'm on the pill."

"You sure?" he really did care about this moment more than you thought.

"Yeah," you bit your lip to hide the wide grin that was spreading in your lips and wrapped your arms back around his neck as you had done earlier before, pulling him as close as possible.

One of his hands made its way to your back, making you arch it slightly, so he could have better access to the clasp of your bra, which he opened swiftly. As soon as it was off your body, his mouth went back to devouring your torso like he had already done but clearly wasn't finished with it yet. Your moans got louder once his tongue glided over your erected nipple, and his big hands cupped your breasts. After giving both of your tits the same amount of love and attention, he got back to slightly sucking on your neck's sweet spot, "You are so goddamn beautiful."

"Shut up," you chuckled, having heard this more time tonight than ever before.

He pushed himself up on his forearms, hovering directly above your face, looking you in the eyes, "I'm serious. I guess no one's ever told you that."

"Not like that," you admitted.

Your sad smile made him want to kiss your entire body all over again but the erection in his boxers told him to hurry the fuck up, but he made a mental note.

Seungcheol got rid of his underwear, his gaze not leaving yours. Nor did his eyes leave yours once he entered you, filling you up with his grith. You let your head fall back in pleasure, and a loud moan left your mouth, but he kept his stare on your face, kissing your chin that was now right in front of him.

He moved back out, only to easily glide into you again, this time also a grunt coming from him. Cheol got himself together and mentally fought with himself to not move quicker but letting this go slow. His in and out movements started getting a rhythm to which you quickly adapted as you started moving your hips along with it. Instead of speaking, he kept his mouth occupied on your neck, now not living faint kisses, but at least one mark as a souvenir from tonight.

You were holding onto his shoulders and your legs were back around his hips, trying to get him to go deeper, which he did, catching up to the signs you were giving him. With the slow but deep thrust he was making, your moans were loud whenever he hit your g-spot deep inside your core and his pelvis touched your clit, which quickly got replaced by him moving his right hand down to stimulate the little nub consecutively. The stimulation sent you closer and closer with every movement and it seemed as Cheol wasn't far either as his movements became slightly quicker, but still slower and filled with more passion than you had ever experienced before.

Your moans became higher pitched the closer you got to your release and your breaths got shorter. Seungcheol's left hand, that wasn't occupied found your right one, and he intertwined them to put them next to your head.

"Fuck," you cursed once you felt the pressure between your hips getting stronger, knowing you were about to reach your high.

"Cheol," his name fell from your lips in a high pitch, making him get insanely close to bursting out immediately. Hearing his name being moaned by you was something he wanted to get used to, something he wanted to keep on hearing.

"Come, sweetheart. Come on," he encouraged you with a whisper to your ear, not speeding up with neither his movements nor his finger on your clit. He wanted to see you come undone and fall apart slowly underneath him.

With his words, you immediately felt the release, your legs tightening around him, your head falling back, and the loudest moan of the night escaped from your mouth. The man followed you quickly as soon as he felt your walls tightening around him and he kept on thrusting into you slowly but so fucking deep, making sure that every last drop of his cum was inside you. His fingers didn't leave your clit, just the circles drawn on it became slower and bigger as he eventually used his entire hand to spread your wetness through your slit.

The high you had reached made you unable to move for a good minute, as it was one of the slowest and longest you had ever experienced, thanks to the slow speed and depth of which Seungcheol had fucked made love to you.

"Fuck," he breathed out, running a hand through his hair before doing the same to yours to get a better look at your face. Cheol came to sight with your stunned face and open mouth as you tried to catch your breath, making him chuckle and lean it to place a kiss on your nose, "Hold on."

He pulled out of you, leaving you with a shudder and an empty feeling between your legs, but he came back with a warm cloth from the bathroom, ready to clean you up.

As he got to work, he went back to hover above you, "You okay?"

You trembled whenever the towel glided over your still sensitive clit, "More than okay, yeah." He smiled at your answer, happy to hear that you did not regret what had just happened and that he for sure did a good job.

The cleaning up didn't take long, and he quickly came back into the bedroom, after throwing the cloth into the washing machine, not wanting the other guys to see it. Before he laid down beside you, he went to his closet to get a pair of boxers for him and two shirts for either one of you. On his way back, he picked up your panties from the floor and handed them over to you, so you could put them on underneath the blanket, which you had covered yourself with. After throwing the one shirt over his head on putting it on, he turned to you, "Up," telling you to raise your arms, which you did with a smile, and he put the other shirt on you.

He got into the bed right after dressing you, lying down behind you and threw his arm around your waist, which you then grabbed onto and laced your fingers with his while your back was up against his chest. It didn't take long until both of you were sound asleep.

--- The Next Day ---

Cheol insisted on driving you home personally with his car but not before stopping to get something to eat for breakfast. During the ride, you started talking about last night and the both of you decided to take it slow and start casually, not wanting to rush anything, but just to try it out and see where this will lead to. He brought you to a small café, a few streets away from the dorm. Thankfully, you were able to dodge the other guys in the morning and spared yourself possible uncomfortable encounters.

At the breakfast place, he, once again, opened the door for you to walk in first and stepped inside right behind you, his hand on your lower back, and he was about to guide you to an empty table, when a voice called out for you, "Hyung! (Y/N)! Hey," Seungkwan's bright voice ringed through your ears and both of your heads turned to where it came from. There you found, not only Seungkwan and Dokyeom, and Wonwoo sitting at one table, but also Mingyu - the last person you wanted to see at that moment.

"I had no idea they would be here. I'm sorry," he whispered, but you smiled kindly, knowing this would have never been his intention, "It's okay," you looked over to the '98 Liner, who waved his hand, "But we should join them now, I guess." Cheol left out a sigh, "Yeah, you're right." And he slightly pushed you with his hand so the both of you would walk forward.

"What are you doing here?" the youngest asked.

Thank God, the man next to you answered as you had no idea what to say, "I wanted to show (Y/N) this café before she's off to uni." And thankfully, none of the guys asked further questions. That didn't mean though that you didn't have an uncomfortable feeling in your stomach. Sitting at the same table as the guy you had been ignoring for two weeks. To get out of it for at least a short time, you excused yourself to go to the bathroom and told Seungcheol, "Just order me anything."

Away from the guys, you were finally able to breathe normally again, not having noticed how hard it was to breathe, sitting almost next to Mingyu. Your knuckled turned white by how tight you had been holding onto the sink, you had been using to stabilise yourself. "It's okay. We're fine. It's gonna be fine," you told yourself, looking into the mirror, trying to assure yourself, which... kinda worked? You splashed some water on your face and re-applied some powder, trying to get rid of a faint blush that had spread upon your cheeks. After feeling like you got yourself back together again, you opened the bathroom door and were ready to face the rest of the group again, when a tall figure was waiting right outside.

"So now you're fucking him for real?" Making you jump and hold your hand to your chest.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, don't scare me like that," you scolded Mingyu, "And no. That's none of your business."

He scuffed, "Stop lying, I can see the hickey on your neck." Which you then quickly tried to cover with your hair.

"Can you just leave me alone?" Your tone was sharp and most definitely hurtful.

"What, like you've been doing for the past weeks?" He pushed himself away from the wall he had been leaning on, getting closer to you.

"Yes! Yes, exactly! There's a reason why I haven't answered you, and you don't pick up on that?"

Mingyu raised an eyebrow and looked down on you, "And what would that reason be?"

He knew he hit a soft spot with that. And you knew that you couldn't answer him. You couldn't let him know. Well, let him know what exactly? Huh? Because you yourself didn't know why? You didn't know what the hell was going on with you. You didn't know why your heart started racing as soon as he got closer to you, nor did you like to acknowledge it.

After not getting an answer from you for quite some time, he scuffed. "So, you definitely know why but you won't tell me, alright." Mingyu put his hands in his pocket and leaned forward to be closer to your face, making you slightly gasp, "I swear to god if I see his hands on you ever again-" before he could continue, you interrupted him with a slight shove back, "What? What then?" you challenged him, clearly riling him up because before you could even blink, his lips were right next to your ear, "I’ll make sure you’ll never forget how my hands feel on you."

You gulped.

﹥ˏˋ♡̩͙♡̩̩̥͙ ❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡° ♡̩̩̥͙♡̩͙ˊˎ﹤

Thank you for reading!! Feedback is always welcome! :)

And pls remember to let me know about whether or not this should be an idol!au

[eireneeebby]

this is my first post so it’s just a little drabble (sry for any mistake!) <3

•~•moonlight•~•

bts jimin

!tw! stalking, slight language, kidnapping, (very very minor) violence

!summary! your roomate‘s creepy boyfriend seems to be a little to attached

The moon light shined dimly throught my closed curtains and fell on my desk that popped when i placed my elbows on top. The printed words on the textbook in front of me jumbled together in my mind. I couldn’t focus, and i had been studying for far to long.

Faint music played outside my apartment complex. Every friday night a small, local band, from a few blocks down, would play late into the night. It would normally end a little passed midnight, so they should be finished in a few more minutes.

The clock was bright in my room, and as i stared my eyes squinted tightly.

12:00

Although to some it may not seem too late, but, considering sleep is my only friend at the moment, i should be in bed by now. Alas i had plenty more work to be completing. Maybe art school wasn’t the best option for me. It was almost a given to have extra work. Not to mention the overflowing student debt.

That probably explains my living situation which is some dingy, old, crappy apartment, but it was extremely cheap. Isn’t that all that matters for a poor collage student? At least it was for me. The floors cracked with every step you took, the water was almost always turned off, there were a few missing floor broads, and then their was my roommate and her bat shit crazy boyfriend.

Well one of my roommates is fine. She pretty much never at home, and most nights she out at some party. That means she doesn’t bother me. Hell, i can’t even remember her name right now. I think is Aby? or maybe Adi? Whatever shes fine— other than that she never dose the dishes.

Then we have roommate number two. She’s a perfect roommate! a little off her rocker, yes, but she’s lovely normally. The only problem is her boyfriend, Jimin. He just gives me the wrong vibes. Every time he’s around he practically eye fucks me, and that quite uncomfortable. Even if he’s hot as shit, i can’t stand the way he treats my roommate as if shes not around, and pretends like i’m his girlfriend. Other than the obvious moral problems with that, he’s also just a creep. Ive seen him stalking in my room once, and every times he leaves i’m always missing something which could be anything from a shirt to a lip balm. I can’t say for sure it’s him, but most evidence convicts him.

My phone vibrated loudly. It caused me to jump out of my head.

“Unknown Number”

I had gotten a lot of unknown calls lately, but they never had a number attached and they only ever called once at a time. They never even left a message.

I let my phone ring out into the silence. It stoped for a moment only to call again, weird. Then it stoped and called a third time, and a fourth, and a fifth. With each new call the atmosphere seemed to get more eerie. A shiver ran up my spine even though it was at least 75 degrees in my bedroom.

’It‘s just is your head.” I told my self repeatedly, ‘Just some stupid telemarketer.” Yet the call kept coming.

I could hear a loud, yet delicate creek of the floorboards. I stilled as i listened to it get closer to my door. It was probably only a roommate getting home late, i had done that plenty of times. Yet, it didnt stop the sweat beads from forming and tracing downs my temple.

You heard a light hum come from right in front of your door. It matched the music coming from out side. I need to think rationally, but all i could think about was someone waiting outside my door ready it murder me in cold blood.

All of the panicking and racing thoughts didn’t prepare me to see the door come slipping open and a figure to follow.

Jimin.

My mouth dripped opened as if to scream but no words formed in my terror, and that sure as hell didn’t prepare me to stop him from quickly knocking me out in my own apartment.

[tulsa-trash]

Book Swap

Request: could you do a modern!pony x reader imagine where you're both in 9th grade and meet at the library, and one day you finally have the guts to ask for his number, so you guys start texting and then you start crushing on him and then you have to figure out how to tell him, so u ask two-bit and johnny for advice

WARNING(S): N/A

You sighed deeply as you began to reread the same sentence in your book for what felt like the twentieth time. It seemed as though you were reading but not even comprehending the words. To be fair, it was impossible to get lost in a book when a familiar cute boy was sitting a table over from you.

Ponyboy Curtis. How does one even begin to describe the amazing human you had the honor of being within five feet of? Unlike most guys in high school, Pony was something special. He was kind and very smart, you knew this because you have English with him. You've never seen someone so into a class before, he also appeared to have an interest in literature, like you. The both of you were nothing but mere acquaintances, and you secretly wished you could change that.

It didn't help that you found him absolutely dreamy. His brown hair was always a little messy, but it still managed to make him even cuter. You always feel your heart skip a beat whenever your eyes would meet his sparkling green ones in the hallways. You'd smile whenever you'd see him laughing with his friends, it showed off his dimples that sunk into his cheeks. Ponyboy Curtis was the boy of your dreams, and the young man was completely oblivious.

Your phone vibrated on the desk you were sitting at. Glancing up from your book, you seen that it was a text from one of your friends. After placing your bookmark in between the pages you unlocked your phone.

Evie: So? Did you talk to him yet?

You rolled your eyes after reading the message, your fingers quickly tapped at the screen as you typed your response.

Y/N: No obviously not. Now leave me alone.

Kathy: Girl go for it! He's a nice kid you said so yourself.

Y/N: Uh nope. Much rather stare at him from afar and not make a fool of myself attempting to talk to him.

Kathy: Well if you don't not only will I embarrass you in front of lover boy, everyone in this library will see me screaming at you and we'll both probably get kicked out.

Y/N: Wait what? How do you know I'm at the library?? Are you here right now???

Kathy: Look over at the fantasy section you nerd. You being you I obviously knew where YOU would be on a Saturday afternoon.

You looked up, eyes widening in shock as you saw your friend hiding behind a bookshelf watching you with a sly grin.

Kathy: Make a move now or I'm coming over there.

With already shaking hands you put your phone in your pocket and grabbed your book. You sent Kathy a pleading look, but all she did was shake her head and point towards Ponyboy violently. Taking in a deep breath, you got up. The chair scraped against the floor, creating a loud noise which made at least five people look up at you... including him.

"Oh god." You mumbled under your breath.

In your peripheral vision you could see Ponyboy's gaze return to his book, taking that as your cue to move you slowly crept to his table. You had made it to the chair directly across from him, he was so caught up in his book he didn't even notice your presence. You smiled softly, his eyebrows were furrowed in concentration while his eyes scanned the pages back and forth. You awkwardly cleared your throat, not too loud to disturb others but just enough for him to tear his attention from his book to notice you.

"Oh, hey." Ponyboy said, "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Um..." Jesus this was going to be way harder than you thought. "W-Would you mind if I sat with ya?"

"Not at all. Go ahead." He sent you a friendly smile as he gestured to the chair you were at.

His smile. Your legs already feel like jello, you could've sworn you were going to collapse right then in there.

"Y/N, right?" He asked as you sat down.

"That's me. And you're Ponyboy."

"Yep, couldn't forget a name like that if you tried." He joked.

You giggled as you opened your book, Ponyboy returned to his. Curiosity got the better of you when you looked back up to see what he was reading.

"Gone With the Wind." You read aloud.

"Have you read it before?" He asked.

You shook your head, "I haven't, but I've heard only good things about it. I saw the movie about a year ago and thought it was great."

"The book is amazing!" He gushed, only to be shushed by the librarian walking by. "This is my fifth time reading it." He told you in a more hushed tone.

You snickered, "Must be really great."

"What ya got there?"

You lifted up your book from the table to reveal the cover to him, his bright eyes scanned the cover.

"The Boy in Striped Pajamas?"

"I know the title seems a bit odd, but trust me this is a good read." You told him, "This being my third time reading it."

"Well what's it about?" He asked.

You went on to tell him about your book, and he went on to tell you all about his. The both of you began to talk about anything and everything, you were beyond happy that things were going well. You were having so much fun you completely forgot about Kathy spying on you, before either of you could realize it two hours had gone by.

You peaked at your phone and cursed under your breath, the lock screen had a reminder that your shift at work was starting in less than thirty minutes.

"I really hate to end this... but I gotta go." You said.

"That sucks." He said disappointedly.

You couldn't help feeling a little giddy inside to see that he was upset you were leaving. While you got up and gathered your things, you remembered that you wanted to get his phone number badly. You just had to figure out a way to get it without making things awkward.

"Hey, Pone?"

He hummed in response.

"What do ya say we swap books... and numbers? Thats only if you want to. I just figured since we read them already and it was cool talk--"

"I'd like that." He stopped your rambling, only to send you a warm smile while doing so.

You blushed as the both of you swapped phones to put in each others information along with handing each other your books. With a final wave goodbye you left the library, your best friend of course followed after you. She interrogated you with thousands of questions and the both of you walked to work, you gladly answered them all in an almost dazed state. You felt as if you were walking on air for the rest of the day, and you couldn't wait to text him later on.

-

Two weeks had gone by, and let's just say those two weeks have been the best ones of your life. You and Ponyboy had been texting every single day. At first you just talked about each other's books, but then your conversations started evolve to anything and everything. You knew you had liked him before, but your feelings for him have grown drastically. It was beginning to get unbearable holding in how you truly felt, and you weren't sure if you wanted to tell him.

The fear of rejection was one of the main reasons why you've been thinking of just repressing your feelings. Sure, he seemed to like you, but it felt as though he only liked you simply as a friend. Another reason being you were afraid that it would ruin things between the both of you. You had finally become good friends, the last thing you wanted was for everything to end up being awkward all because of you and your silly crush.

After a lot of thinking you decided you needed some advice, and by advice you mean advice thats not only from Kathy. She keeps telling you to go for it, but she doesn't really know Ponyboy well. That's why you got the idea to ask one of his buddies on their opinion. Luckily Pony invited you to watch him and his friends play football. You ceased the opportunity, not only would you be able to watch the boy of your dreams get all sweaty and tuff looking, you could also get one of his friends alone to talk about how you felt.

It was a warm, Sunday morning in Tulsa. The sun was high in the sky and beat down harshly on the group of boys tackling each other in the giant field. You sat under a tree with a notebook in your lap, a cool breeze would rush by every now and then, cooling you off the slightest. You doodled randomness on the blank pages, sketching pictures and honing your writing skills. Every now and then you would glance up and watch the game for a few, sometimes cheering the boys on or laughing when they began to goof off and wrestle each other on the ground.

There was a particular drawing you found yourself enthralled in, as the pencil in your hand smoothly ran across the paper you found yourself sketching a picture of Ponyboy's face. You were so focused you didn't even notice someone come over and take a seat right beside you.

"Nice drawin' you got there." A quiet voice spoke.

You quickly slammed the notebook closed and snapped you head to the right, it was Ponyboy's best friend, Johnny. A tiny smirk was tugging at his lips as he looked at you with one eyebrow raised.

"T-Thanks." You stuttered nervously.

"You like him, huh?" He asked you.

You stood silent as you played with the grass below you, pulling it from the Earth and rubbing it between your fingers. Your gaze was straight ahead watching the game, you were afraid to meet Johnny's gaze that was burning holes into the side of your head.

"Yes..." You hesitated a bit, "I do."

"Does he know?"

"No!" You said hopelessly, "And I'm not sure if I even want him to know."

"Why not?"

"Because he probably doesn't feel the same..." You trailed off.

"Hey now, ya never know." Johnny said.

"What are you two kiddies doin' over here?" A loud voice bellowed.

It was none other than Two-Bit, he staggered over to the both of you before plopping down to your left. He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and trickling down his neck.

"You tryin' to make moves on Pony's girl or somethin', John?" Two asked playfully.

Your heart fluttered, 'Pony's girl.'

"No way, man. Trust me." Johnny chuckled.

"Pony's girl?" You repeated to him questioningly.

"Oh yeah! I see the way y'all look at each other I ain't blind."

You let Two's words sink in, was it that obvious that you liked him? He even said that Pony looks at you a certain way as well. Maybe there was a chance he shared your feelings after all.

"You think he likes me or somethin'?" You asked casually.

"Oh I don't think, I know."

You smiled softly, butterflies erupting in your stomach. In the back of your mind you worried that you were getting your hopes up a little too high, but you couldn't help it.

"I like him too." You admitted.

Two-Bit scoffed, "Tell me somethin' I don't know."

"Well... what should I do?"

"Tell him." Two replied.

"I agree." Johnny piped up.

Both nerves and excitement began to bubble up inside you as you got up and gathered your things.

"Where are you off to?" Johnny asked as you began to jog away from them.

"Gotta head home. Tell Ponyboy I'm sorry I had to leave but I'll text him later!"

"See ya later lover girl!" Two-Bit hollered after you while preceding to make kissing noises.

You laughed to yourself and shook your head, "Idiot."

-

Y/N: Whats up Pone-bone?

Ponyboy: Nothing much lil lady, and yourself?

Y/N: Same. Btw sorry for leaving so soon today, had some things to do.

Ponyboy: It's alright.

Hey what were you, Johnny and Two talking about? They didn't try to tease you or nothin right?

Y/N: Nooo ofc not they were just chattin

But thats actually what I wanted to talk to you about...

Ponyboy: Well... Go on then

Y/N: Okay I'm just gonna say it

I like you

like a lot

Ponyboy: As a friend or?

Y/N: No silly, like more than friends...

Ponyboy: Wait actually?

Y/N: Yes Pony

Ponyboy: Seriously??

Y/N: OMG YES!!

I LIKE YOU A LOT!

... im sorry if it weirds you out

Ponyboy: NO! NO IT DOESN'T.

SORRY

... Just wanted to make sure this isn't a prank or whatever.

But in all seriousness yes, I like you a whole lot.

Y/N: Are you sure?

Ponyboy: Positive doll

Do you wanna grab some milkshakes at the Dingo next weekend?

Y/N: Are you asking me out onna date Curtis?

Ponyboy: Yes, I am ;)

Y/N: Well I would love to :)

[yunkiwii]

—potions gone wrong—

☆ hogwarts au ☆

pairing: bsf!hyunjin x gn!reader | ft. jeongin and mentions of minho

supportive oc: angela, female

genre: sfw. comedic and chaotic, may be considered fluff by some people

wc: 2.4k

warnings: hints of jealousy, mentions of illegal (magical world wise) actions, potion-induced obsession

a/n: i'm pretty sure that in the harry potter series amortentia doesn't work the way i described here, but let's just ignore that shall we? ♡

summary: two boys decide to make a love potion to conquer the crush of one of them. unfortunately, something seems to have gone wrong and y/n needs to step in..

shout out to: ficscafe prompt dialogue event ♡

↳ "I'll give you 20 bucks if you kiss me."

↳ "I don't think that's legal, but we can work around it."

↳ "Shut up, this isn't a wattpad fanfic"

Completely imersed in the pile of books you gathered in the library in order to try and understand more about potions, you get startled when a boy throws himself into the chair next to you, a yellow stripped tie hitting your head in the process.

"I'll give you 20 bucks if you kiss me."

"What? No!", you give him a disgusted and confused look before digging your head into the old dusty pages again.

"Come on!! Angela keeps coming to me trying to snuggle and kiss me and-", as dramatic as he is, Hyunjin pretends he is going to be sick, exaggerating on the nasty sounds way too close to your ear.

"What? Why?", your bestfriend finally caught your full attention as you turn to face him, "Wait, Angela as in like, Angela your major crush perfect-Angela? Weren't you supposed to like, I don't know, enjoy the attention?" But then the face he makes, his cheeks turning shades of pink as his gaze drifts away from you and he sinks down in his chair in embarrassment, realization hits you, "No! No you did not! Are you like what, dumb?", you flick is head inducing a loud squeal to come out his mouth.

"It was Jeongin's idea!", his voice three pitches higher than before, "And I can't be that dumb if I managed to make that stupid love potion work. But that's beside the point, will you do it or not?"

"Do what? Kiss you? And how will that help you dimwit?", you went to flick his head again because, to be fair, he deserved it, but Hyunjin knew you too well and held your hand in time to stop you from hurting his pretty face, as he likes to state.

"To break the curse! Make her give up on me by making her think we're together or something!"

"What curse? There is no curse! And she isn't even thinking right now, she might just kill me out of jealousy!", at this point you're pratically yelling at each other and are forced to leave the library, resuming this odd conversation on your way to Ravenclaw's common room.

"I still can't believe you let yourself go with what Jeongin tells you. He's evil you know?"

"Should've guessed by the green scarf huh?", you slap his arm lightly, not very fond of the jokes made regarding the fact your other best friend is a Slytherin.

"So, how do I solve this?", he basically pleas at you as you sit down on the desk next to the fireplace, as far away as possible from your housemates. Every two in three students has made, or attempted to make, some sort of potion or spell to have something in their advantage. However, amortentia wasn't just "some potion", and if some were to find out that Hwang - head in space - Hyunjin succeded at his attempt they would never leave his poor ass alone, so for now your plan was to keep this subject as low-key as possible.

"Marry her." you say nonchalantly while, without his knowledge, already looking up all about amortentia, its possible side effects and how long it would take to wear off - if ever-, receiving a whine in return.

"It was really fun at first, you know? The flirting was cute, the smooches were great," and boy he put some emphasis on that adjective,"but now it's like she's obsessed with me! She's clingy and talks with that annoying voice and I can't seem to get rid of her!" Hyunjin throws himself face down into the old couch and whines again, words muffled by the pillow where he burried his face. "She's probably standing right outside the door just now!"

"Wait, what do you mean it was fun at first? How long has this been going on Hwang Hyunjin? And why am I only knowing of this now?", you turn around in your chair way too fast, hitting with your knee on the other chair next to you before facing the mop of brown hair all spread around the blue pillow.

"Well, I barely ever saw you all week!", the boy turns his head just the minimum amount to look at you, "You're either with your nose buried in those old books, or with your hands all over Lee Minho! Not my fault you no longer have time for your friends..."

"First of all," you pull out the pillow he's laying on, his face falling on the black cushion as a few curses leave his lips, "lower your tone! I did not spend the week with my hands all over Minho, I am tutoring him in potions!"

"Which you're not that good at, that's why you walk everywhere with those fat books..." Hyunjin rolls his eyes at you as he recovers the pillow from your hands again, "Don't deny it (y/n), you've got the hots for him!"

"Oh sweetie, I sense jealousy in your tone... is that why you gave Angela a poorly made potion?", you show him the page you've been reading between the backs and forths of your not so relevent argument, only for him to realize the potion should've worn off two days ago. Instead, it only got worse. "Perhaps you could use some reading too huh?"

The boy rips the book from your hands, grunting between his teeth sounds you doubted to be words as he makes his way out, only to shut the door as soon as he opens it, squealing loudly when his eyes meet the ones from the Gryffindor's brunette standing right in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm telling you (y/n), she won't leave me alone! It's like she's obsessed!", Hyunjin keeps his back against the door, afraid the girl could open it by some miracle driven by her potion induced feelings, hence she doesn't have the password.

"Well, you see Hyunjin... that's because she is! And it's your fault, you should simply face it..."

"Oh I'm going the kill Jeongin...", the boy grunts ignoring your words completely as the whines coming from the other side of the door overlapped them, "Can you go get him? Or get rid of her?"

You make your way to the door Hyunjin refuses to unblock and, when words and pushes didn't make the tall boy move, you had to resort to your wand, although the simple threat was more than enough for him to make way for you. He stayed hidden in the corner as you parted the door slightly to tell the girl her beloved had disapparated from there, and she should probably look at the quidditch court. The fact she believed you only proved how strongly she was affected by the potion, since everyone knew Hyunjin would never go to a sports court by his free will and disapparating into and out Hogwarts wasn't possible at all.

As soon as the path got clear you both made your way to the shrieking shack through the whomping willow everyone was so afraid of, but that was exactly why the three of you claimed it as your secret meeting place.

Jeongin was already waiting as you sent him a message through your magic notepad when you got rid of Angela, and you had to secure Hyunjin to not throw the book at the Slytherin boy who only laughed in return. The laughter didn't last long though, because you only stopped Hyunjin so you would be the one scolding the younger one, flicking his head the same way you did to the lover boy earlier.

"Hey! What did you do that for?", the boy frowned at you rubbing his forehead.

"To bring you back to reality, so you can both fix the mess you made!"

"But what's the problem?" Jeongin looked at you with honest confusion on his face, "Is this about the potion? You know that thing wears off in like a week or so right?"

"Exactly... do the math now genius..." Hyunjin rolls his eyes before leaning his back against the spiderweb covered walls.

The three of you spent the whole afternoon trying to figure out what went wrong in the first place, you analyzing every single detail of the procedure, and the boys trying to recreate every step they took to reach the final product. But, after hours of research and theories nothing seemed to have gone wrong, well except for the exaggerated and long-lasting effect of the potion.

"We should just obliviate the poor girl..." suggested Jeongin at one point, head in his hands as a sing of withdrawal.

“I don’t think that’s legal, but we can work around it...” You agree with him closing the book you were now reading for the fifth time.

"Are you guys serious? Because that sounds great! Can we get away with it?" Hyunjin's eyes were sparkling in hope as he shifted in his seat to a more straight up position, ready to do whatever it took to get to walk in peace around the school, without being unexpectedly smooched in the cheek and squezeed into a hug every time the girl spotted him.

"No, it's a joke!" You both sigh at your friend's desperation before calling it a day, deciding to resume your research first thing in the morning.

As per usual, you met with the boys for breakfast at the dining hall, though this time they weren't alone and you couldn't help out a giggle when Angela, as glued to Hyunjin as possible while feeding him something funny looking with a spoon, winked at you as soon as you sat in front of her and next to Jeongin. The latter looked almost as horrified as the pampered boy, and you had to focus to try and keep yourself from bursting into laughter before the scene that was unfolding in front of you.

Hyunjin looked like an annoyed pouty baby slumped in his chair - as an attempt to go unnoticed -, while the smiley girl, - one that seemed to have way too much energy in the morning -, pulled some strands of the boy's hair behind his ear before kissing his cheek, "You're so pretty Hyunnie-jin, and I hate to leave you," the girl pouts as she pinches his cheeks rather aggressively, "but don't worry sugarplum, I'll be waiting for you in the astronomy tower when you leave class." This time the kiss is aimed at his lips, but Hyunjin antecipates her intentions and dodges his head with a slick move, just not fast enough to be fully free of her, ending up with her lips awkwardly attached half to his jaw, half to the corner of his lip.

"So you decided to give in?" You couldn't help the grin that was forming on your face, finding it hilarious how the universe always had a way to keep things balanced.

"Shut up. I had to if I didn't want to starve myself, it was one sacrafice I was willing to take." Hyunjin furiously rubs his face with a napkin, as if it would erase the memory of the previous demonstration of affection.

"I say it's the karma, you were basically playing and manipulating her the moment you gave her the potion, now you face the consequences."

"It's like she's taking revenge..." Jeongin mumbles more to himself than to his friends, but he was still heard, and had now two pairs of eyes locked on him waiting for a further explanation to what seemed to be a pretty plausable theory. "We already concluded we didn't do anything wrong, right?"

"Yes, it's still hard to believe though..." you take a sip of your pumpking juice with a raise eybrow, honestly still impressed at how they pulled that off.

"So what if she got aware that Hyunjin gave-"

"We, Jeongin, we!! This wasn't just me okay? I just got the, uh, benefits?"

"Ok, sure, whatever... What if she became aware that we," emphasis on the pronoun as he glanced at Hyunjin, "gave her a potion and now that it wore off she is pulling this act as a pay back? Because, according to our lover boy, if it was nice at first then why would she suddenly start acting all obsessively?"

Both you and Hyunjin took a moment to reflect on this new theory, one Jeongin was really proud of as showed by his smug grin when he crossed his arms and relaxed back in his chair.

"I hate to admit it, but that makes a lot of sense... and explains why she winked at me when I got here..."

"Okay yes, she is faking it... why else would she wink at (y/n) when I'm the one she's supposed to be focused on?", the boy threw his arms up with a questionting - and slightly offended - look.

"Time for confrontation!" you were already standing up with Hyunjin following the lead, but you held yourselves back when you realized Jeongin wasn't moving, looking between the both of you still grinning.

"I've got a better idea..."

It was a terrible idea, you thought, and wanted no part in it at all so you let the boys discuss the details while you just sat there judging their poor life decisions.

The plan was for Hyunjin, instead of confronting her and get it over with as you suggested, to play along as if he too was deeply in love with her, and see who would break out of character first. As much as you tried to explain how childish and stupid the plan was, the boys simply wouldn't listen to you, convinced this was the best idea they've ever had.

Hyunjin got oddly excited about this and ran to astronomy class, already antecipating the act he would pull off when he'd see the girl waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs when he'd get out, leaving you and Jeongin alone in the dining all. The contrast of your opinions on this was pretty clear in your faces, Jeongin laughing loudly, you furrowing your brows and shaking your head in disapproval.

Then, all of a sudden, the boy stops laughing and looks at you, "What if they actually end up falling in love after all this?"

He sounded seriously concerned yet amused at the same time, while you only rolled your eyes at him before collecting your books and leaving for class as well.

"Shut up, this isn't a wattpad fanfic."

networks: @ficscafe @k-library @k-dinernet @districtninewriters

taglist: @dreamwrld @su-lix @bobateastay @leihey @serialee @hyunsluvv

⇢ let me know if you want to be added to the taglist ♡

[aries-writingblog]

Detonation

Summary: As an FBI agent, YN deals with bad guys all day long. So does Bucky as an Avenger. When their worlds collide, it’s never pretty. Especially not when they are the targets.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word Count: 4620

Warnings: language, violence, bombs and explosions, bomb threats, hostage situation

AN: This was another request from @cherry-season and if you can’t tell by reading this I’ve been watching criminal minds again so I hope you guys like this one. GIF is not my own credit to original creator.

YN leaned back in the desk chair, spinning it halfway back and forth. Boring a hole into the scattered papers of the police department. She was exhausted. Their team had been after this same guy for a week now. A real piece of work: planting bombs in DC banks. Leaving cryptic messages with them. Fortunately, their bomb squad made it in time to dismantle the charge before it blew. But they were no closer to catching the guy than before.

“Shitty coffee?” A deep, masculine voice approached her side. Placing a coffee cup in front of her. YN smiled, gratefully accepting the beverage. She glanced up to the provider, one of her teammates, Alex Knowles. “Look like you could use it.”

“That a way of telling me I look worse than the coffee?” YN teased, chugging the lukewarm drink down. So accustomed to cheap, watery coffee, she barely even gagged at the bitter taste as it went down. “No leads?”

Alex shook his head, pulling up a chair and plopping beside her. He sighed, gazing out over the bustling police station. Watching the beat cops go in and out of the doors, suspects and victims all being questioned or held in the same room. A Mecca of activity unfolding before their eyes. Progress. Just not the progress they needed.

“Kinda hoping Bryant would bring something back in- he went to question a couple witnesses that were around the bank at the time the guy dropped the bomb off.” He reported, sitting forward to shuffle through the papers on the desk. “What’s all this?”

“Those are previous reports…” YN explained, brushing stray hair back from her face. “I thought he could’ve had a previous record… he built these bombs with some kind of knowledge- whether it be academic or street smarts, I’m not sure yet. Besides, not doing anything else.”

Alex nodded, letting the paper slip through his fingers and back to the desktop. He watched his teammate reorganize the stacks- the glittering diamond on her finger catching his eye. A devilish grin cracked his lips, whistling appreciatively.

“Barnes finally asked that question, did he?” He asked, putting his cup down and gesturing for her hand. YN rolled her eyes, suppressing a smile as she complied. Alex studied the rock more closely, examining the quality. “Got good taste for somebody as old as he is.”

“Oh shut up.” YN laughed, yanking her hand back.

She and Bucky met on a case. Their FBI team had been invited into a local investigation of suspicious activity. Turns out, the Avengers were also looking into it. Well, a team of four Avengers anyways. Bucky Barnes being one of them. He was smooth, a sweet talker. Managed to wriggle his way into her phone, later he would swing a date. Two years later, Bucky was down on a knee in her bedroom. Asking one of those life altering questions.

That had been three weeks ago. They barely had time to see each other after that night. She was pulled back into work, he was pulled halfway across the globe on a mission. He did call every night, checking in. Asking about her day. Making outrageous, silly promises about the wedding and their new home, their future. Making her smile, distracting her from her day. At the same time, allowing himself to dissociate from the mission he was on as well.

“I’m happy for you.” Alex’s tone turned sober, serious. YN glanced over to him. He leaned his elbows on his knees, smiling broadly. “You both deserve someone like the other… you deserve each other. I mean it in the best, possible way.”

“Thank you, Alex.” YN replied, reflecting her sincere gratitude as best she could. Alex was always in her corner. No matter what- he trusted her. In their world, that meant everything and more.

“Hey, LN- Knowles!” Ricky Bryant came rushing into their area, flushed and out of breath. “Listen, I think we might’ve found the bomber’s identity: Casey Griffin. ”

“What?” YN leaned forward, staring up at him. Her eyebrows furrowed, a faint pin struck the back of her head. “Griffin… Casey Griffin- that sounds familiar. Why is that familiar?”

Ricky opened his mouth, ready to spill all the information he had gathered about the man. A woman interrupted their circle, a panicked look in her eyes.

“Agent LN- there’s a call on line six for you. He claims to be responsible for the bombings and he’s demanding to speak with you.” She interjected, nodding to the desk phone. YN glanced from Ricky to Alex.

“Get Robbie on the phone- tell her we need to trace this call immediately.” She instructed, rolling to the desk to pick up the phone. She waited a moment, allowing Ricky to call Robbie, the fourth member of their team. Their tech analyst. “Ready?”

“Yeah- go ahead.”

YN took a deep, calming breath. Her fingers tightened around the phone anxiously. Swallowing back her creeping nerves, she pulled the phone off the receiver.

“Agent LN, may I ask who’s calling?” She began slowly, giving Robbie a chance to snag the call’s location. There was heavy breathing on the other end, as if he had been running.

“You know who’s calling, YN. Don’t play coy- it isn’t a good look on you.”

Recognition struck her like lightning as she heard his voice. He had been one of the hostages in the first emergency scene. YN had taken down his statement herself. She ground her teeth together, anger flooding her system. She had been played.

“You’ve got me there, Casey.” She chuckled, her free hand wiping down the thigh of her tactical pants. “This is the first time you’ve called- why are you just now contacting us?”

The sound Griffin made was far from a laugh- the dark, slow noise was bone chilling. Nauseating. She could feel it deep into her clothes, settling like frost against her skin. She bit her cheek, staving off the urge to shiver through the discomfort.

“I’ve decided I want to give you front row tickets to the show, of course.” He crowed, voice leaping in octaves. “Corner of West and Fifth. You have half an hour, unless you want all these lovely people to end up blood splatters and burn marks on the floors.” YN winced, clenching her jaw. “Oh, and YN? Come in alone.”

The telltale click and beep ended the call, leaving YN to stare blankly at the desk before her. Clenching the phone in her grasp so tightly the plastic creaked. Knuckles lightening. She swallowed, something was clutching her throat. Restricting her lung capacity. Her shaking fingers pressed the phone into the receiver. Pushing her chair back, she stumbled to her feet.

“YN- “

“I just need a minute, okay?” She snapped, snagging her jacket from the chair across from the desk. YN shoved past the incoming traffic of people, fumbling her way outside.

The city was full of noise; Blaring car horns, shouting, a low murmur of pedestrian conversations. Sirens. The thrum of the city’s heartbeat under her feet. Taking a left into the alleyway, YN dug through her pockets, fingers brushing against the carton of cigarettes and lighter.

Hands trembling, she put a stick between her lips. Blowing smoke as soon as she lit it. Tilting her head back against the weathered brick of the station. A shaky exhale following the wavering grey smoke. She clenched her jaw, bowing her head.

She knew it was a trap- Casey was asking to meet alone. But he was holding hostages in a bank loaded down with explosives. And who knew what he wanted, why only her? Why alone? And why was that name familiar? None it made sense- facts blurring together. Shrouding him from her senses.

A sudden buzz against her abdomen sent her reeling back into consciousness. Her cigarette was gone- flicking the filter to the ground. Pushing it into the cement with her boot. Her fingers scuttled through her pocket, retrieving her phone.

Bucky’s contact photo- one of him fast asleep with fridge magnets on his arm. She smiled- somehow Bucky always knew right when she needed him. Like he had a sensor on her emotions, giving him timely reports. Updating him constantly.

“Hey, Buck.” She greeted, begging her voice to not crack. It sounded normal. Or at least enough that she hoped Bucky didn’t question it. Tucking the phone between her shoulder and ear, she lit another cigarette. Blowing the stress away from the speaker.

“Hey, sugar,” She could hear his smile through the phone. That excited one he always got when he first saw her. Wide, showing off his teeth. Stretching his face so much she wondered if it hurt. “I’m just callin’ to tell you I’m home. And I know you’re busy but, I wanted to hear your voice again.”

YN laughed, falling into the regular rhythm with him. Allowing herself to feel the stress melt from her bones. Bucky always had that affect on her. Something she couldn’t quite understand. Why the man was such an addictive drug.

“Well, you’re in luck- I’m on a break right now.” She wanted nothing more than to sit and talk with him, listen to his baritone drawl. Lulling her into a state of comfort and security. But she knew she couldn’t- she had limited time. She had to make a decision. And soon.

“Are you smoking again?” Bucky asked. YN smiled, biting down on her lip. She made a noncommittal noise, neither agreeing or disagreeing with his statement. He had been after her for their entire relationship to make her quit the habit. Trying to help her kick it. Nothing ever really helped. “YN…”

“I know… I’ve only had two. I just… I needed a break.” She admitted, bowing her head. She shifted her eyes to the alleyway opening, seeing Alex and Ricky approaching her. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you at home?”

“Yes, I’m making that soup you like for dinner. Don’t let it go cold.” He warned.

“I won’t. Love you.”

“Love you too.” She shoved her phone into her back pocket, meeting her partner’s halfway. Their faces drawn with concern and hesitancy.

“Gear me up.” She pushed between them, not looking back. She feared if she looked at them again, she would lose her nerve. Holding her shoulders back, chin tilted with her head held high. She had to keep the air of confidence around her. If she didn’t- they would never believe her. YN needed full backup for her plan. “I’m going in.”

~~~~~~

The building seemed to loom over her, taunting her as she stood before it. The large windows were gaping at her, a threat to her minuscule presence. YN swallowed back the terror she felt, pushing it down and locking it away. Out of reach.

“We’ll be talking with you through the comms unit the whole time.” Ricky explained, securing the equipment over her ear. He carefully tightened the straps on her vest, glancing to meet her eyes. His brows dipped. “You don’t have to do this you know? We can raid the building or get a sniper down here. This isn’t the only option.”

YN shook her head, clipping her holster over her belt, around her waist. She sighed, the exhale was shaky. Biting down on her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, she clipped extra ammunition to the side.

“It’s the one where everyone makes it out. Those hostages are the main priority right now.”

“Hey.” Ricky stopped her nervous movement, hands on both of her shoulders. Forcing her to look up at his face. “Don’t do that. Don’t make it seem like some small bust… this is serious. We’re worried about you. About this. It’s dangerous. Give a little of that focus to yourself.”

“Okay.” YN agreed. She inhaled again, this time a little more steady. Giving a final affirmative nod, she squared her shoulders and backed away. She turned, facing the group of DC police officers and FBI squads. “Alright, these comms go both ways. I’m negotiating for hostages first. If anything goes wrong, clear the site. We don’t know how many explosives he has in there.”

YN watched the groups follow her orders, setting up to accept hostages. Loading guns for a raid if needed. Both ambulance and fire department had been called in. The companies were also preemptively preparing for the worst. She began walking toward the bank, eyes forward. What felt like thousands of eyes followed her to the door, fire burning against her back.

As she approached, she could see a woman standing at the glass door. She had been crying- her face stained with tears. YN stopped at the glass door, standing face to face with the woman. After several moments of staring, the order was finally given to open the door. The woman’s shaking fingers unlocked it, pushing it open.

“You’ve served your purpose.” A quiet voice spoke across the lobby, echoing on the tiled floors. “You may go.” The woman burst into tears, shoving past YN and onto the street. “Agent LN… how courteous of you to take her place.”

YN entered the lobby tentatively, keeping her head on a swivel. She turned the corner, coming face to face with the bomber. Casey Griffin stood behind the group of hostages, hands tucked behind his back. A twisted, sacrilegious grin on his lips. The group at his feet were huddled together, most were sobbing quietly. Holding people they most likely didn’t know. She knew from experience that tense situations erased all lines between humans. Everything begins to blur when terrified panic sets in.

“I’m here, Griffin. What do you want?” She demanded, her hand resting on her weapon. There was a buzz of static in her ear, the line opening.

“We don’t have a visual of you anymore, LN. Get back into sight.”

Griffin took a step forward, around his subjects. A small, black remote in his hand. Eyes steady on her face. Studying her. He exhaled sharply, coming to a stop right before her.

“I was hoping you’d be more… well, more.” He frowned, disappointed. YN’s eyebrow lifted, unable to follow his thoughts. “Such a shame… I’ve read all these great things about you. Every case you’ve solved, every step you’ve made to get here. You’re much more impressive on paper.”

“Get to the point.” YN sneered, her jaw clenched. Griffin smirked, eyes scanning down her face again. He sighed, rolling his eyes.

“All you feds- no taste for the theatrical. I much rather prefer the Avengers.” He grinned, eyes sparkling dangerously. YN felt her heartbeat pick up It’s pace. Heart threatening to burst out of her chest. “Oh, that’s right… congratulations, by the way. What’s it like- being engaged to a fossil? Are his brains still scrambled?”

“Shut up.” She hissed, fingers itching to reach out and wrap around his throat. He only tilted his head, pouting. He began pacing, orbiting around her slowly. Her shoulders tensed, defenses began raising even further. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you see, I’m very well acquainted with Sergeant Barnes.” Griffin slowed to a stop again, on her right. He leaned in, close enough she could feel his breath against her skin. “He murdered my husband.”

The pounding in her chest seemed to have leapt into her throat. Breathing was much harder now, her skin crawled as her brain went into overdrive. Something was wrong… what was going on?

“He doesn’t do that anymore.” YN admitted, her voice lower than she thought it would be. Threatening to crack.

“But he does.” He hissed, gripping her arm tightly. Yanking her to his chest. His free hand came up to her ear, ripping the unit out and flinging it into the wall. His fingers fluttered down to her chin, grasping it tightly and forcing her face to his. He stared down at her. Anger burning in his irises, the dark circles under his eyes. His nostrils flared. “What makes it even worse is that he chose to do it. With Hydra, he had no choice. But with the Avengers? He had every decision laid out before him and he chose.”

YN flinched, flecks of saliva landing on her cheek. Her jaw clenched down tighter, eyes closing momentarily. Griffin’s hand crept down from her face, into the pocket of her pants. His fingers grasped the device, pulling it out. He held the device to her face, unlocking it then shoving her away.

“So now,” Griffin gave her a maniacal grin. YN was beginning to get whiplash from his mood swings. He was unpredictable. Unstable. Devolving before her eyes. She glanced back to the group of hostages. “He gets to flex that autonomy again. Oh, how lovely- he was your last call.”

“Why do you have me here, Griffin?” YN demanded, attempting to take control of the situation. If he was distracted, she could maneuver and gain the upper hand. “If you wanted to go after Bucky you would’ve done it. Why do any of this? Why do you need them?”

Griffin spared a quick glance to the group of shivering civilians. He hummed quietly, pressing dial for Bucky’s number. YN felt a drop of sweat bead down her neck. Rolling to meet the bulletproof fabric over her torso. She was alone in here, responsible for the lives of those petrified people. Staring and waiting for her to do something. Help them.

Her eyes fell to the remote in his hand. She could snatch it. The bomb was his power move. His leverage. Then again, the hostages were bargaining chips. He had to give something up. She had to remove variables.

“Let them go.” YN urged, holding her hands out in surrender. “You’ve got me, you’ve got my attention. Let them go.” He sighed dramatically, eyes rolling as he pressed the button for speakerphone.

“It’s no fun without an audience.” He whined, shrugging as he turned to the hostage group. “And to think- we were just getting to the good part. Fine! Leave, all of you.”

The group all scrambled to their feet, taking their leave before he changed his mind. The stampede rushed the door, cramming themselves out into the street. YN’s heart slowed, the adrenaline fading in her veins slightly. Her priority was taken care of- they all made it out alive.

“Hello?” YN never thought she would be nervous to hear Bucky’s voice. Casey smiled at the phone, eyes boring into her skull. “YN? Hello?”

“She can’t make it to the phone right now.” Griffin responded, giving her a mocking pout. The other end fell silent. YN could almost feel the paranoia settle over his body. “I would ask you to leave a message but I’m afraid she won’t be around much longer to hear it.”

An idea began to form, tingling at the base of her skull. YN gulped nervously. She had to keep him distracted- keep him focused on Bucky. But that also meant she had to stay focused on Casey. She couldn’t say a word to Bucky. Not yet.

“Who the fuck are you and what do you want?” Bucky hissed. YN closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. She could pull her weapon. But could she pull it fast enough? Griffin could blow the place to smithereens. She could try to get the remote- every solution seemed to fall back to the same outcome. She grit her teeth- he had the upper hand. She could do nothing but wait it out.

“Joshua Rivers.” Casey replied. While his voice was smooth and unrestrained, his eyes told a different story. Seething, red hot rage burned in his veins. “Does that name ring any bells to you, Sargeant? Let me give you a hint anyways- I know how fragile the mind can be in the older years. He was a lead operative for Hydra. Four months ago, you raided his warehouse and instead of arresting him, you put a bullet through his skull.”

“He deserved more.” Bucky hissed, his voice crackling through the speaker. Echoing in the empty building. Casey scowled, his nose scrunching in anger. “That warehouse housed human experimentation projects.”

“That doesn’t matter!” Casey screamed, veins in his neck popping out against his skin. Pumping adrenaline in time with his heart. “He was a person- he had people who loved him, cared for him. You took that away from me. I can’t help but wonder… how you’ll feel about the same circumstances.”

“Where is YN?” Bucky demanded, keeping his voice level. YN began to creep her fingers up, toward the gun in her holster. She had one chance. He was distracted- she could gain the upper hand.

“Well, that’s a tricky question. It’s only a matter of time before she’s… everywhere.” Griffin shrugged, swinging his gaze back to YN. Her fingers faltered, halting at her hip. She was close, her thumb brushed the cold metal of the gun. “So now… now I think I’ll return the favor. You took something from me. The only person that ever mattered. You destroyed my world.”

“If you touch her, I swear to-“

“You don’t believe in God, Sergeant.” Griffin’s slow drawl interrupted the threat. His tongue ran over his lips, taking a deep breath. “He’s not real. If he were, don’t you believe that none of this suffering would happen?” There was a ruckus of noise on the other end of the phone, Bucky panting heavily. A door slamming. “This is your repentance, James Barnes.”

YN’s fingers wrapped around the metal plating, her nerves settling. She could make this draw. It would be fast enough. It would be accurate. She could end it once and for all. She exhaled slowly, counting down.

Three…

Two…

One…

In a flash, YN pulled her gun from her side. Aiming it at Casey’s chest and pulling the trigger. The loud gunfire echoed- ringing in her ears. Her heart sank. Stomach plummeting to her feet.

She missed.

Casey’s expression settled into one of contempt. Disappointment. The hell fire turned to her, his focus shifting from Bucky to YN. Surging toward her, his hand swung out, shoving the muzzle to the ceiling as she fired again. Casey’s fist tightened around her phone, a strong punch to her kidney sending her to her knees, wheezing for air. YN grunted, her hand swinging at a wide angle, but it was only deflected as the heel of his hand connected with her nose. Releasing a sharp cry, YN cradled her nose carefully. Eyes watering and face stinging. Bucky’s frantic shouts barely audible as she knelt, gasping in pain. Her thoughts muddled and slow.

Casey sighed dramatically, ripping the weapon from Yn’s hand. She groaned, disoriented as a fresh wave of pain throbbed from her face. Blood seeped from between her fingers, dripping down into a puddle on the tile floor.

“Say goodbye to your fiancée, Sergeant.”

~~~~~~

Bucky all but tossed the motorcycle onto the curb as he skidded to a stop. A blazing inferno consumed the building, scorching the blackened trees that once surrounded it. The hand gripping his throat squeezed tighter as he stumbled toward the police line. Shoving his way through bystanders.

He felt sick- choking back the nausea bubbling from his stomach. Fire bellowed from the gaping, blown out glassless windows. Portions of the building were collapsed, the rest soon to follow. He barreled through shouting police officers, desperate to reach the building.

“Barnes!” He didn’t turn- even though the voice was familiar. He had to get to her- she was still alive, he knew she was. She had to be. “Barnes- man, you can’t go in there!”

Hands grasped his metallic shoulder, pulling him back roughly. Bucky grunted, swinging his arm around, taking hold of the man’s bulletproof vest. He clenched his jaw, staring down at Alex Knowles. One of her partners. Knowles’ eyes were puffy and rimmed with red. His skin was irritated, probably from wiping tears away.

“She’s still in there.” Bucky stated, without asking if she had been pulled out yet. He knew the process of these kinds of situations. The fire chief had to clear it and the area was nowhere near safe enough. But his girl was in there, in danger. Dying slowly, the longer he stood around. It had already been too long.

“Teams haven’t been sent in yet… I know you’re scared but you could make it worse if you go in there guns blazing. It could collapse the rest of the way.” Knowles warned, his eyes begging Bucky to stay put. Bucky shoved him away. Stripping off his jacket, Bucky scowled at the man.

“I will be the something worse if she’s not alive. Don’t test me, Knowles.” He growled, tying the jacket sleeves around his waist. Bucky turned on his heel, sprinting for the blown out doors of the bank. Ignoring the shouts of the firemen and police officers on the scene.

Inside, the flames locked the walls, staying maintained. It seemed the only thing the department had been doing since the explosion was clearing the fire. They had been prepared somewhat.

Bucky stumbled through the rubble, boots tripping over chunks of concrete and twisted metal. He had to find YN, she was somewhere. He had to keep himself from thinking the worst- she was alive. She would be okay. He just had to find her first.

He turned what would’ve been a corner of the bank, his heart rocketing through his chest. The beat thumping wildly.

Two bodies. Lying side by side.

“YN!” He picked his way through rubble, skidding to his knees beside her. Deep cuts laced her dirtied features, trapped under a chunk of concrete from the waist down. For now, he didn’t care of the implications that could lie beneath the rock. His trembling fingers found the pulse point in her neck, bowing his head and stifling a sharp sob as he felt a faint, slow thrum. He brushed the hair from her face gently, biting his lip to keep himself together. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

Bucky shuffled down to her waist, hooking his fingers into the rock. Just as he began lifting, a sharp gasp startled him, almost dropping the rubble. He glanced back at YN- wide awake and sobbing. Carefully, Bucky spared a glance under the concrete. A metal rod went directly through her thigh, blood seeping from the wound.

“Shit…” It had been contained until he lifted it- now she was going to bleed out. He had to move fast. “YN, doll, I’ve got you. This is gonna hurt but it’ll be okay.”

She didn’t respond, sobs ripping from her chest as he stilled. Bucky took a deep breath, collecting his nerves. He moved quickly, throwing the concrete across the room with a loud grunt. An ear piercing shriek fell from Yn’s lips, her fist pounding the ground at her side. Bucky untied his jacket, wrapping it tightly around her injured thigh.

“Okay, sweetheart. We’re gonna get out of here.” Bucky’s chest tightened as he gathered her in his arms. She was shivering, huddling close to his body as best she could. Her skin was filthy, covered in soot, dirt, and blood. “Try to talk with me, sweet girl. Stay awake.”

“Ja- James…” YN’s fingers twisted into his shirt, tears soaking into his fabric. His heart clenched. It was his fault- that idiot had gone after her because of him. He held her closer, tighter, as he picked his way back to the doors. “I… I think I’m done- done smoking.”

Bucky almost laughed, forgetting his location. The situation fading as he spared a glance down to her face. She was grimacing, lips pulled and forehead wrinkled. But here she was- trying to joke with him.

“Why’s that, doll?” He questioned, emerging from the collapsed bank. The sunlight was strong, glaring down into his eyes. He hunched slightly, trying to block the intense light from her sensitive eyes. YN groaned, tugging weakly at his shirt. “We’re almost there, doll. Keep talking. Why’re you quittin’?”

“I’ve had enough smoke for one lifetime.” She replied, eyes fluttering. Paramedics rushed toward them, a gurney wheeled to their side. Bucky carefully lay her back, grasping her hand tightly as they rushed toward the ambulance.

Bucky didn’t reply, lips pressed together. Concern running rampant as they moved. His eyes caught Knowles and Bryant’s, averting his as soon as they landed. Loading into the ambulance.

“Bucky?” He quickly stepped up, sitting down in the back. Squeezing her hand tightly. YN gave a half- hearted return. Her fingers tangling with his, eyes closed. “Stay… please…”

“I’m here, sweetheart.” Bucky smiled, hoping his face could mask the desperate panic he felt in the pit of his stomach. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

[wenttworth]

inspired by a discussion on the loser’s club discord (warning for infant death)

Every second and fourth Tuesday at 3pm, Eddie had a standing appointment with a therapist.

He only started going once he moved to LA, after Richie offhandedly mentioned his own regular appointment, and Eddie had frowned and chewed on the scar on the inside of his cheek before checking that he hadn't in fact misheard. Richie had just laughed and said, “Yeah? LA, Eddie. Everyone's got a therapist.”

It had been the only type of doctor both Sonia and Myra had avoided at all costs, and by extension Eddie too. But the way Richie talked about it, how even though he couldn't tell her about the demon space clown part of the trauma, she had helped him come to turns with growing up in Derry whilst also being in love with a boy.

Eddie had made tentative arrangements—with a different therapist—and yes, had found he had plenty to talk about without mentioning aliens, clowns, spiders, or alien clown spiders. His habit of dissociating during sex, even with Richie, had been the topic of weeks. All the shit with medicine took up a good amount of time, not in the least because he still had nightmares of the withdrawal symptoms from when he'd been at the hospital.

4th June was a special case anyway. If Richie noticed, he didn't say anything, but did keep on dropping kisses on the top of his head every time he walked past so maybe he was being tactful. Myra had texted him, which he'd expected. He sent a short message back, but didn't pick up the phone when she rang. He could be kind to a point, but he knew better now than to be self-destructive.

When the time came to leave, he gave up the pretence of trying to work, emails sitting half-finished, a quote floating in some tab somewhere, driver assignments completely up in the air, and called out to Richie that he was on his way out. Richie materialised before he could step out of the door. “I thought we could eat out tonight. There's that new Vietnamese place round the corner that I wanted to try.”

Eddie was shaking his head before he even finished. “Could we go another time? I just want to stay in tonight.”

“Okay,” Richie said. He reached out and squeezed Eddie's hand tentatively, and Eddie stepped in to kiss him.

When he arrived at the office, he sat on the sofa for over a minute as he tried to work out how to broach the subject.

Dr Newcroft, about ten years Eddie's senior with dark, serious eyes and grey hair neatly combed was well-used to this and let Eddie gather his thoughts, before he shook his head. “Sorry,” he said.

Dr Newcroft smiled. “No need to apologise, Eddie. What's on your mind?”

There was a picture of Dr Newcroft's granddaughter on his desk. Eddie had seen it as he'd been pacing the office a couple of months back. It had given him pause; with the fine blonde hair and brown eyes and two front teeth just starting to come through she was almost the spitting image of— Well, until he'd looked a little closer and seen that the shape of the nose was completely different, and the cupid's bow more pronounced.

“Eddie?” Dr Newcroft asked again. His tone was completely neutral, though his eyebrows had quirked into furrows.

“Today would have been my daughter's fifth birthday,” he finally said, with a loud exhale. He stopped, looked down at his hands where he'd been picking at the corners of his nails. He hadn't even realised the tear of pain as he'd ripped the skin too far and blood had started to collect around his cuticles. He took a tissue from the ever-present box on the short coffee table and wrapped it around his finger before finally looking at Dr Newcroft.

Either he'd had time to school his expression or nothing phased him, because he just nodded. “What was her name?” he asked softly.

“Lily,” Eddie said.

He just nodded again and waited.

“Myra texted me today about it, and I replied. I thought at least she deserved some recognition for what she went through.” He refused to look at him when he said that; Dr Newcroft had been a firm advocate for no-contact, though Eddie still hadn't got round to blocking her number. He couldn't even say why, he just...hadn't. “It's always hard, every year. I barely noticed the anniversary of her...her death this year because I was in the hospital and I don't know if it's because I feel guilty because of that because today is hitting me harder than it ever has.”

He pressed his knuckles to his lips, chanced a quick look at Dr Newcroft's impassive, reassuringly blank expression.

“Richie doesn't know about her.”

“You haven't told him?”

Eddie shook his head. “He knows something's up today but he doesn't know what.”

“Would you like to?”

Eddie shrugged, leaning against the back of the sofa, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. “Do you think I should?”

“Do you think you should?”

Eddie stared at him, and finally Dr Newcroft sighed. “There is no 'should' here, Eddie. It's whatever you're comfortable sharing with him. But what has stopped you talking about Lily to him before?”

“Myra didn't like to talk about her. I don't even know if she lets herself think about her except for today. I do. I don't think I've ever stopped thinking about her. Wondering who she would be now.”

“Did you try to talk about Lily to Myra?”

“In the beginning. She never reacted well.”

“You didn't go to grief counselling?”

“I thought about it. Picked up some leaflets. Thought about going by myself, but Myra found the leaflets.”

The hysterics had been enough to convince him not to even try, even as he and Myra shut each other out of their own grieving and Myra became more and more incensed at Eddie pulling away physically and emotionally. They hadn't been as close as they should have been before Lily died, let alone after.

“I don't know if she realised that I was grieving as well. I heard her speaking to some of her friends one evening and all they were saying was that I couldn't understand how Myra felt because I wasn't the mother, and a mother will always feel the loss of her child more than a father, but I still see Lily everywhere, I...” He rubbed his eyes furiously when they blurred. He hadn't once teared up on this sofa, and saw it as a particular achievement. Lost the streak now. “Fuck,” he muttered, yanking another tissue from the box and pressing it to his eyes with a low groan.

“Myra tried to smother your emotions a lot, Eddie. I think, now that you are with someone who accepts your feelings for what they are, you are allowing yourself to feel the grief that you repressed before.” He paused, as if he was waiting for Eddie to say something else. “You have more friends now than you did before, right?” Eddie nodded mutely. “Talk to them. And of course, if you want some more specialised grief counselling then I can refer you.”

When the forty-five minutes were up he finally suggested that Eddie write Lily a letter, something which he'd recommended several times when he'd spoken about Sonia or his dad. The letter to Sonia he had written, full of gleeful, angry words with such passion that he'd torn through the paper twice, in a fit of ecstasy after the first time he'd had sex with Richie. He'd burnt the letter afterwards as a final fuck you to her.

He didn't know what he could say to the six month old child he'd found still in her crib.

It was after twenty minutes sat in the passenger seat of his car, knees propped up against the dashboard, that he finally called Richie and asked him to Uber to the therapist's office and drive him home. Richie agreed easily, though still with that same wariness he'd had all day.

Once he'd hung up, he dug through the dashboard to find the notebook and pen he kept in there, opened to the first blank page, and stared at it unseeingly.

Lily, first. That was a good start.

I left your mother. He paused, reading those four words over and over. What would she even have thought about that? What could he say to the girl she would never be?

God, he missed her in his bones.

There was a knock on the window, and Eddie flipped the notebook closed before leaning over to push the door open. Richie got in with his usual lack of grace, grumbling under his breath at the seat adjustments until he'd managed to push it back enough for his long legs. Eddie watched him with a smile, digging the keys out of his pocket and handing them over when Richie asked.

Richie was always in motion, no matter what else he was doing, and driving was no exception. The arrhythmic tapping on the steering wheel used to drive him up the wall when they were kids, another excuse to yell at him and launch across the console once they'd parked to yank Richie's arms away from the steering wheel, ignoring the swoop in his stomach whenever Richie playfully fought back. Now it was the backdrop to everything, a rhythm tapped out with his pen as he muttered his current set under his breath to fine tune the timing, another rhythm against the kitchen counter as he stirred something bubbling on the hob, yet another against Eddie's back when he buried himself into Richie's arms to sleep.

“Are you okay, Eds?” he asked. His voice was carefully casual, though nothing like the way Sonia used to control her tone to confuse him or catch him out on a lie.

“Can we talk at home?”

Richie was chewing on the inside of his lip, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed. Eddie put a hand on his thigh, rubbing his thumb against the give of it, and watched some of the tension leave his shoulders.

“Give me five minutes,” he said when Richie had unlocked the front door from them both. Richie made as if to follow him, but when he headed for the spare room he'd made into his office he gave up and went back to the living room. Eddie had never told him not to go in the office, it was Richie's house, but from the beginning Richie had treated it as Eddie's own space, and wouldn't go in without Eddie asking him to, would always knock and wait for an answer. It was such a small thing, but that he did it always filled Eddie with a strange sort of squirming pleasure. Richie had always prided himself on crossing Eddie's boundaries, but never the ones Eddie had put up for a reason.

The box of personal effects he'd pulled down from the attic in the townhouse was all he'd brought from New York other than his clothes, laptop, and the Brevill coffee machine, and he'd immediately put it in the closet in the spare room rather than look through it for real. Most of the items were worthless—some trinkets he'd inherited from his mother, mostly jewellery he'd never seen her wear but still couldn't stomach giving to Myra. At the bottom were the things that were actually precious, the muslin Lily had slept with, the cap she'd worn home from the hospital, a teddy that had been his that he'd been planning to give her when she was a little older, and the baby book he'd filled in a couple of weeks before she died. He'd spent hours combing through all the pictures, Lily in her rocker next to him seeming to listen intently as he explained each choice to her, grabbing his finger every time he couldn't resist and had to put a hand on her chest and lean closer to kiss her cheek as she kicked her legs out and giggled.

He placed the book next to him to pull the muslin out of the box. It didn't smell like her any more, not even the smallest hint. The tiny pink cap neither. Not surprising, they had barely been out of the box in over four years.

He span to sit with his back to the closet, legs stretched out in front of him, and balanced the book on top of his thighs. The cap he kept clasped in his hand as he breathed. At some point, he'd have to get up. He'd have to tell Richie what was happening.

A gentle knock on the door. “Eds? You okay in there?”

Eddie hid the cover of the book against his chest, before forcing himself to lower it. “You can come in, Richie.”

He opened the door, hovered at the threshold until Eddie motioned to the floor next to him, and locked his eyes on the book. Eddie could see the cogs turning in his head, though he still had that distinct air of caution and confusion he'd had most of the day in response to Eddie's sudden melancholia.

“Eddie, what's...?” he stopped as if something had physically blocked the words in his throat, froze completely still and sat beside Eddie silently. Lily's name, and the words 'baby book' were clearly printed on the front of the book, and the book was clearly visible where it was still resting on Eddie's thighs.

He opened to the first page, pictures of Lily a couple of hours old at the hospital, squinting at her new world, mouth agape in a yawn, Eddie holding her against his chest. Richie audibly took a breath, though he said nothing else. Eddie flipped through a few more pages, grateful for whatever instinct had made him forego most of the pictures of Lily and Myra in lieu of just Lily, or Lily and him. In the whole book, there was only one picture of Myra and Lily wearing matching hats. He'd always liked that photo, Lily mid-laugh at a face Eddie had pulled.

“She would've been five today,” he finally said, flipping back to the first page. He'd written all her measurements on the inside cover. Although she was born to term, she had been less than six pounds, fitting easily in one arm.

Richie didn't say anything, and for once he was completely still, blue eyes wide as he stared at the picture of Lily nestling into Eddie's chest. “Myra had two miscarriages. Lily was a miracle; most of the doctors said that we wouldn't be able to conceive. And she was...” he trailed off. What word would actually encompass it? She'd been the best of him, she'd been a part of his soul, in his marrow. From the moment she'd grasped his finger in the hospital he'd worshipped her. “I didn't let myself feel it when she died. I don't know how much was Myra or... oh, who the fuck knows. I just kept telling myself that whatever I was feeling, surely Myra must be feeling it ten times worse, seeing as she was the mother. So I let her decide everything for the funeral, didn't go to grief counselling because she thought it was a waste of time, didn't even talk about it, I fucking went back to work two days after I found her—” He broke off with a choked cry that clawed out of his throat with a suddenness that startled him. The closet was rattling behind him as he pressed his hands to his face in an effort to stop the sobs that were tearing his chest apart, and he only realised that he was the one shaking when Richie pulled him against his chest, carefully sliding the book safely to the side before gathering him in his arms. He pressed his face against Eddie's hair and Eddie could feel Richie's tears also, falling against his neck.

“Eddie, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry you had to go through that,” he was saying like a mantra, soft against his ear.

Thinking back, Eddie wondered whether this was actually the first time he'd really cried for Lily. He'd been so numb when he'd found her, leaving Myra to hysterically call for an ambulance, on his knees next to the crib as if in supplication. He'd been rocking her, staring at the corner of the room where the carpet was curled up, never having been stapled correctly, feeling himself detach from his mind and body and floating some metres above, only able to think 'oh', as if some part of him had expected that the tiny light would be snuffed at some point.

For now, with Richie's arms keeping him together, he let the grief tear through him, opening up the wounds he'd ignored for over four years.

[ssa-steverogers]

𝙩𝙬𝙤 𝙜𝙝𝙤𝙨𝙩𝙨

pairing ╏ aaron hotchner x female!reader

word count ╏ 2.4k

summary ╏ a couple years have passed, and aaron and reader begin to question their status; inspired by two ghosts by harry styles

warnings ╏ none (?) please tell me if i missed anything x

note ╏ guys. i haven't written fanfics for like three years!1!!1!1! so i apologize in advance for any mistakes and grammar errors! i do hope you enjoy though! and also for the sake of the fic, jack and haley don't exist sorry guys lol and the ending is kind of bonk bonk but leave a like, comment, or reblog if you want! <3

I couldn’t pick up the phone. I sat back on the chair in the apartment we bought a couple years ago. But it tasted bittersweet just thinking about it; something I was supposed to cherish but couldn’t. The two plates of food on the table were now dull. What was once smoking and bled with heat was now encrusted in a dry film; unappetizing.

The phone continued to ring. Once. Twice. A pause. Once. Twice. Three times. But after the eleventh call, I figured he stopped. Aaron had forgotten his key that morning. It's almost humorous how he could tell the difference between a psychopath and a sociopath in his sleep but forgot the simplest things like our house key. And our fifth anniversary.

Earlier today, I had asked Aaron to go home early. But even after five years of marriage, eight of living together, and ten of dating, he couldn’t seem to care less of my whereabouts lately. Distracted, distant, and rigid.

“Hotch,” I swung into his dimly lit office earlier that day, “I'm going to be headed home early tonight. I-“

“Alright, see you at home,” Aaron continued writing his paperwork and took half a second to glance up at me. It’s unclear if he meant to cut me off or not but it didn’t matter because it would’ve hurt either way. Distant, I thought. A quick look at his office and nothing would’ve seemed different but I thought I saw more clutter than usual.

“Okay, well... I’ll see you tonight. Don’t be late!” I tried to look past it, for now. I blew a kiss his way and he looked up to smile at me briefly. The smile reached his eyes but I couldn't tell if it was genuine. His pen didn’t stop writing. Distracted, I thought. “Bye, I love you,” I breathed out and quickly shut the door, walking out to gather my stuff. I didn’t wait for his reply; unsure if he even had one. I wondered what he’d say. And if it’d hurt more than what his words didn’t say.

Looking at my watch on the way to my desk, it was half past four and it was clear to say that no one was done with paperwork yet.

“Where are you going?” Spencer questions, catching Emily’s attention. She looks up from her pile of work as well.

“Well, things to do and places to be,” I smiled at the two, putting my tablet into my bag. I grabbed my gun from my drawer and put it to my holster. Emily smiled knowingly. She knew it was me and Aaron’s fifth anniversary. Emily even helped pick out the perfect outfit for tonight’s homemade dinner. She also knew about Aaron’s behavior lately. We both thought of it and we discussed every scenario except the worst one yet. He wouldn’t do that to me, I would think to myself, not after what Haley did to him. It was the unspoken what if that I wasn't ready to swallow yet.

Emily and Spencer waved me goodbye and she wished me good luck, along with a smile that was poisoned in pity. I was almost entirely sure it wasn’t on purpose but I wasn’t sure of anything at that point. I walked out the door, into the elevator, and it felt so repetitive. The same elevator every day, the same building every day, living the same life every single day. I’d casually mention to Aaron how the repetition felt like a lot sometimes over paperwork in our office at home and he’d hum quietly. Maybe in agreement. We both loved our job. The same thing every time; but we were saving lives. Maybe it was the effect of his changed behavior. Maybe he felt it because he thought my behavior changed as well.

The same thing every time; coming home separately, even though we used to come back together. We were drifting and although it wasn’t the first time, we always resolved it. Things happen and we’d come out stronger and I had never had a doubt. Sometimes the job was hard and I was there for him, and he was there for me but it was different this time. He'd come home late and I'd be asleep by the time he got back. Then, I started to do paperwork at the local coffee shop and he’d be sitting in our office, waiting for me to get back.

No words would be exchanged once we were together for the night. Maybe a ‘hey’ or ‘how was your day?’ and then a simple ‘good.’ We’d both change our clothes and get into the bed. We were getting further and further away every night in bed. Too exhausted to think of words for this odd place we were in. Sometimes he'd hug me and take a deep breath and I'd release a breath I didn't know I was holding. Something was just not working this time. Trust your gut, Aaron used to say to me when I first joined the BAU. My gut told me that this couldn’t keep on going at the rate this seemed to be deteriorating.

All these moments led to right now. The phone rings beside me as Aaron waits outside in the drizzling rain at eight o’clock, without the key that he forgot this morning. I unlocked my phone to read the messages exchanged earlier tonight.

today 7:40

y/n: hey aaron are you still at the office?

love: Yes, is there something going on?

y/n: aaron

love: Yes?

y/n: oh you forgot, didn’t you?

love: Forgot?

y/n: aaron, it’s our anniversary?

read 7:46

I purse my lips and wonder if he still loves me. Of course, he does, my mind wanders, would he have been with you for ten years if he didn’t? I chuckle sadly. The food on the table now cold, the outfit Emily and I chose doesn’t seem so perfect anymore. The candles on the tables nearly half melted. The dining room looked eerie now, sitting by myself on a Thursday night with two uneaten plates of food with candles nearly burnt out.

That’s when I hear him knocking on the door gently.

“Y/N? Please let me in. I didn't forget, I just,” Aaron’s sigh is muffled by the door but I hear it clear as day when I get out of my seat and walk up to the door. I think he hears me walking to the front and continues. “I was distracted. Something isn’t right between us right now and we should talk about it. I’m sorry, Y/N, please let me in so we can talk.” I sigh in defeat and unlock the door, slowly. The door opens and his hair is flat from the rain, briefcase tucked under his arm with his phone in the other hand. But his posture isn’t as upright as it usually is – he probably knows he fucked up. I wonder if he’s been profiling me from my texts, or my current body language even though we promised we wouldn’t do that to each other.

He walks through the threshold of this house but his eyes don’t waver from mine as he sets his stuff down and puts his gun away in the drawer. A glimmer of his keys reflects the light in the drawer. It’s almost funny, how he remembers his gun but not his keys even though they were in the exact same place. It makes me wonder about the integrity of our situation and if he had left the keys on purpose.

I walk to the dining table with the food I made and turn away from Aaron. I’m not sure about what to say. I've obviously been avoiding this conversation for quite some time and even after all this procrastination; I still don’t even know what to say. I hear Aaron's footsteps from behind me and I wait to see if he has anything to say. After I'm sure that he doesn’t, I begin.

“Aaron,” I turn around to face him. I smile grimly, feeling tears prickle at the back of my eyes and it hurts to swallow, “What the hell happened to us?” Aaron stands there, arms crossed and a hand on his chin. Crossing arms suggests closing yourself off and is a gesture of defensiveness. “What happened to our Thursday night dates? Aaron- I don’t- I mean,” I struggle to complete a sentence when millions of thoughts are racing through my head, “I know you’re not happy. Sure, maybe everyone thinks that you don’t show a lot of emotion but I know you and you have a tell for specific things. When was the last time we really talked about how we felt about us? C’mon, Aaron, who are we bullshitting? We weren’t communicating and you know that it’s one of the most important parts of a healthy relationship.”

“Why are you using past tense?” Aaron asks and he’s doing the face he only gives to people he thinks are suspicious.

“What are you talking about? And why are you giving me that face?” I pause and Aaron tries to cut in but I get to it first. I make a face and pull my eyebrows together. “Are you profiling me right now?”

Aaron looks taken aback at my comment. “Are you?” Oh. When I don’t say anything he continues, “You’re using past tense when you mention our… marriage and relationship. If you have anything you want to say you should say it now. There really isn’t a better time,” His voice grows cold on me, the same way he does to unsubs we interrogate. I don’t think the ice in his tone is intentional but he probably can’t help it. He’s right though, should I confirm my suspicions? I don’t want to hear his answer to my question in fear that it might be the wrong one. But he is right, this conversation is long overdue.

“Are you cheating on me?” I breathe out at once. “Are you?” The tears are getting harder and harder to hold back and time seems to move slower by the second.

“Y/N, what? No, I'm not! Why would you think that? I could never do that to you. You know about Haley and how she cheated! And you think I'd do that to you?”

“You were just distant lately and-“

“Distant?” He pauses, I know he wouldn’t interrupt me if not necessary so I let him go on, “Y/N, so are you. I didn't think you were cheating. I thought you needed time and that I needed mine. I had thought about what you had said a couple weeks ago about how repetitive life felt.” I nodded at his words. “You’re not the only one who thinks that.” A pang of guilt radiates in my chest, because I think we both know how this was going to end.

“Okay,” I say.

“Okay?”

“Okay.” I walk a little closer to him and cradle his face in my hands. He rubs circles on my wrists, caressing me and I do the same to his face. Tears are spilling from my eyes, down my cheeks, “Aaron Hotchner, I love you more than anything in this whole entire fucking world. I know you love me and that I love you but you’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met in my life and we both know what’s coming. It’s been unspoken for too long, I know that. But whatever happens, you have to know that I love you. We had our good days,” I look around to see picture frames on the walls of our relationship in earlier stages. Smiling, dancing, laughing. I remember each and every one of the pictures and thinking that this would be the man I would love for the rest of my days. “And we had bad days. There will never come a day that I forget all the wonderful things that we had. I’m using past tense now because I think-“

“I think you’re right,” Aaron quietly cuts me off. “We’re not the people we used to be. We’ve changed but we can’t grow like this. I love you too, more than words will ever be able to encompass but maybe we’re feeling stuck, not bored or repetitive.” I want to say something for the hell of being a couple for probably the last moments but I don’t want to stray far from the truth. Aaron’s eyebrows turn downwards a bit and his eyes are glimmering with tears. He envelopes my body in his and leaves a quiet kiss on my hairline.

I take a deep breath of air, trying to savor this moment for the rest of my life. My face is wet from tears and they won’t stop falling. I hiccup from the crying in his grasp so he plays with my hair fondly and almost inaudibly hums to me.

“Will we be okay? I mean,” A hiccup, or three. “I don’t want either of us to leave the BAU because of this but also will we be okay? In terms of feelings and… well, more feelings.”

“Of course,” Aaron begins. “I don’t love you any less but we both agree that things will be better this way. We just... go back to how it used to be before you asked me to a drink for the first time,” I can feel his small grin as he leans against my head. Being reminded of that day hurts now, but it has for a while anyway. I wonder if I hadn’t asked him to that drink one night after a local case, if we’d be where we are now. But I know everything here was nothing less than fate itself and that I probably shouldn’t dwell on what if’s.

And so after some moments of silence for something that would soon be gone, we stand underneath the dim lights of the dining room. Aaron holds me against his chest as we look at the candles on the table. They’re both burnt out. There’s no light there anymore. The candle has melted onto the chamberstick, leaving long trails of wax.

I hold him a little tighter and he does the same to me. I don’t know what the future holds but our two halves have drifted too far to come back together and that’s okay. I know things will be weird for a while but it’ll be okay.

“It’ll be okay,” I whisper under my breath. For the sake of us, we'd leave it here. Once upon a time, we were younger and more naive, better for each other then. But we're older now and we're stuck. Just two ghosts standing in the place of him and me.

[knockknockchicagopd]

❛ JUST A ONE-NIGHT STAND? ❜

❚❙ HANK VOIGHT MASTERLIST.

❚❙ WORDS: about 1k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted.

❚❙ GIF credits: to @jayhalsstead.

❚❙ If you want to be added to my tag list, send me a message.

You're trying to be more silent than ever in your life, checking for the fifth time the hour on your phone. Outside, Chicago is still submerged under the cold night but you have to go first to your house to take a shower and change your clothes. Putting on the black dress you were wearing, before Hank took it off in a tipsy state, you pick up your things in your bag making sure you don't forget anything. Yesterday was an intensive day for the two of you and you drank too much. That's how you ended up tangled in his sheets.

Grabbing your jacket and your shoes, you step out from his room, leaving the door almost closed. You don't want to wake him up, aware that it's his day off and that he doesn't have any necessity to get up at six in the morning. So, taking so much care walking downstairs, you abandon the house putting on your shoes once on the porch. The fresh air of November fills up your lungs, alleviating somehow the strong headache hitting your whole anatomy.

Driving back to your house, enjoy how emptied are the streets at this point of the day, you can't take off from your mind the fact that you have fucked one of your bosses. Technically, he's not directly, because you're just another cop in the 21st District and he runs the Intelligence Unit. But if he needs you on a mission, he turns automatically into your boss. Anyhow, you're fucked up if someone figures out what has happened. And it's not only about that, but about the feelings you have for him. You don't talk about love, but about something else than just a physical attraction.

Shaking your head as you reach your house, sooner than expected, you hold your bag and your jacket with a hand ready to use the free one to grab your keys.

“(Y/L/N)! You're late”.

Only. One. Minute. It's seven in the morning and one damn minute and Platt is already complaining, as your partner is next to the main desk waiting for you to patrol the district. Running faster than ever to the locker room, you place your bag inside your blue compartment, to wear over the uniform the body armor and your badge. You haven't even had time to drink a coffee and you need it like air to continue living right now. Hurry, but a little sleepy yet, you step out from the police station zipping your jacket to finally start your shift.

And of course, you can't stop thinking about Hank. About what he will think when he wakes up alone in his bed. Will he call you? Will he text you? Will he say something to you tomorrow, when he returns to work? Finding your heart racing and somekind of anxiety in your chest, you have to shake your head slightly. It's not possible that you're really falling in love after a one-night stand with that man. He was good. Pretty good, you're not going to deny it. But love? That's a big deal.

“Hey, you okay?” Ashton inquires, bringing you back to reality.

Nodding with your lips pressed, you raise up your eyes from your trembling hands to the front, rubbing them against your thighs.

“You disappeared early last night from Molly's”. Turning the corner, keeping a low pace while he drives, you try to find an excuse.

I went to another bar because I wanted to be alone and ended up being fucked by Hank Voight might be a little rude.

“I was tired… you know, long day”. Nervously laughing, you just shrug your shoulders.

The morning continues uneventfully, being allowed to be back to the police station after three hours of shift, to have a break of twenty minutes. You don't know how it has been possible for you to survive without any caffeine in your organism. But you could kill anyone right now, if they stop you on your way to the common lounge to have a cup of black coffee that gives you life every day.

You can't help but gasp closing your eyes as soon as the aroma fills up your lungs, but your wrist is grabbed by another hand coming behind you, when you're about to drink a sip. Putting away the mug from your fingers, Hank rests his waist against the counter with a serious and upset grimace installed on his face. He offers you a large white cup of take-away coffee that smells like heaven.

“Colombian coffee, from the best cafeteria in Chicago”.

His raspy voice gives you some shivers, feeling your cheeks burning ashamed. But when you are about to grab it, his hand goes back some inches.

“It's the first and the last time you leave my bed without waking me up”. He demands then, knowing that he isn't joking. “You hear me?”

“Loud and clear”.

That's everything you're able to utter, taking the cup to have a long sip. The hot liquid warms your whole body, falling down your throat and flooding your stomach. Hank takes the advantage to pull down a little the black turtle neck covering your skin, to check triumphantly that the bruise he drew last night is still there. A fleeting smile curves his mouth, just for one second, before leaning forward and kissing you. A soft touch enough to taste the coffee impregnated on your lips.

“I like it more now”. He whispers, keeping his eyes glued on yours.

“(Y/L/N), are you ready? Platt has given me anot— whoa, sorry”. Ashton stops his tracks with a hand on the doorknob.

Luckily, Hank has been faster, pulling himself away before your partner could see anything.

“Don't fuck it up again, okay?” He asks pointing at you with his forefinger.

Just nodding, you gulp before licking your bottom lip.

“Johnson”. The greet comes from his mouth as he turns around, before leaving the common room, watching him walk straight upstairs to his office.

“Everything okay?”

“Uh? Yeah, yeah! Don't worry. Let's see what Platt has for us now”.

Muddle through as fast as you can, you don't even give him the chance to ask from where you have got that coffee, passing him away with one of his brows raised up confused and curious at the same time.

[tofumedic]

Bathym general HCs + Making a Pact

(is it still hcs if its ur oc?)

general headcanons

Bathym is based off of one the 72 demons that Solomon has a pact with! His interests (precious stones and plants) is based off of his small wiki page!

He lives with a roommate, he's usually in his home office turned basically greenhouse, it's messy but he knows each and every plant by name in order despite rotating their positions regularly for optimal "sun"

His scarf isn't as much to cover his face, but his neck. It is like a comfort item, if he's not wearing it he will have something else on like a turtleneck or high collar for example.

Bathym actually uses both he/she pronouns! He and him are just more common because of his physique but has confirmed to like either.

His highest confidants are Solomon and Asmodeus, the second started as one of the demons he had to meet regularly when summoned and enjoyed.

(This is probably because Bathym doesn't understand that constantly leaning into other's warmth and bumping their shoulders is affection and that he's quite prone to this which makes him clingy though accidentally. He's working on it but Asmo completely condones it which doesn't help the progress.)

He also gets along well with Barbatos though this is more as business associates, helping Barb grow tea blends.

He probably wouldn't do too bad with the other brothers if you made him hang out with them, probably getting along more with Mammon. He likes being able to share his gem collection with him.

His demon form gives him the addition of one horn similar to one of a unicorn and a tail that splits into two ends, both in an opal or agate look.

He is very protective, Asmo will gossip that one time this lower demon was trying to make business with Solomon while they were eating lunch together and there was this red glow in Bathym's eyes from over Solomon's shoulder.

His Devilgram user is Bthyme !!!!!

His body type for height and bulk is in between Beel and Lucifer

making a pact with bathym under cut!

Getting close to Bathym, likely meant you were trying to talk to Solomon and had met him by association. Perhaps even having seen his face previously on shopping trips or photos saved to Asmo's D.D.D., but now it had a name. And a tie to someone you knew which made networking with the random demon easier and more allowed that picking him at Madame Screams out of the blue.

And Solomon liked having you know people (demons) he knew, something that kept you close as well as making ties with ones he knew were safer instead of ones that were rude in RAD hallways. So when you had asked a question, that could simply get a much deeper perspective, you had received the number of Bathym. He in turn knew you were safe because of how Solomon and the other ones living in Purgatory Hall enjoyed you, your reputation was quite higher than just "good" and the times he would see you after introductions you had never seemed shady or wrong.

A relationship that started off with a question he knew quite personally, asking him about the difference of crystal clusters of the same precious stones based off of being grown underground as in Devildom or underground of the human realm. He enjoyed answering them too, even if your interest was superficial it was nice to openly express his honed knowledge, though he did prefer to speak to you personally instead of just texting, so he would ask to join you for a study "date" in a genuine way instead of some smooth flirt. Mainly because he knew his messages about his interests were always so bulky sometimes going past the character limit if he was passionate enough.

It would be a few months, him getting comfortable pushing his scarf from his face to smile at you or just talk without the slight muffle. Him being more conscious on trying not to lean too much into your space as if he was the same foliage that brushed him any time he used his door. He would plan for Diavolo's party, and in turn your party, he was actually quite high in the hierarchy as much as he brushed aside any idea of his level. But when he saw you in the yard by the lake making a pact with Belphie, he was more resigned. Even leaving earlier once you had started your personal celebrations with the brothers. After all, he had been invited to Diavolo's. Not yours.

For some time afterwards, Bathym would be close to wilting himself, yet devoted in a way his plants had never been so full of color, when you would ask to see him again for the first time since your welcome party. Something serious that Solomon had agreed with your opinion on that involved him, so he would let you into his room. Himself settled sitting on the edge of his bed, hands resting on his thighs to keep him from slouching too much after he had lowered the volume of the music for the ferns.

You had told him and showed the message chain between you and Solomon talking about making a pact with him, of your own agenda unknowing of Bathym's own request. It was a talk between you and the sorcerer specifically due to him being Bathym's fifth pact in history, the two being quite close.

Solomon had agreed that it was a good idea, Bathym was already quite good with his manners despite his accidental PDA and was a good protector if need be. Other than that he was an easy demon to get along with, and he had seemed to enjoy your company even to the point of seeking it out himself. A rarity, really.

-

His room was dark, sun lamps with the timers had been turned off for their alloted time for the day letting the plants experience a solid day and night cycle and only knowing light from his small desk lamp that kept his room dim but with hard edges visible. Dark though still and mainly green like a cavern heavy not only by the weighing rocks but its lichen as well. And at the end instead of a bear hidden for annual hibernation it was Bathym, eyes glowing with some reflective from the lamp pointing in his direction.

His voice was cold, gravelly in its tiredness, lower than usual as if putting up a vocal moat in defense of advances.

"Pacts aren't as easy as your brothers or Solomon make them out to be, what do you have to offer me when you have already given away something so prized?"

> hug him.

> give back gemstone.

You would have to walk up through the messes of various green and earth, with eyes watching your every step as your legs strained to make the muscles inside power through. Quiet other than your rustling. Quiet other than your heartbeat as you pulled him towards your chest to hug him, gently and just barely wrapping your arms around the back of his head, curling and soothing at pale blue hair to receive a small sigh muffled to your front with and reaching to stay at your side as if would fall like so many he knew.

"I know, I trust that you can handle it," said softer, seeping with something so internalized that pinpointing it as a specific emotion was irrationally angering.

Pulling back slightly, his head fell farther than the rest of him at first but eventually all of him had fallen to lay back on the rest of his bed, surprisingly clean and made but now with its blankets slightly jumbled by the weight on top. The hand on your side had intented to take you down with him, targeted, yet was loose enough you could pull away. It was something he had mirrored from how Solomon shows affection, irrelevant to the fact that you two now laid side by side. His forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed to take in the scene at a correct pace for him.

You tuck the braid and other loose hair that had fallen across his face behind his ear, the sight letting you see the slight smile he allowed that had been visible from his scarf pushed down in the fall.

"I agree to your pact. MC, know not only this gives you my power and strength but I entirely, will be yours as well."

[sithsecrets]

beside one another | din djarin x reader

The hunt for a quarry takes the Mandalorian and his crew member to a fancy hotel in Canto Bight. The two lie beside one another under the cover of darkness, and the meaning of home comes into sharp focus.

---

3.3k words

Mentions: typical rich people bullshit, people are a little scared of din, a little bit of pining, “there’s only one bed!”, sharing clothes, NO SMUT

---

When Mando tells you that the next quarry’s hiding out in Canto Bight, you can’t help how excited you sound when you ask how long you’ll be staying. He’s his usual stoic self, even in the face of your curiosity, but you do detect a hint of annoyance in his voice as he tells you not to get excited.

“But it’s Canto Bight!” you declare, and the baby echoes your tone by cooing brightly on your hip. “It seems so glamorous!”

“You’ll feel differently once we get there,” Mando states, and then he’s punching coordinates into the navigation system, seemingly done discussing the matter. You buckle into the passenger seat with the baby, settling him on your lap so he gets a good view through the windshield during takeoff. He loves this part for some reason, despite all the rattling and the noise, and he squeals in utter joy like you thought he would.

“At least someone’s excited,” you declare, teasing the Mandalorian for being so grumpy. The man himself says nothing to this, but you’re too pleased with yourself and the prospect of visiting a new place to care.

Before Mando hired you to be his one and only crew member, you’d never really left the Tatoo System. Sure, you’d made a quick trip to here and there, visited a moon or two in your time, but never anything of substance. New places are your favorite thing to collect right now, and you can’t wait to cross Cantonica off your list. You heard stories of Canto Bight when you were little, saw a few holograms of the opulent streets— you can’t wait to see it all in person, even if Mando’s not excited in the slightest. You’re sure it’s different for him, all the traveling and the going to places he’s never been, but the novelty hasn’t worn off for you yet.

The journey to Cantonica is a short one, and before you know it, the Crest is touching down in a sleek, high-class receiving hangar. The landing coordinator sounds like a snob over the comm, making more than one comment about the state of the Crest. But the tone shifts completely once you, Mando, and the baby emerge from the ship, all of the personnel suddenly very accommodating. You’re used to seeing people (the smart ones, anyway) regard Mando with equal parts respect and fear, but this is just excessive. Someone ushers you and the baby out of the sun and into a small office, rushing to offer you a cool drink, and the foreman himself comes out to talk business. The content of he and Mando’s conversation is lost on you, though you do get to watch them talk through a little window.

(Later, you’ll learn that the man let Mando park the Crest here for a fifth of the usual price, but this won’t come as surprise by the time you find out.)

Mando hails a cruiser for the three of you, and then you’re zooming across the dessert on your way to Canto Bight. As the sun slips lower and lower in the sky, the lights of the city become brighter and brighter on the horizon, stoking your excitement. Mando’s minding the baby, so you get to fully enjoy the ride, taking in all you can as the vehicle flies over the sand. Within minutes, sand becomes grass, grass becomes pavement, and then you’re in Canto Bight proper, surrounded on all sides by wealth and luxury. The driver drops the three of you off in front of a grand hotel, and then he’s off without a word, speeding away to pick up another fare.

You, Mando, and the baby make your way inside, and you’re immediately blindsided by the realization that this hotel isn’t a place for you, not really. The interior, much like the building’s exterior, is more opulent than any other building you’ve ever been to, but it’s the people that make you feel like you’re a stain on their carpet. Every single being in the lobby, human or alien, is made up in the galaxy’s finest fabrics and most expensive jewels. They glitter and gleam in the light, and your casual, comfortable clothes looks like rags in comparison. A ball of nervous, self-conscious energy forms in your stomach, the anxiety only made worse by the fact that all eyes are on you. Well, all eyes are on Mando, as they so often are, but you as part of his entourage are subject to scrutiny by mere association. Thankfully, the patrons of this establishment seem more awed than judgmental, but that doesn’t the attention is any less disconcerting.

Before you and Mando can so much as approach the reception desk, you’re stopped short by a man dressed in sharp clothes. His dark hair is perfectly combed and parted, and you catch a hint of expensive cologne as he introduces himself as the resort manager. Mando declines to shake his hand, but you let the man squeeze your palm for a brief moment.

“We need to book a room,” Mando states, trying to use this as an excuse to end the exchange. The resort manager, however, brushes off the attempt with ease.

“That’s already been taken care of, sir.” He gestures towards the elevators with one well-manicured hand, smiling what you can only describe as a customer service smile. “If you follow me this way, I can show you and your companions to your accommodations.”

“We don’t have lines of credit on this planet,” Mando cuts, tone taking on an edge as fishes around for some money. “We just want—”

“Sir,” the resort manager presses, and you have to admire the way he keeps his voice steady even though he looks like he might piss his pants any second, “I assure you that it’s been take care of. Now please, follow me.”

Mando pauses for a moment, staring down this well-dressed, handsome man as if to size him up. But then he nods, and Mr. Manager leads the three of you to the elevators. You ride up up up in a private car, sitting in relative silence the whole way. The manager does most of the talking, asking a few subtly invasive questions about why you’re here— right up until Mando essentially tells him to fuck off. After that, conversation centers mostly around the baby and the amenities available at the hotel, and then you’re walking out into a quiet corridor. It’s not a private floor by any means, but the spacing of the doors lets you know that not many people stay up here. That’s a bit of a relief, at least in your opinion, because the guests here seem rowdy. And drunk. So fucking drunk…

The suite is— Well, the suite is fucking ridiculous, to put it bluntly. It’s four rooms, five if you count the little kitchen area as its own space, and everything is decorated just so. The furnishings are opulent, the upholstery is rich— the ‘fresher alone is bigger than the common area of the home you grew up in. The manager says something about how you shouldn’t hesitate to ask for anything you need, but you barely here him, awestruck in a way by the luxury all around you. Mando sees your escort out, and you can’t believe how casual he’s being about all of this.

“Do—?” The baby makes a discontent noise, ready to be let out of his pram, and you lower him down without giving the action much thought. “Do people always do things like this for you, or…?”

Mando turns to look at you. “Only when they’re scared shitless. As far as all those people are concerned, they’re my next quarry.”

Having received the message, you leave the conversation at that, opting to go and unpack instead of prodding Mando further. The baby toddles about the suite at his leisure, oscillating between cooing at his father and playing on the bed while you work. He’s broken into a basket of complimentary snacks, and you watch as he munches on cookies and chips and a full range of other fine foods. You should probably stop him on the premise of all that ruining his dinner, but Mando’s making noises about going out to do some reconnaissance this evening. With him gone, it’ll just be you and the kid, and you think he can have a treat just this once. Besides, he might crash from the sugar rush, and you could score an evening to yourself in this big fancy hotel room.

“Send me a comm if I’m not here when you wake up,” is all Mando says before he leaves, though he does tilt his head in acknowledgement when you tell him to be safe.

As you suspected, the Child begins to wind down not long after his father leaves, lapsing into a junk food-induced coma with a bag of chips still clenched tightly in his little green hand. You clean up his face and lay him down in his pram for the night, tucking his blankets just so before you click the cover shut.

Virtually alone now, there’s not much for you to do besides bathe and get ready for bed. And so, you do just that, lingering in the bathtub simply because you can. When the water’s gotten too cool for your liking, you climb out and play with the products that have been left out on the countertop, rubbing some expensive lotion into your skin. After that, it’s time to curse quietly to yourself in the bedroom— in all your haste and excitement to pack for this trip, you managed to forget to bring something to sleep in. Mando packed two extra shirts for himself instead of one, however, and you study one of them at arm’s length for a long moment. Wearing another person’s clothes to bed is definitely something you should ask permission to do, that much you know, but… but Mando’s not here, and you need something to wear now. Finally, you slip the garment over your head, deciding that you’ll just apologize later if he gets worked up about it.

Dressed and freshly bathed, your next order of business is to procure some food for yourself. The baby’s still asleep when you get out of the bathtub, so you forgo getting him anything. You do, however, order something that’ll be good for Mando later, something filling that can be eaten lukewarm or even cold when he gets back. Everything is delicious, and you climb into bed full and content.

Even though you’re tired, sleep doesn’t come easily. You find yourself thinking of Mando, and you lie awake wondering what he’s up to— wondering if he’s safe. He’s always doing this, going out for indeterminate amounts of times to hunt his prey, and you worry about him each and every time he’s gone. It’s silly, you know, and for so many reasons. He’s a Mandalorian, for the Maker’s sake— he can take care of himself just fine— and it’s not like he’s yours to fuss over anyway. Sure, the man employs you, but your emotional investment in his safety has grown a bit intense over these past few months. As much as you hate to admit it, Mando’s different to you now, more important than he used to be. The fact that you have feelings for him at all like this is borderline idiotic, but… but sometimes you wonder if he feels things for you too. You don’t have any concrete evidence, your assumptions largely based off of two passing comments and the tilt of his helmet, but still, you cling to the hope that he wants you the same way you want him.

It takes some time, but the sounds of the city do eventually lull you to sleep. You don’t wake again until the early hours of the morning, disturbed by movement in the other room. The clang of Mando’s spurs is a dead giveaway, and you relax as soon as you realize that it’s just him. You try to settle down and drift off again, but you find that you’re suddenly wide awake. So instead, you listen to Mando go about his business, tracking his footsteps from room to room. You hear the shower run in the ‘fresher for a little while, and then a chair scrapes against the floor in the dining room a few minutes after that. The tinkling of a utensils tells you that Mando’s eating the food you got for him, and he must like it, too, because he doesn’t just inhale the plate and move on.

Earlier, after you and Mando realized that the suite only has one bed, he offered to sleep on the couch, and you’d agreed to that. Now, though, you don’t like the idea of him trying to fold his beskar-clad body up on the cushions in the living room. He’s the reason the three of you got this room in the first place, even if he never asked for the special treatment, and you think he’s entitled to at least sleep on the ridiculously soft bed. Still, it’s a presumptuous thing, asking him to lie down with you, and you’re not sure you’re brave enough to do it. You are brave enough, however, to ask him how his surveillance mission went, so you slip out of bed and pad towards the dining room.

“Mando?” you call, voice sounding rather loud in the still darkness. You wouldn’t want to catch him without his helmet on, so you’re giving him a warning.

“Yeah, I’m here,” Mando affirms, and you know the coast is clear by the electronic tinge to his voice.

He’s still sitting there at the table when you turn the corner, and the Mandalorian does seem a bit taken aback by the sight of you. Only now do you remember that you’re wearing his clothes, and two thoughts cross your mind: Will he be pissed with you? Does this shirt even cover your ass properly?

“Is—? You’re wearing my clothes.” Mando is expressionless in the helmet, of course, but the tilt of his voice is indicative of surprise.

You flush, tugging on the hem of the shirt. “Yeah, I— I forgot to pack something to sleep in, and you had an extra one. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t be sorry,” the Mandalorian says at once, cutting you off. A pause, and then he’s much more collected, much more like himself again. “It’s not a problem, really. No big deal.”

You nod at that, and then things are casual again. You ask Mando if he got any good information about his quarry, and he says that he did. He thanks you for getting him some dinner, and you say that it was no trouble.

“The baby’s sleeping?”

“Yeah,” you affirm, jerking your head towards the bedroom. “I have him in his pram. I think all the sweets put him in a diabetic coma.”

Mando doesn’t laugh, but the little huff that comes from his vocoder is enough to tell you that the joke landed. “Good,” he says, “I’m glad somebody’s getting some rest.”

There’s a lull in conversation, the two of you looking at one another from opposite ends of the dimly lit dining room. You lean in the doorway, mock-casual as you toy with the hem of your borrowed shirt.

“You don’t have to sleep on the couch, you know,” you say softly, finding it difficult to make eye contact with the visor as you speak.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” the Mandalorian replies. “You got in bed first, so I’m not going to make you move now—”

“No, no,” you chide, interrupting him. “I—”

You take a breath, deciding that now is as good a time as any. It’s time to rip off the bandage, and if this goes to shit, you can always chalk your actions up to exhaustion later.

“I mean, you could come lie down in bed too,” you say quickly, fidgeting nervously. “With me.”

Mando doesn’t say or do anything for one long, agonizing moment, and you’re sure you’re going to throw up. But then…

“Do you want me to lie down with you?”

His voice is quiet through the modulator, almost soft in a way, and the sound of it makes something inside you flutter.

“Yeah.”

You’re almost whispering, and you wonder what the Mandalorian thinks of you in this moment, how you look to him standing there in his clothes, asking him to come to bed with you. It must not be an ugly sight in his eyes, because he stands and walks to you, murmuring, “Come on.”

Mando checks on the baby as you crawl back in bed, rearranging the Child’s blankets, giving him an affectionate little pat. The pram clicks closed, and then Mando’s faltering at the edge of the bed.

“I can’t—” His abandons his words in favor of a display, gesturing towards the armor on his body, to the room as a whole. “This isn’t—”

“I know,” you say softly, because you do. The armor makes him feel safe, makes him feel strong, and he won’t be able to sleep if he takes it off in this strange, foreign environment. “Just take your boots off. Or are those made of beskar too?”

It’s a silly joke, but it earns you a little huff through the vocoder nonetheless.

“No,” Mando retorts, tone light. He takes off more than just his boots, unclipping his utility belt before he sits down on the edge of the bed. It takes Mando a minute to unlace his boots, but when he’s done, he finally lies down beside you, not even untucking the blankets on his side.

“You don’t want some covers?”

Mando shakes his head, and you have to admit that his big, beskar-clad body looks out of place in this even bigger, soft bed. You wonder idly if it would be different on the ship, if Mando would take all the armor off and lie beside you there too. You could never ask him to take the helmet off, that would be too much, but if he was on his own turf instead of holed up in some hotel suite… It’s too late to be worried about all of that now, though, so you force yourself to relax and enjoy this moment.

“This place is sort of fancy,” Mando says to you, voice cutting through the darkness, and you nod in agreement.

“Yeah, but I like the Crest better.”

“Really?”

You nod again. “It’s… warmer. Everything in this city is so cold. The building’s are pretty, and the streets make a pretty picture, but nobody’s supposed to live here. It’s all for show. Very plastic. I see why you weren’t excited to come here.”

Mando says nothing to this, though somehow you know that he’s not taking pleasure in being right.

Feeling bold, you move a bit closer to the Mandalorian. “I’ll be happy to go home.”

“I’m getting the quarry tomorrow,” Mando says, “probably before nightfall. We can be back on the Crest and off Cantonica before it’s time for us to sleep again.”

You like to think there’s a promise in that, an indication of what’s to come, but you’ll just have to wait and see. You’ll just have to hope.

“Good.”

And as your last act of bravery for the night, you reach out across the sheets and grab Mando’s hand.

He doesn’t pull away.

[neutron-stars-collision]

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 17 - Hiding

Masterlist; Chapter 16

Summary: After dealing with awkward aftermath of your moment in Oslo, you and Neil take time to get to know each other during your evening off in London. It leads to a few revelations and important conversations...

Warnings: angst; mentions of loss; psychological issues discussed (kind of); swearing.

Author’s Notes: So this incredibly long and rather heavy on the talking side but also was weirdly therapeutic for me... I swear we’ll get back into the action/fun times soon but this had to happen for these two. Hope you enjoy and please leave me feedback if you feel like it!

P.S. This is between Oslo and Tallinn in the film ;))

Only after you could not breathe anymore from laughing, you managed to calm down. But only a little. Using the comfortable position of your head resting on Neil’s shoulder, you looked up at him. If the clenched jaw and dilated pupils were anything to go by, he still has not recovered.

“A moment?” you asked and enjoyed the way his gaze snapped to you in a flash.

“What?” his brow furrowed with confusion.

His hands kept rubbing your back, hugging you to his chest. Despite the chaos of the situation, it was nice to feel wanted still. To know that your closeness did not dissolve the moment you were interrupted. 

“Think we’ll need a bit longer than a moment” you raised your head, eyes flitted across the room.

Pieces of clothing lying around. Wrinkled bedsheets. Neil’s hair ruffled beyond compare and his neck covered in reddish bruises. You knew that you did not look much better.

Neil’s answer was something between a frustrated groan and a heavy sigh.

“The feeling’s mutual” you grinned and slowly disentangled from him “But we better start moving, or he’ll break down the door or something” you climbed off his lap with as much grace as it was possible.

“Christ… can you imagine that?” he met your smile with a crooked grin of his own.

“I’d rather not” picking up your bra from the floor, you tried to put it on hurriedly.

Cursing for the fifth time when your shaky fingers could not hook up the clasp, you felt Neil’s hands on yours, taking over the annoying task. When he succeeded in the first go, he kissed your shoulder gently before realising his hold and stepping back. The warmth in your heart was probably only confirming what you already knew. But there was no time to dwell on it now. You found the skirt almost underneath the bed and could not stop another giggle that erupted.

“What’s so funny this time?” you got up from the floor to see Neil button his shirt, eyeing you amusedly.

“He’s got a great timing, doesn’t he?” you side-eyed the door, putting on the skirt.

“Tell me about it” the dark twinkle in his eyes and the way he nervously shifted, adjusting the belt, made you blush.

With the strangeness of the situation, you nearly forgot how it must have felt for Neil. Had TP not knocked, you would have done it. Without a shadow of a doubt. But you did not, and while Neil helped you with your release, he was forced to ignore it. Your eyes unconsciously glanced at his trousers and then widened. And not only because of how undeniably aroused he was. The suspicious wet patch on his thigh was quite visible. Thanks to you and how needy you have been for him. Bloody hell. With cheeks burning, you met his gaze and nodded your head, indicating for him to look down and see for himself. He got that in no time, shot you an intense stare combined with a deadly smirk, and unzipped the trousers, taking them off right in front of you. You blinked, shocked, and fascinated by all that was revealed. Toned thighs, narrow hips, sharp pelvic bones, a trail of darker hair from the navel disappearing into the black briefs. You were staring, unable to look away. When your eyes landed on the bulge visible through the material, you swallowed. Oh fuck.

“It’s all yours should you want it” Neil’s slightly husky voice made you look up.

He was smirking, aware of your little internal crisis. You need not ask what he meant.

“What happened to the earlier ‘what you can have’ part then?” you arched one eyebrow, distracting yourself by seeking out your shirt and putting it on (fucking buttons).

“Oh, you’ve more than earned everything by now” he grabbed the nearest pants from the laundry pile and put them on “Plus, I was just being a fool. As usual” he zipped them up and started smoothing his hair in the mirror.

“Smooth bastard” you muttered, trying to untangle your hair with just the use of a hand.

For the next two minutes, you both made sure you were as presentable as it was possible. Finally, you gave each other a once over, checking for any clear giveaways such as missed buttons or hickeys in sight, before you allowed Neil to open the door. Awkwardly, you perched on the bed, unable to even fathom how the situation could be salvaged. From the corridor, you could hear their voices:

“Finally. What took you so long? I was beginning to worry you have been attacked in there or something” TP’s innocent questions made you snicker.

“Uh…Sorry, I just had to… deal with something”

That was one way of putting it, you mused.

“I just wanted to discuss with-” TP walked into the room and stopped in his tracks.

You smiled and waved awkwardly

“Hi”

“Y/N?” his eyes widened, and his jaw fell slack “What are you doing here?”

Good question. Nervously, you shifted from one foot to another, looking at Neil for help. He met your gaze warily, just as lost as you. 

“I popped in to chat with Neil since I’m leaving tomorrow” that was the best you could manage.

And it could have worked if it was not for the fact that TP stepped onto the fucking scarf you have carelessly thrown to the floor. He looked down with utter confusion on his face. Neil hid his face in his palms. You resisted the urge to jump out from that balcony. Bloody brilliant. The silence stretched; you could see the realization dawning in the dark eyes of your boss. He looked at you and then at Neil, undoubtedly trying to understand what exactly happened. And then he must have realised how uncomfortable the situation was for he spoke:

“I was hoping to discuss something classified with Neil, but…” uncertainly, he glanced at you as though waiting for a sign.

If you wanted a clear way out, that was it.

“Don’t worry, I was about to go anyway” you reached for your bag that somehow found its way onto the desk.

You met Neil’s gaze and smiled gently. He smiled back, but you could see that he was itching to do more. His hand twitched. You wanted to take it in yours. To kiss him again. But that could not happen. So instead, you just said:

“Bye, Neil. I’ll text you later” with a parting smile, you moved past him, letting your hands brush for a millisecond.

“Goodbye,” he replied in that subdued, professional tone you wished he did not have to force.

You grabbed the coat and left without looking back. A rather conflicting end to such a fun night, huh?

*** Just as you promised, the moment the hotel room door closed behind you, you took off the shoes and coat, collapsed onto the bed, and took out your phone.

“Tonight was fun” you smiled and hit send.

For some reason, you wanted to keep up the dynamic you fell into over the course of the night. It felt nice to be open with him, for once not hiding your real thoughts and feelings.

“Calling that fun makes it sort of fall short, don’t you think?” Neil responded less than a minute later.

You grinned at the screen, the idea that he was waiting on your text was pleasing. Because maybe you were actually even like he said.

“Maybe a little. I admit that it was rather revelatory to see you like that” deciding that you can have fun with it, you leaned against the pillows.

You could imagine the surprised face he would make upon getting the message. The parted lips and a small crease between his eyebrows. The image alone made your chest warm up. That must be the l-word, right?

“Why does it feel like we’ve switched personalities or something?” you laughed at the response.

“You seemed to like more honest me”

That twinkle in his eyes when you said something a little riskier was something hard to forget. And so was the way he made you feel. Every kiss, every look, every touch setting your soul alight. That release was bound to show up in your dreams, whether you want it or not. But then Neil already visited those for a while…

“And I do. Just surprised a little. But yes, it was fun. Especially that part when I made you say my name like that”

There it is. You knew exactly what he meant, and yet…

“Like what?”

“Like it’s the only word you know. A prayer. A plea. But then I always suspected that you rather like it”

You blushed. He got you there, as per usual. For a moment, you wondered whether he caught on to that other thing you nearly told him. But that was best left for an actual conversation. One thing you knew for sure was that he deserved real confession from you and not something dropped carelessly amid texting. It was enough that he could have received it the first time you got intimate. Sighing, you typed the response:

“And we’re back to the usual. Will attempt sleep, good night Neil”

You yawned, suddenly feeling the tiredness.

“Sleep well. Thank you for the best night I’ve had in years”

Okay… You were not responsible for the way your heart stumbled and then kicked into the fastest gear. You refused to answer that one text, not trusting yourself.

Falling to sleep an hour later, you knew that there was no way he would not haunt your dreams. There was no getting rid of Neil, from your heart, mind, and every cell in your body.

*** Neil called you the next morning, and you could only assume it was his way of checking whether your passionate moment has not destroyed everything. Spoiler alert: it has not, and you even managed to keep up the strangely honest way of talking to him that began during your date. The regrets and the annoying voices were still very much there, but you kept them under wraps as much as it was possible, instead trying to tear apart your own feelings. You were potentially in love with Neil, and it was only getting worse the more you thought about him. And so, you used the time away to get used to the idea and to decide the next steps to preserve your own sanity. You knew that it would not be possible to ignore it anymore or to deny the existence of those feelings. Instead, you decided to wait while enjoying whatever it was that you and Neil had. The only growing concern was the fact that now, after the initial moment of passion came and went, you were not sure you were ready for more. As a result, many hours over the night have been spent worrying whether you were not about to lose what you just got.

This is why, when Neil texted you after landing at Heathrow to say that he is going to his own place for the night and that he will be in touch the next day, you felt as though a small knife just stabbed you in the heart. It was fine, you both did need space and only last seen each other two days prior, and yet… That is why feelings were inconvenient. And especially love, a word you still were too scared to use too often. Because when you name something, it becomes real, right?

Such thoughts occupied your mind when you tried to focus on the mission report two days after coming back from Norway. You were surprised to see that Neil already filled in his part as you hoped that maybe he would consult it with you beforehand. But you were wrong, as per usual. The overwhelming silence and the gloomy mood it brought you were interrupted by a knock on the door. You checked the time (6:57 pm) and frowned, even though you knew. There was only one person who could come to you at this hour when social convenance prevented rendezvous in private rooms.

The flushed cheeks, crazy hair, and breathtaking smile, as always, were enough to make you speechless. You let him in and stared as he awkwardly stopped in the middle of the room and faced you. So, we’re back to square one. His eyes flitted across your face, neck, and collarbones, and you knew full well what he was looking for. In public, you used the combination of heavily layered concealer and scarves to hide what he did. But now, with the make-up taken off and in an old t-shirt everything was on display for him. The myriad of colours and shapes, all connected to one specific memory. The way he knew the perfect spots to make you gasp and moan. You let him take you apart and put you together again. And he did just that with such tenderness and concentration that you wondered how you could have not fallen. With Neil so close it was hard to think, and so you broke the silence:

“It’s nice that you came by” turning away from his intense stare, you saved the report.

It would have to wait.

“Of course, I…” he trailed off, and you met his gaze again, curious “I’m sorry for not coming round yesterday. Is just that I was tired and had to think a little and my apartment-”

“Neil, you don’t have to apologise. It’s not like we’re together” you interrupted, hating the sudden rigidness of the moment.

But as soon as you actually said it, he frowned. And you knew why. It was one thing to say that he was allowed to have his own space and freedom, another to remind him that in theory there was nothing between you. Only you could fuck it up that bad.

“But we could be” the hopeful look in his eyes only further twisted the knife in your heart.

But before you were forced to reply, he breached the gap between you and embraced you tightly, with his arms around your waist. Despite all those thoughts surging through your head, the response was natural by now. You relaxed in his arms, splaying your palms on his back, breathing in the comforting scent.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the skin of his neck, hoping he will understand.

“It’s okay. We’ve both fucked up in equal measures” the slight chuckle was promising “We can start it over tonight if you want” Neil kissed you on the temple.

But it was one of his hands that somehow found its way underneath your shirt, brushing the bare skin that made you tense up. Because what if he wanted to continue? For a moment, you tried to coerce the brain into cooperating. But it was impossible. All you could think about was the fact that you cannot possibly be enough for someone like Neil. That if you did it now, he would leave because he got what he wanted from you. That you could force yourself, but then it would feel wrong. But maybe that was better than losing him just because of your inability to get over yourself. Suddenly the room was too small, and he was too close.

“That’s why you came?” unable to stop the increasing anxiety, you took a step back “Because I’m not sure…” blushing you looked down, unable to formulate the thought.

But one glance at Neil’s confused face would have given you the answer. He let go of you and tipped your chin. The wounded look in his eyes was concerning.

“Don’t tell me you think I only came here because I want to have sex” he was disappointed and naturally so “Jesus… I thought you knew me better than that” he took a step back and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at you remorsefully.

You really were that stupid.

“Fuck… Neil, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what overcame me and then you… touched me. And that’s okay, but…” feeling the sting of tears in your eyes, you covered your face, turning away from him “I’m so fucking useless. Maybe you should leave and get yourself someone actually sane”

There was no point in wondering how things could be so easily destroyed. It was all you, as usual. The tears began falling down your cheeks, as you expected to hear the door close behind him any moment. But the sound never came. Instead, you heard a sigh and then a touch on your shoulders, turning you to face him. He peeled your hands from your face and met your teary gaze with a small smile.

“I came here because I missed you. For the last two days, I wanted nothing but to hug you, to talk to you about everything because you’re as close to a home as it gets for me” he kissed you on the forehead “And as much as I still want you, madly and certainly, it’s not why I’m here. To be honest I’m not in the mood either right now. We can wait as long as we need” tentatively he cupped your cheek, brushing away the tears.

He was too good for you.

“Sure you don’t want someone mentally stable?” sniffing you met his gaze sceptically.

“Pretty sure” Neil grinned in response and took one of your hands in his “Now, can we try to fix all this by doing what I actually wanted to do tonight?”

“And what is that?”

Your heart was still beating too fast, and you knew that the overwhelming feeling of shame is going to take a while to disappear from your system. But there was something so gentle in how he looked at you, and his words have managed to calm down the initial panic. You were his home. That was too good to be true, but you were willing to believe it. At least for the moment.

“I can show you, but you need to trust me” Neil met your gaze purposefully.

Despite what just happened, you knew the answer to that ‘not quite’ a question.

“I do”

The happy smile you got in return was almost enough to make you relax a little.

“I hope that will be your answer at the altar too” his eyes glimmered playfully, and his lips curled into a smirk.

Your eyes widened. He was impossible.

“Neil- What the hell?” you swatted him across the chest, unable to stop the idiotic giggles.

“Just wanted to make you laugh” he innocently batted his eyelashes.

“Well done then” when you have calmed, you kissed him on the cheek “Thank you. For everything” brushing your lips over the corner of his mouth, you waited.

Instead of answering, Neil captured your lips in a slow kiss. This time there was no urgency, no hungry passion, just the two of you consciously seeking out comfort in each other. Yet the feeling of infatuation was as strong as ever and gained momentum as he broke the kiss and met your gaze with an unspoken question. Trust. You nodded, breath hitched in your chest as he stepped closer and kissed your neck gently. You closed your eyes, relaxing into the feeling of safety Neil always gave you. After the initial panic, he was careful with how he touched you, keeping his hands steady on your waist.

“I’ve dreamt of doing this again since you left in Oslo” his voice sent shivers through your body.

“Just this?” you allowed your hands to travel up his arms, settling on the nape of the neck.

Toying with the hair ends there, you met his gaze again. Your pulse slowed down, and you knew that was the purpose of everything he did. There was something akin to determination in how he looked at you. As though he knew that what he had in mind will surprise you.

“No, but for this next part, you really have to trust me. What you need to know is that I will always ask” he kissed the tip of your nose before taking your hand in his.

You knew what he meant and blushed. It was a mystery how you managed to get someone like that for yourself. That is if he was actually yours…? Any thoughts and answers disappeared when Neil lead you towards the bed.

“Lie down, please” the intensity of his gaze made the butterflies in your stomach go mad.

Hesitantly, you did what he said, a little awkwardly settling with your head against the pillows and watching as he got rid of the shoes and climbed in after you. Then, carefully as though he was dealing with a terrified animal, he wrapped his hand around your waist. His other hand cradled the back of your head. You stared, unable to make a move or even speak a word. The look in his eyes was as close to love confession as you could imagine.

“Can I?” Neil’s voice broke the silence.

You felt like whatever he was asking for was his already. And yet you were willing to give him an answer.

“Yes”

The shadow of a smile was the last thing saw before Neil leaned in and met your lips in a kiss. Even though you have kissed many times before, at that moment, with his hand delicately placed on your stomach and the other tangled in your hair, angling your head towards him, it all felt different. In a way, it was just like that kiss post-climax. But with more purpose in every move. There was no rush. It was just you and Neil, openly allowing yourselves to show how you felt. As the kisses evolved into a slow make-out session, Neil’s body covered yours with legs entangled, hands on each other, just exploring what was already familiar to touch. Somehow this was not as terrifying as you were worried. You knew that the purpose was not to light that fire but instead to show you how invested he was. How much he wanted you in every possible way. After a particularly long kiss that left you both gasping for breath, Neil leaned back, resting his forehead against yours. The depth of adoration in his eyes was enough to make you bite back the words that were threatening to spill over. Instead, you tried to distract yourself with a seemingly innocent question:

“Was that what you had planned?” you brushed the hair away from his forehead.

“Yes,” his eyes flitted nervously over your features, “I wanted… to show you that I can be like this with you. That it’s not all about the… sexual aspect” he stumbled over the words, making your heart clench with fondness.

“I nearly jinxed it then” you laughed bitterly, tracing your finger over his eyebrows and the creases on the forehead.

“It’s okay. We made it work” nudging his nose against yours, Neil smiled shyly.

Then you shifted so that you could lie partially on his chest, with his arms around you, and started catching up with each other. Despite the break in contact lasting only two days, there was a lot to cover. Or maybe that was because you really enjoyed sharing your thoughts with Neil like this. He would respond with a cheeky comment or laugh at any joke you attempted, making you feel heard. In return, Neil shed a little more light on the events in Oslo. As you expected, TP was not exactly open with him, but the foundations of trust were there.

“TP said something strange that day before our date…” Neil broke the silence the fell.

You shifted a little in his embrace, ignoring the slight surprise upon hearing him refer to the evening as a date. You were sure it was just you who saw it like that.

“How do you mean?” with your head over his chest, you could hear the steady heartbeat.

Neil kept running his hand over the bare skin of your arm, slipping fingers underneath the t-shirt sleeve. His head was propped on the headboard of your bed, staring straight ahead.

“We talked about what’s next, and obviously I had to pretend I was shocked by all that happened in the Freeport… and then he said how I should only care about the plutonium, or else I can be killed after this is all over” when he finished speaking, his hand stilted the movement, resting atop of yours on his thigh.

You glanced up, worried. Now you knew why he waited with this story for a moment more convenient than that night out. Talking about a mood killer…

“I think it’s obviously just that he thinks I’m an innocent bystander pulled into this mess, but… I don’t know” Neil sighed “It was such a weird conversation to have with him”

“I can imagine…” that was bound to keep you up at night “I’d rather you weren’t killed if I’m being honest” you raised your head a little to kiss him on the neck.

It was just a peck, and yet the way he tensed made you smile against his skin.

“I’ve no plans to die. Unless you kill me just by existing” at that, Neil shifted lower on the bed, facing you.

The comment made you laugh, softening the worries prompted by the conversation. It was as though he always knew what you needed. Sharing the same pillow, with just a few inches of space between your faces, you wondered how you made it this far from that seemingly non-important job interview. But seeing the thoughtful look in his eyes, you had that strange feeling considering destiny again. Because how could it be that the universe just so randomly put Neil on your path? You, of all people, certainly did not deserve anyone that extraordinary. But then, remembering all those times, TP alluded to your relationship with Neil made you think. Because if someone literally from the future said things like that, then maybe…

“What are you thinking about?” Neil interrupted your strange train of thought, lightly running his fingertips over your temple

You blushed and attempted to answer without revealing too much at once. You have complicated the situation enough already.

“Just been wondering how we ended up like this…” to complete the sentence, you ran your hand up his forearm.

As usual, he had his shirtsleeves rolled up and so you could plainly see the goosebumps on his skin in the wake of your innocent touch. A sudden flashback to your first hug back on the terrace in Boston was like a revelation. Maybe the signs were there all along…

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’ve always been interested. From the moment we’ve met” the factual tone surprised you, especially when combined with the sincere look in his eyes.

“You’re being ridiculous” aiming for lightness you kicked him in the calf.

Only that movement allowed him to trap your leg between his, entangling you even further.

“No, just honest. I can tell you that the moment in the training zone when you’ve panicked wouldn’t leave me alone for weeks”

Oh…

“Because I was so annoying?” you arched your eyebrow, trying to decipher what that look on his face meant.

The conversation took a completely unexpected turn, and you had no clue how. But now, you were too curious to back out.

“Because I wanted to keep on looking into your eyes” oh. “That’s why when I came back after that long mission, I went straight to you. I had to check if it was just a passing thing”

The depth of honesty in his eyes was almost terrifying. Almost, because at the same time, you could not look away. Not without hearing all that he wanted to tell you.

“And?”

You held your breath, awaiting the response.

“I would’ve kissed you had Ives not interrupted us then after I looked at your cut” Neil gave you a small half-smile and caressed your neck just as he did back then.

Letting out a small gasp was all you were capable of. Surely, he couldn’t…?

“But you barely knew me” you frowned, trying to find any logical explanations to that.

Because it was everything but expected. You did remember that moment very well, but then you tended to overanalyse every single situation that had to do with Neil. And yet, it was hard to believe that already back then he was interested. Especially with how you did all you could to distance yourself. Obviously, all of that failed, the walls crumbled one by one.

“It doesn’t really matter when you’re that drawn to someone” the apologetic look in his eyes made you want to kiss him.

Fuck it. You did just that, closing the gap and cupping his cheek. After all those kisses, one could think it would become boring at some point. But it never did. Not with how Neil always responded to you, often letting out small gasps and groans into your mouth. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, and you responded in kind, trying to show him how much his words meant to you. Adding in a hand tangled in his hair usually did the job. While you always liked kissing as an act of showing affection, with Neil even that felt different. It was as though that simple action was a way for you to convey your feelings without putting them in words that had the potential to destroy everything. Something as straightforward as sharing the same breath, the taste of tea you always felt on his tongue, it was enough to remind you why he was everything you wanted. Another favourite thing was the unfocused look in his eyes right after the kiss, and vividly pink lips parted to invite more precious air in.

“I take it you liked my little confession” Neil smirked when he recovered, watching you stare at him shamelessly.

“I didn’t expect it, but… it’s good to know” settling for the safest answer, you placed your head back over his heart “Suppose in return you can ask me about anything you want” a risky yet fair proposition.

“That’s tempting because I wanted to bring something up…” carefully, he wrapped his arms around your waist “Only promise me not to panic” the slightly nervous tone made you tense, but the steady rhythm of his heart was acting like an anchor.

“Okay”

“Now that we would’ve crossed that line twice… if it wasn’t for our dear boss interrupting” despite yourself, you laughed, burying your head in Neil’s neck “I have to ask what I can do to make it better for you?” as though he could feel the spike of anxiety in your system, he added “And I don’t mean this to be a call out or anything because I’d never do that. Just after tonight, I think it’s a viable question”

Shit… Now even his heartbeat or the arms around you were not enough to calm down the panicked mind. The self-sabotaging voice was on, any remains of confidence gone.

“You don’t have to do anything. You’re all perfect it’s me who can’t get over herself. As usual” the bitterness was unstoppable this time, and all aimed at yourself.

Unable to stay still, you wrestled out of his hold, sitting up and staring at him with wide eyes. But he was not giving in, clearly prepared for that turn of events. Neil sat up too and took your hand in his, interlacing your fingers.

“Stop with this. I’m genuinely asking because when it happens, I want it to be the best experience of your life. And not something you’ll be able to twist into nothing” the raw look in his eyes combined with the determination in his voice was a harsh reminder about your own issues.

Briefly, you wondered how it was possible to feel that much love and admiration but also utter fear and resignation. Because now you had to tell him, and you were fully expecting him to leave after you were done. Even Neil was not patient enough to deal with that kind of baggage. There we go…

“I… I’m terrified of physical intimacy” blurting out that took unimaginable effort yet you pushed forward, meeting his perplexed gaze “I know that it sounds crazy given how much we’ve already done but with you it’s somehow less scary…” you took a deep breath, grateful for his hand keeping yours from shaking “But now, when I actually, consciously want to take that step, all my brain does is give me reasons why it’s a terrible idea” dropping your gaze onto your lap, you started spitting out all that the helpful voices in your head were suggesting “How you’ll leave after you get what you wanted. How it might mean I’ll actually admit that I have feelings and hence begin the process of losing you. How I can never possibly be enough for you” feeling the well-known sting of tears again, you closed your eyes, hoping to block him from the picture “It’s pathetic, I know. And probably makes me sound like a fucking prude since it’s just sex, but… I never could separate the physical aspect from the emotional one and so, I either took too long to open up or hurt myself by acting too rashly” your throat felt dry, but there was one final thing he had to know “I’m worried that I’ll lose you, and yet I care too much to let myself do what I want. You’re too important, but more and more I feel like I’m about to fuck it up. Tonight being the prime example”

You finished the confession and felt the tears fall down your cheeks. Again. The moment felt like a cruel flashback to many scenes like this before. You knew what was to happen next too well. After all, you were there, acting your part every damn time. You were bound to be stuck in this endless loop of getting close to love and then losing it. And all because of some fault in how you were created and wired. Everyone else was capable of letting themselves be vulnerable. Of giving themselves to that one other person, with feelings involved or not. Everyone but you. It was a rather cruel fatal flaw to have.

Before you could get on another internal tirade about how you should have expected such an end, Neil released his hold over your hand to scoot over closer to you. He put his arms around you, hugging you close. The simple gesture made you cry even harder, allowing yourself to rest in his embrace. As your tears soaked through his shirt, he kept on rubbing his hand over your back in a soothing motion. You did not deserve him. You were not enough. Just as you were about to tell him as much, giving him full permission to leave as he wanted, Neil let go of you. You raised your head, fearing the worst, but the look in his eyes made you freeze. There was something so serious yet so tender that you could only stare as he started unbuttoning his shirt with purpose in his movement. Only once he got to the last two buttons, you shook off the paralysis:

“What are you doing?” wiping the tears away you could not help but gape at what he was revealing.

“I just wanted you to see something. To understand” in a simple movement, he took off the shirt and looked at you earnestly “See all this? This is what you’ve done to me” he need not point out what he meant.

The moment you had a clear view of his chest and arms, you could see all the bruises, hickeys, and other marks you have put on his body. The area of his neck and shoulders was the worst with nearly no blank spot on the map. The darkest bruise near the pulse point on his neck was all you needed to be flooded with the memories. His arms had small bruises in the places where you dug your fingers, seeking relief. The bite marks on the shoulder were a reminder of how he brought you to your end mere three days prior. Christ. If there ever was a most clear-cut example of how bad you had it, it was this. To say that you have ruined him was an understatement. Now you knew why he studied your own neck and collarbones. But what was there had nothing to compare with the current sight before your eyes.

“It looks better now, but that first morning I had to opt for a turtleneck, and I never wear those” Neil watched you with an enigmatic expression.

“If you’re trying to make me embarrassed, then you’ve more than succeeded” when you have found the words again, it was hard to get them out without feeling flustered.

“No. I’m trying to make you understand that all those marks for me are a sign that someone wants me. Dare I even say that someone loves me” he finished the sentence and met your gaze purposefully.

You were caught. He knew, and it was without you even uttering the words in the first place. You should have known that someone this smart will notice and understand all that you were not saying. The blush only darkened as you stared at him, unable to utter a word. Because what does one respond when their most secret confession turns out to be known?

“I-” struggling for words, you considered just blurting it out.

But Neil cut you off sharply.

“I know” the intensity of his blue eyes pinned you to the spot “The point is that I don’t need you to give me everything right here and now because I already know that you care. What happened in Oslo only gave me more reasons to believe in you and in what we’ve got” he quickly put the shirt back on and again moved closer to you “No matter what your brain is trying to make you believe, I’m not going anywhere. I won’t leave you because I know that this is real” emphasizing the last point he cupped your face and kissed you on the forehead.

Then, before searching your eyes for consent, he captured your lips in a short kiss as though to confirm everything he just said. You kissed him back, allowing yourself to pour all you felt into it. He was certainly too good for you. You did not deserve any of this. But, for the moment, you were willing to block it out. All that mattered was that Neil has not left (yet) and was potentially willing to wait for you a little longer. And maybe that was enough.

When you broke the kiss, he smiled at you gently and added:

“As a final note on that, I want you to know that you don’t need to tell me anything you’re not ready to confess” the little knowing smirk made you blush.

Somehow all that you have revealed to him today was not enough. There was one more thing you had to say. And seeing what a roller coaster of emotions the evening was so far, it could not possibly hurt anyone… right? You covered his hands that were cupping your face and exhaled, preparing for the final confession.

“I always saw saying ‘I love you’ as an ending, in a way” you searched his eyes for a moment, finding nothing but curiosity and affection “And I don’t want this to end. Because… everything beyond is unknown and… and this is familiar” sighing, you stared at him, hoping he will understand.

Neil nodded and took you in his arms, offering the needed comfort. It took you long 15 minutes to actually relax in his embrace again and endless internal battles with the doubts that resurfaced. Because although he said it all and evidently cared about more than what you were willing to give him, there was that small chance that he was wrong. Or he simply lied to you. But in the strong embrace and with his hands caressing every part of your skin that he could find uncovered, it was easy to provide some counterarguments and actually believe him. Even if just this once.

It was much later in the evening when you finally started talking again. At first, he just amused you with random stories from the past missions, telling you about all of those instances when his absolutely crazy plans worked out despite everyone else. Especially Ives, who preferred the traditional way of doing things. And then, in the middle of another story about the infiltration of inverted weapons storage in south Chile, he stopped halfway through a sentence as though he said too much. Despite the weariness, you raised your head from where it was lying on his shoulder and noticed the frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?” carefully, you placed your hand on his knee.

“I just remembered that this Chile mission was one of the first I went on with Alex” Neil met your gaze with a distant expression in his eyes “I almost forgot that…”

Offering the only comfort you could come up with, you kissed him on the cheek and asked:

“Do you want to talk about it? About him?” it was a risky question, and yet you wondered if this was not the perfect opportunity.

He could always say no.

“Maybe” he met your concerned gaze “After all, I have to tell you at some point”

“You don’t have to do anything”

“In this case, yes I do. Because we’re not supposed to have secrets from each other” the way he said it made you shiver.

You knew full well what he was trying to say. You have long moved past the stage where you were friends who could keep things away from one another. And it was both terrifying and exhilarating. Especially when hinted upon like that, as though it was a fact. For a second, you wondered whether anything was bound to be in order for the two of you. But maybe it was better like this.

Neil cleared his throat and tensed a little, making you understand that he will soon begin the story.

“We’ve met during the training as he was recruited at a similar time. He was from a small place in Canada, studied politics before halfway through the third year he decided that it wasn’t for him and joined the police forces. That didn’t work out either, and so TP found him by accident while on a mission and decided to take him in, hoping to develop his espionage skills” Neil looked at you for a moment, and you were struck by the wistfulness in his eyes “Alex was a natural sharpshooter, not unlike yourself. He taught me most of the stuff I know about guns and shooting. Later he was usually placed as the sniper for the Cavalry”

Even that small bit of information made you understand Neil a little better.

“What was he like?” you asked upon his pause and enjoyed the soft smile that showed on his face.

“He was this kind of a person that lights up the room the moment they come in. Always knew how to make everyone laugh, made you feel better just by sitting next to you in silence and offering his company. And he had the warmest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. The kind that you can’t help but get lost in. It was hard not to fall for him…” he trailed off and looked at you with a strange concern in his eyes “I’m sorry if how I talk about him is in any way hurting you”

You did not expect that. Moving a little to brush your hand over Neil’s cheek, you replied:

“You love him. I’d have to be a selfish idiot to be bothered by that”

“But he’s gone and-” he looked utterly lost for a moment.

You placed your arm around his shoulders, inviting him closer. When he leaned on your side and put his head in the crook of your neck, you heard him exhale.

“People being gone doesn’t mean you stop loving them,” you noticed quietly and felt him tighten his hold over your hand “How did you fall in love?”

“It was pretty straightforward. We started by constantly talking in the classes, choosing each other for the sparring, and he gave me lessons in shooting. I felt so drawn to him, and I couldn’t do anything about it. I had to give in. Believe it or not, but then I was a bit shy and more introverted” the image made you smile “And so one day, he asked me out, just completely out of the blue while we were changing after sparring, and… I was still coming to terms with the fact that I might be… bisexual” he tensed again, and you kissed him on the top of his head “But I just had to say yes because what I knew for sure was that I wanted to be with him”

The sudden pain in your chest could only be explained by the feelings you had for Neil. Hearing him talk like that about someone he clearly loved with all his heart only made you realise how wrong you were about him initially. He certainly was not a playboy type, breaking hearts all around even if he had the looks for that. Neil loved with all his heart and soul, giving away pieces of himself to everyone he ever cared for.

“We dated for a while then, and before I knew he was everything, and we were officially together. TP wasn’t exactly happy about it and kept on telling me to be careful. Saying that while there’s no policy against it, I should remember that this whole business is dangerous and people get hurt” the slightly bitter edge in his voice made you study him closer.

For a moment, you wondered why TP never said anything like that upon undoubtedly seeing how close you and Neil got. But maybe that was not meant to be understood yet.

“How long you’ve been together?” to distract your thoughts, you asked.

“Almost two years” Neil swallowed hard “I was certain he was it for me. And I think he believed that too. But then I fucked it all up, and he paid the highest price”

You waited for him to pick up the story, rubbing circles into his thigh. For a few minutes, the only sounds in the room were your breaths, his shallower, and faster than usual. And then he nuzzled your neck, inhaling the scent, and spoke again:

“It was supposed to be a normal mission: take over the inverted ammunition transport near San Francisco. Only I was given the lead and decided to complicate it by coming up with some absolutely messed up plan of attack. It was a temporal pincer movement, and Alex wanted to take over the sniper duties as usual but I was insistent he goes into the field with the red team instead” Neil breathed in slowly as though trying to keep rising anxiety under wraps “I should’ve known better especially with how TP tried to change my mind about it. But I was a hot-headed idiot, thought I knew everything, and he was just patronizing” you intertwined your fingers with his “Of course he was fucking right”

“What happened?”

“Alex ended up without a cover in the middle of the mission and got fatally shot by an inverted round. It wouldn’t have happened if he did what he wanted and taken out their sniper. But I insisted on my plan, and that’s what I got in return” Neil sighed heavily, leaning on you with most of his weight “By the time I got to him, it was all over. I didn’t even get to say goodbye” a sob shook his frame, making the pain in your chest flare up.

Embracing him tighter, you allowed Neil to shed a few tears into your t-shirt. You wondered how it could be that you have been both reduced to tears in one night while trying to understand each other better. Suppose this is the price of love.

“I haven’t been with anyone properly since then…” when he spoke again, his voice was hoarse “Just couldn’t get myself involved again. It felt as though I was betraying Alex, the memory of what we had. And I was terrified I’ll lose another person thanks to my own stupidity” he raised his head and met your gaze “Until recently”

Your breath hitched at the sight of his reddened eyes looking at you seriously. He need not say it. You knew. As difficult as it was to believe, you had no choice but to accept it as your reality. Not trusting your voice, you just pressed a kiss to his forehead, ruffling his hair, and then leaned back to study him intently. He looked tired and weary, something you knew could be just as easily found in your face. One glance at the clock and the realization of how late it got was enough to help you decide on the course of action.

“Can you stay tonight?” with one hand still tangled in his blonde locks, you gently ran your fingernails along his scalp.

It seemed like the question was all Neil needed to come back to the present moment. He blinked once and gave you a small smile.

“Of course. I wasn’t planning on leaving” stretching his arms over the head, he yawned “I should have a t-shirt here somewhere, right? After the last time?” the matter-of-fact tone in which he asked made your head go blank for a second.

Because yes, he left a shirt behind the last time he stayed with you, just before Oslo. Back then it was technically for convenience’s sake: Neil had a meeting to attend and so he went straight from your room after having changed. But now, after everything that happened and all that was said, that stupid fact meant much more. It was as though before you knew and admitted a lot of things to yourself, he already became a part of your life. As though you were together before you even said those three crucial words out loud. Feeling Neil’s curious gaze, you stopped the strange train of thoughts and replied:

“Yeah, it’s in the bathroom” suddenly flustered, you could not look him in the eye.

“Okay, I’ll go get changed now” he gave you a quick once-over as though trying to determine your state of mind and then added, “Thanks for listening”

Your head snapped up, meeting his honest look.

“You know I’ll always do that” and then, upon a further thought “It’s what you’ve got me for, after all”

“Not just that though. I hope” Neil’s intense gaze once again made your heart stumble in your chest.

Of course. He would not make you say anything, but he was always able to get you as close to it as possible. That was just the way he was. And you would not have it any other way.

“Yeah, not just that” offering him a genuine smile, you sighed with relief as the bathroom door closed after him.

You took the needed time to get changed as well and to prepare your fragile mental state for what it might be like to sleep with Neil again. It was as close to a routine thing as it could get and yet always made you nervous. And this time was not any different, especially given the fact that he emerged in just that t-shirt and boxer briefs. Your eyes widened, and you could not stop yourself from letting out a small yelp. The sound just made him smile shyly. Okay.

“Just thought that since we… that’s what I usually wear to bed and so…” he stumbled over the sentence “I can go change if that’s too much for you” the offer was made with such a nervous look in his eyes that you already knew what your answer would be.

“No, it’s okay. I just didn’t expect it, but you’re probably right”

To escape further awkwardness, you took that as your cue to disappear in the bathroom. Most of the next fifteen minutes have been spent on calming down. No matter how close you became he still was capable of taking your breath away. When relative peace was achieved, you came back, only to face Neil who was laying down on what became his side of the bed, clearly waiting for you. Courage, dear heart, or however that went, eh?

Without waiting for your brain to catch up and start the panic, you turned off the light and climbed in, mirroring Neil by lying down on your side. He reached out and caressed the side of your face, running fingertips along your temple, cheekbones, and jaw, only to settle on your neck. As your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you could see the hint of a smile on his lips. Even in the faint moonlight, Neil looked ethereal.

“How do you want me?” the sudden husky tone of his voice combined with the situation and dubious nature of the question made you shiver.

Tracing your hand up his arm, you whispered the answer as though it was a secret.

“Close”

“How close?” Neil wrapped his hand around your waist and pulled you towards him.

With your chests pressed together and your head fitting perfectly under his chin, you exhaled. But it wasn’t enough. Suddenly the strange desire from the night in Oslo returned. You wanted him as close as it was physically possible. And then some more. Letting out a quiet frustrated whine, you splayed your hands on his back, hoping to somehow get even closer.

“More than this. I-”

It was there. On the tip of your tongue, begging to be released. But Neil knew better than you.

“You don’t have to say it” he interrupted you and angled his hips in such a way that even there was no space between your bodies.

You threw your leg over his hip, just like that last morning. Even now, fully aware of the sexual connotations of your position, it felt too good to be given up. No matter the potential regrets. Just before you started drifting off to sleep, entangled with Neil like this, you felt him slip his hands underneath your shirt, caressing your back with the lightest of touches.

“You’re everything to me. Never doubt that” he whispered into your hair, as though thinking you were asleep already.

For a second, you wanted to pretend that you did not hear it. But… Tentatively, you returned the gesture by placing your hands underneath his shirt, one on the back and the other near the scar from the bullet on his side. Soon you were both asleep.

*** Surprisingly, in the morning, there was nearly no awkwardness. You barely moved through the course of the night, and so as you came to, one of the first things you registered was the warm touch on your back and stomach. And then a soft melody being hummed somewhere above your head. It took that additional 10 seconds to comprehend everything. You were still entangled with Neil your hands were neatly placed on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. The next thing you registered was that the hummed melody was ‘Moon River’ and that Neil still undoubtedly had a musical talent. You raised your head slowly, making sure he was not hit in the process, and faced the bright blue eyes.

“There’s no moon around this time of the day, in case you haven’t noticed” scrunching your nose, you grinned.

“Maybe not, but you’re still ‘a dream maker and heart breaker’” Neil kissed you on the tip of the nose.

“Bloody hell” laughing, you pushed him away a little “And here I was hoping you’re done with all that smooth talk”

“Never” he shifted so that he was hovering over you “Can I do something else I’ve wanted to?” the hopeful look in his eyes was more than convincing.

“Can’t see why not”

A kiss like that first thing in the morning was more than you could have ever wished for. Neil made sure to use all the tips he knew to make you become breathless and bothered. He tugged on your lips with his teeth, making his tongue soften the bruised spots and entangle with yours. His hands brushed over your chest but never quite touching. You reacted by deepening the kiss, letting have it all. For some reason, this early in the morning, nerves were nowhere to be found. It was just Neil. As he leaned back, with that self-satisfied grin and predatory look in his eyes, you should have known that he had one more thing up his sleeve. But before your brain could register everything that was going on, Neil moved down your body, lifted your shirt, and met your gaze before placing a kiss on your navel with precision. It was just one kiss, right where the band of your trousers ended. And yet. You could not stop the way your hips bucked or how your legs clenched together at that simple gesture. It was embarrassingly easy for him to get that reaction. And he was more than fully aware if his smile was anything to go by. But was not meant to be. At least not this time. You whined when he pulled your shirt back down, ending it before it even began.

“I’m glad it’s working” Neil quickly got up and faced your exasperated face with a grin of his own “I gotta run, sorry darling” with that, he disappeared into the bathroom.

“Fucking hell” you groaned loudly and flopped back on the bed with a sigh.

You were already frustrated. And one might even say worked up to a certain degree. Now, how the fuck does one deal with that?

[goldafterglow]

my love is a dagger

Summary: Jack Daniels is hopelessly gone for you, and you’re starting to think it’s a two way street. Maybe.

Request: “May I please ask for Basorexia and Whiskey please? 🥺” - @scribbledghost (ma’am I’m SO sorry this took me so long and then after the long wait you got whatever this is); taken from this post

basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss

Pairing: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 4.8k+

Warnings: suicidal themes (just a little and not really but there’s definitely a line), sexual harassment, anGST!!, PINING omg SO much pining like folks get ready to y*arn, a little bit of fluff bc Jack is a sweet talking southerner and I couldn’t help it, more angst I rly hope you cry, there’s a cute little lesbian couple in one line so don’t read if ur homophobic! but that goes for all of my work :)))

Author’s Note: Thank the GODS for @catfishingmorales for being my first ever beta reader!!! maybe this one will make any fucking sense at all!!! also a special shoutout to my wife @pascalplease bc she stayed up all night vomiting headcanons with me about this and I didn’t even get to all of them.

Gif Cred: the lovely @coredrive​

Masterlist | Taglist Modifications

“Two single-bed rooms,” he says. No; he manages.

Jack has to pry the words out of his esophagus, the passageway so clogged with sleep that he thinks that if he clears his throat he might be able to clear it.

It doesn’t work.

He tends to add a little brightness and smile to his voice when he talks, always eager to please even strangers. He embellishes his sentences with pleasantries and a chipper shimmer that makes even the most overworked bartender smile and the most destitute rancher crack a grin because he has this uncanny ability to make everyone feel special. But right now, at eleven pm on a Saturday evening after what might’ve been the worst, most emotionally grueling mission Jack has ever completed, he is not pleasant. His words are simply a tool for him to get a message out, his voice choked and flat.

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, sir, but it looks like we only have one king-size room available,” the lady informs. She is looking intently at the screen, still typing and clicking like the words might miraculously change right before her eyes.

The powerful Agent Whiskey’s heart falls into his stomach.

He can’t tell if this is the best or worst thing that has ever happened to him. Is this finally the excuse he needs to sweep you off your feet, like the catalyst giving him the strength to overcome his intense paranoia? Or is this the last straw, the final stone before you step off the staircase of his heart and back out onto the run-down open streets without him? Panic floods his chest and he is so paralyzed that he doesn’t even know what to tell her; for once, Jack Daniels is speechless.

Thank god he doesn’t turn around; he’d’ve seen your wide frantic eyes and would’ve known immediately what you’re thinking.

“Oh, it looks like a vacancy just opened,” the hostess chirps, a hint of relief floating on her words. You and Jack turn your heads to your left, where a young couple is saying their “thank you”s as they rack up the handles of their suitcases, hand-in-hand. One girl leans over to kiss the other on the temple with a smile; they both seem so secure. You turn your head back to the hostess; the sight of two people being content was disturbing to you and frankly a little offensive. “Unfortunately they’re on separate floors. Is that-”

“We’ll take them,” Jack gruffs. He wants to sleep, wants to die, wants to be in any existence where your soft eyes aren’t glued to the back of his head because he can feel it and he thinks you might burn holes into his skull just to find that he’s hollow inside.

Empty.

The transaction is quick and a little forced. She hands you both your respective key cards wordlessly, and if your eyes had lingered on her just a little longer you would’ve caught her face falling into it’s default relaxed state of misery. Jack walks with you to the elevator in silence, but he’s still close. He’s always close to you. Often you’ll turn your head in an empty room and anticipate him being there just to be sorely disappointed, though you aren’t sure what you’re always so disappointed for. His spirit haunts your thoughts, floats around your body and does laps around your brain because he is always there when you need him, so much so that you expect him to be there when you don’t need him. You want him to always be there. To always be with you.

Strange thoughts to have so late at night.

Jack sets his bag down beside you, stepping forward to press the button for you; it’s such a small gesture, something that he probably didn’t even think to do since hospitality runs in his bones, and yet you noticed it.

Strange.

The door opens, and he wordlessly puts a hand on your back, guiding you towards the elevator in front of him. Letting you on first. You can’t help but smile a little at him; you can tell he’s so tired and yet he still finds it somewhere in his heart to make you feel so important.

“You know I don’t need that from you,” you tease lightly, turning to look at him as the doors drag shut. The elevator shudders around you, indicating that it’s ready to start it’s journey to the fifth floor.

Jack grins at you; it’s not something he’s doing with his voluntary muscles, something that he thinks is coming off muted because he just doesn’t have the energy. It’s something he doesn’t even think about doing, a visceral reaction to hearing your sweet voice like aloe vera on his scorched throat.

“Well then, darlin’, take it anyways just to indulge your favorite cowboy,” he almost begs, lip pouted and eyebrows raised like he’s a child asking for candy except he’s an addict crying for just one more dose before the night ends because the nights he goes home without the memory of your eyes, your smile, your scent in his system are the nights he can’t sleep through.

You giggle softly, nudging his side gently because you want to crush him in your embrace and lift him onto the barbs of feathers into the moonlight all at the same time. To Jack, it feels like you’ve just kneed him in the chest, hogging all his air and wrapping his head in plastic so he can’t breathe, not that he minds. He’d let you tear at the delicate skin of the inside of his wrists, bite into the gentle flesh of his cheeks until he’s on his knees, bleeding at the seams. He’d let you destroy him if you wanted to.

He sighs a little, so dead, as a flush of air enters the vacuum of the elevator; you’ve arrived. But he doesn’t want to leave yet, wants to wring every last drop of your attention out of your pliable bones, so he follows you out and walks you to your room.

“I don’t need this either,” you say, a yawn stretching and blurring the edges of your words.

“I know,” Jack concedes, rolling his eyes in a way that is so adoring that he might as well have kissed you full on the mouth.

Not that you wanted him to.

“I know you don’t need a lick of help from me, sugar. Maybe I just like giving.” He grins down at you again, his side brushing against yours as you place slow, careful steps down the carpeted floor.

Yeah, he likes giving.

He gives you his leftover coffee when he “doesn’t want it” - it’s a tall cup of his favorite brew. He definitely still wants it. He gives you his blazer when you call his desk landline just to tell him your office is cold because you know he’ll give it to you. What you don’t know is that it’s because he’s completely and utterly whipped for you - he’d strip naked in a snowstorm to keep you warm, hold you in an icehouse as the bite of the frost burrows into the cracks of his dried skin, because he doesn’t need clothes when you’re in his arms. That’s about as warm as he’s ever been.

He gives you his time of day - almost all of it. He’s the first person you see when you step into work, the last face you see when you’re ready to retire. He walks you to your office every morning - he had to beg Champ to switch offices with him so that he could be adjacent to you, but every ounce of dignity lost was paid back to him with royalties in the precious extra seconds he gets to spend rubbing his shoulder against yours. He saunters into your office unannounced daily at 12:35 pm sharp to eat lunch with you, flopping onto your couch with the audacity of a man wet with wealth and simultaneously listening to you rave about your day with the patience of a therapist. Your time is a sacred commodity to him, and he makes sure that he’s earned it.

He gives you his whole soul. Sometimes he wonders if you’ll one day open your purse and find his glass heart sitting there, beating hard and loud and only for you. He wonders if you’d pick it up and smash it against a wall. He wouldn’t mind it at all.

The silence hangs in the air, dancing on your breaths as you seem to be inhaling each other, soaking in each other. It’s strange, the moments you share alone with Jack. There are the ones you share late at night, croaking at each other over the phone about how shitty that one show ended or how beautiful blue things are. Blue like his suffocated lungs, like the ocean of tears that drown him when he looks at you, like the finger you’ve got him wrapped around real tight.

But then there’s the moments when you’re in a room full of people. The briefing room sitting at a table spanning the length of the room that’s completely full of people, a club chock full of sweat and neon energy, the lobby of the lavish estate of a target where the bourgeoisie can swarm and stalk each other. All he has to do is toss you a roll of the eyes, a grin, a subtle brush of his hand against yours, and you are instantly thrown into the web of his affection as you get lost and locked in the atmosphere of his presence. Like, even in a room full of people, he’s the only one around. You’re not breathing in oxygen but the hickory fumes of his skin, the only sound getting registered being his dark honey voice. You’re not quite sure how he does that, distorting reality so heavily that you feel like you’ve traversed to an alternate dimension every time he touches you, pays any mind to you. Every single time.

“This you?” Jack asks, his words like a rubber band to your pulse as you’re snapped out of your train of thought. You look up at the room number - room 513 - and then down at your keycard. It reads the same. There’s a dull ache of disappointment that erupts through your chest, beige and static like the chipped paint on the walls.

“Yeah,” you mutter, turning to face him with your back to the door. He smiles at you softly, gentle like his fragile soul that you always manage to make hurt so bad without doing a single thing, and he opens his arms to you. Nothing out of the ordinary; you’ve grown accustomed to his goodbye hugs. “You’re so needy,” you giggle, stepping forward to bury your face in his pillowy chest and letting yourself sink into the quicksand of his warmth. It’s so easy to get caught up in him like a butterfly to a flower, and yet it’s so hard to pull away. He’s always been difficult to separate from; every time it’s like you’re sewing a microfractal of your esse into the velvet of him. Not big enough for you to notice, but still missing, and it adds up every time until there’s a big gaping hole in your chest that Jack holds claim to and the only way you feel right is when he’s with you.

I know, he wants to say to you. I know I’m needy. I know that you’re the only one, the only person, the only fucking thing that I’ve ever wanted this bad. I know I steal your time and your space and your thoughts but I’m a greedy man. Please forgive me. But he doesn’t say that; he could never say that to you. So instead he buries his face into the top of your head, trying to get a big sleepy lungful of you before he parts with you for the night, and says “Can you blame me, baby?”

You look up at him, eyes bleary and red but still eager to be so close to him. “Always such a tease.” He smiles wide at you, like he’s looking at a whimsical sprite so colorful and magnificent, but it’s just you. What does he see when he looks at you?

“G’night, pretty girl,” he coos, arms still wrapped around you and eyes big and doe-y. Please don’t leave yet, my perfect thing. Except that’s the part that stings him the most; you’re not his. He doesn’t get to say that sacred “my.”

“Good night, Jack Daniels,” you whisper, words fanning on his cheeks like waves of heat from a bonfire. But you don’t move, and neither does he. Not yet. Please.

He’s looking down at you with a certain reverence, like you were sculpted by the angels and placed right here in front of him with intimate precision. And then, without a breath to spare, he leans down and presses a kiss on your forehead so light that you wonder if it even happened or if someone has just thrown a marshmallow at your face. A friendly kiss from a friend that you’re friends with.

It feels like the seams of your limbs are being ripped out as you slowly separate from him, flashing him a soft smile as you take your duffel bag and unlock the door in front of you. You step into your hotel room, the air conditioning immediately sticking to your damp skin. As you close the door you catch him still standing there, looking at you like you’re something so precious.

Platonically, of course.

You sigh as you look around the room, suddenly freezing. The tiny dress you’re wearing doesn’t add much insulation and the big diamond necklaces and chandelier earrings and silver cuffs adorning your body like ornaments become ice on your skin. Kicking your shoes off and into a forgotten pit of the room, you step into the bathroom. Flicking the light on, you stare straight at the bulbs, letting the light sear your pupils just so that you can focus on something other than Jack fucking Daniels. Your jewelry is the first to go, becoming a delicate display on the bathroom counter. Something so pretty, but they’ve left angry dents in your skin that are starting to inflame and you figured it was too good to be benign. Nothing so beautiful, nothing that makes you feel so beautiful, could do so without hurting the paper-thin barriers of your heart. You’d have to be a fool to not know that.

You open up your duffel bag, fishing around impatiently until you find your makeup remover and cotton pads. As you erase the paint on your skin, removing the rough mission from the memory of your face, you start beginning to look less disheveled and more exhausted. Now you can really see the dark circles under your eyes, the discomfort of Rolex’s touching the small of your back and Armani cologne grabbing at your hips while you let it happen. Your body had become free real estate and in just hours you had broken down to feeling like you were stained, a dirtier version of yourself that couldn’t ever be cleaned.

You hadn’t felt so filthy when you were in Jack’s arms.

Eager to try and scrape the mission from your lungs, you peel the tight fabric off your body, letting out a breath of something far redder than relief as it falls to a pool around your ankles. You turn around to reach for the shower handle and grip it hard, letting the cold steel fill your palm as you twist it mid-way. While you wait for the steam to seep into your pores you reach for a bar of packaged soap on the bathroom counter, sizing up the créme box. It’s about a centimeter thick, easily filling your palm, and you frown a little at realizing that most of it will be thrown away, unused. Such a waste.

Turning your attention to the water, you run your hand under the water pouring out of the shower nozzle. It’s warm enough. But you don’t want it to be enough. You want it to melt your skin, to burn through your used body and shed your cells to unleash the layers beneath, the layers that Jack had touched, because thinking that your body has been safe inside his embrace feels better than thinking that you put your head in the jaws of the alligators and hoped they wouldn’t snap.

Once the water is burning, sure to inflame your skin, you step in and close the shower curtain before beginning to let the soap glide along your arms. Except it’s not enough. You’re not clean enough. So you run the bar over yourself again and again, wearing it down as your skin turns hot to the touch until you’re using the tips of your fingers to salvage the last bits of product onto your chest. Shit. You don’t even realize that the bar is all used up until you feel the sensation of your fingers rubbing against your now irritated skin and yet you still feel soiled. So you elect to give up on your sorry attempt at washing away the strange eerie touches and predatory looks and turn off the water, drying yourself off.

The solitude in the air stings.

By the time you’re laying in your bed and looking up at the plain off-white ceiling so that you don’t have to look at the old collections of dirt in the crevices of the wall and carpeted floor, you haven’t thought about Jack for the past 30 minutes. Not since you were washing yourself and the ghost of his fingers scraped your scalp, making you long for the feeling of his chest pressed to your back and the sound of his voice floating into the vinyl of the curtain liner while his hands danced in your hair - 

Not since then.

But Jack Daniels is most certainly thinking about you, and he’s far too deep to bother pretending that he isn’t anymore.

He stands outside your door for just a little while longer after you close it, staring at the fool’s gold embellishment on the front as he basks in the faint warmth of your spirit that lingers in the space of the hall and inside of his bones. He’s not sure how he got so lucky so as to be able to touch you without abandon, kiss your forehead out of greed and hold you in his arms because he really is so needy. He replays the scent of your dainty floral perfume and rewinds the heat of your forehead under his used, chapped lips, trying to commit you to memory as if he hadn’t done this a million time already, as if he hasn’t tried to burn a million of your hugs into the plush cotton of his skin like a brand. Your fading ghost consumes his mind, and by the time it’s whispering farewell to him, he’s already at the bank of elevators waiting patiently for the doors to open for him. Jack does a lot of that; waiting.

The weight of his duffel bag starts to grow and he can’t tell if his tired left arm is getting weaker or if the bag is getting heavier, but he can tell that his nerves are aching because he already misses you.

He’s always missing you.

The trip to his room is quiet, lonely, and as the elevator doors close for him to make his way to the 6th floor he wonders if this is how it’ll always be. Having you so close, seeing you right in front of him, and yet never truly being with you the way he wants to be. Never belonging to anybody, just a wisp of air passing through your life without holding any true substance or having any real meaning to you; but what a privilege to be one of your wisps. To have been in your lungs and have seen what he imagines are wide open plains, vibrant with wildflowers and gentle beasts. He wishes he could stay.

The elevator door dings.

This time he is caught off guard and he inhales like a shudder, eyes darting around the cold yet damp walkway to see if anyone has caught him thinking, caught him yearning.

Hallucinating.

Deluded.

He steps inside of the compartment with his stupid heavy duffel bag, immediately letting it fall to the elevator floor. His eyes find the plastic, cloudy buttons making up the keypad of the elevator. His left arm lifts to press the “6” button but he immediately regrets it, feeling a searing agony shoot through his shoulder. He mutters a little “fuck” to himself like it’ll help balm the pain, and of course it doesn’t, but Jack is a stubborn man and the buttons are to his left, so he shakes his arm out the way you shake out your boots before stepping inside mama’s house and tries again. But his dry, chapped fingers struggle to reach for the buttons, shaking in his own seismic wake. It takes him a few seconds to steady himself, taking temporary control over his body so he can actually touch the button; the plastic is cracked, a small piece having fallen off to be lost, likely thrown away. A discarded fracture in the shell leaving the inner label forever open and exposed, never to be whole again.

The elevator door shuts.

Jack lets out a low sigh, leaving his arms to fall to his sides as he leans against one of the walls. The back wall of the elevator is reflective, muddled and stained but clear enough that Jack can see what has become of him. His stetson is barely on his head anymore, his tie crooked and his collar untucked. He almost feels like a suit monkey, walking around playing dress up with the caveat of poisoning a man’s fresh champagne. But you told him he looked so handsome all gussied up like a proper gentleman worthy of taking a dime like yourself out. So he leaves it at almost.

He does a lot of that too.

The elevator hiccups, and as expected the doors open, inviting him to leave. He looks down at his duffel bag and he can already feel the weight of it on his weeping muscles, but he’s so close to his room and he can’t give up now that’s he’s made it so far, so he uses the momentum of his swinging right arm to sweep the bag up off the floor and drags himself out of the elevator. Not the best thing he’s ever done, but certainly one of his proudest moments.

The sixth floor is less damp, less like a moldy underwater cave and more like he’s at the top of a breezy mountain where the strands of air are like spurs to his cold, tight skin. Crisp. It is different, and yet he feels the same. Like his joyful warmth has drained out of his system, flushed out of his body, and on the inside he is the 5th floor of a shitty decrepit hotel in the middle of fuck all Kentucky. 

He makes quick work of finding his room, the inertia from getting off the elevator being the driving force that gets him down the two hallways and standing before room 645. He pulls out the plastic keycard, adorned with scratches on its surface and stains on its edges, and shoves it into the card reader. With a subtle flash of green and a gentle click, the door gives way for Jack to practically fall inside. He flings the bag as far across the room as his arm will let him, letting gravity control his movements as he is drawn to the white mattress in the center of the room. He releases a groan a little louder than should be appropriate this late at night - he checks the alarm clock on the bedside table to confirm that it’s 11:08. He hasn’t been apart from you for longer than what, 4 minutes? No, he did stand outside your door for a little bit. He decides it’s been 5 minutes.

Oddly enough, the extra sixty seconds don’t make him feel any less fucked.

Now that he’s finally still, his body begins to focus on how sore his legs are as any pain grows from the ends of his limbs and seeps into his chest. He can feel the weight of the night press down heavy on his diaphragm, suffocating him in a way that travels to his eyes and sprays sand like mist onto the walls of his throat. He selfishly lets himself lay there for a second, thinking about that weight being you pressed up against him, face buried in his chest or his neck or in his own face. It’s sacrilegious the way Jack thinks about your touch, the flutter of your lashes like majestic butterfly wings against his cheek, so enticing. So pretty.

His shower is fast despite the way his muscles screech at him to let them rest, begging him to just fucking sit down. When he leans down, back made of creaky burnt red iron, to reach for his sleep clothes, he does a double take; there’s not much in the bag at all. A bunch of small, disguised weapons, communications devices, a pair of grey sweats, a white t-shirt. Nothing oppressively hefty to pull on his tendons; at least, not in a way that could practically drag his shoulder out of its socket. Then suddenly he remembers; he had been holding your bag until you’d both reached the lobby desk. It was a long walk from where you’d been instructed to dump the care and the hotel, so after watching you squirm a little in the freezing air, he offered to take your bag off your back. He’d walked with a bag in each arm for maybe a minute before he realized that his greedy fingers missed being wrapped around your side, missed your melted essence seeping into his stomach, so he’d held both bags in the one left hand for the rest of the thirty minute walk. He hadn’t even noticed how bad he was hurting; perhaps you were too distracting, smile too alluring as your words painted his eyes in lilac and blinded him from his own discomfort.

For being the one person Jack wanted, you sure did hurt him a lot.

Once he is dressed, he lets his sore body absorb into the linen sheets as his muscles finally find some form of permanent relief in the salve of stillness. But this is a dangerous state to be in; when Jack isn’t talking someone else’s ear off, he thinks. He fantasizes, ponders, mulls and muses himself into a state that is suspended between consciousness and sleep.

He thinks about your lips.

You’ve never been too shy to mouth him off, poking and prodding at him and his eccentric cowboy aesthetic. Seeing you walk in every morning and beeline it straight to greet him with a casual fifteen-second hug sends daggers flying into his heart every time, a pain that he’s learned to brace himself for and yet can never seem to be able to handle. And when he looks down at you, adoring eyes and all, he can never help but glance at your lips. It’s always short, a self-indulgent guilty pleasure that he could never admit to, and he thinks about the way they feel against his collarbone when you hold him tight. He thinks about the way they might feel on his own lips.

Sinful.

And then he is thinking about that wretched mission, flashes of luxury clothes and manicured hands trying to feel you up right in front of his eyes. The way you fake smiled at men with money and wrinkles as they leaned into your ear, trying to whisper enticing tales of exorbitant trips to islands that are garishly tropical and dresses so exclusive and designer that no one in the world would own a duplicate. Watching in utter silence because no matter agonizing his need for you is, you’ll never be his.

Suddenly that ache in his body has traveled to his face. It’s so painful to think about you, and yet he takes the jagged edges of his love for you and drags them through his wrists because he’d rather fucking bleed than ever forget you.

Outside his window he hears the clouds crash into each other as an icy downpour beats the pavement. And like a curse, at the expense of his own self-destruction, the image of you in his arms in front of room 513 slices through his brain. Your face right under his mouth, forehead right up against him, your lips right fucking there. And then the feeling of you pulling away. Of you leaving him to rot with the flies, because he’s never going to be strong enough to tell you how bad he needs you,  let you tear his heart into a million pieces for good.

From somewhere in his room the rain begins to fall on his face.

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[infinites-chaser]

on corgis and christmas | mlqc | victor/mc | holiday fluff

this is a Secret Santa present for @beautynaturalmoon from the Loveland Cuties Discord Server :3 🎁 Merry Christmas ⛄ to the cutest chibi MC~

The first thing Victor notices when he walks into his office is that there’s something on his desk. There have been things on his desk for the past few days, but between their unassuming nature— pens and notebooks and papers, all of them— and the way Goldman had been nervously eyeing his reaction to them on his way in to pick up a round of reports and deliver even more, Victor’d assumed they were his assistant’s idea of an early Christmas present. Alternatively, a not-so-subtle way for him to ask Victor for an early vacation.

But the monstrosity of holiday cheer that sits on his desk today indicates he’s been thinking of the wrong person as culprit all along: the one leaving the presents hasn’t been Goldman at all. No, the green and red adorned corgi pudding (complete with whipped cream santa hat) brings only one person to mind: you.

“Dummy,” he mutters, exasperated tone at odds with the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Does she think she’s on holiday already?”

Down in the LFG building’s lobby, you stare at your empty phone screen, brow furrowed, mouth pursed into a small, petulant pout.

“He should’ve seen it by now, right?” You complain aloud. “Why hasn’t Goldman told me his reaction yet?”

Seated across from you, Cindy giggles.

“Don’t be too impatient, hm? CEO Li’s probably giving him an earful about ‘getting distracted by the holiday season,’ he does it to at least one employee every year, and Goldman’s just been unlucky enough to have gotten the speech every year since he started working as the CEO’s personal assistant.”

“You’re saying Victor doesn’t like Christmas?”

She leans in close, beckons you in with a conspiratorial grin.

“See, the CEO’s a bit of a Scrooge, y’know? Never seems to enjoy Christmas beyond what profit the company could make off of it, and he never comes to a single holiday party— it’s a shame, really! We all wish he’d come so we could thank him for all he does for us with some wine and presents, and he could destress, too, but it doesn’t seem like he really likes the holidays at all! It’s a mystery!”

Before you can reply, your phone buzzes. Goldman. Or, at the very least, you hope it is. The thing is, you’ve been trying to figure out what to get Victor for Christmas since the beginning of December. With Cindy’s help, you’d wheedled Goldman into leaving little presents in Victor’s office, in the hopes that he’d react well to one and you’d be able to get him the bigger and better version of it when the twenty-fifth rolled around. Only, the problem was, Victor hardly had a reaction to anything you’d had Goldman leave in his office, not even the things you’d considered more sensible and to his mature tastes.

All Goldman ever reported back was that Victor, upon seeing the gifts, sighed and frowned. And if he suddenly was saddled with an extra work assignment afterwards, well, that was just Victor being Victor, not necessarily any sign of him reacting one way or another to your gifts. Frankly speaking, it was becoming frustrating, especially with Christmas around the corner and you with no better idea of what to get Victor than you’d had at the beginning of the month.

While of course, after failing to get a response out of him, you could’ve asked the CEO himself, it had just so happened that LFG’s end-of-year fundraiser had received an unexpected surge in donations following Victor’s reluctant appearance on Miracle Finder’s holiday special. The episode had done extremely well ratings-wise, and you’d been proud of it, as well as proud of the extra attention it’d given to LFG, but that success had kept Victor busy, and had kept you from being able to brag about it to him, let alone ask him what he’d maybe hypothetically possibly want for Christmas.

Now that you think about it, it seems like it’s been weeks since you’ve heard Victor’s trademark “Dummy.” You’d never admit it to him, but, you miss it. Just a little. Which was why you’d decided to make the overly festive corgi pudding, hoping he’d see it and think of you.

When you check your phone, you try your best to suppress a sigh. It’s only Anna, asking for updates, complete with a winky emoji that would’ve made you laugh, normally, only, you wish it were a text from Goldman instead.

“No luck?” Cindy prompts. You shake your head, trying not to look too crestfallen. Still, the other woman offers you a sympathetic smile.

“Worst comes to worst,” she says, “You can take him shopping with you on Christmas Day and make him pick out his own present.”

Her smile turns mischievous.

“If it comes to that, make our good CEO pay for his present himself.”

“Cindy!”

You swat at her, but she dodges with a giggle.

“On that note,” she remarks breezily, with a exaggerated glance at her watch, “It looks like my break’s over.”

“Is it now?”She grins again. The grin reads, I’m late.

“I think CEO Li should consider cutting your salary for this,” you grumble.

“Careful, our Scrooge must be rubbing off on you,” she replies with another giggle, then sobers up. “But really, you shouldn’t worry so much, alright? All of us employees, we can see how much the CEO cares about you. I’m sure no matter what you get him, it’ll be something he’ll treasure and appreciate.”

“Thanks Cindy.”

You manage a smile and a parting wave as she hurries off.

After she leaves, barely a minute passes before you check your phone. Nothing. Again. This time, you don’t bother suppressing your sigh.

The logical part of your brain knows Victor’s busy with work, and Goldman and Cindy, too, and you’re glad that LFG got the extra attention it deserved after Victor’s guest appearance. Only— it doesn’t quite feel like the holidays when he’s still working, and you’re stuck failing to brainstorm gifts.

Five more minutes, you tell yourself. Five more minutes to wait for a text from Goldman, then you’ll leave and find something better to do than sulk in LFG’s lobby. Something better to do, of course, meaning sulking somewhere a little more private.

Four minutes of nothing pass. Then, your phone buzzes. It’s Goldman.

You open the text as fast as your phone will let you.

Goldman: Does CEO Li not know how to wink?

You blink. Did I read that wrong? You wonder.

Your phone buzzes again.

Goldman: oh no wrong person

And again.

Goldman: But actually, you’d know, wouldn’t you? Does he not know how to wink!?

You’re too confused to be mad at the lack of an update from Goldman. Instead, you rack your brain, trying your hardest to remember if you’ve ever seen Victor wink

....No? Is your final reply, followed by an, or at least, I’ve never seen him wink?

Then, the smallest bit of reason sets in.

Why?????? You begin to type. But before you can send the message, a familiar voice startles you, and your phone slips from your hands.

“I should’ve known you were here when Cindy took a two hour long lunch break.”

“Victor!”

You whip around in your seat, and stand quickly, heedless of how your phone’s jostled from your lap to the floor. Victor, your mind echoes, and some painful knot of worry lodged in your heart loosens, and it finally seems to beat freely again at a rhythm you’d like to think is in tune with his.

“Next time just tell me if you want to see me, dummy,” he says, with a weary, but adoring smile. “Don’t enlist my employees in your hare-brained schemes.”

You puff out your cheeks and pout.

“Wasn’t hare-brained if it worked,” you reply, but your words are muffled when he steps forward and pulls you into a long, lingering embrace. The two of you stay like that for a moment: he lets his head rest atop yours, one hand coming up to stroke, then cradle your hair, the other settling around your waist, holding you close and firm. You press closer, shut your eyes against the warmth of his chest and let his heartbeat fill your ears.

You’re here, his heart seems to whisper, a secret Morse code message written into his pulse’s pounding.

I missed you, your heart taps out in return.

“Dummy,” he murmurs, soft and low— the voice you’d been missing the weeks he’d been busy, and the endearment, too.

You have a hundred things you want to say to him, I hope you’ve been eating properly, you look tired, get some rest, I love you, I’m worried, even more you’d like to ask him, Are you finished with work? Can I help in any way? and the all-important, What do you want for Christmas? but what comes out of your mouth is:

“Why does Goldman think you can’t wink?”

You freeze the moment the question leaves your mouth. You’re glad your face is hidden in his chest, you’re sure your cheeks are flaming red. You’ve said plenty of dumb things in front of Victor, a fact he’ll never let you forget, but you’re sure this tops the list.

He inhales. You brace yourself for a well-deserved insult. But to your surprise, he laughs, his chuckles reverberating through his chest, from his warm heart to warm yours.

“Dummy,” he repeats, softer, his exhale gentle and fond. “What nonsense has Goldman been telling you?”

“Actually, don’t answer that. The more important question is, why was there a garish corgi pudding on my desk this morning?”

“I-I don’t know,” you hastily reply. “But Victor, can you wink?”

“Do you like Christmas?” He asks instead of answering, pulling back just enough from your arms to look you in the eye, gaze steady and firm. You nod, your cheeks still flushed.

“Then was that a sorry attempt at getting me into the holiday spirit?”

You nod again. He smiles.

“You don’t need to do anything like that. I’ve never seen the point of the holiday, but if you want to enjoy it together, all you have to do is tell me.”

“It’s no fun if I’m forcing you,” you say with a pout. He scoffs.

“You think you could force me?”

“Christmas to me hasn’t ever been about the decorations or music or gift-giving. It’s been about— loved ones. Spending each moment of time with them. Making precious, unforgettable memories, each one like a souvenir.”

He pauses. Then, more softly: “Making sure there won’t be any regrets.”

“Regrets?” You echo. He pulls you close again.

“Regrets,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for you to hear, “like someone you love leaving your life too soon.”

You think of Victor’s distant father. You remember phone calls to his mother’s old number, conversations held with her memory, her ghost, across time. You think of people lost too soon, of people leaving, like your father. But you also think of Souvenir. You think of two puddings’ shared taste, preserved through time, a flavor that led you back to him. Maybe sometimes things are lost too soon, you think, but if we don’t keep moving forward, then, they’ll surely never be found again.

“Victor,” you say. “We’ll share every moment of the holidays together and make this Christmas unforgettable, alright?”

His arms tighten around you.

“Alright.”

“Only,” you say quickly, a little grin making its way across your face, “that’ll involve more things like the ‘garish corgi pudding’ and decorations and gift-giving. That’s part of what makes the holidays so magical and special, you know!”

He snorts.

“I doubt it’s the pudding in particular that does it,” he says drily. “But. Alright. If you say so. If it makes you happy, I’m sure I could be happy with it, too. As long as the reason’s not too stupid.”

“It’s a promise,” you say.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“A promise,” he replies, and from his voice, you can tell he’s smiling.

“Okay then,” you say, grin widening. “Victor, what do you want for Christmas?”

[end-of-reset]

Written Special 2: First Day of School

TWs: Misgendering (Though it is both confusing/both ways (both he and she, to be blunt,) and before Frisk is out) and Infantilization (Though Frisk IS only 5)

Click. Click, click, click.

Frisk's chest swelled. 

The new pin was like a little finger magnet. It had a little metal piece that could move in a 180 direction and click whenever it landed, each and every time. Whoever made these things didn’t seem to think about making them silent or subtle, even though the design made it clear the pin was meant for a child.

Frisk flicked it again, watching the pin bounce to the other side and cover the two letters on that end. Back and forth...

"Try not to mess with that, okay, baby?" Lightly tanned hands eased Frisk's fingers from the shiny pin, giving their hand a tiny, warm squeeze. Frisk blinked, curling their fingers around Maman's hand.  She'd been touchier than usual today, holding hands and insisting on watching Precious do their hair.  It wasn't like Frisk minded her clinginess, but she acted like this whenever she was anxious, so that meant Frisk should pay close attention to whatever it was that was igniting her anxiety. 

Which was....?

The little room they were in was bright and cheerful, warm and welcoming, yet Frisk's other mother stood in front of the desk with her legs tense and her expression forced.

Smile doesn't touch eyes. Curves = happy?

"Hopefully there won't be any problems with that?" Mama was saying. "I don't want this big day to go wrong..."

Repeating words: big day. Big = emotional. 

Hopefully not as emotional as their fifth birthday. Everyone climbed in a car (Frisk got to hide in a cozy little back nook) and drove to see Maman's family. Too many tears and French people. There was so much happening, Frisk could barely grasp why everyone was so teary-eyed.

Something to do with getting so big and being so cute. Meaningless, really! All words people applied to what shaped Frisk's being. The adults should've turned their tears into hugs. Frisk liked hugs, and being carried, and climbing on the taller family members. Frisk knew people cried to get their emotions out, and sometimes Frisk felt things very Much and water built up in their eyes, but if a day is supposed to be celebrating Frisk, they should all try to do things Frisk liked. Perhaps going to the lake or beach. Or just the park. Somewhere big with things to do.  

But none of that happened. Like today, the emotions shown likely had little to do with Frisk themself. That was okay, though, because Frisk knew their mothers still loved them. The two of them couldn't realize Frisk was eager, so they focused on what they knew. People were like that, sometimes. Well, at least some people. Frisk hadn't actually interacted with too many people before..

But today presented something new. Possibilities. People to see that Frisk didn't know. Voices to hear that weren't on TV.

Smiles to see, hands to squeeze.

New people. New faces. 

Frisk's fingers twitched, tempted to fiddle again already. They reached for Mama's hand with their free one, but she didn't seem to notice. She was focused on her conversation about Frisk’s “situation.”

Instead of Mama, Maman leaned in and flicked the moveable part of their pin to the left, covering the word on that side. "There we go. It's important everybody see this each day!"

Important = necessary. Pin =... Necessary?

Just word. One word each side. Two.

The receptionist- Frisk hadn’t yet looked at them long enough to discern a solid image of them- smiled. "Ah, I see, so we should rely on whatever Frisk has set it to? That's simple enough!"

Frisk set it? 

It... The pin.

Hm.

Frisk’s gaze traveled to the tall, tall faces of each one. Maman: uneasy, her dark eyes flicking to and from Frisk. Mama: focused, smiling at the receptionist. Frisk studied her face.

Worst lipstick color. Too pink. 

Clothes blue. Lipstick needs: dark.

She just smiled. Terrible lipstick and all. 

They had tried to tell her that it looked bad. Apparently shoving a GOOD lipstick tube in her face and pointing at her lips wasn't explanation enough. She assumed they were playing.

Frisk's gaze traveled up and up until they could see their mother's eyes. "That's right! We don't want to upset Frisk."

Her gaze was on the receptionist. The receptionist was looking right back. They prodded their computer screen with a computer pen. 

"So, I'll just go ahead and put Frisk on the card, I'll leave a note on the back that it's a nickname, though." Frisk focused more on the receptionist the longer they spoke. They had light brown skin and green hair. Piercings lined their ears; shiny little spikes that seemed to stab through the shell of their ear and emerge. How did they sleep with those things in? Frisk wanted to stare for longer, but there was more to observe. The little name card pinned to the receptionist's shirt made little sense to Frisk, save for the little Venus symbol from those entwined earrings Mama would wear sometimes. And didn't Maman have a tattoo of those somewhere? 

Venus pin. Earrings. Tattoo. Shared traits.

"That sounds good." Mama said.

"So this is what the card looks like," the receptionist swiveled the screen around to face Frisk's parents. They stood on their toes, looking up. "We like to leave a spot for stickers right here. Some kids like putting little SOUL stickers on their tags." 

Frisk felt the hand holding theirs tense. 

"It's not required, is it?" Maman asked. "Frisk wouldn't like that..."

Frisk just stared at her, brows creased. They actually liked stickers, but they also knew that whenever the SOUL subject arose, it was best to stay quiet (which wasn't hard.) Unlike most things, Frisk's moms didn't like to discuss that subject directly in front of Frisk. They got to learn what ovarian cysts were because "Frisk isn't listening" but SOULs were inappropriate subject matter. 

Moms were weird. Hm...

Frisk blinked, and the people around them had moved, conversation skipping ahead. 

"- it'll be printed any minute!" The receptionist- she?- said, hitting a button on her computer. A soft hum started up in the corner of the room, somewhere Frisk couldn't see. “I'll message the teachers for Frisk's class now," she moved to type on her computer. "And let them know. “

Frisk pursed their lips. 

Eighth time today.

"So there's a few teachers?"

She nodded, tapping her nails against the glossy plastic of her computer mouse. Been a while since Frisk had seen any of those. "Yeah, we've got a few. Something like this isn't a problem at all, though! They're all very enthusiastic about our students. Frisk might like-" she stopped, leaning back in her seat and gazing at something out of Frisk's sight. After a moment, she smiled and leaned over the counter. "Oh, Frisk! Frisk, sweetie!"

They looked up at her. Her gaze flickered over their face, confirming they were paying attention. "Your card is done printing! Let's give you that first."

It was strange....Someone was looking directly at them and speaking directly to them. She didn't even try to mention  the card thing to Mama and Maman. So that meant...

It belongs to [Frisk] alone?

Only?

Frisk stood on their toes and peered up at the receptionist while she bustled about. Their gaze shifted to the small white square in the employee's hand. As they watched, laser-focused, she attached a small metal clip to it. They preemptively reached a hand out, because that had to be the Thing that was for Them. It was probably just a card, but it was for Frisk and Frisk alone, and there were very few of those kinds of things. Mama also reached for it, but the receptionist's aim had been low (because it was for Frisk) so Frisk's hand reached it first (good, because it was for them.) They gripped it tight, feeling heat radiate off of the plastic. Few things were given to them so directly by people outside of family. Though, then again, most strange grown-ups they met were important business people who had grown-up things to talk about with Frisk's moms. So maybe it was just that those people were rude.

That made sense. If everyone here was so polite, then this would be fun.

The card was so fresh the fumes from the printer still lingered in the air surrounding it. Frisk squeezed it between two fingers, rubbing their fingertips all over the soft plastic.

Warm...

They could feel Mama's bewildered gaze. When they looked at her, she was focused on the receptionist, her hand carefully settled on the edge of the desk instead of staying in the air where it had been snubbed. The receptionist didn't seem to notice anything amiss, but Maman was fiddling with her bracelet. 

Giveaway. Anxious.

The receptionist looked down at Frisk. "Are you fine with the clip or would you like a lanyard, Frisk?"

Frisk blinked. She said their name a lot, and looked directly at them a lot. It was kind of strange. Frisk's parents' eyes turned towards them, and suddenly, three pairs of eyes bore into them. 

Time seemed to skip forward a few seconds. The next moment, Mama was bent down to their height, touching their face. The card felt a little too tight in their hands, digging into their skin. They unclenched, wondering when they had stiffened.

“Not again....” Mama whispered.

"Everything okay?" The receptionist asked.

Ninth.

Frisk looked up, about to nod, but Mama interrupted. "Oh, baby, are you okay? Do you feel all right? Is everything fine?”

"Ma'am, I think Frisk's fine," the receptionist blinked. "Absence epilepsy is relatively harmless. And you're trying a new medication, right?”

Mama pulled Frisk into her arms. 

Smells: peach conditioner. Feels: Soft blouse. Warm...

 Mama huffed, "Yes, but it's obviously not working!" 

"Love, it's only been a week, don't worry too much," Maman leaned in, touching her wife's shoulder. 

"I suppose..." she leaned back, rubbing her eyes. More dramatics, though these ones were from a good place.  Everyone always had to act as though Frisk was in pain, even when they weren't. 

It meant they cared. But still. 

Frisk made a small grunt, forcing the noise out with some slight effort. All eyes returned to them. Frisk clipped it on their shirt for everyone to see: they could do it on their own! 

The receptionist's eyes drifted, flicking back to the two women besides Frisk "See? Frisk is ready to start the day!"

"Ah...." Mama sighed. "I suppose..."

"Don't worry! There's nothing we can't accommodate, including gender identity and names." She smiled at the two of them. "Honestly, good on you for giving your child so much freedom!"

Same phrase. Over and over. Smile. Laugh. Humility.

Mama spoke first, bringing a hand to her face and chuckling. Now they were all just talking praise, mindless words that didn't really have anything to do with Frisk and instead had everything to do with their mothers. 

While the adults went at it, Frisk unclipped and examined the ID tag. They knew that was their face looking back. The letters were their name. A gleaming little symbol stood beside Frisk's name: an outline of an open mouth with a tiny speech balloon extending from it. A large red X crossed out the image. 

Indicating 'no" or "bad" or "do not." 

"Do not talk."

Interesting. 

There were tiny bumps underneath Frisk's name.

They ran their fingers over the odd little bumps under the letters. Their oldest sister read books using this. She sometimes told Frisk about the books. She called them Braille.

Braille. Name above = name below.

Braille, probably of their name.  Frisk ran their fingers over the bumps again, counting each dot.

The rest of the card was just letters and numbers. Flat ones, so Frisk couldn't even feel them. Boring things that didn't have anything to do with Frisk. They tuned back in, still rubbing their fingertips on the pleasant little bumps.

"We"re just trying to do our best as parents. Frisk deserves that!" 

Frisk gave the tag a flick. When the sensation proved satisfying, they did it again. Tap, tap, tap...

They smiled, wiggling their fingers on their left hand happily. Tap, tap-

"Aw!" Mama covered her smile with her hand.

Aw? Discomfort replaced the joyful motion. Frisk hated when she stared. They stopped and dropped their hands, letting their limbs swing by their side instead. 

The receptionist continued. “And today, we should use “he?”

"Yes!” Mama smiled. She wanted today to be one of those days. She usually preferred the “she” days. Maman usually preferred the “he” days. But it depended on the day and whatever mood struck their mothers’ minds. Yesterday, Maman had said, "I want to say my youngest daughter is starting school tomorrow! Let’s go take pictures with her right now!" And then they did pictures.   Frisk got to eat candy after the pictures were taken. Hmm....

Table? Table workers. Bowls on tables. Candy bowl? Where?

Frisk peered past the receptionist. A bowl of hard candy sat on the corner of her desk, multicolored squares and circles flourished with a bright piece of paper.

Scribbles. Blurry. 

Frisk looked closer. Letters. Words.

Ugh...

Those letters all made sense individually. A was an A. But together, they were nonsense. Even worse, they were supposed to correspond to sounds. A was the same as an "ah" sound. Ridiculous! Sounds weren't pictures! The two things were completely different! .

And yet, everyone else took the weird little shapes and connected them to sounds. They could turn pictures into noise. And why? Shapes didn't equal sound. Everyone was so weird, acting like Frisk was odd. And maybe they were, but so what? Frisk would stick to pictures and everyone could use their picture sounds if they wanted to.

Or, so they wished. They couldn't figure out how to comfort their mothers and tell them than Frisk would be fine, that's why the two decided to bring Frisk here. As much as Frisk smiled and played and looked happy, the two couldn’t believe Frisk was going to be happy or “okay” unless they mastered this ability.

Happy now. + This = happy future....?

Maman said this place would "help." That Frisk could learn to do this weird thing that everyone wanted them to do. Even though it made their eye go funny. Too much work when Frisk could just as easily be told what the words meant. 

The talk was still going on. Frisk kept an ear tuned in.

"You know, there's three other children sort of like that in Frisk's new class! Of course, that's not quite the same, but maybe Frisk will be able to make friends with those children?"

Like that.

Like that could mean several things. 

Alternating dates. Both at once. Parents chose words. 

"That's interesting...!" Mama smiled.

Smile touching eyes? No. Awkward.

Why?

Her problem.

Will ignore.

Frisk had better things to do than listen to Mama get all stiff. Frisk stood on their toes and eyed the candy bowl. Nobody had noticed them yet. They could see the small hard jawbreaker brand of candies that Mama said were made of chalk in there. 

Tall enough? Yes, yes-

Frisk reached up and grabbed a candy.

Then another one.

Maman tutted gently. "You need to ask first!"

She picked up the slip of paper and held it down to eye-level.

"See?"

Frisk looked at the paper. Their vision started to wobble, warp, and gargle the letters into incomprehension. It didn't help that these letters were handwritten- the little pen marks were far whirlier and confusing than the printed letters Frisk was used to.

"Oh, it's fine," the receptionist said. "Those are here for the kids, anyways! And not all of our kids can speak first. Typically, if a child can read the note and ask, we give them extra candy, but anyone can have some."

Mama smiled. "That's nice of you!"

Maman sighed just slightly and replaced the card. Frisk pulled the wrapper off the candy and stuffed it in their mouth. They glanced at their other mother, watching her movements closely. 

Mama facing. Smiling. Looking at.

"It’s a good thing, since Frisk can’t read OR speak....” she sighed.

Frisk rolled the candy around, getting it into a good position in their mouth. Somewhere it wouldn't move too much and clack against their teeth.

Hard. No teeth. Waiting.  Slow flavor.

The receptionist smiled. "You'll be surprised how quickly kids pick up on stuff!"

"I hope this will all be okay... It's such a big change for Frisk,” Maman sighed. 

Smells like tears. Salt. That meant-

They stiffened, enveloped in a hug, and smiled, hugging back.

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

Frisk didn't want their moms to worry. They were fine, and would show it. They always worried, worried, worried! Worried about what was best! Parents.

This, class, though...

Faces. Colors. Movement.

Movement.

Where should they sit? So many choices... Not that it mattered in the end.

Chairs. Colors. Red, blue, green, yellow, purple, orange...

There were also words on the digital board. Frisk turned.

Same colors. Code? Rules?

Rules, huh....

Frisk blinked, and all the moving shapes and faces had moved. They shook their head and focused on the screen. 

Words and a video of someone making gestures with their ends. The video was on repeat, the gestures playing over and over. Frisk stood still and watched for a moment.

Video with words. Video = words. Movements = words?

But Frisk didn't know those words. So they'd have to read. Or try to. So long as they tried, they did a great job! That's what Maman used to say, until....she realized Frisk trying didn't mean much. They tried and tried and failed and failed. Repetition didn't change a thing when the letters simply refused to do what they did for everyone else. It had felt nice to be praised for simply attempting, though... So this, too, was worth an attempt. Even though nobody would praise them.

Frisk stepped back. They squinted. They knew these letters. They knew them all. But the words wouldn't connect. Maybe if they tried something else. Frisk covered their squinty eye until the letters came into focus. The words floated there, just looking like a bunch of lines wiggling in space. People were supposed to take the letters and hear the sound each one made inside their head, but Frisk couldn't hear anything. Lines were meant to form pictures, drawings, cartoons- not angular little shapes that connected to specific noises!

Hate. Annoying. Letter, letters, noise. Instead of pictures?

Why?

A voice rang out, interrupting their concentration. "Hey, you!" Frisk turned, seeing a tall child with pale white skin and a big smile eyeing them. A big blurry smile against a big round face. Perched on the child's nose was a thick pair of complicated glasses, not like the glasses Frisk had seen at home. The arms of the spectacles gleamed just slightly and adjusted the lens as Frisk watched.

Quiet hum. Adjustable lens. Glowing arms. Helper glasses. Bionic. Computer?

Pale eyes. Pale smile.

"Your eye's funny, right? Cause you covering it?" The child said, pointing a blurred hand at Frisk. Frisk pulled their hand away. Their eye adjusted its position, focusing on the child before them.

"Oh, there it goes. Gone!" The other child giggled. Frisk puffed their cheeks out and looked around some more. "Freddy's eye goes out also. You guys... Got mirror eyes! Left against right!"

Freddy? Who? The child spoke like this information was clear to Frisk.

The other kid pointed to a child just now sitting down to the right...

Glasses. Brown skin, bright brown eyes. Nervous.

Frisk gave him a small smile. Sometimes that helped nervous people.

"Um, you could sit with us. But sometimes we got ages that make us sit other places..." he said. "I'm six." "I'm seven!" his friend said. Frisk held up their free hand, holding out five fingers.

"Oh, five? You're basically little!"

Frisk stared and puffed out their cheeks in frustration. They weren't LITTLE. They were small! There was a difference.

Little = young. Small = size.

"That's not nice!" Freddy said, his voice jumping in pitch.

"It’s the truth. Being five is like being four. Being four is little. My sister is three and she's even little-er," his friend nodded their head. "So that's little."

"Little ages can still be here..." he mumbled back. He looked at Frisk. "You can still sit with us. She's mean, though."

"Am NOT. I'm seven!" The other child- she?- glared. "Hey, hey, listen, okay? I saw something! Ages go in order..."

5, 6, 7...

Frisk pulled the chair out and sat down. The ages did go in order. So she could count, that was good. Frisk could count, too, three, four-

"You don’t say much, huh?" she observed, tilting her head and squinting pale blue eyes at them.

Say. Speak. Voice.

No.

Frisk shrugged, because she was right; they didn't. Yesterday they sort of said "Mama," but their mouth hated it. School was supposed to "help" with the talking, but would it really?

Help = fix?

Help =make easier?

Words =/= noise.

Easier?

Help = ..?

Freddy pointed at Frisk's card. "Yeah, that's why you got the talky mark. Kids who don't talk much got that. Like Tuesday."

She scoffed. "That's a day." 

"So? It's also a name. Anything can be a name..."

"Wait. I have a name, and so do you." She said, intently. Suddenly, she whipped around to Frisk. "You!! You know my name, right?!"

Frisk stared at her little pointing finger and shook their head. That always meant "no." But if the question was a big one, Frisk couldn't shake their head. Annoying.

She kept going without waiting for their response. "I'm Ceecee, and, ummmm..."

Frisk blinked. Things had changed.

Ten?

Oh. Freddy was speaking now. Whatever Ceecee said, they’d missed it.

"The name." Freddy said, pointing at Frisk's tag. "Name." He looked at Frisk. "Right? Your name's on it."

Name?

Frisk looked down, then back up, confused. What did they want?

Ceecee turned and stared at Frisk's card for a long moment. Her glasses shifted a fraction, adjusting. 

Frisk watched closely. Some people on their tablet computer used those same glasses, especially on Frisk’s shows. The exact sounds used to explain what the heck they did were gone from Frisk's memory, but Frisk was positive they had to do with eye issues. Though her eyes didn’t seem to have any issues. Unless being blue was an issue....Maybe it was. Their eldest sister had blue eyes and she had her fair share of eye issues.

After four seconds of focusing, she finally announced: "I knew that! I mean the other things!" Her hands flew to her hips.

Freddy sighed. "Auntie said use me. I'm he....and you're-"

"Sheeeee. Yes!" Ceecee said. She looked at Frisk for an answer.

Sometimes people asked for those words. Especially since the one incident on video. Some people did it before, but it really kicked into gear after the video incident with the new mayor. Frisk knew a mayor was the person who lead the town, but they didn’t really think too hard about what all that meant. Maman said the person "conducting the interview" did a "faux paus."

Mama had laughed and said, "Sure, but can you blame him for that kinda mistake?"

Frisk still didn't know what "that" is, but they did notice how everyone suddenly started asking for those WORDS... Like now. Which was weird. They had the pin since forever. 

Actually, Frisk had never used any words but the same two.

Weird... Was there other options? Huh. Frisk just shrugged and pointed at their pin. "Oh, I don't read." She smiled. "Buuut... I like the pin even if the words are bad. Is it yellow? I like yellow. You should match me," she pulled on the straps of her bright yellow top until they stretched an inch away from her pale skin. Her gaze stayed on the tag. "Ooh! Wait... WAIT, I know this."

Frisk blinked.

"I know THAT," Ceecee leaned in until her finger touched the pin, "Is what people call a H!"

"That's an E next to it," Freddy said. "So H-E."

"Oh, so HE. Like you!" She smiled.

Freddy shrugged. "Yeah, but I don't gotta pin..."

"Yeah! That's weird. I wanna pin. Why's Frisk gotta pin?"

So pins were unusual. Frisk was "different.” They knew this, already, since they heard the word whispered between their mothers more than a few times. Also “special” and “sweet little angel.” Hm.

Frisk wanted to tell the two that the pin would probably say "she" tomorrow, but they couldn't think of how to communicate this. Would Ceecee be happy if they matched in that way? They liked her so far. She seemed friendly, and talkative, and reminded them of their sister.

Freddy glanced at Frisk, then shrugged. ”Um, I dunno, I guess to remind people?”

Frisk nodded a little. 

Remind others. 

Ceecee looked past them, then raised a hand, pointing. "He gotta button like them..."

Frisk looked around, not sure who she was talking about. Freddy pointed more clearly at a red-haired child a few seats down. "Ceecee means Gray." The child named “Gray” was cheerfully talking to the children around them, seeming for all the world like any other child. 

"Noooo, I mean they," she insisted, frowning.

Freddy looked at her. "That still wrong. They isn't the name. It's-”

"I don’t talk, either. Talking is for...for....BABIES." Ceecee insisted, blinking watery blue eyes behind her glasses. She was talking now, but Frisk suspected she was just being blustery rather than legitimate about her words. 

Tinted. Darker glasses. Talked about an eyes group.

=

Ceecee eyes bad.

"Grownups gotta talk, too." Freddy said. 

He would've continued, but one of the aides moved over, almost as if summoned, and everyone’s attention quickly shifted to them. They were a friendly-looking short-haired blonde with a crooked smile and long lashes. Frisk took note of the pink in the persons outfit and nodded slightly in respect. Perfect shades.

The aide smiled at the squad. "Hi, Ceecee, hi, Freddy! How are you two?”

“Goooood.” Ceecee said. 

The aide turned towards Frisk. “Hey, there! You’re Frisk, right? I’m Andy. You're gonna sit here, honey?"

Frisk nodded.

The aide nodded. "So you’ve met Freddy and Ceecee?”

They nodded again. They had the feeling they would be doing a lot of nodding.

Yes, yes, yes. No, no, no.

“That’s great!” The aide nodded. They looked closer at Frisk, eyeing Frisk’s button for a moment. But they didn’t comment. “So, you two, did you know....Frisk is extra special, because the words he uses for himself change sometimes,” they pointed at Frisk’s button.

The two children looked at each other, then back at the caretaker, their brows curved.

Twisted brows inwards. 

Meant: Confusion.

Ceecee said, “S’that why he got the button? Cause there’s two words on their?”

“Exactly! Frisk, is it okay if I touch your pin?” The aide looked at Frisk. 

Frisk looked up at them and smiled a little, nodding.

“So, yes! Okay!” 

They gently flicked the pin to point in the other side, to the other word. “You see, this says “she.” Some days Frisk will go by she instead of he.” 

Hmm. Frisk’s expression didn’t move, but they did feel something twitch in their gut. They heard these words all tjhe time from their mothers, but it was now being brought into a bigger world. They didn’t envision this situation ever happening, and now that it was, they couldn’t understand why something felt wrong.

“So, like me!” Ceecee said.

“Yes, and like me!” The aide smiled, tapping their-no, HER- employee card clip. Now that Frisk was looking, they could see the same organization of letters that made up the other half of their pin sitting on a sticker on her card. “But right now, Frisk is still using he. So be sure to ask what kind of day it is for Frisk, okay?”

"Huh? How're we supposed to know that? I don't READ," Ceecee said again. “And Frisk don’t talk! SO asking does NOTHING!” She put her hands on her hips, looking pleased with this announcement. 

"Well..." Andy looked at Frisk. "Frisk, you could tell your friends in sign. If it's a he day, use the fingerspelling for H. It looks like this," the aide held up her hand in an odd shape. Frisk copied her.

Hand... Letter.

H = this shape.

Frisk blinked and did the movement again.

“Great!”

They did it again, and again. They'd never used their hands like this. It felt as fun as flapping did, but also contained a PURPOSE... A way to communicate behind yes or no.

More. More letters? Need more.

"Wow, great job!" She showed another symbol. “This is the one for S, which is what you'll use for she days, okay?"  Frisk nodded, copying her precisely. They couldn't get these movements out of their head.

The images stuck there and burned. H and S, carried in Frisk's hands...

Except...wait! She and he had more letters, probably. More than one each, Frisk knew that.

"Okay, n-” the aide started.

Frisk waved and made an urgent noise from the back of their throat.

She blinked. "Hm? Is something wrong, sweetie?"

Frisk held up S and H, one in each hand. They frowned intently. Um, um...

Letters, two and three. H = 1 of 2. S= 1 of 3.

They held up S and two fingers.

"You want to see It again? Okay, but I think you can make an S just fine!"

Frisk shook their head. Their mind spun.

The shakes that made up SHE. They had an S. The next letter was also an H, right? The same as in he. Frisk tried to hold up their good hand, making the S, then the H, then waving their hands in confusion.

The aide looked even more confused..

"SH isn't a word!" Ceecee blurted. "You're missing other letters!"

Frisk pointed at her and nodded, hoping desperately that the aide would understand. 

The aide blinked. "Oh, would you like to learn the rest of the letters in the and he? Don't worry, you'll get to learn those eventually!"

Not now?

Frisk deflated, staring at their hands and flexing the signs.

Andy turned away, focus quickly shifting to the other two children.

"Okay, Ceecee, Freddy." She looked at the other two. "Since Frisk is new here, you guys gotta be super helpful. Frisk doesn't talk, so I’m hoping you two could try and help the best you can. If you think you gotta yell so one of us hears, then be sure to do so."

Just them? Job? Nothing else? Frisk...Helpless, or ....

This is routine?

"Okaaaay, but you can just teach the hands talk today, can't you?" Ceecee shrugged. “Then we don’t gotta do this.

"Hopefully! That depends on if everyone knows the alphabet!"

Frisk was tested for that a few months ago. All sorts of strange tests, including an alphabet test. Frisk knew the alphabet. The letter A correlated to an “ah” sound when someone spoke. Letters were all symbols in place of a noise. The symbols themselves were easy enough, they were just pictures. 

The tester had said, "We'll put Frisk in the B class for now. All the children there know their basic alphabet, but they may not be able to read as easily. Even still...Frisk is a little young to start kindergarten, are you sure she'll-” It was a she day-”-Be okay?"

And Mama had said, "Of course! We know exactly what's best for our child! She needs higher education!"

Of course, it was all because there was nothing else to learn at home.

To learn OR to be taught? Maman was a teacher. She taught French to people of all ages. But her teaching abilities weren't enough to save her from frustration. Things had grown gradually more and more tense the more the failures piled up. So many frowns, so many flashcards.

So Frisk was ready for public school. Because Maman wasn't ready to teach.

Everyone was tested. Results = what classroom they went into.

Learning something good. Useful. Future...

This was it.

Frisk unclenched their fist and stared at their hand.

This is useful. “Helpful.” “Good.”

This has to be what they came to school to learn. If these are just letters, then what about words? Could Frisk finally tell Mama she has bad lipstick? Could they say they wanted to wear purple instead of yellow? 

Or maybe that they didn't really like the arrow pin...?

S, H, and....?

[artificialqueens]

Modern Love, 1/12 (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

fic summary: Brooke Lynn is a 23 year old graduate writing boring, uninspired pieces for the fashion department of a newspaper and living in a city all her friends have moved away from. Silky is living at her parents’ house and spends her days applying for jobs she’s promptly rejected for. Nina and Monet are struggling through their first year as teachers whilst being sickeningly adorable girlfriends. Akeria is pursuing her dream of being a badass lawyer, even if her master’s degree is slowly crushing her soul. Plastique is acting like the second coming of Paris Hilton, so nothing there has changed. Scarlet is overworked and Yvie is underpaid and their relationship isn’t all it appears from the outside.

And Vanessa? Vanessa is nowhere to be seen.

(A story about a holiday, a breakup, friendships and relationships in a post-graduate world, careers, navigating life after university, figuring out what it means to be an adult, and coming to terms with the fact that we really are not nineteen forever.)

a/n: welcome to the sequel to Not Nineteen Forever!!! i should say it’s not *~ mandatory ~* to have read the original before this but it’s encouraged huehue xo hope u enjoy and please feel free to reblog, like and send love!!

***

Brooke felt the all-encompassing sense of dread wash over her as her alarm went off, the sounds of the radio that were gradually fading in doing nothing to make the experience of waking up for another day of work any more palatable. She groaned loudly as she stretched, her arms flying out to the side and hitting the edge of the double bed. Brooke starfished a little, stretching her legs out as long as they would go and trying to put off getting up and showered for as long as she could.

Rolling over in bed she reached for her phone and stopped when she saw the rose-gold rectangular frame beside her on the bedside table. It caught her by surprise every day, almost a sort of routine in itself. A picture of her and Vanessa from when they first moved in, standing at the doorway having just popped a bottle of champagne. Brooke’s face was in a funny contorted sort of smile as she yanked the cork out of the bottle and Vanessa was clapping her hands in excitement, a brilliant white moonbeam painted across her face. Brooke remembered the day well. Monet had taken the photo with Nina beside her, both of them still in their work clothes after they’d visited straight from a hard day full of teaching. Akeria, Silky, Plastique, Scarlet and Yvie had all been inside, shuffling through the huge variety of Domino’s pizza boxes that had just arrived at their door like a deck of cards. That night had been so special. Whatever had happened since then, Brooke would probably treasure that memory forever.

In spite of herself she smiled as she looked at the photograph, then turned her attention to her phone screen.

No notifications. She didn’t know why she expected anything more.

With a cloud over her head that matched the ones in the uncharacteristically grey June sky, Brooke brushed her teeth and peeled her pyjamas off before stepping into the shower and adjusting the dial to somewhere between tepid and warm. Vanessa’s shower gel sat in the corner, the tropical fruit and mint one with little tiny sloths all over the front. Brooke found herself hurting as she looked at it, still loath to use it as she took her own from the opposite side and splatted a huge dollop into her shower puff. Sometimes she used it indulgently, like a secret she shared with herself. She didn’t know whether she’d buy more when it ran out. That was something she still needed to think about.

Once she was clean Brooke briskly dried herself with a towel, sitting on the edge of the bed wrapped in it as she carefully blow-dried out her hair. She picked out her outfit: smart black work trousers with a fabric belt that pulled her in at the waist, a black and white patterned shirt, black stiletto heels. As she painted some minimal makeup on her face in the hope it would make her look less like a sleep-deprived zombie and more like she had her life together in some way, Brooke checked the clock and cursed as she realised she was running behind.

Leaving lipstick for the moment, she grabbed her bag, shoved her feet in a pair of black pumps, and left hurriedly for the train. Breakfast wasn’t a priority; she knew she could grab an iced coffee and a croissant from the cafe in the station in between changing trains, as it took her two to get into work. It was times such as these that she wished she knew how to drive like Monet, Plastique and Akeria, or had learned since uni like Nina or Scarlet. But then again, cafe food for breakfast was one of the very few perks of public transport.

Brooke eventually arrived at the huge concrete block with windows that held her offices, taking the elevator up to the fifth floor, clocking in, shooting a lacklustre “hi” to the girls she sometimes chatted to and settling herself in at her desk. As office positions went, Brooke supposed it wasn’t awful- it was beside the window looking out onto the streets of the city below and it provided some much-needed light to her day. Logging on to her work laptop, she checked her emails (one from her boss about the article due for Friday, and one from Cheryl about money for flowers for somebody going on maternity leave that she’d never met or heard of and might not even have worked there).

Her working day had started.

University hadn’t prepared Brooke for graduate life. It hadn’t prepared her for the fact that friends moved away for jobs and houses and flats, internships and apprenticeships and postgrads and masters. It hadn’t prepared her for the fact that her group chat, once flooded with about a hundred messages if she so much as left it for five minutes, gathered dust as everyone’s lives took over. It hadn’t prepared Brooke for the feeling of missing out on something…Christ knows what. Perhaps living, making memories instead of simply swiping through ones already made on a Saturday night spent alone in bed with a bottle of wine to herself. It hadn’t prepared her for the yearning, the regret at having taken those days for granted when they were the happiest of her life and she hadn’t even realised it. If Brooke had known how soul-crushingly boring her life would be once she got that rolled-up piece of paper in a little tube she would’ve been dragging the girls out every single night. The all-encompassing sadness and longing for something better hit her harder on days like these, sepia ones with big clouds that hung ominously in the sky but never gave her the satisfaction of raining. She supposed that feeling had only been exacerbated by…

She didn’t need to remind herself of that.

It was ten o’clock in the morning and Brooke was staring out of the small office window stupefied with boredom when her phone vibrated. She jumped, pouncing on it as she always did whenever a notification went off. Her phone hadn’t been on silent for a full month. It hadn’t been the person she’d wanted or expected, but it was a pleasant surprise nonetheless.

Silk: HEY GIRL LONG TIME NO SPEAK! I’M GONNA BE IN TOWN THIS AFTERNOON FOR AN INTERVIEW BUT I’LL BE FREE AFTER AND I’VE GOT A COUPLE HOURS TO KICK ABOUT UNTIL MY TRAIN. YOU WANNA GRAB DINNER? XXXXXXXXX

Brooke frantically made plans as if she was under a time limit, as if the moment would slip through her fingers like sand in an hourglass. She suggested some restaurants that she knew wouldn’t eat into either of their fragile graduate salaries and they settled on an Italian in the city centre, where the portions were big and the meals were tasty.

Brooke spent the rest of the day looking forward to meeting her friend. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Silky. Maybe it had been as long ago as New Year. Brooke smiled as she remembered the occasion; all of them cramming into Scarlet and Yvie’s flat to see in the year. Silky and Akeria had got too drunk off prosecco and screamed along to JLS, Scarlet and Yvie had both made a buffet to rival a hotel’s, and Nina, Monet, Vanessa and Brooke had all been tangled up in an almost relationship-ruining game of Articulate. Plastique had brought her new girlfriend Naomi to introduce to everyone and the girl had looked ever so slightly alarmed by the sheer chaos of everyone put together, but she’d laughed and joined in all the same.

That had been another happy memory. Those seemed to be hard to come by these days.

Work dragged. It always did. Brooke managed to write three sub-par articles that she sent to her editor at the end of the day anyway because hell, it was their job to turn carbon into diamonds. So when she hopped on the train back into the city, Brooke felt a little buzz in her veins that she hadn’t felt in a while.

It took her until she saw Silky standing outside the restaurant- hair in a bun full of flyaways, eyebrows still Sharpied on, in a pair of smart trousers and a floaty top- that Brooke realised that part of the reason she was so excited was because she’d been so lonely for such a long time. Well, only really a month, but it felt like a year. It had taken her living on her own to realise just how boring her life was without all her friends so constantly part of it, and now they all had their own lives and schedules it only served to show Brooke how empty her own was without…

Well. Without her.

As soon as Silky looked up from her phone and spotted Brooke her face lit up, and she fixed her with a smile and a screech that Brooke never thought she would have missed hearing but by God, she had.

“BROOKE LYNN!” she screamed, followed by lots of squealing and babbling as she wrapped the taller girl in a tight hug and refused to let go for at least twenty seconds. Brooke didn’t mind and she found herself clinging back, Silky suddenly the loudest anchor she’d never known she needed. When Silky finally pulled away she grabbed Brooke by both wrists, shaking her back and forth a little. “Oh my God, BITCH! Oh my God. FUCK! It’s so good to see you. How the fuck are you?”

Brooke appreciated that- Silky asking how she was. Yvie tiptoed around Brooke’s feelings when they texted and Brooke tiptoed around her and Scarlet’s perfect domestic bliss, both of the subjects too touchy for Brooke and the pair of them instead choosing to communicate via meme. Nina barely had time to breathe these days let alone text back, and Plastique…well, Plastique wouldn’t get it.

None of them would, she supposed.

“I’m…I’m surviving! I’m being an adult, I guess, and this is what life is now. How’re you?” Brooke swiftly moved the conversation on, and Silky took the hint and dropped both her wrists, pushing open the door.

“I’m on cloud fuckin’ nine girl. C’mon, let’s get some vino an’ I’ll catch you up on the world of Ms. Ganache! Think of it as a free episode of the reality TV show that is my life.”

“Let’s be real, Silk. If anyone’s life’s like a reality TV show right now, it’s mine,” Brooke raised her eyebrows, not quite committing to her own attempt at being lighthearted and instead couldn’t have sounded more bitter if she’d eaten an entire lemon with its rind on.

Silky, for her part, shrugged and let out a small sigh. “You ain’t wrong, girl, you ain’t wrong. But the offer of wine still stands, so let’s get sat. Where the damn hell is a waiter?”

They eventually got shown to their table and the conversation flowed frantically and excitedly, mirroring the wine. Silky filled Brooke in on every last detail of her life- most importantly, Brooke thought, was that Silky’s parents who she was back living with had adopted a cocker spaniel puppy called Pooch. Graduate life had been tough on Silky; she still hadn’t managed to get a job and so therefore couldn’t afford to rent a flat, so she’d moved back to her sleepy and uninspiring hometown. Living with her parents, she’d groaned, was beginning to chip away at her; the constant pressure they put on Silky to find a job, move out, get a boyfriend, and lose weight was beginning to grow wearing in the extreme, and Brooke didn’t blame her for being fed up.

“You know you’re always welcome to come chill at mine, you know. If it’s getting particularly rough,” Brooke suggested not-quite-casually, glad of the fact that loneliness didn’t have a scent because if it did she’d be reeking of it.

Silky gave a bashful smile, looking down at her half-eaten plate of spaghetti bolognaise in front of her. “You’re a doll, B, but you know I can’t do an hour on the train any time my Mama tuts at me buying a size XL of anything. In fact therapy’s probably cheaper than a train ticket here but realistically I don’t got the money for either, so…thanks, but in the words of Simon Cowell, issa no from me.”

“That’s okay. I get it, Mums are simultaneously the worst and the best people,” Brooke pulled a face. Thinking about her Mum made her wonder when the last time she texted her was. She felt a little ashamed for not knowing off the top of her head. “But hey, at least you got that interview, right? How did it go?”

“Alright,” Silky muttered in a non-committal way. It was the most un-Silky response Brooke thought she’d ever seen her friend give. It was weird and unpleasant; the Silky from uni would’ve yelled the place down about how she’d aced it, how they’d make her the chief editor right there and then, how she could write an article for them entirely in Wingdings and it’d still be the best thing they’d read all day.

Seemingly picking up on Brooke’s discomfort, Silky gave a small laugh. “I don’ know, boo…I used to be so sure of myself, I used to be so set in the fact that writing was somethin’ I was good at. When I was a kid I used to write these fuckin’ huge stories…pages an’ pages long that my teachers would pull big overexaggerated smiley faces at an’ squeal over an’ put big glittery star stickers on. I thought I was somethin’ special. An’ then uni, y’know…I was a small fish in a big pond- hell, a big fish in a big pond- but I still thought I was the shit even when I got bad grades. I thought my markers just didn’t get it, that they were the ones that were wrong. But now it’s like…”

Silky heaved a sigh and put her fork and spoon together neatly on top of her half-full plate. “…I can’t even get a job at a fuckin’ local rag, so why the hell am I even tryin’ with the big city offices?”

There was something about it all that made Brooke’s heart break all over again, the way that life after uni had worn Silky down to the extent where she didn’t even know if she was good at anything any more, didn’t have much visible self-worth left. Silky had always been the heart and soul of their group; she, Akeria and Vanessa, and in the time it had taken between now and graduation Akeria had become the polar opposite of Silky- so completely embroiled in her quest to become a barrister that she barely had time to reply to any of them any more.

And Vanessa…well. She knew where Vanessa was. Or rather, she didn’t.

Greece was a big country.

“You’re trying because you’re Big Silky Nutmeg Motherfucking Ganache,” Brooke said with a determination she’d not felt in a while. “Come on Silk, you’re you. If grad life has broken you then what the fuck hope is there for any of us?”

( Any of us sounded better than me , Brooke thought.)

“Kiki’s doin’ okay for herself,” Silky shrugged, her downtrodden tone counteracted by the way she picked up her fork again and twirled a single strand of spaghetti around it, eating it once she was finished speaking.

“Kiki’s vagina-deep in a hellish and all-consuming masters degree that’s probably eating her up from the inside out just as much as everybody else’s jobs are. I mean, are any of us doing anything we actually like?”

“Nina an’ Monet? They’da quit by now if they hated teaching so much.”

“Nina West would join the fucking scientologists and stick it out just so she could say she didn’t give up. She’s the final boss of the term mama didn’t raise a quitter . They’re having a hard time, Silk. We all are. It’s just tough because we’re all so busy and shit at keeping in touch that everybody thinks each others’ lives are perfect but…they’re really not.”

“Yvie and Scarlet seem pretty happy.”

Brooke’s face took on an involuntary look of distaste, so irritated and bitter was she at the image of them and their perfect flat and their perfect jobs and their perfect coupley life. “They’ll have something up, nobody’s life is that perfect. Maybe their relationship’s secretly falling apart or…something, fuck, I don’t know.”

There was a beat of silence in which Brooke finished the last little pocket of tortellini she’d ordered and Silky twirled another mouthful of spaghetti around her fork. She chewed, then shrugged thoughtfully, her head tilting a little. “Y’know we should go on holiday. Fuck all this shit off for a week, get away from it all.”

Brooke’s eyebrows raised in appreciation of the idea. She and the girls had never been away together before and the prospect of lying on a beach doing absolutely nothing under the blazing sun was an inviting one. “What, a girls’ trip? Like in Sex and The City?”

“Mhm. ‘Cept we go on an all-inclusive to the Med ‘stead of Mexico ‘cause ain’t none of us can afford that shit.”

“Except Plastique.”

“True. Fuck that bitch. She could prolly buy Mexico.”

Brooke laughed and for the first time in a good few months she felt a little flicker of excitement lick at her heart, so much so that she could see her pulse race at her wrist. She couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. “Oh my God. I’m so in. Let’s do it.”

“We have to get all the girls on board, though. Otherwise there ain’t no point.”

“Definitely. Where should we go? Spain’s always good.”

Silky had her phone out and was typing furiously. She paused as something presumably loaded, then her face lit up. “If we go the week after Nina an’ Monet finish up school for Summer we can get flights to Crete for £20 return.”

“Twenty, what the fuck? That can’t be right,” Brooke screwed up her face in disbelief, and Silky cocked an eyebrow at her as she showed her the proof on her screen. Conceding, Brooke shrugged. “That’s so good. I don’t want to know what that plane’s like though. They probably just stuff you all into a tin can and ping you into the air with a giant rubber band.”

Silky howled with laughter and thumped the table so hard that the wine sloshed about in their glasses, little tiny red tsunamis. As Brooke snorted in response purely to Silky’s own mirth, a small thought set off a little drip of dread that threatened to put out the excitement that had only just begun to burn in her chest.

“Where is Crete again?”

Silky let out an unimpressed breath from her nose. “Bitch, you got all the geography skills of a Love Island contestant. It’s just off the Greek coast. Kinda near Turkey too, but it’s Greece.”

Brooke felt her heart drop, Alton Towers Oblivion all over again. She blinked quickly, tried to hide her discomfort. “Well, we’re not going there.”

Silky gave a small sigh, a little hint of resignation or long-suffering to it that Brooke didn’t appreciate. But when she reached over the table and patted her hand on top of Brooke’s, she felt a little bit more understood, a little bit more validated.

“B, Greece is a big place.”

It was the exact same thing Brooke herself had thought earlier, except now it didn’t seem true. Now, with the prospect of going there, it seemed like the tiniest microcosm of society. The world was simultaneously too big and too small, and Brooke felt the cold drip in her heart get worse. “Silky…”

“Look. We ain’t exactly gonna pick the same place she’s at, are we?”

Brooke put her head in her hands and sighed. “She’s not there anymore.”

“What?”

“I phoned the hotel a week ago to try and speak to her. I was going to fly out, try and talk to her and fix things. They said she didn’t work there anymore. So I don’t even know where she is at all.”

Silky huffed, frowning and concerned. “I’m sorry, Brooke, this shit must’ve been hell.”

“You’ve got no idea.”

There was a pause as Silky pushed her food around her plate. “Crete’s small, but it ain’t that small. We still got a one in a million chance of bumpin’ into her if we go.”

“That’s still too small for my liking. Both the island and the chances.”

“Aight, one in a billion. Trillion. Point is, it ain’t gonna happen. An’ besides…” Silky waggled her eyebrows, flashing her phone screen at Brooke again. “Twenty pounds for the first week of the school holidays. This shit’s like gold dust.”

Brooke smiled slowly in spite of herself. Maybe Silky was right. And maybe it would be fun to swan around Greece, eat seafood and pretend to be in some knockoff version of Mamma Mia. Scratch that, it would be fun. She’d get to spend a week surrounded by her friends in the sun, which was what she badly needed at the moment.

Brooke was nodding before she knew it. “Okay, fine. Crete it is.”

“YES, bitch!” Silky cheered, loud enough to be heard by the entire restaurant and possibly the chefs in the kitchen too. “Now let’s get dessert. All this wine needs soaked up by a big slice of sticky toffee puddin’.”

It was easy to feel optimistic with Silky back being her loud and just-the-right-side-of-obnoxious self, and with a plate of tiramisu in front of her. But after they’d finished up, paid their bill and she’d hugged Silky goodbye at the train station, Brooke found the endorphins wearing off as she got back to her dark flat and into her cold bed. Maybe it was because she was finally coming down from the high of meeting up with a beloved friend, maybe it was because she knew she had another monotonous, greyscale day of work to get through tomorrow.

Or perhaps, Brooke thought as she turned over in bed, caught sight of the familiar rose-gold frame and blew it a kiss, she was simply missing her girlfriend.

If she could even call Vanessa that any more.